Short Fic!
I know I haven't posted here in, like, forever. But this is a very short ficlet that I just wrote as a result of a prompt at the Fic Writer's Retreat in Canada. Enjoy!
The prompt was: Write about a balcony.
Johnlock, obviously.
Sherlock placed his hands on the railing and gazed out upon the foreign city. In all of his travels, he had never been here before. Strange that he felt a certain kinship, all because he knew that John Watson had been stationed here all those years ago. And now he was here to meet an old friend, one who had expertise that he lacked and now sorely needed.
He closed his eyes and lifted his face to the sky. The night was warm -- stifling, really -- a full moon and a sky full of stars adding their own splendor to the landscape. His phone was burning a hole in his pocket; he did his best to resist the urge to shoot out a quick text. He had promised John two weeks of no contact as they both took time to heal from the events of Sherrinford in their own ways. It wasn’t an estrangement. It was a period of recuperation and reflection.
Sherlock had known from the beginning what his quest would be. And he had a unique resource at his disposal, one with whom he had a surprising amount in common. He quelled the thrill of guilt that pricked at him. This wasn’t cheating. This was exploration. He needed to hone certain skills that he lacked, and he wanted to go back to John with something to offer besides sexual inexperience.
A familiar text alert, one he had been expecting, trilled from his phone. Smiling faintly, he pulled his phone out and opened the message.
Ready when you are, Mister Holmes. You know where to find me. No need to bring anything but yourself; after all, I already know what you like.
Sherlock opened the balcony door and stepped back inside. Time to prepare.
The prompt was: Write about a balcony.
Johnlock, obviously.
Sherlock placed his hands on the railing and gazed out upon the foreign city. In all of his travels, he had never been here before. Strange that he felt a certain kinship, all because he knew that John Watson had been stationed here all those years ago. And now he was here to meet an old friend, one who had expertise that he lacked and now sorely needed.
He closed his eyes and lifted his face to the sky. The night was warm -- stifling, really -- a full moon and a sky full of stars adding their own splendor to the landscape. His phone was burning a hole in his pocket; he did his best to resist the urge to shoot out a quick text. He had promised John two weeks of no contact as they both took time to heal from the events of Sherrinford in their own ways. It wasn’t an estrangement. It was a period of recuperation and reflection.
Sherlock had known from the beginning what his quest would be. And he had a unique resource at his disposal, one with whom he had a surprising amount in common. He quelled the thrill of guilt that pricked at him. This wasn’t cheating. This was exploration. He needed to hone certain skills that he lacked, and he wanted to go back to John with something to offer besides sexual inexperience.
A familiar text alert, one he had been expecting, trilled from his phone. Smiling faintly, he pulled his phone out and opened the message.
Ready when you are, Mister Holmes. You know where to find me. No need to bring anything but yourself; after all, I already know what you like.
Sherlock opened the balcony door and stepped back inside. Time to prepare.