FIC - Details
Title: Details
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Some things were meant to be kept private, Sherlock obviously didn’t know.
A/N: written for 8dreamcatcher8’s prompt of Sherlock with a sex-induced limp.
It didn’t take more than a few minutes before the Yarders began to notice. They were all so used to Sherlock easily flowing around the room like his coat was some kind of superhero cape that seeing him move slowly, with a slight limp, caught them all off-guard a bit.
Sally, of course, was the first to make a comment. “Did you fall down a fire escape, Freak? Maybe take a bad turn running across a rooftop?”
“Of course not, Donovan. Don’t be silly.” He dismissed her casually, as he usually did.
Next up in the guessing game was Anderson. “Tripped over his own feet is my guess", he sneered, taking in Sherlock’s careful movements.
An injury had occurred, that much was glaringly clear. A serious one, too, judging by the looks of things. Sherlock wasn’t one to let some minor ache or pain slow him down like this.
With genuine concern, Lestrade moved closer to the consulting detective, asking quietly how Sherlock had gotten injured. “Think you might need to see someone about that?” he asked, trying to sound casual.
“See someone? Like a doctor? Already did that, Detective Inspector. I’ve seen a doctor quite recently. Use your detective skills, will you?”
Lestrade eyed John curiously. “You’ve had John check you over, then? Make sure you’re all right?”
John looked away, afraid his expression would reveal his guilt, but he needn’t have bothered.
“Checked me over, he certainly did. Right over the kitchen table”, Sherlock replied, his eyes still on the crime scene and the body lying on the floor.
“He examined you in the kitchen? I’ve been in your kitchen, Sherlock, I can’t say John would find that a sanitary setting for a medical examination.”
“Idiot”, Sherlock shot back. “You’re missing something obvious here.”
John went from looking away to looking at Lestrade and Sherlock, and to Anderson and Donovan listening in. Fuck all, Sherlock was going to spill the whole story. Probably in a detailed and detached manner. There was no escaping it, so he just gathered his dignity as he waited.
Shockingly, Sally was the first one to get it. After only a second, though, Lestrade’s eyes widened and he clearly understood what Sherlock was sharing, here in front of half the damn Met.
“Not a medical exam, then?”
“No”, Sherlock supplied. Looking up at the faces around him, he sighed. “Have I got to spell it out for you? This morning he had me over the table, fucking me so hard that he damaged that same table, and me as well, if only temporarily.”
At this point, John was attempting to look as nonchalant as possible while Sherlock spoke, but was sure he was failing miserably. His eyes darted around the room, not wanting to look at the expressions on any of the faces around him, which were varying degrees of shock and amusement. Lestrade's even held a tiny bit of accusation when he looked over at John. That, of course, Sherlock picked up on immediately.
“Nothing for anyone to get up in arms about, for God’s sake. Don’t go looking like you’ve got to call it a domestic. It was just a fantastic buggering, I’d say maybe a few degrees higher than usual. I might be limping for a day or two but it’s nothing to complain about. He didn’t injure me, really, just fucked me a little harder than he normally does. Doesn't qualify him for an ASBO.”
Three sets of eyes fell onto John, who tried valiantly to look casual and maybe a bit prideful. It wasn’t like everyone didn’t already assume they were sleeping together, but it surely seemed that their sometime co-workers were surprised at which one of them was on the receiving end of such activity. He’d just gotten to the point where he was straightening up and jutting out his chin in defiance of the gazes set upon him when Sherlock spoke again.
“Points deducted, though, for not having stuck the landing. When the table broke, we slipped a little and ended up on the floor. Hence the limp. Which I assure you is temporary. Now, can we please get back to the matter at hand here? There is a dead body that needs examining. And not by you, Anderson. Now that I’ve spilled the details, you can at least try to adjust your jaw and close your mouth before something flies into it.”
Having points deducted from his sexual performance in front of the Yarders took away a little of his pride, but John carried on, sliding on his soldier mask and turning his attention back to the work at hand.
He’d find a time to lecture Sherlock on revealing the explicit details of their sex life later.
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Some things were meant to be kept private, Sherlock obviously didn’t know.
A/N: written for 8dreamcatcher8’s prompt of Sherlock with a sex-induced limp.
It didn’t take more than a few minutes before the Yarders began to notice. They were all so used to Sherlock easily flowing around the room like his coat was some kind of superhero cape that seeing him move slowly, with a slight limp, caught them all off-guard a bit.
Sally, of course, was the first to make a comment. “Did you fall down a fire escape, Freak? Maybe take a bad turn running across a rooftop?”
“Of course not, Donovan. Don’t be silly.” He dismissed her casually, as he usually did.
Next up in the guessing game was Anderson. “Tripped over his own feet is my guess", he sneered, taking in Sherlock’s careful movements.
An injury had occurred, that much was glaringly clear. A serious one, too, judging by the looks of things. Sherlock wasn’t one to let some minor ache or pain slow him down like this.
With genuine concern, Lestrade moved closer to the consulting detective, asking quietly how Sherlock had gotten injured. “Think you might need to see someone about that?” he asked, trying to sound casual.
“See someone? Like a doctor? Already did that, Detective Inspector. I’ve seen a doctor quite recently. Use your detective skills, will you?”
Lestrade eyed John curiously. “You’ve had John check you over, then? Make sure you’re all right?”
John looked away, afraid his expression would reveal his guilt, but he needn’t have bothered.
“Checked me over, he certainly did. Right over the kitchen table”, Sherlock replied, his eyes still on the crime scene and the body lying on the floor.
“He examined you in the kitchen? I’ve been in your kitchen, Sherlock, I can’t say John would find that a sanitary setting for a medical examination.”
“Idiot”, Sherlock shot back. “You’re missing something obvious here.”
John went from looking away to looking at Lestrade and Sherlock, and to Anderson and Donovan listening in. Fuck all, Sherlock was going to spill the whole story. Probably in a detailed and detached manner. There was no escaping it, so he just gathered his dignity as he waited.
Shockingly, Sally was the first one to get it. After only a second, though, Lestrade’s eyes widened and he clearly understood what Sherlock was sharing, here in front of half the damn Met.
“Not a medical exam, then?”
“No”, Sherlock supplied. Looking up at the faces around him, he sighed. “Have I got to spell it out for you? This morning he had me over the table, fucking me so hard that he damaged that same table, and me as well, if only temporarily.”
At this point, John was attempting to look as nonchalant as possible while Sherlock spoke, but was sure he was failing miserably. His eyes darted around the room, not wanting to look at the expressions on any of the faces around him, which were varying degrees of shock and amusement. Lestrade's even held a tiny bit of accusation when he looked over at John. That, of course, Sherlock picked up on immediately.
“Nothing for anyone to get up in arms about, for God’s sake. Don’t go looking like you’ve got to call it a domestic. It was just a fantastic buggering, I’d say maybe a few degrees higher than usual. I might be limping for a day or two but it’s nothing to complain about. He didn’t injure me, really, just fucked me a little harder than he normally does. Doesn't qualify him for an ASBO.”
Three sets of eyes fell onto John, who tried valiantly to look casual and maybe a bit prideful. It wasn’t like everyone didn’t already assume they were sleeping together, but it surely seemed that their sometime co-workers were surprised at which one of them was on the receiving end of such activity. He’d just gotten to the point where he was straightening up and jutting out his chin in defiance of the gazes set upon him when Sherlock spoke again.
“Points deducted, though, for not having stuck the landing. When the table broke, we slipped a little and ended up on the floor. Hence the limp. Which I assure you is temporary. Now, can we please get back to the matter at hand here? There is a dead body that needs examining. And not by you, Anderson. Now that I’ve spilled the details, you can at least try to adjust your jaw and close your mouth before something flies into it.”
Having points deducted from his sexual performance in front of the Yarders took away a little of his pride, but John carried on, sliding on his soldier mask and turning his attention back to the work at hand.
He’d find a time to lecture Sherlock on revealing the explicit details of their sex life later.