Sherlock Fic: Stating the Obvious
Sep. 2nd, 2010 11:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
out_thereTitle: Stating the Obvious
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Word Count: 800
Summary: They're in shock. Sherlock knows it.
They're in shock.
Later, John will try to talk around it, try to explain without apologising. Sherlock might have to point out the obvious or John may come to the conclusion on his own: they were in shock after a life-threatening situation. Sherlock may mention wearing orange blankets because John respects clear signifiers.
(Given the average intelligence of the police force, the blankets evidently serve as a marker for the officers on site. It prevents stupid questions being asked. The orange is obnoxious and it's a large amount of fabric, otherwise he'd be tempted to carry one with him in future. It would make investigations much quicker.)
John might even find the reference amusing. He appreciates the absurd and the two them sitting with orange blankets around their shoulders is nothing if not ridiculous.
That will be later. That will be after they've answered questions and followed whatever clues Moriarty has left, after they've gone back to Baker Street and had a few nights of boring normalcy for John to realise his objections and attempt to considerately discuss it.
But now, they're in shock and Sherlock knows that's why John's leaning against his shoulder, saying, "We nearly died. We could have actually died tonight."
For the sake of technical accuracy, Sherlock adds, "It's not the first time that's happened."
There's a quick sideways glance, then John drops his eyes to the Sherlock's hands. "For most people," John says conversationally, "that would be a good reason to stop being your flatmate."
It's a ridiculous thought. "You're not going to move out, John."
"No, I'm not because…" John raises his palms as if searching for an answer. His hands aren't shaking. "Clearly, I have a variety of issues. But don't you think I should?"
"If you were someone else, moving out would make complete sense," Sherlock agrees. "But I wouldn't have wanted to live with you in the first place. And you don't want to move out."
John turns, head slightly cocked and eyes narrowed enough to show he's thinking and doesn't like the thoughts it brings. "So you know what I want now, do you?"
"For the last twenty minutes, you've been pressed against me. You keep leaning closer and watching either my lips or my hands, so I would say it's quite obvious." It's not what Sherlock meant to say. He meant to say 'Yes' or simply raise an eyebrow and retain some mystery, allow John whatever time he apparently needs to work up to this. But they're in shock; it's not beyond the realm of possibility that he's been slightly affected as well.
John doesn't say anything but his gaze falls to Sherlock's mouth and the kiss that follows is entirely expected. Or at least mostly expected.
The action is expected: John shifting closer, stretching up, his lips on Sherlock's. But there's a gentle desperation to it, a determined restraint that doesn't match the expected reaction to the chemical cocktail produced by supposedly certain death.
And then there's the way John's hand is resting across his. John's fingers curved at the first knuckle to form a light grip around his little finger; John's thumb moving back and forth in small soothing motions.
"We're in shock," he says when John pulls his head back. John only moves his head back; his shoulder is still pressed against Sherlock's and their hands are still touching. "We still have the blankets."
When John smiles, his face forms lines that will be permanent wrinkles by the time he's forty. "You're stating the obvious."
"I frequently need to. Most people have trouble recognising it as such."
John ducks his head, hiding his smile from the apparently busy police force surrounding them, and moves his hand back to his lap. His shoulder stays warm against Sherlock's and he has the gall to say, "Knew you'd get it eventually."
"I saw this coming," Sherlock says honestly. He did see this coming, albeit with a different motive and different conclusion.
"You did not."
In hindsight, it's simple to see. "The first time we went to dinner, you asked me about my sexual proclivities. You were interested."
"I was curious about my new flatmate," John bites back and still, still, he's smiling. "Not the same thing at all."
"Close enough." Sherlock tucks his chin in and stares at his knees. At the edge of his peripheral vision, he watches John's profile. He has the strangest suspicion that if he looks directly at John, he'll mirror John's intractable grin.
"Well, I wasn't so well-prepared that the first words out of my mouth were: 'We're in shock'."
Sherlock turns his head, and as he suspected, he can't hide his own smile. "Crime scene," he reminds.
"But we're in shock," John says, and dissolves into stifled chuckles that really shouldn't be contagious.
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Word Count: 800
Summary: They're in shock. Sherlock knows it.
They're in shock.
Later, John will try to talk around it, try to explain without apologising. Sherlock might have to point out the obvious or John may come to the conclusion on his own: they were in shock after a life-threatening situation. Sherlock may mention wearing orange blankets because John respects clear signifiers.
(Given the average intelligence of the police force, the blankets evidently serve as a marker for the officers on site. It prevents stupid questions being asked. The orange is obnoxious and it's a large amount of fabric, otherwise he'd be tempted to carry one with him in future. It would make investigations much quicker.)
John might even find the reference amusing. He appreciates the absurd and the two them sitting with orange blankets around their shoulders is nothing if not ridiculous.
That will be later. That will be after they've answered questions and followed whatever clues Moriarty has left, after they've gone back to Baker Street and had a few nights of boring normalcy for John to realise his objections and attempt to considerately discuss it.
But now, they're in shock and Sherlock knows that's why John's leaning against his shoulder, saying, "We nearly died. We could have actually died tonight."
For the sake of technical accuracy, Sherlock adds, "It's not the first time that's happened."
There's a quick sideways glance, then John drops his eyes to the Sherlock's hands. "For most people," John says conversationally, "that would be a good reason to stop being your flatmate."
It's a ridiculous thought. "You're not going to move out, John."
"No, I'm not because…" John raises his palms as if searching for an answer. His hands aren't shaking. "Clearly, I have a variety of issues. But don't you think I should?"
"If you were someone else, moving out would make complete sense," Sherlock agrees. "But I wouldn't have wanted to live with you in the first place. And you don't want to move out."
John turns, head slightly cocked and eyes narrowed enough to show he's thinking and doesn't like the thoughts it brings. "So you know what I want now, do you?"
"For the last twenty minutes, you've been pressed against me. You keep leaning closer and watching either my lips or my hands, so I would say it's quite obvious." It's not what Sherlock meant to say. He meant to say 'Yes' or simply raise an eyebrow and retain some mystery, allow John whatever time he apparently needs to work up to this. But they're in shock; it's not beyond the realm of possibility that he's been slightly affected as well.
John doesn't say anything but his gaze falls to Sherlock's mouth and the kiss that follows is entirely expected. Or at least mostly expected.
The action is expected: John shifting closer, stretching up, his lips on Sherlock's. But there's a gentle desperation to it, a determined restraint that doesn't match the expected reaction to the chemical cocktail produced by supposedly certain death.
And then there's the way John's hand is resting across his. John's fingers curved at the first knuckle to form a light grip around his little finger; John's thumb moving back and forth in small soothing motions.
"We're in shock," he says when John pulls his head back. John only moves his head back; his shoulder is still pressed against Sherlock's and their hands are still touching. "We still have the blankets."
When John smiles, his face forms lines that will be permanent wrinkles by the time he's forty. "You're stating the obvious."
"I frequently need to. Most people have trouble recognising it as such."
John ducks his head, hiding his smile from the apparently busy police force surrounding them, and moves his hand back to his lap. His shoulder stays warm against Sherlock's and he has the gall to say, "Knew you'd get it eventually."
"I saw this coming," Sherlock says honestly. He did see this coming, albeit with a different motive and different conclusion.
"You did not."
In hindsight, it's simple to see. "The first time we went to dinner, you asked me about my sexual proclivities. You were interested."
"I was curious about my new flatmate," John bites back and still, still, he's smiling. "Not the same thing at all."
"Close enough." Sherlock tucks his chin in and stares at his knees. At the edge of his peripheral vision, he watches John's profile. He has the strangest suspicion that if he looks directly at John, he'll mirror John's intractable grin.
"Well, I wasn't so well-prepared that the first words out of my mouth were: 'We're in shock'."
Sherlock turns his head, and as he suspected, he can't hide his own smile. "Crime scene," he reminds.
"But we're in shock," John says, and dissolves into stifled chuckles that really shouldn't be contagious.
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Date: 2010-09-02 04:26 pm (UTC)Lovely!
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Date: 2010-09-02 11:04 pm (UTC)