[ficlet] Perigee (BBC Sherlock; Sherlock/John) (original) (raw)
OMGGGG, it's been so long since I finished anything.... This is just a plotless piece of fluff that was nagging at my brain and wouldn't let me sleep last night. It's based on a line from 2x01, A Scandal in Belgravia, so mild spoilers for that. Nothing serious, though. Also, I'm not British, so please feel free to point out any glaring Americanisms.
Title: Perigee
Series: Sherlock
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Rating: PG-13
Contents/Spoilers: Fluff, naked guys in bed, mild spoilers (more like references, really) for up to 2x01.
Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to the BBC, et al. This story is written for entertainment only.
Summary: John makes the mistake of telling Sherlock just how much he and Irene Adler have in common.
Perigee
“So, what you’re essentially saying is that I have the sex appeal of a woman.”
John instantly regretted ever mentioning the details of his conversation with Irene. “No. No, Sherlock, that’s not what I’m saying.”
But Sherlock was already reaching for the dressing gown draped over his chair, just over an arm’s length away from the bed. “Well, why wouldn’t you say it? It’s the perfect excuse. Doctor John Watson, the great lover of women, a new girl every week—”
“It’s not every week—” John half-rolled on top of him to keep him from leaving.
“—not at all gay, as you’re so very eager to point out, and now, oh, Irene said, well, it’s all quite convenient, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is convenient, and I could say that, but I’m not.” He managed to get Sherlock to look him in the eyes. “Look, I don’t fully understand why I’m attracted to you, but I can assure you, it’s not because I want a woman, or because you have the appeal of a woman, or because I think of you in any way as a woman. Believe me, I’ve done… that with women before, and there’s a difference.”
Sherlock’s body relaxed, wordlessly conceding John’s point. John rolled off him with an exasperated sigh and stared up at the ceiling. They were silent for a moment.
“You’re not going to put this on your blog, are you?”
“My blog, are you mad?” John pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes and groaned. “Oh, what difference would it make; they all think we’re sleeping together anyway.”
“We are,” Sherlock pointed out.
John glanced over at him. “Well… I mean, ‘sleeping together’… it sort of implies an ongoing thing, don’t you think?”
“And you’re saying this isn’t?” Sherlock put just enough polish on the final T to let John know that he was treading into dangerous water.
John propped himself up on an elbow. In the lamplight, he could see that Sherlock was wearing his mask of stony guardedness, a supposed armour against emotion that only made him look all the more vulnerable. It was an expression that John was unfortunately well familiar with. He put a hand on Sherlock’s arm. “I didn’t say that. I just thought that _you_….”
Sherlock looked up at him, a challenge in his eyes.
“Well, you’re the one who… you know, ‘transport’ and all that. I mean, look, if you’re up for doing it again, then I’m up for doing it again. In fact, I can be up for doing it again in—”
Sherlock cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Not tonight.”
John leaned over him, concerned. “What, you didn’t like it, then?”
Sherlock shrugged. “It was okay.”
John’s face fell.
Sherlock rolled his eyes with an exaggerated sigh. “I’m sure it wasn’t _you_….”
“Well, it was my first time too,” John protested, “with a man, and besides, we don’t have to do it like that; there are lots of other things we can— what, why are you making that face?”
Sherlock gave up trying to suppress a lopsided grin. “For a man who’s so adamant about not being gay, you’re trying very hard to convince me to have sex with you again.” He reached up and ran his fingers thoughtfully through John’s hair, with a rare tenderness that left John feeling far more exposed than their lack of clothing did.
“Oh. Well. I just don’t want you thinking I’m, you know, okay, that’s all.”
“Is it really?” Sherlock asked, already knowing the answer. “‘All’?”
John pretended to think it over. “There might be a bit more to it than that.” He leaned down to lightly press his lips to Sherlock’s. He could tell the other man was analysing it, storing and categorising new sensations in that vast brain of his. Sherlock didn’t offer to deepen the kiss, and John didn’t press the issue. There would be time. “D’you think we can go on like this without trying to kill each other?”
Sherlock gave a baritone chuckle. “Now, that is a mystery.”
“Good thing I know a detective, then.”
“Oh really, is he any good?”
“He’s adequate.”
Sherlock gave him a shove. John laughed and lay down next to him, their bodies nearly touching. “I’m still not gay, you know,” he said after a moment.
“Oh, thank God; I wasn’t sure we’d covered that. Tell me John, do they call this ‘pillow talk’ because of the urge to smother your partner with one?”
“I’m just saying.”
“Yes, well.” Sherlock paused and looked up at the ceiling. “Neither am I. Yet look at us both.”
“Mm.” John reached over and gave Sherlock’s hand a thoughtful squeeze before threading their fingers together. “Then what exactly are you?” he blurted out, unable to contain his curiosity.
“The moon.”
“…Sorry, what?”
Sherlock gestured with his free hand toward the world map hanging opposite the bed. “If the north pole is for straight people, and the south pole is for gay people, and you have the whole spectrum in between, then I’m living on the moon.”
John thought about that for a moment. “Sounds a bit lonely.”
“It’s all right. The view’s nice.”
“Well… someone who lives on the equator—” Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but John continued talking. “Well, near the equator, on the northern side— can meet up with someone from the moon from time to time, right? Sort of a long-distance relationship?”
Sherlock gave him another half-grin. “We’ll have to split the airfare.”
“But think of the frequent flier miles.”
“Point.”
They lay for a moment in comfortable silence.
“Now, this moon,” John asked, “does it go around the sun, or does the sun go round—”
“Oh, shut up.”