ihadabadday | Myths and Facts - AU - Locked to seaweed

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Myths and Facts - AU - Locked to seaweed_writes

John Watson was a professor of Archaeology, with a focus in ancient Middle Eastern artifacts and history. He was mild mannered and ordinary. People assumed he was boring, university educated and went home to do whatever it is that ordinary people do when.

But John Watson had a secret. He often carried out interesting archaeological missions (for lack of better descriptors) for the British Government. Things that the government didn't want others to find, to keep secrets safe from the public. Not that the public didn't deserve to know. But there was much that John Watson found that would turn history in its head, which would cause chaos among the population.

But this day, he had finished his classes and was sitting in his office. He was researching something he had been working on his entire career.

The Hanging Gardens of Babylon and thus the other missing Ancient Wonders. The only one that had survived antiquity was the Great Pyramid of Giza. And John suspected that was for a reason. There had been reports of other pyramids being dismantled, of crumbling and collapsing. This pyramid was the height of the pyramid building craze that clutched ancient Egypt for so long.

But that wasn't his focus.

He didn't tell many he was researching the Gardens. Too many other archaeologists had been laughed out of a career for it. No. He wanted to find them, prove their existence before he published anything.

He closed his notebook and tucked it into his messenger bag. It was leather and worn, he had taken it on many of his adventures, and he always kept a gun tucked into it. John left the university ground and hailed a cab. He was off to the British Museum to see the Alexander the Great exhibit that was there. Maybe there was something in the collection that would lead to another clue or breakthrough.

At the museum he was stopped in front of a large stone tablet (a recent discovery) reading the text and translating. It wasn't too busy this day, as it was a Wednesday, but there were still people milling about, talking. And he suspected the Curator, one Sherlock Holmes, was watching or around. Bringing this particular exhibit to the museum had been a feat.

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"Sherlock..." he looked at the man and reached out, touching his hand. John pulled it over and put it on his stomach. He gave a sigh when he felt the touch.

He ached for Sherlock to touch him, to feel him. He let out a breath.

John's warm fingers around his wrist sent another shock of warmth through him. He let the man guide him a few steps closer, then felt the pads of his fingers press against John's bare stomach, just above where he had soiled himself.

His fingers were still, then he moved them infinitely slowly and gently around the skin. He could see the bullet wound in the man's shoulder, and he ached to asked questions, but he kept his mouth still and moved his eyes back down his body, toned but still slightly soft with age.

He gasped when his fingers first touched the milky stickiness on John's lower stomach. He ran his index finger through it, and before he could talk himself out of it, brought it to his lips and took a tiny taste.

"Ohhhh...."

John parted his lips and stared at Sherlock as he moved. Oh god. He whimpered and and.... If he hadn't just come, he might be convinced to become hard once again.

He licked his lips and whined.

"You... God. You are amazing..." he breathed.

"I... I didn't do anything." Sherlock admitted. You are the one who admitted his feelings, you are the one who made an advance on me, and you are the one who.." He paused as a flush came to his cheeks ".. who fellated me.. and then masturbated himself while I looked." He paused again. "I did nothing. I let you do it all. " And he was glad that he had, because he never would have had the gumption to do what John had just done.

"You didn't push me away. You didn't scoff at me or storm away." He watched Sherlock.

He let out a breath and smiled. "Why don't we get some sleep. We're both exhausted."

Sherlock went to the lo, found a flannel and put some warm wet water on it. He came back and very gently cleaned John's stomach. He didn't need much cleaning, John had done a good job, but he gave himself a little wash anyways, then put the flannel in a basket and climbed into bed. It wasn't a huge time difference to London, but enough that a rest sounded good.

He was asleep minutes after his head hitting the pillow.

They gathered supplies and sorted them, making sure they, as a pair, had enough to last them for at least a week. John wasn't sure how long it would be. They did have to check in physically every four, so he wasn't too concerned. But he knew how things could be in the desert.

John knew he was ordinary looking, unassuming. Most people overlooked him, ignored him. He used that to his advantage. While gathering supplies, he made sure he had extra bullets and another gun, just in case. He also had a couple of knives and a collapsible baton.

He looked at Sherlock as they started towards the area where the base camp would be set. "Are you ready?"

Sherlock threw the last of their supplies into the back of the old, battered up Jeep that they had procured for the trip, loaded down with enough extra fuel for them to get around the desert. He was dressed much like the locals, and though he was trying to grow a beard, it was quite slow in coming in, so it was just stubble. He was jealous that John's growth was much thicker and even.

He nodded. "No time like the present." He said, and jumped in on the passenger's side.

John climbed into the driver's seat and donned his sunglasses. A pair of mirrored aviators that he had forever. He glanced at Sherlock and winked before starting the jeep.

They were off.

It was obvious that John was an expert at driving through the desert. He had done it numerous times before and had a calm demeanor that fell over him. It was only a six hour drive from the city to the area of base camp. And he was not in the least surprised to find it bustling already.

He parked the jeep and got out, looking for who might be in charge.

Sherlock had expected the ride to be indeterminably boring, full of sand and nothing else. But the land surprised him, it was hilly, with mountains in the distance, rocky patches, and even small bits of vegetation and.. surprisingly, small scrubby bushes and trees. As loud as the Jeep was, they hadn't really talked any, but he had seen enough to keep him entertained on the 6 hour drive out.

Still, he was glad to reach the camp, and it was nice to see people bustling about, both locals and Englishmen with their pasty white skin covered up as best as possible.

Sherlock jumped out behind John, stretching his long limbs, trying to work the ache out of them. he followed behind John, silently observing the bustling around them.

John spotted the woman and crossed through the camp to speak with her. And introduce himself. From a distance, she seemed both displeased and relieved to see John. It appeared they had a history, or she was just not sure how to feel about an outside expert.

A few minutes later John returned to where Sherlock stood. "They have a tent ready for us." He said. It seemed they would be bunking together the entire time.

Sherlock watched her body language and deduced her. She was divorced, lost custody of the house to her husband, so she was struggling on her own to make ends meet. She wasn't happy to be here, but she was glad that John had arrived, the sooner he arrived the sooner this would be over and she could leave to get back to her new lover.

He said nothing about any of this when John came back, just nodded, not reacting to the fact that they were going to be sharing a tent.. yet again.. They might be out of the city, but there were still quite a few Iranians in camp, and they needed to look professional, so they were going to have to maintain a distance.. for now at least.

John ducked into their shared tent and sat on the cot. It was more like a dorm, which would suit them just fine. He reached up and rubbed his shoulder, the one with the scar on it. He let out a breath and looked at Sherlock.

"Give me a moment and I'll get the maps out to figure out our course of action."

"John." Sherlock looked. There were two cots, on opposite sides of the tent, each of then really only big enough for one person. It looked like, at least for now, they were going to have to sleep alone.
Sherlock noticed the rub of his shoulder and walked up behind John, putting his hands around the scar and kneading ever so gently. "Here, that long drive made it ache I'm sure. let me help." He started into a soft but deep tissue massage, working the muscles under the gnarled skin.

He was a bit disappointed they wouldn't be able to share a sleeping space. But they would make due. There would be opportunities in the future. He hoped.

When Sherlock came over and started to massage his shoulder, he very nearly melted. Oh that felt good. He let out a breath and closed his eyes.

Sherlock smiled. He could feel John start to melt under his touch. Just to be even, he massage John's other shoulder with his other hand, moving between hard muscle working and soft massages..

He looked over to the tent flap, making sure that it was closed, before giving John a soft lick on the base of his neck, where the hem of his shirt opened.

"Feeling better, John?" he whispered in the man's ear.

He shivered when he felt that tongue move against his skin. It was warm and wet and instantly sent a shot of lust through him. He let out a breath and then nodded.

"I am. Thank you."

"Good." He whispered, giving John one more lick before leaning away. He took his hands away, reluctantly, moving over to his bunk.

"You.. were going to look at maps?" He reminded John.

John grumbled but nodded. He retrieved the silver case that he had hardly let out of his sight the entire time they'd been together. He carefully opened it, revealing neat sections with scrolls. He carefully withdrew one and unrolled it slowly.

"Come over here."

Sherlock's jaw dropped a bit when he saw a scroll, browned with age on the sides, made out of pound papyrus. It must be over 2000 years old, he thought to himself.

And the writing on it, it was Assyrian, he was sure of it, even if he had no idea what it said, he recognized it from the stone in the museum. He stood behind John, one hand on his good shoulder to not only affirm that he was there and he was close, but honestly to hold himself up a bit, this was so intensely fascinating to him.

"what does it say?" He asked in a whisper.

He smiled softly up at Sherlock. These had been a find he had purposely kept quiet. Some of the content on the various scrolls would cause an uprising in the academic world. Best to let them remains forgotten.

"The scroll itself is rather boring. It talks of an order of for Sahara roses. A breed thought to be extinct in our era. But what is interesting is the writing along the border. It's part of a map."

He looked a bit confused. "Why would they write part of a map at the border.. or was this a part of a larger scroll that was either lost or removed on purpose?" Sherlock asked. "And do you have the other part of the map?" He had a million other question, but tried to calm himself.

Though there was one he had to ask.

"You said Sahara roses are extinct now.. but would they have grown in the Hanging Gardens? "

John nodded. "Yes, it is thought to have grown in the Hanging Gardens." He answered.

"And I do have the rest of the map. Each part was written by a different person, so the scrolls themselves span the ages."

"But how did different people write different parts of a map over different years? How did they know what the others had done, and what needed to be added?" Every answer seemed to bring more questions, and Sherlock wanted to know them all.

"I don't know. But the map lines up." John sighed and looked at Sherlock.

"Can you find me a copy of a map?"

Myths and Facts - AU - Locked to seaweed_writes

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