ihadabadday | In Plain Sight - AU - Locked to seaweed

Entry tags:

In Plain Sight - AU - Locked to seaweed_writes

No one knew how long Gods had walked among the mortals. They just knew they had. Some remained in their country of origin, some branched out and traveled. Others started business or charities. Some just went through existence simply being. Belief didn't have much to do with how the Gods chose to lead their lives.

This tale though, it focuses on the Greek Gods of old and Mount Olympus (which is a real place and traditionally is where Zeus is said to live with Hera).

John Watson didn't care for the politics of the Gods that surrounded them every day. He had other things to focus on, to pay attention to. Like medical school, and then the military. It wasn't until he was shot and laying in the desert, bleeding, did he whisper things to the God of Death, to Hades. To a god he didn't believe in. Blood whispers they were often called. And gods hardly paid attention to them, most believed they were the whispers of dying men.

But John Watson survived when others with the same injury had died. What was different about him?

He returned to London on an army pension and a cane. He shuffled through his life, a constant ache in his chest, like there was something missing. Though he had little to no idea of what was missing. He helped others where he could, donating his time and what little money. A homeless veteran (it boiled him so to see those who helped their country be left behind) once called him a beacon of light.

A beacon of light huh?

Most days he didn't feel like one. Most days his mood was dark and everything was shit.

One night when he was limping slowly back to his dismal bedsit, something caught his attention. He glanced down an alley and saw a tall man dressed in black, being mugged by some ratty youth. The man was far too posh for this neighborhood. So why was he here? But that didn't matter. John, on two strong legs, charged into the alley and used his cane to knock the criminal away. He didn't notice, but there seemed to be a light around him, an otherworldy aura to him.

He held the cane like a sword and pointed it at the would be thief. "You need to leave here." John commanded. It had been easy for some to forget that he had been Captain John Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers in Her Majesty's Army.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

A quick look outside confirmed what John was saying. Winter had fallen, the skies were dark and forboding, the wind howling wildly outside their door.

Suddenly, it dawned on Sherlock.

"We are leaving. NOW."

Without waiting for John to respond, he grabbed the man's arm, and a moment later, they were back in Hell, the gigantic form of Cerberus looming on front of them.

It started to growl, but when it sniffed the air, it knew that scent, it was the mortal that its master had under his protection. It went quiet, going back to its guard position that it has previously been at

John relaxed in Sherlock's arms the moment they were away from the Overworld.

He blinked wearily at the man before reaching up and touching his cheek. "I'm sorry..."

Sherlock still held him, almost bridal style, as they went past Cerberus and into the main throne room. Unfortunately, in a fit of anger, Sherlock had pretty much destroyed HIS John's room not long after he had become a mortal again.

He put John down gently on his throne while he used his magic to put the room back the way it was, even with a toilet and shower again, like he had had in the past, though he wasn't sure if this John was going to want them or not.

When he was done, he gently picked John back up and laid him down in the human style bed.

"You can't go back to the Overworld." He said, simply. "Not until the first day of Winter, the Winter Solsctice. You are Persephone, and you must spend the entirety of the other seasons here, with me, from the Spring Solstice to the Winter Solstice, this is your home."

John looked at him and then nodded. He closed his eyes, letting himself relax.

It would take time for him to be able to control his powers enough to return to the Overworld. But he would be able to, one day.

It was several days later when John was feeling well enough to venture out of the room. He pulled the blanket around himself, having been nude, as he made his way out to the throne room.

There was something comforting about being back in Hell. One would thing that being there for eons would make you beyond claustrophobic and cabin fevered, but it was just the opposite for Sherlock. It was his sanctuary, his domacile.

He had missed it.

Sherlock was quite glad to FINALLY be rid of those stupid human emotions, they had cause him more pain and annoyance than anything else.

He fell right back into his routine of ferrying souls and occasionally going up to the Overworld to deal with clients, though he was already trying to convince Greg to fold it so he could stay in Hell with John.

Sherlock was a patient man, he waited as John slept, checking on him from time to time, but letting him sleep.

When John finally came walking into the throne room in nothing but a blanket, he had to smile. He made quite a nice picture, he had to admit.

"Ah, so you live.... so to speak." He said with a smirk.

John crossed over to where Sherlock was and looked at him. He reached out, touching his cheek, stroking his fingers along the cold skin. "Can you still love me without those pesky human emotions?" He asked quietly.

It had been weighing on him since he woke. Would Sherlock continue to care, or was it simply a front to get what he wanted?

John Watson quite often thought he wasn't worthy of love, of praise... To have it all given to him in this way, it was jarring.

Sherlock leaned into the touch, the man's skin was cool against his hot.

"I did before. I can now." He said simply. He hoped that not having those stupid emotions in the way would make it easier, not harder, though that remained to be seen. Just because he didn't feel emotions in the way that humans did, it didn't mean that he didn't feel at all.

He very much did.

John didn't say anything as he moved to sit in Sherlock's lap, the blanket still wrapped around him.

"I don't know how much of my childhood you saw. But it wasn't a pleasant one. I never thought I was deserving of love..." He admitted to Sherlock.

Sherlock shifted a little to give John more of a lap to sit on. He wasn't quite sure if it would be a bit not good to admit that he had watched John grow up, so he hedged his bets.

"I know enough." He said. Of course, he really knew it all, but that, perhaps, was for another time.

"I also know that you are a good man. You deserve to be happy." Sherlock wondered if he could even give John the love that he knew the man deserved. They had tried once, and it failed spectacularly. Was that bound to happen again? Would they always orbit but never collide?

"I am happy." John blurted out. He flushed red and didn't look at Sherlock.

Just being here brought over a sense of calm. A calm he didn't think he had ever felt before in his life.

After a while, he looked up at Sherlock before leaning up to kiss the man.

"I'm... glad..." Sherlock said, not really sure how to respond to that.

Sherlock leaned in, eagerly kissing John back. After a fer moments, he licked at John's lips, trying to seek entrance inside of them.

He parted his lips, eyes closing into it. Hm... It was... John pulled away and gasped. "Hades..."

He moved and kissed the man again, making a noise.

"Yes..." Sherlock almost hissed.. He loved hearing John say his name. He ran his hand through John's short hair, looking into his eyes. As soon as John started to kiss him again, he tugged at the man's hair, pulling him as close as he could, not wanting any space between the two of them.

"Mmmmmm.."

He nipped at Sherlock's lips before pulling back. The blonde let out a small moan and smiled at Sherlock. He touched his face and then shifted to nuzzle his neck.

"Mm..."

Sherlock leaned his head down and bit at John's neck, leaving marks. Since he was not human any more, there was no one else that he had to impress any more, so Sherlock had no compunctions about marking the man as his own.

"John.." He groaned the man's name while his sharp teeth drew just the slightest bit of blood, not that John needed it any more.

John gasped and reached up, grabbing Sherlock's hair. "Oh god..." he squirmed a bit in the man's lap. He could feel the magic thrumming through him, cooling and reaching out to Sherlock.

To.his.other half. He enjoyed the feeling of those teeth on his neck, those hands holding him.

Sherlock arched up, letting John feel what having the man in his lap.

"John.." He growled, reaching down between John's legs and give him a soft squeeze, then a long, slow stroke.

"Your bed." Sherlock demanded, already starting to move to stand, even with John still sitting there.

John scrambled off Sherlock's lap and nodded. He took the man's hand and led him towards his room.

His bed. His everything.

He turned and looked at Sherlock as he sat on the bed.

Sherlock let himself be led towards the bed. When John sat down, Sherlock waggled his fingers, removing both of their clothes. He was't going to be arsed in taking the time to get rid of them.

He pushed John down, so he fell back onto the bed on his back. Sherlock loomed over him, wanting to fuck him down into the bed, but John hadn't even let him get two fingers into him a short time ago.. Were they ever going to be able to be together, liker him and HIS John were before?

John yelped as he tumbled back. He stared up at Sherlock and smiled. "I had dreams of you..."

That made Sherlock phase for a moment. When had he had those? When he had been passed out, still trying to make the change from mortal to demigod? And what had he dreamed?

“ oh really? He asked, trying not to sound overly interested. What about? “

"You mostly. It was odd. It wasn't this. It was something else. A life between the two of us. Chasing criminals and exciting things like that." He admitted.

John flushed, cheeks and the tips of his ears red.

"Chasing criminals?" Sherlock laughed. "I suppose that I am going to smoke a pipe and wear a funny coat and hat?" He scoffed.

His fingers raced over John's bare skin, down over his nipple, and to places even lower.

He laughed. "No. Just cigarettes."

John moaned as he felt those fingers move over him. Sherlock was... He was one who always got what he wanted. And that was okay. Okay indeed.

"Oh..." He gasped, "Don't stop..."

"Cigarettes? Those things are great, they bring those pesky mortals to me even faster. Don't need em myself." Sherlock smirked.

Those long, thin fingers ran through the thick, brown curls between John's legs, only teasing around the base of his shaft.

"I don't intend on stopping...." He whispered in John's ear, licking around the shell and nibbling softly at the base.

In Plain Sight - AU - Locked to seaweed_writes

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject