ihadabadday | In Plain Sight - AU - Locked to seaweed

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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

Oh, this was going to be fun. Sherlock smiled. He normally would never even think about doing this kind of thing for anyone, but John.. well. he was John. HIS John.

Sherlock dipped his head down, licking and biting at John's neck, finding all the places that he knew had made the man shiver.. at least in his former life. His arms down John's sides and played with his thighs, so close but not quite touching the prize.

"Sherlock..." He gasped, his body tense. He... He... John dug his nails into Sherlock's arms, gasping the man's name as he reached his climax. All without being touch.

He made a noise and slumped in the man's arms.

Sherlock smiled, watching the man writhe and buck in his arms while his come spilled out over his stomach and dripped back down over his cock and balls and down the insides of his thighs, to meet his own on the ground.

When John was done, Sherlock easily picked up the exhausted man and laid him back in his bed. He could have cleaned him, but he wanted John to have a reminder of what they had just done.

"Sleep, my Persephone." He whispered softly, watching him for a moment before he left the room.

His mood was dark, thus the weather outside was reflecting that. John sighed and held the cup of coffee in hand, trying to warm himself. He missed the heat of his Hades...

Over the years, he took on the duties also reflected in the Southern Hemisphere, spending six months out of the year away from Hades in London. He sighed and sipped his coffee. He'd lost track of how many years it had been since he had taken this mantle, the mantle of Persephone and that of the Queen of Hell, so to speak.

John let out a breath and rubbed his face. Fuck. He wanted to go home.

To say that Sherlock was in an extraordinarily bad mood was a gross understatement. Unfortunatly (or maybe fortunately in Sherlock's mind) Zeus had called him back to Mount Olympus for a meeting of the gods. When it had been abundantly clear that Sherlock was going to almost literally release hell until he was relieved of this burden he was quickly able to do his part in the meeting and was released back to Hell.

Not that that was much better.

Sadly, even though he had stopped working in the Overworld, he still did the job that he had been doing, collecting souls for favors, That, along with a giant war kept him busy for years as he ferried the soldiers down into the Pool of Souls.

This kept him away from his love, which was only making his aggravation and annoyance and terrible mood worse by the day. Even Cerberus mostly avoided its master now.

He watched John when he could through the scrying crystal, but since he was not a full god , they couldn't communicate.

"FATES! TO ME!" Sherlock yelled loud enough to make the rocks of Hell tremble under his voice. This was coming to an end, and NOW.. He needed his Persephone back.

Greg appeared, looking a little haggard these days. There was just quite a bit that was going on and it was taking its toll on him.

Human's fates were changing rapidly and it was hard to keep up, to keep up with all the changes.

"Yes?" He asked curtly, taking a cigarette out to light it.

Sherlock waited until Greg had lit the the cigarette, then he plucked it out of Greg's mouth and put it in his own, giving Fates a look that said 'I wouldn't dare try to take that back if I were you'.

He took a long puff, sighing softly. The nicotine did much less for him that it would a mortal, but it was still enough to relax him a little bit. He had never bothered to smoke until a couple of days after that last time that he had seen John, which had been almost 3 months now. He still had at least 3 more months to go, and he was tired of waiting.

"This is abominable." He said simply. "I cannot be away from John for half of the mortal year. I know there must be some way that I can see him again. Those idiotic fucking humans are killing each other at a rate I've never seen before, and they are keeping both us too busy. Fix it."

"The Northern and Southern Hemispheres have winters at different times. As Persephone it is his duty." Greg snapped as he lit another cigarette, "Be thankful he's not away from you the entire year, only being able to see each other once a year."

He took a drag from the cigarette and let out a breath.

Sherlock threw the partially used cigarette to the ground, his eyes red like fire, the flames on his head burning a deep, dangerous deep red color. His whole body was tense, ready to strike. He had never, in all the eons of their- well, what could be called friendship he supposed, hit Greg, but he felt like he was just about to.

If he could only seen John once a year, it would tear him apart, Sherlock knew.

Sherlock let out a long breath that he hadn't even needed to take. The flames on his head died down to almost nothing, and his shoulders slumped. He was defeated. There was nothing that Fates could do. He had known that was going to be the case, but he had been hoping that he was wrong, somehow. He was lost, defeated by fate. Not even the Fates could change them.

"There is no way at all that I can communicate with him while he is in the Overworld, other than watching him through the scrying crystal?" He asked, in a soft tone.

Greg stepped over to Sherlock and put a hand on his shoulder. He let out a soft breath. "Well, you can return to your work in the Mortal Realm. I know John has a mobile and you could call him if you were in the same realm."

He knew his friend was hurting. Both of them were. He hated seeing both of them like this.

"Winter is almost up in the Northern Hemisphere, John will be returning soon, and you will have three months with him, before he has to go to the Southern Hemisphere."

"I don't think I can return to the Overworld. That war in the Middle East is killing so many people, I am spending most of my time ferrying them to the Pool of Souls. I barely have time to listen to people's desperate pleas in return for their mortal souls." He sighed. "Unless you have some way to end that stupid war, I will hardly get to see him, even when he is here. Those idiotic humans keep finding new and better ways to kill each other. I'm surprised there are any left, and yet, they are still overpopulating thier world. They really don't get it."

Greg snorted. "Let me see what I can do." He then vanished in a swirl of light.

Days later John returned to the Underworld, but he was busy with his own duties in Hell.

A month after that, the war ended.

The day that John returned to Hell, Sherlock spent the rest of that day in John's bed, taking him in every way that he could, showing him physically how much that he had missed man. He wasn't able to say what he wanted to in words, he showed in with his body- enough that it even left a demi god walking funny for a few days afterwards.

Sherlock watched over the next month as the war flared ever harder, then, as quickly as it had started, one side let loose a couple of bombs, and it was over.

Sherlock was already a third of the way through his time with John, but this meant that barring another war, he would have at least a little time with John before he went to Melbourne, his Southern Hemisphere base of operations. It was ideal because they spoke English, and since John had been English, and Austrailia had been an English colony (albeit hundreds of years before) it wasn't that different than London, his Northern Hemisphere base of operations.

"When you go back to Australia, I will set up my company in the Overworld, back in London. We can communicate with phones or those computer things. I know there s a time difference, but I don't need to sleep, so late night isn't a problem for me."

John turned in bed to face Sherlock. He smiled at the man and stroked his cheek. "I have missed you greatly love." He admitted. He had heard from Fates that Sherlock had missed him as well.

He knew it was hard for the man to admit things, but seeing him like this, especially the day he returned... He had been walking odd for a few days. But the memory just made him smile.

"I am looking forward to being able to see you more frequently. Even if it is through a computer."

"I know they have those virtual things where you can put one some glasses and it will be like I am there." He said, his voice dropping. "But not really. If I can't feel you.." His voice trailed off.. John knew what he meant, it didn't have to be said.

Sherlock laid back, still satiated from the rather vigorous round of sex that had had happened not long before. He was not really one for 'basking in the afterglow' but he found that laying next to John in this strange mortal bed of his, that even after all this time he had not given up (as well as that wierd habit of sleeping) was nice. even if they said nothing and just laid next to each other, being close to him was enough. No words needed to be exchanged, really.

John moved to straddle Sherlock's hips, putting him above the man. He smiled and then cupped his hands together. With a single thought, a seed began to grow between his hands, twisting and turning up and up until a bloom appeared. It was black in the center and faded to a red at the tips. He thought for a moment as it bloomed, brilliant and captivating.

He then set it on Sherlock's chest. It didn't fade and wither and die like others might. It seemed to thrum.

"I created it. For you. To remind you of me when I am not here."

Of course, Sherlock's first thought when John straddled him was to arch upwards, and he did, though as soon as John started to move his hands, he stilled, watching the man create life with his hands.

He was truly awestruck as the seed grew to a flower, one single bloom with beautiful leaves, black as night and red as blood.

For a moment, he let it sit there As the god of Death, he could kill anything he touched, plants withered under his feet and animals fell dead at his feet. He could touch humans without killing them, unless he wanted to of course, or else he wouldn't have found sexual gratification for so many millennia.

But he could feel the magic inside of this plant. As long as John - Persephone- lived, this plant would flower and stay beautiful and haunting.

After a few moments he set the flower to the dressed beside John's bed and arched up again. "It can never even compare to you, but it will always remind me of you.

Sherlock waved his hands around, and he created a rock, about the size of a baseball, it looked like it was made out of lava rock. The top of the rock burned with a fire that warmed the area around it.

He put it in John's hands. "It will never burn you. It will burn as long as Iong as I am the ruler of Hell and god of Death."

John held the ball in his hands and savored the warmth. Warmth of his love for when they were apart. He smiled and leaned over to set it next to the blooming flower.

He then leaned in and kissed the man, savoring the moment. He then pulled back and smiled at him. "I love you." He stroked his cheek gently.

He was hard to believe they used to fight and bicker. His memories and that of the first Persephone were twined together. They were one now.

Sherlock wanted to say those words.. He did.. he really did, but he couldn't find a way to make his lips formed the words..

Instead he leaned up and kissed John fully, arching up as his hands wandered down John's front, his broad long fingers finding John's pecs and his nipples, teasing and twisting at them, watching his lover move above him. Even on the bottom, he was still the one in control.

he found that he liked this position, quite a lot.

John closed his eyes at the touches along his body. Sherlock simply knew how to make him melt and swoon. He adored the man under him and would do anything for him. Anything at all.

"What are you thinking about my love?" he asked.

Sherlock had never.. ever done this.. but he wanted to give John the ultimate gift, something that he had not even given the Old John. the before John. A gift that he hoped John would understand the importance of.

Without a word, he rolled John over until John was on the bottom on Sherlock on top. He hovered over John's cock, sitting lightly on it, not enough pressure to hurt, but enough to hopefully give John the idea of what he was thinking.

John was surprised when they rolled over, Sherlock had been liking of that position lately. But he was even more surprised when Sherlock moved.

His heart caught in his throat.

Was he?

Sherlock leaned down, biting at John's nipples while he leaned down and rocked his hips against John's.

"John..."His voice was a low, almost needy growl. His cock was already starting to harden and rub against John's belly

John reached up and ran a hand through Sherlock's hair. He moaned softly and nodded. "Whatever you want. I will give it to you. For eternity and forever. I am yours and you are mine." He breathed.

"You." he looked down at John. "I want you." He pressed down again, moving his arse up and downs against John's cock. He could already feel it hardening under him. Oh, he longed to feel what it was like to actually have someone inside of him, instead of being the one filled.. what had he missed all of these eons? He hoped that he was about to find out.

In Plain Sight - AU - Locked to seaweed_writes

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