Into the Night - AU - Locked to seaweed_writes

[ihadabadday]

Sex sold. It could be seen in marketing for businesses across all sorts of industries.

And for John Watson, his business was booming.

He worked out of a club in London that catered to certain... Tastes. Men and women who looked to dominate someone sexually. Some would look down on a man having that job, scoffing. Sex work was legal though. But those who were interested in BDSM, found sex workers to be lacking.

John was sitting at a bar at the club he usually worked out of, nursing a soda. He rarely drank when he was working, preferring to stay sober.

He looked around the room, seeing if there was anyone who caught his interest tonight.

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[ihadabadday]

Mycroft eyed them, especially John. He swore he knew the man from somewhere. But he could not place where he knew him from.

John tugged Sherlock's hand. They needed to go.

[seaweed_writes]

With one last look back at his brother, Sherlock led John away, making a beeline for the flat. Normally he would have tried some surreptitious route to throw Mycroft off, but this time he didn't even bother. He walked at a fast pace until they were both back in the confines of 221B.

[ihadabadday]

John leaned against the door and stared at Sherlock. He swallowed. "I've met him before. When I was stationed in Afghanistan."

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock gave him a confused look. There was no way his brother, who abhorred 'legwork' would have huffed it out all the way to the deserts of Afghanistan.

"You must be mistaken." He didn't mean for it to sound so harsh, but there is no way that could be true.

[ihadabadday]

"I recognize the haughty air. And the door expression on his face." John shrugged, "There was someone at the base that interested him. Or so the rumour was."

John pushed away from the door. "I should go get some things from my flat."

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock made a huffing noise, to try to cover his laugh. Yeah, that sounds like Mycroft, he thought to himself. But what the hell would he have wanted in Afghanistan? This was well before they had met, so he wasn't checking up on John...

He stepped away from John to give him room. "Mycroft." He blurted out, before he could stop himself. "I have no idea what he could have wanted in your camp in Afghanistan." He knew what Mycroft had wanted now. He wanted to check out this new person that he was... involved with.

[ihadabadday]

John walked over to Sherlock and kissed his cheek. "I'll be back soon." He promised.

He left the flat and headed to his flat to get some clothes. And other things.

[seaweed_writes]

The moment John was gone, he texted his brother.

What the hell was that about in the park, trying to scare John off, and why did he recognize you from Afghanistan?

[ihadabadday]

I was merely curious. He was quite the soldier. And that's state secrets.

John walked down the street until he got to the entrance for the Tube. He hummed softly as he paid. Mycroft Holmes. Why hadn't he made the connection sooner? The man had seen him shortly after he had been shot and Sebastian Moran had been apprehended.

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock frowned. State secrets. Sure.

Seems like an awful strange coincidence, doesn't it? Though the world is rarely that lazy. Your words, brother mine.


There was something more going on here, Sherlock was sure of it, But what? It wasn't like him to not be able to put the pieces together. Of course, if anyone could keep him on his toes and guessing, it was Mycroft.

[ihadabadday]

I happened to be in the area to bring home a wanted criminal.

John got off the Tube and bounded up the steps to the street level. He was happy. Sherlock was making him happy. It was an odd feeling.

[seaweed_writes]

Just happened to be.

And now, one of the soldiers from this mission to apprehend a wanted criminal, which I am sure was successful, was seen int the company of none other than your little brother. And what does the British Government have to say about that?

[ihadabadday]

There was no answer from Mycroft.

John packed a duffel and then left the flat. He would get the rest of his things. For now he had clothes and his laptop. He started back to the Tube station.

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock waited for a witty retort, but when it was clear that one was not coming, he threw his phone onto his chair and went back to the kitchen, where he had set up a rather interesting experiment involving bee pollen and cat dander. He lost himself in the microscope, in The Work, and lost track of time.

[ihadabadday]

John returned to the flat and saw Sherlock was busy. So he went into the bedroom. He began to unpack, putting his clothes in a neat like.

He would wait for Sherlock to see where things could go.

[seaweed_writes]

There was a small part in the back of Sherlock's brain that heard John come back in, and he knew that he was supposed to say something, but the rest of his mind was so preoccupied with what he was doing, that it was immediately overruled, and he continued The Work.

It was hours later, already getting into the late afternoon when he finally completed his experiments. He wrote the last of his results down, and leaned back in the chair, a satisfied sigh escaping his lips.

That's when the rest of his brain kicked in again.

He got up fast enough to toss the chair to the floor.

"John?" He looked around desperately for the man.

[ihadabadday]

"Yes?" John's voice came from the living room. He had made himself comfortable in a chair and was browsing on the internet.

He set the computer to the side and got up. He made his way over to the kitchen. "Are you okay?"

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock had no idea why he had suddenly just felt so empty. He let out a long breath that he didn't even know he had been holding.

John was here, he was safe, he wasn't in some camp in Afghanistan being shot at, or being shot. That was before Sherlock had even known that John Watson existed, and yet.

It still filled him with fear.

He couldn't stop the soft smile on his face when he saw John come into the room. He closed the distance between them and kissed him deeply.

"Yes, I do believe that I am now."

[ihadabadday]

John returned the kiss and then pulled away. He reached up and ran a hand through Sherlock's hair. "I didn't like the frantic look on your face." He admitted.

Running into Mycroft had jarred him a little. It brought back memories he didn't want. So he settled for kissing Sherlock again.

[seaweed_writes]

"I guess... I was just too deep inside myself." It was about the closest to an apology that Sherlock normally got.

He leaned into the fingers in his hair. Normally he couldn't abide by anyone but himself touching the carefully coiffed curls, but John.. well, John was another story.

Sherlock eagerly returned the kiss, spreading his fingers against the back of John's head, pulling him closer even as he ducked his head down to deepen the kiss. It wasn't easy having someone 15cm shorter than you, but they seemed to make it work out alright.

[ihadabadday]

John made a soft noise. Being tugged and pulled and maneuvered made him a little weak in the knees. Images of being pinned to the wall, his legs around Sherlock's waist as the man had him flashed through his mind.

Or sitting on the counter with Sherlock crowding his space and kissing him.

He whimpered softly into the kiss.

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock broke the kiss and looked at John, a salacious smile on his face.

"You're thinking about sex on the counter. I saw your eyes cant over there, and then back to me." He said in a low, sly, sexy voice. "You want me to sit you up there and have my way with you, don't you?" He was almost growling now.

Sherlock pressed his hip up against John's so he could feel what the man was doing to him, just thinking about what they could debauch in his kitchen.

[ihadabadday]

John whimpered and nodded. He had been. The counter, the wall, bent over the table, on the floor. Being made to cook with nothing but an apron and the ever present butt plug inside him.

He pressed his hips back against Sherlock's, gasping. Oh fuck.

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock smiled again. He excelled at reading people, and John was a man who wore his heart on his sleeve, if you could look past the silly woolly jumpers he seemed to like wearing. Even only after a few days of knowing him, he could see the man's thoughts, his intentions.

"Well then, John Watson. Get the hell on with it." He backed John up until his arse was against the counter. Sherlock had a wiry strength, he probably could have hauled John up there bodily, but he preferred not to possibly hurt his back,so best to let John do it himself.

[ihadabadday]

John whimpered and then nodded. He backed up until his arse hit the counter. He hauled himself up onto the counter. He spread his legs, inviting Sherlock in.

He didn't mind that Sherlock could read him. It resulted in fantastic sex.