ihadabadday | Into the Night - AU - Locked to seaweed

John stared at him, unimpressed. He merely sipped his tea and then set the cup down.

He pursed his lips together. "The only way I plan on leaving Sherlock is either by death or if I am drafted once more into the military." He said flatly.

"Are all the Holmes men idiots or are you just a special case?"

"Considering that you have already passed your 40th birthday, Doctor Watson, I don't foresee you getting drafted into the military, as the maximum age is 35." He shot John a look, one that silently asked who the idiot truly was here.

He stood up and grabbed his brolly. "Well, I see that this conversation is going to serve no further purpose. I hope that I made my point clear. Good day, Doctor Watson." And with that, he was gone from the flat.

John fished out his phone from his pocket and sent a text to Sherlock.

'Your brother is an idiot.'

He got up to clean up the tea mess. He had no intention of hurting Sherlock. He leaned over the sink, staring down at the drain. How the water trickled down it. He sighed and closed his eyes.

Sherlock looked at his phone for a moment, and then frowned. There was only one explanation for that.

He came to visit you, I suppose?

He was going to have to have a serious talk with Mycroft about this...

He did. I think that he's an idiot. Seems to think that I'm going to break your heart. I have no plans on that.

John sighed and ran a hand over his face. Christ. He really didn't plan on breaking Sherlock's heart. He cared for the man immensely.

Anger coursed through his veins.. not at John, but at Mycroft. He took a moment before composing his message so it wouldn't come out wrong.

This will be dealt with. Don't worry about it any more. He will not darken our door again. I will ensure it.

To be honest, he really had no way to keep Mycroft from his flat, but he would find a way to make it as inhospitable as possible if he ever did come by again.

Good to know. What do you want for dinner?

He finally pushed away from the counter and went to shower. His muscles ached.

As per the norm, Sherlock really wasn't the least bit hungry.

You get yourself something. I may not be back until late. This case that Graham has me on is an 8, at least.

There was no answer for some time. John was just standing in the shower, letting the heat ease the aches in his body. Mycroft was right. He was getting old. Would Sherlock get bored?

He pressed his forehead to the cool tile.

Okay, well he had been lying to John. The case was barely a 6, but he had been aching for a case for weeks, so when Lestrade texted him, he came.

He shuffled the conversation with Mycroft to the back of his mind, he had to compartmentalize his thoughts if he wanted to get anything done.

The sun had long past went down when the so called Avacado Killer was taken into custody, and Sherlock, once again insisting that it was too late for him to be taken to the station and questioned, grabbed a taxi back towards Baker Street.,

John was asleep in their shared bed, looking as if he hadn't been asleep long or well. The sheets were missed and he was sweaty.

Nightmare.

Sherlock frowned. He knew that a person who was having a nightmare should not be restrained or forcefully or quickly woken up.

Instead, he divested himself of his clothing and slipped into bed, but he didn't touch John, not yet. He gave the man room, for now.

"John." He whispered. "John, wake up. I'm home." He knew his voice was soft enough that it wouldn't really wake John, but he mostly just wanted to try to calm him first before he tried to make contact, so John wouldn't accidentally lash out.

It took a few minutes, but John opened his eyes. He made a soft noise as Sherlock came into focus. He swallowed and reached up to the man's cheek. Oh god. He was here. It was okay.

He stroked his fingers along the skin, studying him.

Sherlock continued to softly talk to John until he saw the man stirring. As soon as he knew that John was awake enough, he rolled over onto John's side of the bed, pressing his body close. He had no intention of anything sexual, he just wanted to remind John that he was here, solid and real and alive.

Sherlock leaned into the touch on his cheek, closing his eyes for a moment. "Sleep, John. I'm here. Go back to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up." He really wasn't sleepy, but if this was what John needed, then he would do it without question, even if he had to lay here and just watch John sleep.

He touched Sherlock, smiling before settling down, his eyes closing once more. He slept soundly and without nightmares. It seemed that having Sherlock here helped curb his nightmares.

When John finally woke, he didn't move at first, taking notice of the warm body pressing against his. He reached up and rubbed his face. He wanted to get up and use the loo, but the body pressing against his was warm.

Sherlock had slipped in and out of sleep during the night. It wasn't nightmares that kept him up as much as it was just his really weird circadian rhythms.

When the first light started filtering in through the curtains over the windows in his bedroom, he heard and felt John start to stir. He could tell he needed to get up but he didn't want to at the moment. So he stayed still, keeping his breathing even, his eyes closed, his sense on alert.

"I don't wan to move..." John grumbled even as he snuggled further against Sherlock. For being so skinny, the man was certainly warm. And he did like laying in bed with him.

He knew soon enough his need for the loo would win out and up he would go.

John, despite being shorter, was the "big spoon" as they cuddled, the one behind, wrapping his arms around the one in front of him- in this case, Sherlock.

Because of this, Sherlock could feel John pressing against his hip, but he knew that it was more of the mans need to use the loo than anything else.

"While I agree that this is quite nice, John, I would prefer it if you didn't urinate in my bed because you didn't want to move." He tried to make his voice sound sleepy, but to him at least, it was obvious. To others, he knew, not so much.

John huffed and then got up. Sherlock was right. He made his way to the loo, relieved himself and then splashed some water on his face. He returned to the bed and climbed in, this time making himself the 'little spoon' so he could pull Sherlock's arm over his chest.

"There." He muttered.

Sherlock chuckled as John got up. They both knew that he was right, but it was still amusing to hear John get petulant about it.

He wasn't surprised at all when John came back, only to be the little spoon. Thankfully, Sherlock had (carefully) gotten up earlier to use the loo, so he had no such compunctions about needing to get out of bed any time soon.

Sherlock wrapped his long arms around John and pressed his body close, leaning his head on John's scarred shoulder. He kissed the old wound, gently giving it attention and care.

"That feels nice..." John muttered softly, a smile on his face. He closed his eyes, letting himself relax in Sherlock's arms. He didn't care if the man did anything while he was asleep. He quite liked it to be honest.

"Well, I certainly hope so.." He rumbled in his low baritone. "That's the whole point, isn't it?"

He spent a few more minutes kissing and licking his shoulder wound before moving up to his scapula, nuzzling and licking and kissing along his shoulder blade, moving slowly up towards his neck.

His intention wasn't really sex at the end of this (though if it happened, he wouldn't complain), but it was more to remind John that despite the harsh things he puts the man through, he is cared for and deserves pleasure as well.

John groaned at the sensation. He could feel his body starting to respond, but he made no move to do anything about it.

"I love it when you touch me like that." He whispered, "You're always so good to me..."

"Even when I am bad?" He growled in John's ear, before moving his head back down to where his shoulder met his neck. He bit down, a bit harder than he had been before, a possessive bite with suction that he intended to have leave a mark. It should be low enough that a nice woolly jumper would cover it.. mostly.

John cried out at the bite, his eyes closing. Oh fuck. He grabbed Sherlock's hand and brought it to his hard cock, pressing against his sleep trousers. He shivered and pushed back against the other man. "Yes... Oh yes, especially then..."

Into the Night - AU - Locked to seaweed_writes

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