City of Refuge

Screw you LJ

2013-08-03T20:40:44Z

I was really starting to think all my friends were leaving LJ. Turns out some of you are but the other thing I have learned is that LJ is no longer sending me emails when people post. Screw you LJ.

Currently transferring my tics over to AO3 and still planning on posting here soon too as soon as writers funk leaves me.

Maybe I should google some prompts or something.

your_icequeen ---> ladyredcrest

2013-02-17T16:08:02Z

For those of you that have known me (outside of LJ) for a while, you know that I have two usernames that I use. your_icequeen and LadyRedCrest. your_icequeen was created at a time when writing FF was less accepted than it is now and when I was writing RPF. It seemed like a good way to keep me separate from myself, if that makes sense.

However, as of this morning I changed that. It has become annoying to keep up with which username I use where on the internet, which ones people will know my by, and which ones I want to use at cons. So screw it.

I've changed my LJ but you will still be directed to me. Just good luck on remembering who I was on your friends list.

C

Gibbs-DiNozzo Xmas Card

2012-12-24T19:58:40Z

Senator DiNozzo [1/2]

2012-12-16T21:32:08Z

Title: Senator DiNozzo
Author: ladyredcrest
Author's Notes (if any): See end.
Beta: xixie (But let it be known that I have made changes to it since she saw it... Mistakes, you all belong to me.)
Warnings (if any): None
Spoilers: None it's an AU
Characters / Pairings: Gibbs/DiNozzo eventually
Rating: PG for this part.
Genre / Category: Not-really Casefic
Word Count: 2954 for this part (it seemed like a good place to cut).
Disclaimer: Really don’t own them but if I did I would carry them around in my pocket forever.
Summary: Someone is after Senator DiNozzo.

Anthony DiNozzo watched the debate continue. With as much as people were talking you would have never known they were trying to wrap things up before the Senate went on Christmas break.

The repeal of DADT had not only added justification in some people’s opinion about Gay Marriage but it also pushed the timetable. Senate Democrats wanted to vote on the issue while the recent turnover was still fresh in the public’s mind.

Everyone knew where Senator DiNozzo of New York stood on the topic, much to his own father’s chagrin. The gossip rags loved to publish pictures of him entering or leaving either some political or social gathering with a real looker on his arm. And based on his recent electoral blowout it didn’t seem that his constituents minded whether the looker was male or female.

Tony glanced at his watch. He had spoken his peace about two hours ago, and finally the call for a vote had been made.

‘Might make it home at a decent hour after all,’ he thought to himself.

&&&

It was just before midnight when he finally sank into the chair in his study. The resolution was on its way to the House, which still had a few days before adjournment.

The Alexandria townhouse had become more of a home than the family estate in Long Island. It might have been ‘home’ before his mother’s death, his father’s drinking, multiple boarding schools, a military academy and Ohio State University. Now, the family estate was more like a vacation home he only visited when obligated.

Tony mentally chastised himself for where his thoughts were going and picked up the holiday itinerary that his assistant had left on the desk. He had a few days here in town to relax before heading back to New York for a few benefit dinners and holiday gatherings. Followed, of course, by the New Year’s Ball thrown by the Secretary of the Navy and his wife back in DC. Tony knew the only reason he received that invite was because if his position as chairman of the Senate Committee on Appropriations. It seemed that the new defense budget was on the table come January with a huge increase in the funds allotted for the Navy, NCIS in particular.

‘Let the shmoozing begin,’ he chuckled to himself as he begun to flip through the day’s mail.

It was a long running debate between Tony and his assistant but it was something Tony did every night. Rather than have Ned decide what was important enough to come across his desk, Tony always did this himself. He would then sort it into correspondence he would respond to personally and what would be waiting on Ned’s more than capable hands in the morning.

The smile he was wearing increased as he read the latest wedding proposal. Tony thought back to the day he had to draft what was now the standard response to requests for dates or marriage. He knew he was a good looking man but never did he understand why people would want to marry some guy they had never met. But the sheer number of letters and messages that he received through his website and mail had caused them to have to put together something to send back to all of them.

It was because of this Tony didn’t think anything about opening the next slightly heavy, hand addressed envelope on the pile.

What did grab his attention were the photographs that tumbled out when he unfolded the letter. There was an assortment of him at the gym, getting in his car, in his bedroom, one from his office and even a couple from some actor’s birthday party the week before.

“Shit.”

Your living on borrowed time.

-God’s Army

Tony stared at the letter and photographs until his mind had pretty much gone blank before getting up and locking them in his safe. He’d have Ned make all the appropriate calls when he got to the house in a few hours. Until then he decided it was best to put it our of his mind for now and head to bed.

One of ‘DiNozzo’s Special Talents,’ from the PG list that is, was the ability to turn off his brain and sleep whenever had the chance. Something he’d perfected in college when he had to balance his busy social calendar with his academic and athletic ones.

Tony woke to the sound of gunshots followed by breaking glass. On an instinct he didn’t know he had, he immediately rolled off the bed and placed it between himself and the windows.

Eventually, when he began to hear sirens in the distance, Tony extracted himself from the coverlet on the floor and grabbed his phone.

“Ned, you need to get over here right now. Someone shot up the place,” Tony said before the other man even had a chance to greet him.

“My God, Tony, are you all right?”

“Yeah, sounds like the cops are almost here…” he paused trying to decide whether to continue.

“What aren’t you telling me Tony? We’ve been together long enough for me to know when you’re holding back.”

Tony sighed. He could hear Ned starting his car in the background. “In last night’s mail I may have gotten a death threat.”

“May have gotten one or did get one? And why didn’t you call me? Okay, I’m on my way. DO NOT under any circumstances go outside and for the love of god, do not talk to any reporters. I’ll be there soon.”

“Hey Ned. Since we’re both up can you bring doughnuts?” Tony joked, trying to lighten the situation.

Ned disconnected the call.

Tony slipped on his robe and a pair of shoes before descending the stairs to survey the damage done and meet Metro PD at the door.

&&&

Gibbs rolled out from under the skeleton of his latest boat and grabbed the phone that was next to the mug and empty bottle of bourbon.

“Gibbs.”

“Special Agent Gibbs, I need you in MTAC ASAP. Go ahead and call in your team. They’ll be needed after.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes, Director.”

“Make it 15, Agent Gibbs.”

Having heard the stern yet urgent tone in Director Vance’s voice, Gibbs took the stairs two at a time.

Entering MTAC he was surprised to see not only SecNav on the split screen but also the director of the FBI and Deputy Director of Homeland Security, Tom Morrow.

“Jethro, it’s good to see you again.”

“Hello Tom.”

“Shall we get started?” Director Vance interrupted.

“Sure, Leon.” The director of the FBI responded, “This morning at approximately 0230 attacks were made on a Senator’s home in Alexandria. At the same time a bomb was found and disabled on the steps of the capitol. It is not believed at this time that they intended to set off the bomb, but we’re taking it seriously none the less. We think it was just their way of informing us that it was possible. The letter attached basically said they were enacting God’s vengeance on the unfaithful. It was signed ‘God’s Army.’ Tom?”

“God’s Army is a home grown militia that has somehow made connections in South Africa, where an unknown group has been supplying them with weapons.”

“How do we fit in?” Vance asked.

“The Senator was Anthony DiNozzo and because of the vote yesterday we are treating the attacks not only as an act of terrorism but a hate crime as well. Normally, that would put it squarely in the hands of the FBI. However, Secretary Jarvis has offered NCIS’ assistance in the matter and I would like to take him up on that.”

SecNav cut in, “Director Vance, I want Special Agent Gibbs and his team on protection detail for the Senator. That should free up FBI resources to track down the treats in the area.”

“Yes Sir,” Gibbs responded.

“Good. The Senator is still at his home in Alexandria. We wanted to move him to a safe house, but for now he is refusing to go. He’s also refusing protective detail, but his aide gave us the go ahead anyway.”

Gibbs half shrugged at the screen. If his job was to keep the man from getting himself killed then he would do it, even if he had to confine him to one location for the duration.

Vance broke in, “We will expect to be kept in the loop on developments with the case. It’s easier to protect someone if we have some idea of what’s going on.”

The director nodded at the tech in the room and the screen went blank.

“Special Agent Gibbs, don’t screw this up.”

“When have I ever let you down, Leon.” Gibbs smirked as he left MTAC to update his team.

&&&

It was 0500 when the two Dodge Chargers pulled up to the Alexandria residence. Metro was still on sight fulfilling the role of crown control while FBI agents worked the scene.

“McGee, take some photos of the crowd. I want to know if we see anyone more than once or that raise any red flags in the system. Start Abby on facial recognition, then meet us inside.”

“Yes, Boss,” he responded, breaking off from the group.

“Todd, David, canvas the area. We need to know our weak spots if we keep him here.”

“On it.”

“Yes, Gibbs.”

Gibbs made his way into the town-home and found FBI agent Tobias Fornell, Senator DiNozzo and a younger man, obviously an assistant of some kind, in a den to the left of the entrance foyer.

“Fornell,” he greeted the other agent.

“Gibbs, this is Senator Anthony DiNozzo and his aide, Ned Dornegat.” He turned to the Senator. “This is Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS. He will be leading your protection detail-“

“That I don’t need.” DiNozzo cut in.

“That you don’t want, sir.” Ned cut in, “But you will have.”

DiNozzo threw up his hands. “Fine.”

“Senator, if you just let us do our job then your life shouldn’t be altered too much with our presence.” Gibbs attempted to be diplomatic because even though he hated it, he knew how to play the game.

“All right. Then I hope you have your running shoes Agent Gibbs because I run at 0600.” The senator walked out of the room and up the stairs.

“Don’t take his attitude to heart, Agent. He’ll get over it soon enough. Let me get you a copy of his itinerary for today.”

Ned made his way over to what Gibbs assumed was DiNozzo’s study, returning with a sheet of paper.

“Like he said, he runs every morning at six. Usually, just around the neighborhood. He does have a gym membership but hates to use it.”

“Well, he’ll be using it today if he wants to work out.”

Ned nodded, then continued, “He runs between 7 – 10 miles. After that he has a 9am breakfast meeting with the leaders of some of the more prominent women’s groups at the Adams House. Then a break before a small meeting with some of his campaign staff..”

“I thought he was just re-elected.” McGee broke in as he stepped into the room.

“You must not know much about politics. Good politicians are always running for office. Especially if they have already won.”

“Oh.”

“That meeting is at 11:30. Then a suit fitting for the SecNav’s party at 1:00 and dinner here at the house around 6:00. Though as you can guess, I will be moving that one.”

The lead agent grunted. “We will be moving him to a safe house. Pack up any of his papers you think he will need and clothes. I will send a couple of agents by for them later.”

He didn’t even wait for the assistant’s reply before he walked back to the front door.

“Gibbs,” Kate called to him from the end of the porch near the road. “There is no way to secure the house. Too many entrances and exits from the neighborhood.”

He passed the itinerary to her. “I’ll take David and do first watch. You and McGee set up the safe house, then swing back by here to pick up the Senator’s belongings. We will meet you back there after his 1400.”

“I’ll inform the Senator.” Ned headed to meet DINozzo as he was coming down the stairs.

Tony’s voice was loud enough to hear even a room away. “No safe house. We already had that discussion with the FBI. I won’t hide.”

“Senator, you can’t stay here. The whole house has been shot up. The agents are going to do their thing and then I am going to arrange for a clean-up and renovations crew to come in.”

“Then make me a reservation at a hotel.”

Kate shot Gibbs a look.

“Todd, pull the car around the back. We’re moving out.” He watched her scurry away at his tone. He turned to the Senator and his aide. “Senator DiNozzo, grab what you need for the gym and your meetings.”

Tony stared at him for a moment before heading back up the stairs.

“You’re gonna have your hands full.” Ned added after his boss had disappeared into the bedroom.”

Gibbs grunted.

&&&

The day went fairly smoothly. Senator DiNozzo complained but always did what Gibbs told him to do. It wasn’t until the suit fitting that he lost his patience.

“I seriously doubt that whatever hate group this is will be hiding in my tailor’s dressing room,” he said to Ziva as she checked around the fitting area.

“Why do you complain so much? We’re trying to keep you safe.”

“Agent David, look at it from my position. I’m a US Senator from a prominent family. What does it say to the everyman if I need bodyguards? Besides, I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it since I was twelve.”

David went to answer but was cut off by someone joining them in the room. She turned quickly and pulled her gun but the man ignored her.

“Antonio, il mio amico! Vedo che hai portato amici con voi aggi.” He grasped Tony’s outstretched hand. “Sei nei guai?” <Antonio, my friend. I see you brought friends with you. Are you in trouble?>

“Non e niente di cui preoccuparsi, Giorgio.” <It’s nothing to worry about, Giorgio.>

“Ti tengo a questo. Che cosa stiamo vestendo per oggi?” <I’ll hold you to that. What are we dressing for today?>

“Capodanno Veglione per il Segretario della Marina” <New Year’s Eve Party for the Secretary of the Navy.>

“Eccellente” <Excellent.>

Gorgio worked on updating Tony’s measurements that he kept on file, occasionally asking the younger man a question or making a comment in Italian. Just as they were finished Gibbs stormed through the door. “Ziva, get the car. We need to move.”

Tony looked up from where he was putting his coat back on. “What’s wrong Agent Gibbs?”

“We’re being watched. Go out the back.”

He ignored the now flustered tailor and ushered Tony out the back door to the waiting car.

“David, lose the tail, and get us to the safe house.”

Ziva pulled the car out of the back alley and towards Annapolis.

Gibbs pulled out his cell, keeping a close eye on the cars behind, “We’ve got company. Get McGee and double check security. If they made us, they may have had an eye on all the cars that left the townhouse.”

“Gibbs, I think we’ve lost them.” Ziva’s voice chimed in from the front seat as he closed the phone.

They made it to the safe house without another sighting of the car following them. She pulled the car into the attached garage, closing the door behind them.

“I am never riding with her again,” Tony said walking into the house.

“Boss, there is questionable activity in the house two houses down across the street.”

“Questionable, McGee?”

“Yes, Boss. Two individuals went in about an hour ago and keep checking the window.”

“Keep an eye on them, we’ll need to make other arrangements.” Gibbs walked into the kitchen to make a call. “Fornell, we picked up a tail in Georgetown, and we have two men watching the safe house. We’re moving DiNozzo. Any update on the case?”

He snapped the phone shut.

“Um... Boss? Boss, we have to go.” McGee called from the other room, pushing the Senator into the kitchen towards the back door.

Gibbs grabbed him by the arm and pulled him out the door towards Kate and McGee’s car.

“What’s going on?”

“Don’t ask questions just get to the car,” Gibbs responded. He wasn’t completely sure what was going on either. But he trusted his agents’ instincts enough to move when they said and fill in the gaps later.

Kate’s yell cut off any conversation that could have followed, “Down!”

Gibbs pushed Tony down and covered him with his own body as the house behind them exploded.

The ringing in his ears made it impossible to know if the agents that protected him were all right. Tony looked over his shoulder at the man on top of him. Feeling like he should say something he smiled at Gibbs, “If you wanted to roll around, Agent Gibbs, all you had to do was ask.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, DiNozzo. That’s just my gun. Now, get in the damn car.”

TBC

A/N: There will be slashyness next part which will be posted along with my art on the 24th. This just seemed like a good place to cut it since there was no way I was going to finish in time.

Tibbs Yuletide

2012-11-05T16:25:46Z

Go sign up!! Do it!

http://tibbs-yuletide.livejournal.com/41988.html

Sherlopalooza

2012-10-12T20:06:40Z

So excited! Got my ticket today for Sherlopalooza. Looking to get 221B Con shirts made in the meantime so peeps will be able to find me.

Yay!!

221bcon.com

My LJ Friends!

2012-09-22T21:40:44Z

I'm back and have whipped my muses into submission! After many free writes and rewriting chapters/oneshots so many times I scrapped complete stories, I have returned to thee!

As soon as they are typed up and beta-ed I will have things to post for you all in both the Sherlock and the NCIS fandom.

It's like Christmas (except near my favorite holiday, Halloween)!

Next update!!

221B Con is coming together nicely. I am so excited about what we have been able to do so far and am looking forward to the announcements that are coming in the next few weeks, including programming. Keep your eyes on our twitter, tumblr, or website (221bcon.com).

London!!

My trip to London is less than two months away (so is my turning 31, which I will do the day I land). And I am super excited! Anyone that wants to meet up while I am there, please let me know. I am all for it!!

Work stuff:

Well, I am back on the quest for a new job. I've decided that my time in this little town is done and I need to move on. Revamping the resume this weekend and submitting next week. Hooray! Wish me luck and cross your fingers and toes, ladies and gents!!

C

I can't find my muses.

2012-03-19T05:21:23Z

Everyone's voice is wrong. And plots are going wonky.

Fic: The House by your_icequeen, Day 16

2011-12-16T05:24:31Z

Title: The House
Author: ladyredcrest
Author's Notes (if any): Something very different from my normal smut.
Beta: bravofiftyone (But let it be known that I have made changes to it since she saw it... Mistakes, you all belong to me.)
Warnings (if any): None
Spoilers: None
Characters / Pairings: Gibbs/DiNozzo
Rating: G
Genre / Category: Fluff? And maybe Character Study depending on your definition of Character...
Word Count: 849
Disclaimer: Really don’t own them but if I did I would carry them around in my pocket forever.
Summary: The House where Gibbs lived.

Neighborhood children, now grown into adults with children of their own, used to speak in whispers of The House in the middle of the street. The way that kids do when they tell scary stories around a flashlight at a sleepover. And that is what they called it: The House.

The House was quiet, set back from the road a bit and usually dark. There was no candy handed out at Halloween and definitely never any decorations displayed (except for a lonely American flag that stayed out year round).

The owner of The House was an older man and well, no one really spoke to him except for the occasional ‘hello,’ which he usually responded to with a grunt and partial wave. The children’s rumors about him ranged from some sort of monster, which would eat kids and terrorize animals at night, to a big bad spy for the government.

Occasionally, they would see other people enter The House and the kids would come up with reasons for their visits, but those people always left. Some people they only saw once, maybe twice, but others were constants over their grade school years: the girl with black pigtails, the man with the sporty car and the bald guy who usually wore a trench coat.

The one they saw more than others though, was the guy with the car. Well, they didn’t see him very often, but they saw his car. It started out only being there a couple of times a month. Then once for a weekend, and then back to a couple of times a month for a few years. Nothing for months and then almost every day.

It was the almost everyday that got the child rumor-mill running at full steam; not that the man visited so frequently but the little changes that came with him.

It started out as a single un-carved pumpkin on the front step on Halloween. Followed by a few strands of blinking outdoor Christmas lights, inexpertly strung in the bushes during December. Shortly after the moving van came and went, a USMC flag went up next to the constant that was the Stars and Stripes. And the next Halloween saw not only a goofily carved pumpkin, but a couple of bales of hay and a straw scarecrow.

With every passing year The House came to life a little more. The occasional light could be seen from a room other than the basement. And if the curtains were open and the neighborhood children were out later than they should be, a television could be spotted through the downstairs window.

Soon, the owner of the house was more visible. He was slightly older now, came and went more frequently during the day than he used to, and was even seen smiling a few times. Polo shirts and slacks were replaced with sweatshirts, t-shirts and jeans. And the rumors that he was the monster under children’s beds disappeared.

This year though, would be one the neighborhood children would remember.

The man with the now new sporty car left in a taxi one Tuesday morning, suitcase in hand. And the owner left shortly thereafter, in the beat-up pickup truck usually reserved for trips to the lumberyard. He returned with boxes and boxes of freshly bought decorations and a large full tree.

The now stay-at-home moms and dads watched as the man cut off the bottom of the tree and took it into The House. From the boxes on the porch he pulled strands of white lights which were hung with the utmost care on trees, bushes and the eaves. Next came a light up Santa and sled that (once assembled) found their place on the lawn. Red Solar lanterns placed along the driveway to The House began to take on color almost immediately.

When night finally fell, the rest of the boxes were taken inside. And from the opened window anyone could see the baubles that found their way to the tree that stood in a place of honor next to the fireplace. New ornaments barely out of the packaging dangled on branches, next to old ones carefully painted and colored by a child’s hand. The angel on top flickered to life when the owner flipped the switch on the wall, taking in his handiwork.

The next evening the man was just finishing putting the presents under the tree, each one painstakingly wrapped, when the taxi pulled up to the curb. He made it to the door just in time to see the man with the sporty car step out of the cab, mouth open in awe of The House before him. He fished some bills out of his wallet for the driver, and walked up the driveway, taking in every light, every glow, no matter how faint or bright, like it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Making his way into The House, he froze in the open doorway before moving on and walking to the owner. While none of the neighborhood children could hear the words between them, the kiss was that obvious through the open window said everything that needed to be said…

The House had finally become a Home.

Fic: Tonio's by your_icequeen, Day 10

2011-12-10T05:08:02Z

Title: Tonio’s
Author: ladyredcrest
Author's Notes (if any): It’s my first time (in this fandom), please be gentle.
Beta: rose_malmaison (Who had no idea what she was getting into by agreeing to beta for me and helped rewrite a good portion of this fic because she is bloody brilliant.) But I worked on it after she saw it, so all mistakes belong to me.
Warnings (if any): 1 bad word, that isn’t really all that bad. And and epilogue that is pretty much classified as pwp.
Spoilers: None
Characters / Pairings: Gibbs/DiNozzo and heavily implied DiNozzo/OMC
Rating: R/NC-17
Genre / Category: AU Casefic
Word Count: 7,059
Disclaimer: Really don’t own them but if I did I would carry them around in my pocket forever.
Summary: Tony runs a coffee shop and gets involved in a case that hits kinda close to home.

“Gibbs! Gibbs!” Abby yells, running off the elevator.

“What is that crap?” he asks, pointing at one of the cups in her hands.

“Oh, this is a Double Hazelnut Vanilla Mocha Latte, topped with whipped cream and chocolate syrup. It’s the special at Tonio’s today.”

“You know, your teeth will fall out if you drink that.”

“But this,” she continues without acknowledging his comment, “is the House Caffe Stretto. And according to Tony, can double as rocket fuel. I had him make you a Grande instead of the Piccolo which is how it normally comes.”

“Tony?”

“Yeah, Tony. Try it, Gibbs!” She thrusts the cup at him.

Gibbs looks at her skeptically and takes a sip. He has to fight back the moan as the strong, bitter flavors explode on his tastebuds.

Abby watches the heavenly bliss pass over her boss’ usually hard expression.

“It’s better than sex, right? Well, maybe not better than sex with Tony. I mean you should see the guy−”

He cuts her off, “It is pretty good.”

“Pretty good? Admit it, Bossman. It’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted. Tony is an artist when it comes to coffee. You should try some of his pastries!”

“All right, maybe it’s better than pretty good. Where is the place, anyhow?” I thought I knew all the coffee shops around the Navy Yard.”

“It’s new! And, like two blocks from here. Just outside the west gate.”

“Well, thanks for the coffee, Abs,” he says, giving her a kiss to the temple. “Now, don’t you have work to do?”

Abby gives him a sloppy salute and heads back towards the elevator.

&&&&&&

It’s around 19:00 when Gibbs tosses another breakroom coffee cup into the trash. The case is moving at a snail’s pace and the sludge that he normally drinks just doesn’t taste right after the cup Abby had brought him this morning. He glances at his watch and wonders what time Tonio’s closes. Grabbing his badge and gun he starts towards the elevator. “I’m going for coffee. Todd, make sure that BOLO goes out on the victim’s car. McGee, run financials and backgrounds on both the victim and the suspect. See if you can find a connection. Call me if anything changes.”

“Yes, Boss,” both agents respond as the doors close.

With a nod to the guard working the west gate, Gibbs crosses the street to the only shop still with lights on, Tonio’s Italian Café.

The café has an almost homey feel, Gibbs notices. With tables on one side of the room and overstuffed armchairs, a grand piano and a well lit Christmas tree on the other. Soft jazz music filters from a stereo in the corner. The only other people in the place are obviously students, expressively talking about classic films. At least that is what Gibbs assumes they are talking about, based on hearing dames like Bogart and Hepburn being thrown around.

One of the guys breaks off from the group and slips behind the counter with an athletic grace.

Gibbs stomach flip-flops as green eyes meet blue and the warm smile he receives almost makes his chest ache.

“Hey, what can I get ya?”

“The House Caffe Stretto. Grande.”

The warm smile turns breathtaking as the other man’s eyes seem to sparkle with happiness. “You must be Gibbs.”

Gibbs holds out his hand. “Jethro. How’d you guess?”

Sparks seem to fly between them as Tony shakes the offered hand. “I’m Tony. And Abby may have mentioned you once or twice. The phrase I seem to remember used was ‘silver-haired fox.’ I can see she wasn’t exaggerating.”

They stare at each other for a moment before heat rises on the younger man’s cheeks and Jethro wonders how far down the flush goes.

Tony turns to the back counter. “I’ll just grab your drink.”

Gibbs watches at the sweater Tony is wearing pulls tight across a muscular back and shoulders, something else he realizes he would like to see more of. He is pulled from his thoughts when a to-go cup is placed on the counter before him.

“On the house,” Tony says with another of his delectable smiles.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Any friend of Abby’s…” he trails off with a wink.

“Thanks, you’ll have to tell me your secret to the perfect cup of coffee sometime.”

A mischievous look passes over the younger man’s face. “I could but then you wouldn’t have any reason to come back. So, I won’t.”

“Then I will just have to keep asking. You’ll give in eventually.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“I am pretty persistent and patient.”

They stare at each other, feeling the comfortable tension grow between them before the sound of a phone ringing startles them both. Gibbs grimaces as he realizes it’s coming from his pocket.

“Saved by the bell.” Tony says with another smile.

“Excuse me,” Jethro responds stepping slightly away from the counter. “Gibbs.”

Tony busies himself on the rear workspace to give Gibbs some privacy.

“All right, meet me at Tonio’s. Good work, McGee.”

“Here. One for the road,” Tony says, after Jethro hangs up.

“Thanks again. I have to go.” Gibbs starts towards the door but stops. “I notice you don’t have any hours posted.”

Tony shrugs. “I live above the shop, so I work when I want. If it’s ever closed just ring the bell or come around to the stairs in the back. If I’m around, I’ll come down.”

With a nod, Gibbs is out the door and climbing into the driver’s seat of the government sedan that just pulled up.

&&&&&&

Tony is prepping for the day when the bell for the door goes off. He turns around to see he new favorite Special Agent waiting.

“Jethro! You’re here early. Come in,” he greets while opening the door, both ignoring the ‘closed’ sign.

Gibbs steps through and Tony closes and locks it behind them.

“I thought I’d stop by on my way into the office.”

“Awesome. Grab a seat, I’ll get you a drink.”

Jethro watches as Tony walks back behind the counter and works his magic. “Abby said once that your coffee was better than sex.” He cringes, wondering why he was suddenly acting like a pubescent boy, letting his mouth run away from him.

The feeling is quickly replaced by Tony's laughter, which fills the room.

“That’s because she’s never had sex with me.” The ever-present smile is still on the young man’s face.

The only response Tony receives is a smirk and a grunt as Jethro takes his first sip of his newest addiction. After he swallows Jethro sighs with pleasure, and before he knows he's even going to open his mouth, he asks, “Do you have plans tonight?”

Obviously surprised by the question, Tony thinks for a second before answering. “Nope. What do you have in mind?”

“Have dinner with me.”

“Sure. What time?”

“Let’s say 20:00.” Gibbs pulls a pen from his pocket and jots his address down on a napkin. “I’ll cook.”

“A home cooked meal? I’m in! Here,” Tony pulls the pen out of Jethro’s hand and writes his phone number on another napkin and pushes it across the table. “Just case you get a case or something.”

“All right, see you tonight.” Gibbs stands, pushing his chair back under the table and walks to the door.

Tony lets him out and flips the sign to ‘Open.’

Gibbs doesn’t remember the last time he was this excited about a date. And by the look on Tony’s face, when he glances back, he would guess the other man feels the same.

&&&&&&

It started to snow a few hours earlier, and Tony is glad the worst of it held off until tonight. He’d have hated to have to cancel if the roads were too bad to drive.

Putting his Corvette in park, he looks up at the two-story house in front of him. From his place in the driveway, he can see through the living room window. Jethro is kneeling in front of a fireplace. Tony watches him for a moment before pulling his coat tighter around himself, grabs both the six pack of beer and the bottle of wine from the passenger seat and walks to the door.

It opens before he can even knock.

“I was starting to wonder if you were going to come inside,” Jethro says with a playful smirk.

“You know, just enjoying the view through the window.” Tony passes over both the wine and beer. “I didn’t really know what would be appropriate with dinner, so I brought both.”

“Well, we’re having steak,” Jethro announces as he walks into the kitchen with the bottles.

He returns to the fireplace and flips the large steak that is grilling there.

“It’s like cowboy style,” Tony chuckles.

“It’s done, is what it is. Pass me that plate.”

Tony picks one of the plates off the coffee table and hands it to Jethro, who in turn places a large piece of meat on it followed by two tinfoil-wrapped potatoes. He divides up the food between that one and the other plate that is on the table. “What do you want to go with it?”

The question appears to catch Tony off guard for a moment.

“For the potato?” Jethro prompts.

“Just butter.”

Gibbs walks into the kitchen and comes back with the butter and two beers.

They sit side by side on the couch eating in relative silence that is far from uncomfortable.

Tony pushes his plate away first. “Oh, I’m stuffed, that was amazing Jethro. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Jethro grabs their plates and walks into the kitchen.

Tony follows and leans against the counter next to the sink.

Gibbs glances at Tony out of the corner of his eye, “How’s business going?”

“It’s good. Enough to keep me busy, and the bills paid, without feeling overworked. How is crime-fighting?” Tony asks with a smile and a bump of his hip against Jethro’s.

“What is it you said? ‘Keeps me busy and pays the bills.’” Tony reaches over and puts his hand on Jethro’s cheek, turning his head slightly. He leans in and places the gentlest of chaste kisses on the older man’s lips. He pulls back slightly and breaks the kiss. “Wanna go make out on the couch?” The mischievous look from the café returns to his face.

“I could probably be convinced.”

&&&&&&

Tony gives his name to security and waits while the guard calls a member of Gibbs’ team to escort him up. Over the past few weeks he has grown closer to all of them. Especially Jethro, even though they haven’t had a lot of time to spend alone, with him catching case after case, Tony feels what they do have is on the cusp of a full-time relationship. And with a little more time together it might be exactly that. The thought brings a smile to his face.

A cheerful voice snatches his attention and pulls it back to the present. “Tony!” It’s no surprise that it is Abby that runs and hugs him in the lobby.

“Hey Abs.” He smiles kissing her on the cheek. “I thought I would just drop by with some goodies for the team.” He raises his arms, indicating the bag in each hand.

“That’s so cool. Come on, I’ll show you up.”

In the elevator, Abby is talking ninety miles a minute about a new club that Tony has to go to with her, and all the fun they will have, something she is still going on about when they walk into the bullpen.

Tony tries to pay attention but the image of two dead men on the plasma screen makes him stop in his tracks. “John.” he says, just above a whisper.

Jethro turns from the screen obviously surprised to see him. Tony is pale as a ghost.

“You know him?” McGee asks.

“Yeah. What happened to him?”

Gibbs takes the bags from the shocked man’s arms before he drops them and leads him to the chair behind the desk. “Tony, just breathe. McGee, turn that off. Look at me,” Jethro says crouching between Tony’s knees.

It isn’t until the screen goes black that Tony turns to face Gibbs and says the first thing that comes to mind. “I…um… brought you all… stuff,” He says, motioning to the bags on the desk.

“That’s good, Tony. Take another deep breath for me and let it out slowly. Then you can tell me all about the amazing smell coming from one of these bags.”

Tony smiles slightly, trying to fit a carefree mask into place, knowing Jethro will see through it anyway. “I tried a new Bomboloni recipe but brought you a Torta Capprese just in case you guys don’t like it," Tony says, his voice slightly shaky. "And, of course, the other bag contains the drinks you normally order when you come in.”

“Thanks Tony.” Jethro smiles at him. “Can you tell me about John? At least a last name?”

“Sherringford.”

Gibbs nods to McGee to get the agent to start pulling information. “Let me grab my coffee and we can go for a walk. What do you say?”

“It’s still snowing.”

“I know.”

Tony nods, not breaking eye contact.

They pass through the west gate with barely a glance from the guards working nightshift. Jethro finally breaks the silence, “I had two reasons for wanting to go for a walk. First, because it allows us to talk without anyone hovering around and second because it will allow me to take you home when we’re done.”

Tony nods, barely listening, “What happened to him, Jethro? Please tell me.” 
“I’m not really supposed to talk about an ongoing investigation but it looks like he was executed. Then someone cut him up pretty bad to prove a point.”

Tony is horrified and it shows in his voice, “What point?”

Gibbs shrugs. “Ducky says it’s something along the lines of a disgruntled lover seeking revenge.”

Tony stops walking but Jethro’s hand on his lower back prompts him back into moving.

“Well, then it must be someone in his past because his latest lover isn’t… wasn’t disgruntled.”

Gibbs looks at him sharply, “How do you know that?”

Tony wraps his arms around himself a little tighter but not because of the cold. He sneaks a glance at the agent out of the corner of his eye before continuing. “Because, if not, I just became your prime suspect.”

Tony catches he hurt expression that passes over Jethro’s face before it is quickly hidden but he doesn’t know what to say to fix that right now.

They walk in silence until they’ve gone around the block and find themselves at the back of Tonio’s.

“Why don’t we go upstairs? I know it hurts Tony, but I need to know as much as you can tell me about him.”

With a hesitant nod, Tony climbs the stairs to the door of his apartment. He pulls the key out of his pocket and tries to calm himself enough to stop shaking.

“Here, let me.” Jethro takes the key from his hand and slips it easily into the lock, pushes the door open and motions for Tony to enter first.

The studio apartment is has classy elegance with the feel of a lived-in home.

“Beer?” Tony asks, walking to the kitchen space.

“No thanks.”

Tony grabs one for himself and then collapses on the couch. When Jethro sits beside him, they younger man seems to fold in on himself and he curls into Jethro’s side.

“We met at the Town Danceboutique a months ago," Tony says, hesitantly at first. "It was just a typical Saturday night. Like I said, neither of us was looking for anything long-term… at least not from each other. We danced, bought each other a few rounds and eventually ended up back at his place. The next morning we exchanged numbers and we have been seeing each other once or twice a week ever since.”

“Did he have any problems or enemies that you know about?”

“Not really. He was a pretty laid-back guy. Everyone seemed to like him. That’s why it was so weird to see him up on the screen.” Tony turns to Jethro and asks, “He’s really dead, isn’t he?”

The agent nods sympathetically, “I understand. Do you remember where he lived?”

“Off 51st street. Gimme a second.” Tony goes over to the bedside table and pulls open the drawer. When he walks back to he couch he hands Gibbs a wallet. “He was in a little bit of a hurry last Thursday and left this. It should have everything you need.”

Jethro once again ignores the ache in his chest at the two men’s obvious closeness and focuses on the case. “Is that the last time you say him?”

“Yeah, we were supposed to meet that night so I could give it back to him but he texted me, canceling. Sometimes, John had to travel for work and would be gone for a few days. I assumed I’d hear from him when he got back.”

“Did he normally text you rather than call?”

“Usually. It was the best way to get in contact with him. He never went anywhere without his phone. I make…made the joke that it was a good thing I wasn’t the jealous type because there where times when that phone got more attention than me.”

“I need the number.”

Tony reaches down and picks up a notepad of the coffee table and scribbles down a number.

“I have to get back. Are you going to be okay tonight?” Jethro asks, watching the younger man sitting there, absently peeling the label off his bottle.

“Yeah.”

&&&&&&

CHAPTER 2

Gibbs walks into the bullpen and hands the victim’s wallet and phone number to McGee.

“Take these down to Abby and see if you two can find any more info on Sherringford. Todd, have you found a connection between them yet?”

“I think so, Gibbs.” Kate stands and walks from behind her desk to face him.

“Think?”

“Yes, they seemed to have been living together. Petty Officer Jenkins has a place on base as well as having his name on some of the bills at Sherringford’s address.”

Gibbs grabs the keys to the sedan and starts back the way he came. “You comin’, Agent Todd?”

&&&&&&

Gibbs and Kate climb the stairs to apartment 616 and knock on the door.

“He’s not home,” says a voice behind them.

They both turn to see an elderly lady across the hall.

“He hasn’t been home for a few days. John is such a busy young man.”

Kate glances at Gibbs and then steps towards the other woman. “Ma’am, I hate to tell you this but Mr. Sherringford is dead.”

“Gracious me!” The woman stumbles slightly against her own door. “How?”

“He was murdered. Do you know who the super of this building is? We would like to see if we can look around his apartment.”

“I have his spare. I am sure he wouldn’t mind.”

She disappears into her apartment for a few minutes and then returns with a key on a US Naval key ring. “Someone should tell Wendon. He will be devastated.”

“Petty Officer Wendon Jenkins?” Kate asks.

“Yes dear, they were such good friends.”

Gibbs and Todd exchange a look and then enter the apartment, keeping the woman outside.

The two-room place looks as if nothing has been disturbed but they take the time to thoroughly check the it anyway. Todd is quick to point out the two toothbrushes in the bathroom and the obvious two different sizes of clothing in the closet.

“Pack up both laptops and we’ll take them back to Abby. Also get a team out here to fingerprint the place.”

&&&&&&

One trip to his now-favorite coffee shop to check on Tony later, and Gibbs finds himself down in Abby’s lab.

He is really impressed with the young man, after taking the few minutes he is waiting in line to watch Tony. If you didn’t really know him, you’d never guess anything was wrong. He still smiles at his customers, flirts lightly with a couple but in those usually bright green eyes, Gibbs sees the sorrow lurking. It makes him want to close up Tonio’s, call off the case, take the man upstairs and hold him. But Gibbs knows he can’t do that. Tony needs to focus on something other than the death of his ex-lover and Jethro needs to stop a killer that could target anyone in the Gay DC scene, including Tony. That reason alone has him hurrying to the forensic lab.

Striding through the doors with a sense of renewed purpose he asks, “Whatcha got, Abs?”

“Well, for starters, I’ve never understood people who don’t even password-protect their computers. I mean, these things are not anything close to being secure as Fort Knox Gibbs. The number of unsecur−”

“Abby,” Gibbs warns.

“Right. This laptop belonged to the petty officer and this one belonged to Sherringford. They both used them for pretty normal stuff: email, surfing the web, videos… But the thing that is hinky is they have both been visiting obituaries.”

Gibbs gives her a look prompting her to keep talking as she reaches for the plasma remote. With a few clicks, five obituaries come on the screen.

“McGee and I have been doing some digging and these guys are all part of unsolved murder cases around DC, Maryland and Virginia. We pulled the financials of the other victims and they all seem to be regulars at the same club where Sherringford met Tony.”

“Print me out their photos and I’ll see if he know them first thing in the morning. Good work, Abs. Go home and get some rest, but be back early in the morning.” He leans in and kisses her on the top of the head then leaves the lab.

Abby smirks and hits ‘print’ on the keyboard.

&&&&&&

Tonio’s is packed the next morning. Apparently, Gibbs isn’t the only person from the Navy Yard who was addicted to Tony’s delights, Gibbs thinks.

“Hiya sailor. What can I get for you today?” Tony greets the officer in front of Gibbs in line.

“Grande Gingersnap with and extra shot of espresso.”

“Comin’ right up.” Tony sends Gibbs one of his brightest smiles over the man’s shoulder as he turns to make the drink.

“Three-fifty.”

The man passes over six dollars. “Keep the change, Tony.”

“Thanks, man. Hey Jethro, the usual?”

“Yeah.”

Tony quickly pours a cup and places it on the counter in front of him. “You busy later?”

“Actually, I need to talk to you. What time is good?”

“Things should calm down in about ten minutes. Then I’ll get another rush around 8:30.”

“I’ll wait.”

“Sure.”

Gibbs finds an empty table that gives him a good view of both Tony and the front door. He watches patiently as Tony helps customer after customer, layering on the charm with most of them. It makes him wonder if the flirting they have been doing over the last few weeks and the kissing on the couch that night were nothing more than Tony’s normal behavior. It had been real on his part. He knew that for sure.

A jovial voice pulls Gibbs out of his contemplation.

“Tony!”

“Hey Alex. How are you?” Tony reaches over the counter and embraces the other man in a half hug.

He looks to be about mid thirties, pale complexion and dark hair. His bearing definitely screams military.

“Doing well. Missed you last night at the club.”

“Well, you know how it is. Things to do.”

“Knowing you, you sly dog, it would be more like ‘people’ to do. Who was the lucky man?”

Jethro sees Tony shoot him a glance to see if he is listening. “Did you want the usual today?”

“Yeah.” Alex waits until Tony turns his back before looking to the occupied table nearby.

Gibbs responds to the look with his best glare. His gut telling him not to like the man and something in his chest is in agreement.

Alex smiles back at him but it doesn’t meet his eyes. He turns back to watch Tony pull out a pastry and put it in a bag. “So, Tony, when are you going to take me up on that offer of the weekend in the Italian countryside? You, me, great food and soft sheets…”

“Oh, Alex, you know we would never work. Besides you have plenty of gentlemen callers of your own, if I remember correctly. Now get out of here, you’re going to be late.”

Tony hands the man back his credit card with a smile but Jethro reads through the look. Tony is uncomfortable, maybe even a little annoyed.

“Just think about it. Offer still stands. Maybe I’ll see you tonight.”

“Maybe.” Tony quickly handles the last couple of customers in line and then slides into the chair across from Gibbs. The silence stretches out between them for a couple of minutes before Tony speaks, “So, what did you need to talk to me about?”

Jethro pulls out the printouts that Abby gave him and hands them to Tony. “What can you tell me about these men?”

“Umm… they look familiar. Should I know them?”

“They are all regulars at Town Danceboutique.”

“You think they’re all connected with John’s death?”

“Yes, do you know anything about them?”

“Not really. I don’t talk to many of the guys there. I just go to dance. Occasionally someone might talk to me but I usually left with John.” Tony stares at the pictures for a minute before pulling out his phone and dialing a number. “Hey Steven. How are you?…I admit I’ve been better… Yeah… Are you busy right now? I need a favor…”

Gibbs watches this half of the exchange with interest.

“Sure. Could you come by my place or can I meet you at yours? Perfect, see you in fifteen. Thanks, man.” Tony hangs up the phone and looks around the now empty café before getting up and flipping the lock and the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed.’ “Let’s go upstairs. This might take a while.”As they reach the second floor Tony motions towards the sitting area. “Make yourself at home. Ignore the mess, I wasn’t expecting company.”

Tony begins to straighten up around the apartment. Jethro doesn’t know if it is because he is upset or because he is really worried about how the place looks.

“Tony, come over here and sit down.”

Tony waits for a moment before taking a spot on the couch next to him.

“Now, you gonna tell me about this guy, Steven?” Jethro asks.

“Oh, yeah. Steven tends bar at a few of the clubs in downtown DC. He knows everybody in the scene.” Tony looks at Jethro before continuing shyly, “Jethro, I know we haven’t spoken very much over the last few weeks. And Abby has gone so far as to call you a functional mute, but in the interest of not screwing this up−”

“Just spit it out. What’s on your mind?”

“Could there ever be anything between us beyond what we have now?” Tony asks turning away to stare at the floor.

“I’d like that−” Gibbs is cut off by a knock on the door.

Tony gets up, opens it and is immediately embraced by a tall man that is obviously a good friend. The newcomer wraps one arm around his waist and grasps the back of his neck with his other hand, bringing their foreheads together.

“Hey, sexy. What can I do for you? You gonna be okay?”

Gibbs stands but manages to withhold the possessive growl in his chest, noting that two different men have made moves on Tony today and that is two more men than he wants getting close to him.

“Yeah. Just keeping busy to keep my mind off things.” Tony pulls out of the embrace and steps back, continuing, “Steven, this is Special Agent Gibbs. Gibbs this is Steven Murdough, a friend of mine.”

The special agent stops forward and shakes the bartender’s hand.

“How can I help the FBI?” The man shoots Tony a look of both concern and even a hint of anger. If Tony notices he doesn’t show it but it puts Gibbs on the offensive.

“It’s NCIS. I’m looking into the deaths of Wendon Jenkins and John Sherringford. Tony mentioned you might be able to help me out. What can you tell me about them?”

“There’s not much to tell really.” The man sprawls into the chair near the couch. “Wendon showed up about a year ago and needed a place off base so he could ‘be himself’ when he was home.”

Gibbs notes the air quotes the man makes with his fingers, and the tone of his voice.

“John needed a roommate because he hated living alone. So, they moved in together. Shortly after, John fell head over heels for Wendon but it was completely one-sided. He got it in his head, I think, that he should try to make Wendon jealous and basically turned into the biggest slut in town.”

“You disagreed with his methods?”

“Now, I don’t deny that in some cases that is a way to jumpstart a relationship, but anyone could see that Wendon’s heart just wasn’t in the fling they had and he definitely wasn’t into making mean more than what it was. In fact, a good portion of the time his dick wasn’t interested either. He identified as gay because it was different rather than how he actually was.”

“And these guys?” Jethro asks, pulling out the printouts again.

“All big into the DC scene even though these two are from Maryland and this one lived in Pennsylvania. Oh, that’s odd.”

Gibbs glares at Steven and urges him to continue.

“They’re all bottoms. Well, except for John who was a versy.”

“Versy?”

“You know, he was versatile. Topped and bottomed.”

“How do you know that?”

It’s Steven’s turn to glare. “Let’s just say that I do.”

“So, maybe the killer is someone they’ve all slept with?” Tony asks helpfully.

Steven says, “I could give you a list of possibilities but it wouldn’t be comprehensive. I don’t know a lot about Wendon’s partners.”

Tony pulls the notebook and pen from Gibbs’ hands and passes them to Steven.

He writes the list and hands it back. “I also put my contact info on there in case you need anything else.”

“Thank you Mr. Murdough.”

“Tony, walk me out?”

“Sure.” Tony follows Steven out the door.

&&&&&&

“You could have told me you we meeting me with a cop,” Steven says once they reach his car.

“Why? It’s not like you killed them or anything. He just needed info on the other guys and I couldn’t tell him stuff I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, well, don’t do that to me again.”

When Tony returns to the apartment Jethro is closing his phone. He walks back to the couch and curls next to the older man, taking comfort in his scent.

Jethro chuckles, putting his arm around Tony’s shoulders.

Tony’s voice is muffled in Gibbs' chest, “What?”

“You know, no one from my team would have the courage to do that.”

“To do what?”

“Take something from my hands.”

Tony smiles knowingly, “That’s because they’re all scared of you and think you’re a bastard.”

“I am a bastard.”

“Not with me you aren’t.”

Gibbs kisses Tony fondly on the forehead and then gets back to business, “Tell me about the guy from the shop.”

“Alex? He is just some guy that only wants what he can’t have until he gets it.”

“Am I going to have to fight off every man you’ve ever met?”

“Hardly. But it is hot when you get this alpha male look in your eyes.”

Gibbs chuckles again, then sighs, “I better get back. Promise me you won’t go to the club tonight.”

“I promise. Come on. Let me make you a drink, togo.” Tony leans in and places a chaste kiss on Jethro’s lips before they head down to the café.

&&&&&&

Gibbs strides into the bullpen, immediately checking that all his people are accounted for.

“Sit rep.”

Kate and Tim hurry to stand in front of the plasma.

“Boss, I pulled backgrounds and financials on all those names, including Steven Murdough and nothing stands out,” Tim says.

“Isn’t that Tony’s friend?” Kate asks.

“Well yeah, Kate. And something doesn’t feel right about him. He didn’t like that I was there.”

McGee puts the info for them men up on the plasma while Gibbs fills them in on the meeting with Tony, though he doesn’t mention the cuddling or the kiss. “You two take the first three names and I’ll take the other two. See what they know about the dead men.”

&&&&&&

Tony answers the door, expecting the pizza he had ordered, only to find someone else on his doorstep. “Alex, what are you doing here?”

“I thought we could watch a movie. I also caught your delivery,” Alex responds, passing Tony the box of pizza.

“Yeah, sure. Come in.” Dropping the pizza on the coffee table, he notices that Alex isn’t carrying any DVDs, which strikes him as odd. “What movie did you get?”

“I figured the way you talk about films, you probably had one we could watch.”

Tony walks over to the shelf next to his TV and grabs one at random. It doesn’t matter what he puts in since he is going to be paying more attention to Alex anyway. Tony has never felt comfortable around the other man, like he could never relax completely.

&&&&&&

They are all late returning to the office but once there, they begin to pool the information they gathered during the interviews.

“We were able to add another name to the list of potential suspects: Alexander Williams.”

Gibbs head snaps up from the file he was flipping through. “McGee, pull him up on the screen.”

“On it, Boss.” Tim starts furiously typing away at his computer. Soon a military dossier pops up on the screen. “Alexander Williams. Previously Lt. Williams, before he was dishonestly discharged for assaulting his commanding officer. Now he owns his own construction company.”

Gibbs knew he didn’t like the guy and should have trusted his gut but he thought the feelings had more to do with the man trying to pick up Tony. Now he wishes he would have checked him out sooner, “Let’s go pick him up.”

&&&&&&

The three agents pull up at Williams’ last known address, which turns out to be an empty lot.

“Damn it McGee. Find him!” Gibbs throws the car into drive and pointing towards the club.

McGee is still searching the pages on his PDA when they pull up outside Town Danceboutique. “Um… Boss, he receives all his mail at a post office box and doesn’t appear to have an office though there is a warehouse that he stores all his equipment in for work. Other than that, he is pretty much off-”

Jethro is out of the car before McGee is finished talking. He stalks up to the bouncer at the door and shows his ID. “Is Alex Williams here tonight?”

“No sir. I haven’t seen him yet. Maybe he is running late.”

The sound of Gibbs’ cell phone pierces the air. “Gibbs.”

“Jethro! Help...” Tony’s voice sounds strained on the other end of the line.

“Tony! Tony! Where are you?”

GIBBS is already back in the car by the time he hears the gunshot and the phone hitting the floor before it disconnects.

When the three agents arrive they know they will not be able to get in through the café, so they take the stairs to Tony’s apartment.

Gibbs and McGee stand to one side of the door as Todd pulls it open. The agents enter with weapons drawn, immediately fanning out to cover the room, and take in the sight before them. Tony is lying on the floor next to the coffee table, unconscious, and Alex is on his back on the couch with a gunshot wound to the chest.

“Todd,” Gibbs barks.

“Ambulance. On it, Gibbs.” Kate pulls out her phone.

“McGee.”

“Checking Williams, Boss.” Tim approaches the body carefully.

Kate moves to the gun that is on the floor between the two men and secures it. Tim checks Williams’ pulse. “He’s dead boss.”

Jethro is kneeling next to Tony. As he reaches for the younger man, Gibbs’ hands are sweating and his heart is pounding.

Tony has a split lip and already bruises are forming along his jaw from an obvious backhand, but what concerns Gibbs the most is the blood on Tony’s temple where it connected with something hard. “Tony. Wake up for me. Show me those green eyes.”

When there is no response, he tries again, “Tony, come on. Stop lying around here.”

Tony begins to stir at the constant prodding. “Jethro.”

It takes Gibbs a moment to respond, relief filling his voice as he does so, “Yeah, Tony. I’m here. Stay down but I need you to keep awake.”

“He… He killed John.” Tony says with a grimace.

Gibbs knows he needs this info but he also knows that Tony must be feeling awful. “How do you know?” Gibbs asks even though he had suspected as much.

“He told me.”

The EMTs rush in and Jethro immediately backs away to let them do their work and he works with the other agents to process the scene.

&&&&&&

EPILOGUE – One Year and 3 Days Later

Tony turns off the Christmas lights around the shop and unplugs the tree, before going to hang a sign on the door saying ‘Closed until Dec. 26. Happy Holidays!’

“Are you sure you can close the shop?” Gibbs asks as he places Tony’s bag in the back of the Charger.

“Yes, Jethro, I’m sure. Even I deserve a vacation. Are you sure you can let the criminals be for a bit?” Tony asks.

“I guess I have to, forced time off is like that. At least I get to spend it with you.”

Tony chuckles, “Did you tell your Director that?”

A few hours later they find themselves at the only hotel in Stillwater, Pennsylvania. “So, tomorrow I get the grand tour of Leroy Jethro Gibbs’ childhood, right?”

“Yeah, I’m sure we can check out a few places and then meet my dad for dinner.”

Tony wraps his arms around Jethro’s neck and pulls him towards the bed. “How will I ever entertain myself until then?” The mischievous look in his eyes.

“You’re an intelligent man, you’ll figure something out.”

Jethro gently pushes him onto the bed. Tony lies back and enjoys watching as his partner slowly undresses himself and then reaches for Tony’s shirt. When firm hands unbutton his pants and grip the waist to pull down, Tony works in tandem by scooting up the bed to relax on the pillows.

The look of endless tanned skin makes the Marine’s mouth water. Gibbs starts kissing Tony first at the ankles, then the inner knee and pauses slightly at the groin. The musk smell that lingers where leg meets torso is enough to make him skip the torture he had planned for the both of them. This time together is going to be quick but it will leave them the rest of the night to take things slower.

Jethro licks the underside of Tony’s cock and Tony responds by spreading his legs. The older man settles comfortably between them and begins his ministrations. He takes Tony’s cock into his mouth and deep throats, instantly causing Tony to gasp and arch up. The only thing keeping Tony hips in place is an expertly laid hand across his hips.

Gibbs slowly pulls up, sucking in hard and deep, pulling off with an audible pop. He then turn his attention to first one ball and then the other, licking and sucking them in.

When he returns his attentions to the spit moist shaft, Jethro blows warm air from the base to the top before swirling his tongue around the plump head. He deep throats again and swallows down as much as he can take. Tony moans and Gibbs pulls off of him to grab the lube from the nightstand.

Tony is almost completely gone when he feels the loss of Gibbs’ mouth anywhere on him. Neither man acknowledges the whimper that Tony makes when a slick finger is inserted into him, followed soon after by a second and a third. Gibbs scissors his fingers and crooks them slightly, finding the nub that brings an instant shudder and gasp from his lover.

“Jethro,” Tony manages to barely whisper. “You have to stop or I’m gonna come. Please, I want you inside me.”

With a nod, Jethro leans down and kisses him, while at the same time removing his fingers from Tony and strokes his own cock, slicking himself up. When he finally pushes into Tony’s heat, Jethro has to stop himself from coming right then and there. He hadn’t realized how far he had let himself go while focusing on the pleasure he could give the other man.

Long legs wrap around his waist and pull him in deeper, they both moan. Jethro begins with long slow thrusts and Tony pushes against the headboard to meet him.

Looking into each other’s eyes, neither man needs to acknowledge the need for more, and the pace increases. Long deep thrusts become short shallow ones.

Tony changes the arch of his hips, and causes every inward push to rub against his prostate. It isn’t long before he is speaking jumbled words that sound a lot like begging. He tenses up and comes calling out his lover’s name.

Feeling Tony clench around him, Jethro follows soon after and collapses next to him.

Tangled limbs and bed covers, drying come sticking them together, and not a care between them, Tony looks at the clock over his partner’s shoulder. “It’s after midnight. Merry Christmas, Jethro.”

“Merry Christmas, my heart.”

Stolen

2011-11-08T00:48:54Z

Once Collared [2/6ish]

2011-10-03T01:19:53Z

Title: Once Collared [2/6ish]
Authors: xixie and ladyredcrest
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Sherlock/John
Warnings: BDSM
Disclaimer: Sherlock and John belong to Sir ACD, Gatfatt and the BBC.
A/N: We apologize for the long wait between parts. We had some issues getting out schedules to line up.

Link to Part 1

It was the third ringing phone which had caught his attention. Now he was sitting across the car from a beautiful Domme who had barely looked up from her iPhone.

After trying to talk to her for a moment, John realized it was futile and sat back to look out the window. He was being chauffeured to a decidedly seedy section of London. He knew he should be frightened, but had never found the knack.

At the urging of “Anthea” or whatever her name was, John exited the car to find a well dressed man leaning on an umbrella. Squaring his shoulders and focusing on the weight of the collar around his neck, John walked confidently to stand a few feet from him.

“Ah,” the man breathed. “Doctor John Watson, recently of 221b Baker Street.”

“Yes.”

“Formerly a hired concubine of the Pleasure Dome Hotel?”

John’s hackles rose. “That’s supposed to be private.”

“Yes.” The man smiled eerily. “Many things are.”

He flipped open a little book. “You have moved into 221b” his emphasis on the “B” indicated distaste, “with a former client, one Sherlock Holmes.”

John unconsciously moved into parade rest. “I moved in with my Dom.”

The man smiled again. “Quite.”

John glanced off to his side. “What do you want?”

“I simply wanted to congratulate you. You only reconnected with Sherlock this morning, and here you are wearing his collar. Should we be expecting a Vinculum Ceremony soon?”

“Can I leave?”

“I have a proposition for you. Nothing you’d be uncomfortable with. I would simply like information. Information about Sherlock, his comings and goings, if you will.”

John’s eyes narrowed. “No.”

“I haven’t mentioned a sum. It would be substantial.”

“I’m not interested.”

“Really? A man who, until very recently, was working as a prostitute? I would be far less demanding than your other clients.”

“Why do you care about Sherlock?”

“Oh, I worry about him constantly.”

“Well, you can stop. That’s my job now.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “Is it?”

John looked at him unflinchingly. “Yes.”

“Well. Then I suppose you should be on your way.”

John reentered the car to find Anthea waiting for him. He checked his phone to see a message from Sherlock asking where he was. Then another demanding he come home immediately. Apparently, “it could be dangerous.”

John felt an unfamiliar shiver run up his spine as he read the words.

Anthea looked up from her iPhone. “Where would you like us to drop you?”

“221b Baker Street. But I need to stop somewhere first.”

Sherlock jumped from his chair the second John entered the flat. “Where have you been? I told you to meet me here.”

“Well, I was kidnapped by a friend of yours.”

That drew Sherlock up short. “. . . . by who?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t exactly give a name. He was just some posh bloke with an umbrella.”

“Ah. I take it he offered you money to spy on me?”

“Yes.”

“Did you take it?”

John just looked at him like he was an idiot, making Sherlock smile. “You should have said yes. We could have split the money. Honestly John, think it through next time.”

They stared at one another before breaking into matching smiles. John broke first. “Who was he.”

“The most dangerous man you’ll ever meet. And not my problem right now. I need you to text someone.”

Five minutes later John looked up in shock. “Did a serial killer just text me back?”

Sherlock ignored the question. “Let’s go eat.”

John shook his head and followed with only a cursory glance at the tacky pink suitcase.

++++++

John watched as Angelo moved to fetch their drinks. “Does everyone owe you a favor?”

Sherlock smirked. “Not yet.”

John raised an eyebrow at Sherlock’s decision to not eat, but didn’t say anything. He kept waiting for Sherlock to bring up his disobedience—the fact that he did not go straight back to the flat.

They hadn’t discussed punishments yet. They hadn’t discussed anything really. The longer Sherlock went on, staring at the window behind John’s head, the more upset he became.

John’s hand fluttered up to touch his collar. It was so very reassuring. What if Sherlock was rethinking his decision? It had stung a little when Mary had rescinded his collar, but he couldn’t say that he was surprised. He knew as well as she did that the relationship was never going to work. It had almost been a relief.

He wouldn’t be relieved if Sherlock rescinded this collar; he’d be devastated. Why did he get in that car? He didn’t have to; he wanted to. He wanted to know who was watching him, who had that kind of power and resources.

John pulled in a deep breath. Sherlock looked at him sharply.

“You’re upset.” It wasn’t a question.

“No, I’m fine. Really.”

Sherlock’s eyes unfocused for a moment. John had only been with him a short time, but he already recognized it as his “deduction face.”

“You are not fine. You look like you are about to hyperventilate. Tell me now.” Sherlock had pulled out his Dom voice for the last bit. John couldn’t help himself.

“Are you going to punish me?”

Sherlock looked confused. “For what?”

“I didn’t meet you back at the flat. You had to text me. Three times.”

“Well, I’ll be lenient as you were kidnapped. I mean, don’t let it become a habit, but I think we can overlook it this once.”

Sherlock was going for light, but John was not in the mood for that.

“Sherlock, I’m a horrible sub. But I’m going to try so hard for you. But I need. . . I need you to tell me what you expect. I need to know your ground rules.”

Sherlock nodded silently. He very desperately wanted to tell John how dull that sounded, but he could tell the older man was genuinely upset. He was surprised to find it was making him upset.

“Well, first off, never call yourself a “horrible sub” ever again. In fact, I would prefer if you didn’t insult or degrade yourself in any way. It’s stupid for a sub as lovely as you to doubt his own worth.”

John smiled ruefully. “Sherlock, I can honestly say that you are the love of my life. I already know that. But we have been together for one day. You don’t know what kind of sub I am.”

Sherlock moved to the other side of the table, sitting on the booth very near John. Leaning forward into John’s personal space, he grabbed John around the throat and squeezed, pulling John’s face up to his own.

“Do you remember the night we met?” John’s eyes dilated and his entire body went boneless. “When I tied you to the bed and examined you?”

John’s breathing was ragged, but he managed nod, despite Sherlock’s grip. “I know you, John. Intimately. Better than you know yourself. Do not doubt me. Do not doubt this relationship. It is permanent.”

Letting John go, Sherlock took a sip of water. “My first rule, other than the aforementioned, no cumming without permission, is do not lie to me. When I asked you what was wrong, you said nothing. If I ask a direct question, you will answer me honestly. If you are upset, you will tell me.”

John nodded.

“I don’t know what kind of tops you’ve dealt with before, but I am not like them. I find absolute obedience boring. If I ordered you to stay in the flat, and it caught on fire, would you stay?”

“No.”

“How’s this?” Sherlock asked. “How about we make this a rule? Don’t be an idiot. You had to get in that car. Your sense of adventure and love of danger dictated it. I would never want to squash those things.”

John licked his lips. “But you will have to punish me one day. It’s inevitable.”

Sherlock shrugged. “I’m sure I will. And I look forward to it. But it won’t be because you used your best judgment. It will never be for that. I know all of who you are John.” He took his sub’s hand and pressed it against his straining erection. “And I want it.”

Sherlock let go of John’s hand, but John only curved his fingers around the shaft. “Please, let me take care of this. Please, sir.”

Sherlock was tempted. That was new. He was never tempted on a case. But after their discussion, John was dangerously close to subspace, eyes dilated, breathing heavy. Sherlock wanted very much to tie his hands behind his back, stuff his cock down his throat until John couldn’t breathe and then have the other man rub himself to orgasm against Sherlock’s leg.

Unfortunately, Sherlock’s attention was grabbed by a taxi that had pulled up in front of the building across the street.

Sherlock took a deep breath and pressed his mouth against John’s ear. “I’ll take care of you when we get home. But right now, we have to work.”

++++++++

Sherlock and John collapsed against the hallway wall of 221 Baker St laughing.

Their eyes met, and John knew immediately what he wanted to do. He pushed Sherlock flat against the wall and began to nuzzle his neck.

  "Please, sir, let me."  

With Sherlock's nod John began to unbuckle the taller man's belt as he licked along the exposed skin at his collarbone.   John quickly pushed Sherlock's trousers and pants to his thighs and then fell to his knees.  

Finally able to pay homage to his Dom's cock, John wanted to take it slow. He licked from the base of the shaft to the tip of the head. Taking in the taste of the other man. When he opened his mouth and throat and took all of Sherlock inside him, he relaxed his gag reflex and took in the scent of his Dom, home, where he belonged.

  He pulled almost completely off Sherlock’s cock and was immediately on it again, finding a rhythm that suited both of them.

Reaching up and grabbing his Dom's balls, he could feel as they begun to rise up and knew his top was close.   Sherlock reached down and pulled John off of his cock just as he released, his ejaculate landing across his sub's cheeks and lips.

John looked up at him, his pupils gone wide with desire.  

"I don't know if I have ever seen anything so perfect as my wanton sub." He said as he watched John lick him clean and tuck him back into his clothing.

There was a knock at the door.  Sherlock handed him a handkerchief from his pocket.  "You might want to clean up before you open the door."

John knew he must look a mess, his hair tousled, color high in his cheeks, pupils blown and floating happily in the realm of subspace, but he opened the door anyway.

Angelo stood outside holding his cane. “Sherlock said you forgot this.”

John looked at the object in shock. “Yes. Thank you.”

Angelo smiled before leaving.

John looked down at his leg and then over to Sherlock, who was leaning against the wall with a smug expression.

“You can throw it in the closet upstairs with all the other things you no longer need.”

John moved over to Sherlock and raised up to kiss him. Sherlock allowed him to control the kiss until John was ready to speak. “Thank you Sherlock.”

The Dom was about to speak when Mrs. Hudson came scurrying down the stairs. “Oh Sherlock. What have you done? The police are upstairs.”

John and Sherlock exchanged a look and clambered up to their flat.

+++++

“It’s a drugs bust!”

John scoffed. “A drugs bust? Him? That’s preposterous.”

Sherlock immediately moved into John’s space, leaning down to whisper in his ear. “Stop talking.”

John’s mouth snapped shut automatically. He turned to Sherlock in shock. “You?”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

John just nodded.

Anderson was watching the entire thing with avid interest. “What? You haven’t told your sub? Of course you haven’t.” Then to John: “Get out while you can.”

Sherlock and John snapped at him in unison. “Shut up.”

Lestrade rolled his eyes, but held up the pink case. “Withholding evidence, Sherlock? We’ve talked about this.”

“I wasn’t withholding it. I was just holding onto it, because you are all idiots.”

Lestrade nodded thoughtfully. “Well, be that as it may, I’m taking it now.”

Sherlock nodded. “Did you ever find out who Rachel is?”

++++++

Sherlock stared down the barrel of a very unconvincing gun. “I’ll enjoy the court case.”

“Oh, no Mr. Holmes. You can’t leave now. You have to play the game.”

Sherlock scoffed. “I see little point.”

Hope smiled. “Sherlock Holmes, the science of deduction. You are so much smarter than the rest of the world. But you have to prove it constantly.” He paused, pushing a vial towards the detective. “So prove it. Play the game.”

Sherlock contemplated the man in front of him. “You’re a sub. Collared for over 30 years, but it was recently rescinded. You have two children; I saw their picture in your cab. But it’s old. They don’t live with you. The courts usually give custody to the primary caregiver, usually the sub, but not this time. Why? For the same reason your Domme rescinded the collar. You have become unstable.”

Sherlock paused for a second. “But why so suddenly?” He looked the cabbie over. “Terminal is it? Cancer?”

Hope raised an eyebrow. “Aneurysm.”

Sherlock tipped his head to the side for a moment. “There’s always something.”

Hope nodded. “No one is perfect. You’ve also managed to miss the biggest piece of the puzzle.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “I have a sponsor. And he is very interested in you.”

“Who?” Sherlock demanded in his very best Dom voice.

Hope just laughed. “That would be telling. But here, take a vial. Are you actually smarter than me. You’ll never know otherwise. Is it a bluff? A double bluff? Surely, you can figure it out Mr. Holmes.”

Sherlock raised his vial to the light. Setting it down he grabbed the one in front of Hope and unscrewed the top. Taking out one pill he moved it to his lips. Before he could swallow it, Hope was bleeding out on the floor.

Sherlock rushed to the window, but could see nothing. He turned back to Hope, determined to find the name of his sponsor.

++++++

Sherlock pulled the orange blanket more securely around his shoulders. “Ignore me. I’m in shock.” He could barely think for his excitement. If he hadn’t already been sure that John was the world’s most perfect sub, he was now.

John had found him. The stupid Yard would have never found him. And then he shot Jefferson Hope. Most subs would have curled up at home to wait for direction. But not John. Never John.

Sherlock tried to compose himself as he walked over. “That was an excellent shot.”

John nodded. “Yes. It would have to be.” Oh, Sherlock reveled in the innocent look on his face. The open expression. Christ. He wanted to take him against the ambulance. But it wouldn’t do. No need to draw attention to themselves.

“We’ll need to get rid of the gun. I don’ suppose you would go to jail, but let’s avoid the court case.”

John furrowed his brow.

“Don’t worry. I’ll get you another gun. But if you have to do this again. We won’t want forensics matching the bullets.”

John nodded slowly. “Are you okay?”

“Of course. I even let the EMTs check me out. I only had the blanket because Lestrade’s people wanted to take photos.”

Shaking his head, John looked suddenly vulnerable. “Your sub did just kill a man. Most Doms would be upset. Concerned that he was unstable. Subs aren’t supposed to be capable of violence like that.”

Sherlock was taken aback for a moment. “An army sub certainly is. Besides, he wasn’t a very nice man.”

John laughed, relieved. “No. And a bloody awful cabbie.”

Both men broke down in giggles. John tried desperately to pull himself together. “Stop. We can’t giggle at a crime scene.”

Sherlock only grabbed John’s arm tightly and pulled him towards the road. “Are you hungry? I’m famished. How’s Chinese sound?”

John took two steps forward before stopping and staring off to his right. “Sherlock. That’s the man who kidnapped me.”

Sherlock looked disgusted. “I know exactly who that is.” 
John followed as Sherlock stalked up to the posh man and his assistant. “What do you want?”

“I just wanted to check in. I thought we could discuss your and John’s Vinculum.

John looked back and forth between the two. This was the second time the man had brought up a Vinculum. No one had those anymore. Well, the royals, of course. You had to do something for Daily Mail. And the landed gentry. Posh people.

“We are not having a stupid ceremony, Mycroft. Just leave us alone.” Sherlock hissed.

The man, Mycroft apparently, leaned more heavily on his umbrella. “Don’t be ridiculous, Sherlock. You know how it will upset Mummy.”

“I upset Mummy?!”

Sherlock looked as if he were about to explode.

John jumped in. “Wait, wait. Who’s Mummy?”

Sherlock finally looked towards John. “Our mother. She is a bit old-fashioned.”

“Wait. This is your brother?”

Sherlock nodded. “And when you said you were worried about Sherlock, you actually meant you were worried?”

Mycroft sniffed and nodded. “Yes. Of course.”

John licked his lips. “Okay.”

Sherlock sighed heavily. “I’m hungry. Are you hungry, John?”

John nodded, and Sherlock dragged him away from Mycroft, while babbling about Chinese restaurants and door handles.

++++++

Baker street was dark as Sherlock unlocked the door. Mrs Hudson must have already been down with her nightly dosage of herbal soothers.  

John was barely through the door before Sherlock was on him. The kiss was deep and passionate before he pulled away.  

"Bedroom now, John. Naked and kneeling at the foot of the bed."  

Sherlock gave him a few minutes head start as he checked a couple of experiments.   When he entered the bedroom, John was exactly where he was supposed to be.

The light from the street below came through the window and made the sub's skin almost glisten. Sherlock knew immediately which toy he wanted to play with tonight.  

"John, you really are an extraordinary person."  

After a few moments standing there staring at his sub he finally continued.

  "Get up on the bed. On all fours facing the headboard."

  Sherlock positioned his legs a little further apart and then reached over and removed a blindfold from the box next to the bed. John barely got a look in the box before the lid was closed.

  "Now, John, you will know all the contents of the toy chest soon enough. But let's let tonight be a surprise." He said securing the blindfold in place.   John tried to listen for his Dom. To know where he was at all time. But other than the occasional sound of a drawer closing or the rustle of fabric when clothes were removed, Sherlock was as quiet as night.

  He heard the sound of a cap closing just before he felt a slick finger begin to stretch him open. Without his sight, he began to fall into subspace by the time the second finger worked its way inside him. John moaned when the third finger joined the other two.   Sherlock twisted and scissored his digits before adding more lube and a fourth finger. He watched as beads of sweat began to pool on his sub's skin.

Finally, deciding that John was prepared he went back to the toy chest for the anal hook.   John's whimper at the loss of contact was quickly replaced by as gasp when he felt a hard metal ball being pushed into his anus.  

Sherlock ran his fingers up and down John's spine as he pushed the hook in as far as it would go.   The smaller man trembled as fingers were replaced with licks and kisses. Just as he was starting to relax he felt rope pulled snug but not constricting around his throat and attached to the end of the hook.

  "John, you are to hold this position. You do not move unless I tell you to and while I plan to let you come tonight, permission will only be granted after I do. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Very good."  

Sherlock reached forward and began to stroke John from partial to complete hardness. While doing that he reached into the toy chest and pulled out his final item for the evening, a long silver vibrator.   He applied a little more lube to John's hole and then began to work in the vibrator next to the anal hook, stretching him even further than his fingers had earlier.

Sherlock turned the vibrator to its lowest setting and began to fuck his sub with it. He angled to that he hit John's prostate with almost every gentle push.

  The sounds that escaped John's mouth were almost enough to push Sherlock over the edge on their own, so he cast the vibrator aside and thrust his slicked up penis inside his lover.   Sherlock struggled to slow his breathing and control the tightness that was building in his abdomen. He grabbed the junction where the hook and the rope connected and used that as an anchor to thrust into his sub hard repeatedly.  

John felt as if he would burst with fullness. The ball of the hook had already begun to rub on his prostate as Sherlock was fitting the rope around his throat. But it wasn't until the added sensation of Sherlock's cock inside him and the occasional struggle to breathe with every pull on the hook that John could barely hold back his cries of pleasure.

  John was deep within his own subspace. He had given up making coherent words or thoughts. He had also given up on the need to come. His body belonged to his Dom to use as he sees fit. His only pleasure would be at Sherlock’s hand.

  The fight to keep from coming was over. Sherlock released into his sub with a possessive growl.  

When he recovered enough to move again he reached for John and began to stroke him in earnest.  

"Come, John."  

John barely registered the command before he was coming on the sheets below him, body trembling.  

Sherlock untied the rope from the hook and massaged the skin around his throat.

  "John, take a deep breath for me and blow it all out."  

When John was exhaling, Sherlock pulled the hook from his body and lowered him onto his stomach on the bed.   He then went to get a warm cloth to clean them both up. He rolled John onto his side and cleaned the bed underneath him, tossed the cloth into the hamper, climbed into the bed behind his sub and wrapped his arm around him.  

John leaned back into his Dom and pulled Sherlock’s arm tighter around himself, enjoying the safe and connected feeling as he continued to fly in his subspace.

LJ themes

2011-09-11T18:00:51Z

Anyone good at making LJ themes? I am going back to a paid account. Let me know please!

Sometimes.

2011-07-15T02:29:26Z

Sometimes, I post really emo posts to LJ because most of you don't know me in real life. I usually let them sit on here for a while and then delete them when I come to my senses later. This would be one of those posts.

Writing is hard right now. Not because the words won't come because I could fake it (and if you have seen the couple of fics I have written that will never see the light of day, you would agree) but my heart isn't in it right now. Very rarely do I find myself depressed these days. A lot of good things have happened to me over the last few years. But that doesn't stop the way my brain sometimes works.

The thing is that the stuff I find myself getting upset over are not the things that I would ever normally consider, much less spend waking and some sleeping hours thinking about. Which makes me wonder. Is it because 30 is looming around the corner and I am having some sort of crisis? I doubt that because I have no problem with getting older. Is it because I am once again feeling that I have not accomplished enough? Well, that is always a possibility, especially when I see what other people have. Though, that brings me back to the thinking about things that never touched me before.

Dear head. Where are you these days? You're making me cry. Please stop. Love, C.

Writer's Block: Subtitles please

2011-07-15T02:22:23Z

Beaumarchais. And no, this should never be remade.

Once Collared [1/6ish]

2011-06-13T00:24:45Z

Title: Once Collared [1/6ish]
Authors: xixie and ladyredcrest
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Sherlock/John
Warnings: BDSM
Disclaimer: Sherlock and John belong to Sir ACD, Gatfatt and the BBC.
Beta: ghislainem70 helped with a read through of one scene, other than that, the only betas were the authors. All mistakes belong to us.
A/N: This fic is a direct continuation of The Pleasure-dome Hotel written by velvet_mace and raiining and was written with their permission. We thank them greatly for allowing us to do this and of course for writing TPDH to start with. Reading the original is a must to understand what is going on in our fic. Please enjoy.

They left together.

Sherlock had one hand wrapped firmly around John’s bicep. He wasn’t really dragging him along next to him, but he did seem content to have him close and unable to move away. John sighed as Sherlock angled him physically down the well lit corridor. Expecting to head toward the front doors, John was surprised when Sherlock veered off towards the elevators.

“Where are we going?” John couldn’t stop himself from asking. John immediately cursed himself silently. This was just the sort of thing that annoyed his last Domme. John knew he was a crap sub. He never did what he was told, well, outside the bedroom anyway. He had to question everything.

John had spent the last four months dreaming of Sherlock, wanting Sherlock, berating himself for not leaving with Sherlock when he had the chance. Now, here he was, screwing things up after only 10 minutes.

But Sherlock didn’t seem angry. He merely glanced to the side and answered, “I left my riding crop in the mortuary. We’ll go get it and then be off.”

John smiled. “Well, we’ll definitely be needing that.”

Sherlock stopped in front of the elevator bank and jabbed the down button. He dropped John’s arm and turned toward him, chuckling. “Well, it’s my work crop. For the cadavers. I’d certainly never use it on you.”

He moved into John’s space and took his chin in his hand. Leaning down, he rubbed his nose against John’s. “But, for all that, I’d hate to lose it.”

John swayed towards Sherlock, shivering.

Though he had closed his eyes, he heard Sherlock draw in a breath. “You are so very beautiful, John. And I’m going to own you.”

John felt a lurch in his stomach. He was rapidly becoming hard, and he leaned more heavily on the cane in his hand. He couldn’t wait to get back home.

He knew it to be home, even though he had never been there. Sherlock was home now, and he wasn’t going to screw it up this time. He’d be much better than he had ever been with Mary, or any of the tops before her. He’d make this work.

Just before Sherlock initiated a kiss, the elevator doors opened. John was steered inside.

Sherlock stared at him as the elevator descended. “You haven’t been seeing your therapist.”

John started. “How do you know I have a therapist?”

“You didn’t have that limp when we last saw one another. Clearly, it’s psychosomatic. Ex-Army sub, psychosomatic limp? Of course you have a therapist.”

John didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he got defensive. “I hated it. Are you going to order me to go back to her?”

“Would you go, if I ordered it?” he seemed genuinely interested in the answer.

“At least at first.” John squared his shoulders and waited for the fallout. Christ, didn’t he just promise himself that he wouldn’t sabotage this relationship with his willfulness? You don’t just tell a top that you’d disobey them. Especially not a top like Sherlock. He practically oozed dominance.

Sherlock actually giggled before pushing John back into the wall. Pressing himself fully against John, who could feel Sherlock’s arousal against his thigh. “Nice to know you’d at least try to obey. But it won’t be necessary. Therapists are idiots.”

John leaned his head on Sherlock’s shoulder. “You find it funny that I might disobey you?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I’m not supposed to, am I? I can’t help it. I’d never want to be with someone who’d sit through therapy anyway. Dull. You won’t be dull, will you, John? I love a challenge.”

“Well, you can call my last top, if you want. She says I’m completely intractable.”

Sherlock wrapped his hand around John’s throat and squeezed. John’s eyelids fluttered and he leaned forward into Sherlock’s hand.

Sherlock spoke directly into his ear. “Not intractable, John. Just interesting.”

He pulled back, allowing John to gasp for air. “You are severely underweight, however, and that must be fixed. You will eat.”

John looked Sherlock up and down, taking in his thin frame and the circles under his eyes. “So will you.”

Giving orders to your Dom shouldn’t cause him to inhale sharply and look like he wants to fuck you against a wall. John could tell that life with Sherlock was going to be unexpected. The elevator doors dinged open. Sherlock gave him a considering look and then dragged him bodily into the mortuary.

He kissed John bruisingly. “I’ve waited too long for this,” Sherlock growled, as he unbuckled his belt and pulled open his trousers. “Kneel. And there will be no coming  until I tell you.”  

John obediently dropped to his knees, his cane clattering to the floor. 

When Sherlock pulled out his already hard cock, John started to lean  forward but was stopped by long fingers run through his hair, fisting themselves  and holding his head in place.  

“No, John, this is mine to take tonight.” Sherlock said as he thrust  into John’s open mouth.

John managed to relax his throat just in time  to keep from gagging.   Sherlock set an almost relentless pace. John gazed up at him and  sucked, attempting to swallow the saliva that was starting to roll  down his chin.  

It had been four months filled with dreams of John and now his cock  was sliding in and out of those slightly swollen lips. The thought  pushed Sherlock over the edge and he pushed himself far down John’s  throat as he came.  

He gave himself a few seconds to recover, then grabbed John by  his coat and pulled him to his feet, bringing their lips together. John tasted of both himself and Sherlock which was almost enough to make him hard all over again.   Sherlock became aware that John was tucking him back into his trousers  and buckling his belt when he reached down and palmed the other man’s  erection through his jeans.   John whimpered into their kiss, a sound that Sherlock swallowed hungrily.  

“You’re not allowed to come until you belong to me, John, and only  then when I allow it. Do you understand?”   

John nodded.

  “Good.” Sherlock glances around the mortuary, “It seems that Molly has taken my riding crop. I’ll go get it from her and come back. It should give you enough time to compose yourself.”

John watched Sherlock slink out into the hallway. He closed his eyes and focused on controlling his erection. He had just managed to pull himself back together, when the door behind him opened. Turning, John came face to face with a mousy sub with a riding crop in her hand.

He smiled disarmingly. “You must be Molly.”

The lab tech faltered. “Um, yes. Do we know each other?”

John shook his head. “Sherlock mentioned you.”

Molly broke out in a blinding smile. “Did he? Oh. Well, yes. I’m Molly.” She took a step forward, holding out her hand. “And you are?”

John limped forward, stretching to accept her hand.

“Don’t touch him.” Both John and Molly instinctively froze at the commanding tone in Sherlock’s voice. John watched as a myriad of emotions showed themselves on Molly’s open face. She shivered and her hips jerked a little to the left. God knows he wasn’t a consulting detective like his Dom, but any idiot could see that Molly was attracted to Sherlock. Every subby tell she had was coming out to play.

Molly jerked her hand back. “Oh, Sherlock. I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have if you had told me. I’m sorry.”

Sherlock gave her a condescending look. “Well, I suppose it’s not your fault. I haven’t gotten him a collar yet. We’ll have to stop off on the way home, John. I really can’t abide other people touching my things. And it’s not like you can orgasm until we do, as per our earlier conversation.”

John didn’t parse Sherlock’s full meaning immediately. At first he only saw Molly’s face. She was devastated. So not just attracted to Sherlock—in love with him. John grimaced. She had thought, well hoped, that Sherlock hadn’t wanted John to touch her, not the other way around. Poor girl, then again, she’d never survive Sherlock. He’d eat her alive.

Which is when Sherlock’s words sunk in. A collar? That was not what John had thought he meant. A collar. Did he want that? Looking at Sherlock, John knew that he did. But why did Sherlock?

Sherlock, completely ignoring Molly, looked John over and rolled his eyes. “Do stop being tiresome John. Of course you’ll wear a collar. You belong to me now.”

John allowed himself to be led out of Bart’s and settled into a cab. Sherlock gave instructions to take them to Asprey and Garrard.

++++

“Wrong. You belong anywhere I choose to take you.”

Sherlock watched as John processed the statement.

“What?”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “You were just thinking that you don’t belong in this high-scale establishment.” Asprey and Garrands was an exclusive shop. Sherlock knew John had never been into a store so posh before, but it was ridiculous for him to think that he wasn’t good enough for the place. “You belong wherever I take you.”

Sherlock watched as John visibly relaxed. He loved how responsive John was. All he had to do was tell him to calm down, to take the responsibility out of his hands and John calmed immediately. Sherlock couldn’t wait to see a collar around his sub’s neck, visible proof that he was owned. That he chose to be owned by Sherlock.

He watched John sigh. “How do you know what I’m thinking? Doms have always complained that I’m unreadable outside a bedroom.”

Sherlock glared. “One: Any Dom that was stupid enough to have you and let you leave is an idiot. Therefore all conclusions they may have drawn from your behavior are suspect. Two: I know you better than anyone, including yourself. I know you were collared only once before and she rescinded your collar after less than 8 months. I know you blame yourself when clearly she had unrealistic expectations from day one. I know that you undervalue yourself and that will stop.”

John looked uncomfortable. “Sherlock, Mary wasn’t an unreasonable woman. She just wanted to settle down with a nice sub and have some children. I couldn’t do that for her.”

“Of course you couldn’t John. You are far too fascinating to do something so ridiculously mundane.”

John didn’t look too convinced but he didn’t say anything.

It only took one nearly imperceptible nod from Sherlock to attract the attention of the head salesperson, a Dom about 55 or so.

“Ah, good afternoon Sir. How can I help you?”

“Yes. We will be needing a collar.”

Aspery and Garrand was one of those exclusive shops that prided itself on subdued opulence and discretion. After a cursory glance at John, the jeweler nodded and moved back towards the counter.

“If Sir would allow his sub to be measured we can begin the selection process.”

Sherlock appreciated the fact that the man got right down to business. He was also experienced enough to read the facts of his and John’s relationship. Sherlock would be picking this collar. John would not be consulted. He was no pet looking for a beautiful bauble around his neck.

Sherlock allowed John to be led away by a mousy but well dressed sub. Clearly, Asprey and Garrard’s would never expect anyone to allow another Dom to touch their sub long enough to measure him.

Sherlock watched until John disappeared into a back room before turning back to the manager.

“I would like to look at leather collars.”

The jeweler nodded. “Black?”

“Brown.”

The man blinked but showed no other signs of surprise. Sherlock smiled inwardly. He did so enjoy throwing someone off. Of course the man wasn’t completely incorrect in his professional judgment. Sherlock preferred black, but he knew that John would prefer brown. All his clothing choices pointed to that. It was actually a bit of a surprise to Sherlock that he so naturally decided to adhere to John’s tastes rather than his own. He honestly felt a bit proud of himself.

Sherlock was shown a number of very nice hand made leather collars. All one of a kind, of course. It would never do for one of A & G’s clientele to run into someone wearing the same collar.

Sherlock gave each one a cursory glance before his eyes fell on a golden brown collar with an unassuming D-ring and tag. “That one.”

The manager lifted the collar carefully. “Sir has excellent taste. Alexander McQueen in hand tooled leather, velvet lined, ring and tag in platinum, of course.”

Sherlock nodded to himself. Of course. As if he would ever let John out of the flat in something as mundane as silver.

“Will Sir be needing a dress collar?”

Sherlock hadn’t considered it, but, yes, Sir would. “Yes. One inch platinum. Detachable O-ring with an optional pendant. One half carat marquise cut diamond surrounded by round cut sapphires.”

“I have something similar to that in the back.”

Sherlock cut him off. “I don’t want similar. Order it. Place everything on my family’s account.”
“Yes, sir. And what account is that sir?”

“Lady Wintergrace Holmes.”

The jeweler’s eyes widened in recognition. Sherlock did so resemble his mother.

“Ah, yes. How is your mother? Her William is one of our best customers.”

“Yes. Daddy always did enjoy his jewels. She is well.”

After finalizing his purchases, Sherlock was handed the box with John’s collar and asked if he would like the use of the private viewing room in order to place it upon John’s neck. Sherlock contemplated taking him back to Baker Street first, but ultimately couldn’t stand the thought of another person, stranger or not, looking at John’s bare neck. Every fiber of Sherlock’s being rebelled against the idea of John setting a foot in public uncollared ever again.

“Yes. Thank you.”

Sherlock escorted John into the viewing room and turned him to face  the full length mirror. He then took the newly purchased collar from the box and handed it over. He watched as John ran his fingers over the supple leather, as his beautiful hands hooked a finger through the D-ring and smoothed over the tag.

“You got me a brown collar.” He said, looking into Sherlock’s eyes. “I would never have been comfortable with black.”

It was almost an apology, but Sherlock preened. “I know you, John.”

“You do.” Sherlock’s cock twitched.   John held the collar to his throat waiting for Sherlock to lock it. Sherlock watched John’s face in the mirror as he fastened the clasp. 

The shorter man reached up and ran his fingers lightly over the platinum  tag that was slotted through the D-ring.

 “SH. What does the H stand for?” John asked his eyes still on the  collar around his neck before he glanced up at Sherlock.

  “Holmes. Sherlock Holmes.” He whispered into John’s ear before biting  down just about the leather strap. His eyes never left John’s. 

“I can’t believe you collared me before I even knew your last name. That’s not normal.”

 Sherlock wrapped his left arm around John’s chest and pulled his back  closer to him. He held him there tightly while he used his right hand  to unbutton John’s jeans and caress his quickly hardening length.  “Normal is boring.”

Throwing his head back against Sherlock’s shoulder, John gasped at the  tight pulls on his cock. He fought the urge to come, remembering the  order that was given to him earlier.  

His whimpers must have begun to sound desperate because Sherlock  finally spoke. “I own you now, John. You belong to me. I want you to come for me, John.”

  And he did. His pants caught most of the come when he ejaculated, all  except what ended up in Sherlock’s palm. He raised his hand to John’s mouth.   John didn’t need to be told what to do. His tongue darted out and  licked the hand clean.  

Sherlock kissed the same spot that he had bit down on earlier.  

“Mine.” He whispered, possessively.  

Sherlock held him there for a few more moments to make sure that  John’s legs had returned to him.   When John was able to move again he closed his trousers before turning to face his Dom.

“Yours.”

 “It’s time to take you home.” Sherlock said, sweeping out of the viewing room, John’s hand clasped in his.

++++

John stared up at the 221b on the door as Sherlock knocked perfunctorily. Glancing up and down the street, he nodded to himself. This was a very nice area. He didn’t really know how they were going to afford it.

“I know the landlady. Helped her out when her Dom was given the death penalty in Florida.”

“You stopped her Dom from being executed.”

“No. I insured it.”

John didn’t have time to answer. A very small older woman opened the door.

“Sherlock!”

John watched as Sherlock smiled genuinely. “Mrs. Hudson.” He moved forward to hug her.

“This is my sub, Dr. John Watson. He’s going to be moving in.”

“Oh, Sherlock. That’s wonderful. I always knew you’d find someone. May I?” She turned towards John with her arms open.

Sherlock smiled his real smile again. “Of course.”

John didn’t know exactly what she was asking until Mrs. Hudson hugged him tightly to her. She rubbed his back in a motherly manner. “Upstairs, both of you.”

Slightly embarrassed by his cane and limp, John wished that Sherlock had gone up first. He hated slowing people down with his stupid leg.

Walking into the flat, John noticed the size of the living area first. “Yes, this could be nice. Very nice, indeed. Once it’s straightened up.” 

He turned towards Sherlock only to see him picked up a throw pillow off the floor and start straightening. “Yes. I can move things around a bit.” 

John smirked. “It’s your stuff. This should be interesting.”

Mrs. Hudson clapped her hands together. “It’s a lovely place. There’s an extra bedroom, of course you won’t be needing an extra bedroom but you can do anything John likes with it.”

Sherlock turned towards her. “I need a lab, Mrs. Hudson. It’s the perfect size.”

Mrs. Hudson shot a conspiratorial look John’s way. “I don’t trust you not to blow the place to smithereens, Sherlock.”

A hurt look flashed across Sherlock’s face. “Mrs. Hudson!”

John watched as she smiled indulgently and smacked Sherlock’s upper arm. “Don’t you start with me.” 

She turned to John. “I’ll let the two of you settle in.” She moved towards the doorway.

Sherlock bellowed down the stairway for tea. John was just settling into a very comfortable, if worn, armchair when Mrs. Hudson yelled back up. “Not your housekeeper, dear.”

“You made sure her Dom was executed, huh? She doesn’t seem like a sub.”

Sherlock was watching John closely, an unreadable look on his face. “She’s not. A switch. But people of her generation have trouble admitting things like that. It just wasn’t accepted the way it is today. She hides her dominant side behind excessive mothering.”

John nodded. He had an aunt that was the same way.

Sherlock threw himself back on the sofa. “Well, we’re home.”

John smiled, but didn’t have much time to soak it all in before Mrs. Hudson was returning with tea and biscuits.

“Just some welcome home nibblies for Dr. Watson. Don’t get used to it. I’m not your housekeeper.”

John gratefully accepted the tea proffered by his new not-housekeeper. He barely had time to get out a thank you before Mrs. Hudson turned. “What about these suicides, then Sherlock? They seem right up your street. Three exactly the same.”

“Not suicides, Mrs. Hudson. Murders. And there’s been another one.”

John heard the downstairs door open and close and the stomp of boots on the stairs. A grey haired and attractive Dom came into the room.

Sherlock spoke first. “Where?”

“Lauriston Gardens.”

“What’s new about this one? You wouldn’t have come to me if something wasn’t different.”

“This time there’s a note. Will you come?”

“Who’s on forensics?”

“Anderson.”

Sherlock grimaced. “Anderson won’t work with me.”

“He won’t be your assistant.”

This time it was an eyeroll. “I need an assistant.”

“Will you come?”

“Not in a police car. I’ll be right behind.”

“Thank you.”

The man gave an aborted bow and left the room.

Sherlock moved to the window and watched. John didn’t know what he was waiting for, but as soon as the slam of the DI’s car door was heard, Sherlock jumped in the air. “Brilliant. Four serials suicides and now a note.”

He turned to John. “It’s Christmas!”

John was just beginning to smile when Sherlock moved towards the doorway. “John, I have to go. Make yourself at home, I’ll be back as soon as I can. Mrs. Hudson, I’ll be late. I may need some food.”

“Not your housekeeper.” She protested.

“Something cold will do.” He glided over to John’s chair reached down quickly grabbing him by the chin and roughly pulling him into a hard kiss. “I promise I’ll be back later.”

John had mixed feelings as Sherlock swept out the door. The first was anger. How he wished he could go too. But his damn leg. He hated that Sherlock was leaving this early in their new relationship, but he understood about the need to work. The desire to do a job well. He had lost that when the bullet passed through him. Mostly he missed Sherlock. He had hoped to spend a little more time with him. To learn more about him.

Before John could move any further into the arms of self-pity, Sherlock moved back into the room. “You’re a doctor. In fact, you’re an army doctor.”

“Yes.”

“Any good?”

John’s chin rose a bit. “Very good.”

“Seen a lot of death and blood. A bit of trouble, even.”

John squared his shoulders. “Yes. A bit. A lot. More than my fair share. Enough for a lifetime.”

“Do you want to see it again?”

John’s heart began to race. “Oh, God, yes.”

++++

Lestrade hadn’t wanted to involve Sherlock Holmes. But sometimes he just had to. The man was infuriating. Donovan said he was a sociopath. Possibly true. God knows he didn’t act normal, but when no one else could solve a crime. Hell, when no one else even saw a crime, Sherlock could solve it.

That’s why he was willing to ask him for help. It was why he was standing on the second floor of an abandoned building waiting for the man to show up.

He watched as Donovan squared her shoulders at the sight of the consulting detective. Lestrade figured he should go downstairs and referee whatever free-for-all was about to start.

He had only just stepped into the foyer of the house when he noticed that Sherlock wasn’t alone. He was trailed by that sub who had been in his flat. Lestrade had figured it was Mrs. Hudson’s nephew or something. He knew that Sherlock would put up with a lot from his landlady for which others would be eviscerated.

He couldn’t imagine it extended to taking her nephew, the sub, to a crime scene. The DI stood back to watch.

Donovan stopped Sherlock at the tape, of course. He heard Sherlock introduce the sub as Dr. John Watson. Well, that made sense. Sherlock always did like to have an audience. Someone knowledgeable to pass his information to.

Donovan and Anderson were now exchanging rage filled looks with one another. Well, Lestrade didn’t need to know what they got up to after hours anyway. Thank you very much, Sherlock.

As it appeared that World War III was not going to break out on the dodgy side of London, Lestrade moved forward and called for Sherlock to join him inside.

He waited until both men entered before turning to Sherlock. “Who’s this then?” he said, gesturing at the sub. It was only at that moment that he noticed the man was collared. Great, just what he needed. He was sure that any minute some irate Dom was going to show up, punch Sherlock in the face, and leave with his or her sub in tow. God knows he would never trust Sherlock Holmes to wander around the city with his sub.

Lestrade’s gaze scraped over the cane the sub had in his hand. If he had collared the man, he would have him home by a nice fire, not knocking around London’s alleys with a crazy person.

Sherlock, finally deigning to notice him, introduced the man. “This is Dr. John Watson. He’s with me.”

Lestrade rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Sherlock. It’s bad enough I brought you in. You can’t just drag others along as well.”

“Course I can. You need me.”

“Yeah, I do. But I don’t want this man’s Dom to barge in and drag him out of an active crime scene. I mean, honestly, I’d be morally obliged to allow them to.”

Sherlock gave one of his patented, self-pitying sighs. “Well, I’m not very likely to drag him out of the crime scene I’ve just brought him to, now am I?”

Lestrade actually gave the consulting detective a double take. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I said, you don’t have to worry about me dragging him off. Though, I suppose it is comforting to know you do feel “morally obliged” to allow one access to his own submissive. With the usual bungling I’ve come to expect from the Met, it’s good to know you still have some basic grasp of the law.”

“You collared a submissive?”

John finally spoke. “He did. And you can both stop talking about him like he isn’t here.”

Lestrade felt chided. He was usually much more chivalrous than this. He did, however, flick his gaze to Sherlock. Most Doms would not take well to being chastised in front of another Dom.

Sherlock’s attention was now turned to John. He was looking at the collar around the man’s neck and the right side of his mouth was quirked up. Clearly he was trying not to smile . . . and failing.

The consulting detective nodded once before turning back to Lestrade. “Where’s the body?”

Lestrade motioned towards the second floor. “I don’t suppose it would do any good to ask you to suit up?”

Sherlock placed a hand low on John’s back, ushering him to the staircase. “None.”

Once upstairs, Sherlock surprised the DI by asking for John’s opinion first. The man gave a fairly good, professional breakdown. It wasn’t up to Sherlock’s standards however, and the man jumped up to list off the completely “obvious” facts that everyone else, including his own sub, had missed.

Lestrade was not surprised when Sherlock’s sub burst forth with praise. “That’s amazing.”

Lestrade had never thought about it before, but of course Sherlock would lean toward adoring, pet-like submissives. Hell, any sub willing to be collared by Sherlock probably had a humiliation kink a mile wide. The man was a walking compendium of verbal abuse.

Which was why he was taken aback when Sherlock turned, stepping into the sub’s personal space, asking him, “Do you know you’re doing that aloud?”

As if he didn’t expect him to. As if he was surprised.

The sub looked up. “Sorry. I’ll stop.”

And then, it happened. Sherlock Holmes looked vulnerable. He paused, leaned back, and then said, in an almost coy manner. “It’s fine.”

The next thing you know, Sherlock had skipped off with barely a word to Lestrade, but a sharp kiss and an order to meet him back at the flat for John.

It was that thought for John that had Lestrade hopeful. Lestrade had seen many things in his years with New Scotland Yard, but the most surprising might be Sherlock Holmes, smitten. Maybe there was a chance for Sherlock after all. Maybe if he had to think of someone else, he’d make better choices, become a good man. Lestrade began to hope so.

A White Tie Affair

2011-05-15T23:28:46Z

Title: A White Tie Affair
Summary: Mummy finally decides to make an appearance in Sherlock’s relationship.
Rating: NC-17 (I hardly write anything else)
Pairings: Sherlock/John
Warnings: None that I can tell.
Disclaimer: I make no monies off of this, trust me, people don’t pay me to write this or anything else. And if I can't carry John and Sherlock around in my pocket forever, then I might as well give them back.
Beta: xixie
A/N: Because everyone has to write a Mummy-fic.

A/N 2: At one point our boys end up in a hotel courtyard. I don’t know if this particular hotel has one, so if you can afford and do book a room here, don’t blame me if you can’t find it on any map.... it probably doesn’t exist.

John walks in and places Sherlock’s mail on the side table. He clutches one envelope curiously as he sits in his chair. Sherlock doesn't even look up from his place on the couch.

‘Doctor John H. Watson’ and his address are beautifully scripted and there is no return information. When he opens the gold lined envelope he pulls out what appears to be an invitation printed on card stock probably worth more than his month’s rent.

‘Lady Agnes Holmes requests your presence at the annual London Philharmonic Orchestra Gala... [etc]’

It’s a good thing that John is already sitting down because he is pretty sure his legs would have just given out.

“Umm... Sherlock?”

“Hmm?” Sherlock sounds annoyed that his thoughts are interrupted.

“Sherlock, is your mum’s name Agnes?” John asks, still staring at the card.

“Yes. What does that matter?”

“She just invited me to a gala.”

Sherlock is up, over the coffee table and snatching the invitation from his grasp before John even realizes it is happening.

“Mycroft.” He says with as much distaste as he can muster, which for Sherlock is a lot.

“For us mere mortals, what just happened?” John asks when it is clear that Sherlock isn’t going to volunteer any additional information.

“Mummy knows.” He responds as if that will explain everything.

“Knows what exactly?”

“About you. About us, obviously.”

“And that is a problem? Right.” John looks and sounds hurt as he sits back in his chair and attempts to read the newspaper, failing miserably.

“John, it’s not like that.” Sherlock continues, “I just like to have things that are mine. I don’t want to share you with the rest of my family.”

“I will have to meet her eventually Sherlock, were you going to just miss all holidays from here on out?”

“I had planned on it.” Sherlock replies with a smirk. “Besides, we’re not going. I skip this gala every year.”

Almost as if on queue, Sherlock’s phone rings. He cringes at the screen for a second, obviously debating on whether to answer. Finally, he picks up.

“Hello, Mummy.... Yes, he did receive it.... Of course... Good bye, Mummy.”

“Wha-” John clears his throat and tries again, “What was that?”

“Get dressed, John. You’re going to need a tux. This event is white tie.”

***

Shopping for new clothes always makes John uncomfortable. Though to say that about this particular shopping trip would be an understatement much equivalent to saying Mycroft holds a minor position in the British government.

He is standing on a small pedestal in a store for a designer whose name John couldn’t even pronounce. And if life was not unfair enough, he was down to nothing but his pants. Normally, such almost nudity would not even phase the ex-soldier except that currently Sherlock is speaking to the designer (or tailor, John is not sure) in rapid French. The only time John usually hears it from his lover’s mouth is when they are in the heat of passion and needless to say, the effect is causing all of John’s blood to rush south.

John tries to think of anything and everything unpleasant that he can wrap his brain around including his multiple tours in Afghanistan.

Finally, Sherlock informs him that they are free to go until the suit is made, at which point there will be a fitting. He practically runs from the shop.

Slipping into the cab Sherlock gives an address and says something about shoes. John is barely even listening.

“Change that to 221B Baker Street.” He says to the cabbie. Then turns to Sherlock, “Shoes can wait.”

John then reaches over and grabs Sherlock by the lapels of his coat and pulls him into a heated kiss. They barely come up for air until the driver coughs for their attention.

He throws more than enough money at the man before practically pushing Sherlock into the flat and up the stairs.

“That. Was. Unfair.” John grumbles between kisses. He quickly unbuttons Sherlock’s shirt and attaches himself immediately to the long alabaster neck.

Sherlock’s smirk is cut short by the gasp that escapes his mouth when John bites down on the crux between his neck and shoulder. The pain-pleasure flips a switch in the genius’ brain and seems to alert him that John is wearing way too much clothing, and it needs to be dealt with right now.

Within frantic moments, which are in no way graceful, they are both finally naked. Deciding that the lube they keep in the desk for moments like these is too far away from their position near the door, John pushes Sherlock against the wall and crudely spits in his hand before returning for another kiss.

He grabs both their cocks between spit drenched fingers. Sherlock is longer and thinner than John but they have been together enough for him to know how they both like it. His strong hands squeeze them harder at the base and then he adds a small twist of the wrist at the heads.

There is no long drawn out promise of love, though sometimes there is, this is just desire and need. John increases his pace, and feels Sherlock begin to buck his hips, thrusting more into John’s hand. It isn’t long before he is coming loudly with John’s name on his lips.

He continues to wring the last of Sherlock’s orgasm out of his oversensitive cock. When Sherlock can breathe again he reaches up and curls his fingers in the hair on the back of John’s neck pulling slightly as he tugs him into another kiss that pushes John over the edge.

Before they both collapse on the sitting room floor, John manages to angle them to the sofa. The last thing that he remembers before falling into a sex induced sleep is Sherlock pulling Ms. Hudson’s afghan over the both of them.

***

The Holmes family matriarch sits on the terrace and sips her afternoon tea.

“How is your brother?” She finally asks breaking the silence.

“I believe he is better than he has been in years, Mummy.” Mycroft replies, exiting the house to join her.

“And this Doctor Watson? Or does he prefer Captain?”

“Doctor now that he is back in London. He was well the last time I checked in on him. I brought that file that you requested.” Mycroft pulls a red folder from his briefcase and slides it to her.

Agnes picks it up and begins to skim the first page.

“You have upgraded his surveillance status to ‘family’” It isn’t really a question but Mycroft feels the need to answer anyway.

“Yes, I trust he very soon may be with the proper encouragement.”

“Seeing each other for six months, living together for eight...” She continues to read, “He certainly has outlasted the others. Is it insanity or courage?” She laughs to herself.

“Something more, love.”

She turns to the next page of the file.

There is a photo that was obviously taken without either occupant knowing form a camera within Baker Street. Sherlock is hunched over his chemistry set adding a yellow liquid from a dropper with one hand and the other is wrapped around the doctor’s waist. He is looking down at Sherlock with a look in his eyes that Agnes notes is more than affection or fondness and to call it devotion would also be an understatement.

“Book a room for them at the Gala. They will be attending this year, and I don’t want your brother slinking off before I can meet his doctor.”

“Yes, Mummy. I will also arrange a car for them.”

The rest of the meeting passes in relative silence and the occasional small talk. When Mycroft finally leaves, Agnes picks up the folder again and continues where she left off.

***
John is standing in front of the mirror fixing his tie. He had gotten good at these with the dress functions he had gone to between tours. The tux was new though, he was used to his Mess-dress uniform.

It was the classic double-breasted back with long pointed lapels and tails. The suit was topped off with a white tie that he secretly thought looked dashing.

He smiled as Sherlock walked up behind him and draped himself over John’s shoulders for a moment before pinning a red boutonnière to the left lapel.

“You look like one of those James Bond characters that you are so fond of.” Sherlock smiles at him in the mirror.

“Which one, Daniel Craig?”

“Oh, God no. Don’t be dreadful. Sean Connery, definitely.” Sherlock kisses the side of his neck with a small growl and then is gone as quickly as he came.

John grabs their overnight bags off the bed and follows him down the stairs and out to the waiting car.

***
The gala is in full swing when the driver drops them off at the door. John watches their bags being whisked away by a bellhop before climbing the stairs of The Langham and presenting his invitation.

“Ah, Doctor Watson. It is so nice for you to have come. Lady Holmes left word that you would find her in the Grand Ballroom.” With that he is returned his invitation, along with a hotel room key, and dismissed as the next guest in line was greeted.

“Well, I know something for sure,” Sherlock starts, “we will skip the ballroom for now.”

“No, we won’t. You are dreading this meeting, Sherlock, let’s just go and get it over with. Besides, I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

“Liar. You’re just as nervous about this. You’ve been fidgeting with your cufflinks since we got in the car.”

John looks down at his hands as if just realizing he is doing it. He takes Sherlock by the arm and practically drags him towards the ballroom, only to be stopped by Mycroft at the door.

“Brother, so glad you could make it this year.” He says with a smirk.

“Mycroft, this is your doing. You know how much I hate these things; always trying to make me miserable.”

“Sherlock, that is no way to act. I merely thought it was time someone told Mummy about your new arrangement.”

Sherlock scoffs.

John has too much to worry about tonight of all nights, and doesn’t really want to listen to children fight. So, he shuts them both up with the first thing that comes to mind.

“How’s the diet?” He asks pointedly.

Mycroft is barely able to mask his surprise.

“John, that is beneath you.”

“Maybe.” He says with a shrug. “But how and when Sherlock and I make our relationship known to other people is our decision, not yours. Now, excuse us, I believe I have to meet your mother.”

He finally enters the room, this time, Sherlock is practically giddy beside him.

“I do love it when you surprise me, John. That’s Mummy over there.” Sherlock points to an elegant woman in what must be her mid sixties. She has salt-n-pepper hair that is pulled back into a french twist and adorned with gold accents. Her blue dress stands out amongst all the black but not in a pretentious way.

She is about John’s height but the look is all Sherlock. The same alabaster skin, high cheekbones and that all together etherial air about her that could have come straight from a Tolkien novel.

Always the solider, John straightens up and walks straight for her, determined to make a good impression.

“Mummy.” Sherlock kisses her on each cheek before stepping back. “This is John. John, this is my mother.”

“Doctor Watson, it is a pleasure to meet you.” She holds out her hand to him.

He leans and kisses it between the first and second knuckle.

“Thank you for inviting me, Lady Holmes. Please call me John.”

“Then you must call me Agnes. Walk with me, won’t you?”

John falls into step beside her as they make their way to the mostly deserted courtyard, stopping for Agnes to make the occasional pleasantry along the way.

She takes a seat on a bench and motions for John to join her.

“Sherlock, go get all of us drinks.”

Sherlock looks to John for confirmation that he is okay being alone with his mother (not that it could make him disobey her, either way). John nods at him with the smile reserved just for him.

“I admit that I was a little apprehensive when Mycroft informed me the two of you had taken the next step. Sherlock has always had the most atrocious taste in men.” She smiles at him almost apologetically.

“Apparently. Well, if Sebastian is anything to go by.” He laughs, feeling at ease with her.

The topic moves onto John’s work as a doctor and her charity events.

Sherlock returns with three glasses of wine and is surprised to see the two of them laughing like old friends.

Finally, a small plump woman walks up.

“Lady Holmes, it is almost time for your speech.” She says.

“Of course, I will be right there.” Agnes smiles at the assistant before turning back to John. “We absolutely must get together and do lunch. Good evening, John.”

She beckons for Sherlock to follow her.

“Just give me a minute.” Sherlock says to John and then leans down to plant a chaste kiss on his lips.

He holds his arm out to his mother, she takes it and they make their way back into the foyer.

“Sherlock, you know you have always been my favorite, which is our little secret... But so help me, if you mess this up I will be sorely disappointed.”

“I’m glad you approve, Mummy.” Sherlock beams at her.

“Of course I do. Now, do something about it.” She pats him on the arm and then makes her way to the microphone.

John walks up and stands next to him. Together they watch her speech but neither are really listening, both thinking about all the developments of the evening.

When applause erupts, Sherlock leans down to John’s ear.

“Shall we?”

“Oh, god, yes.”

Sherlock takes John’s hand and leads him towards the elevator.

***

John is speechless when he opens the door to their suite. Long arms drape over his shoulders, much like they did back at Baker Street. Sherlock leans down and sucks on John’s earlobe.

“John, you have to actually walk through the door.” He purrs.

John turns in Sherlock’s embrace, grabbing him by the hips and stepping backwards through the open door. He tilts his head up and meets the bottom of the taller man’s chin, planting kisses along that strong jawline. He then reverses the direction, raising up onto the balls of his feet to kiss the top of Sherlock’s cupid’s bow.

Sherlock watches him with heavy lidded eyes until their mouths meet. Then he finally participates. He kisses the corner of John’s mouth and then licks his top lip.

John moans at the intimate touch, and Sherlock uses that to slip his tongue between John’s lips. Their tongues caress each other almost lazily before John pulls back, breaking the kiss.

Sherlock uses this respite to move their bags form the entrance way to the in-suite bath.

“Sherlock, do you see this room?” John’s voice carries in from the sitting room.

“It’s just a room.” He responds emerging through the doorway.

“Just a room? It’s bigger than our flat.”

“I believe the word you’re looking for is ostentatious.”

“I kind of like it.” John says, still in awe, gently hanging his coat on the back of a chair.

“I didn’t say you weren’t worth it, John.” Sherlock walks over and begins to unbutton John’s shirt.

John reaches up, grabs the back of Sherlock’s neck and pulls him down for a kiss.

“Then let’s make use of every swanky surface.” He says before their lips meet.

[A/N: Look! I did a classy cutaway. Bet yall didn’t think I had it in me.]

Want to know which AU I am working on?

2011-05-15T00:36:31Z

Here is a clue:

Uppity date.

2011-05-12T05:47:09Z

A White Tie Affair had gone to beta. So be expecting that this weekend.

Speaking of my beta, Xixie and I have decided to co-write an AU fic. It's one of the ones mentioned in a previous post. This weekend is a writing/plot weekend. Hopefully, we will be quite productive.

Life stuff:

Next round of Team Biggest Loser starts at work on Monday. It was supposed to start this week but we pushed it off a week. It's now Recreation v City Hall. Go my team! Needless to say, there will be updates on that over the next 6 weeks. I need to get real serious about it too, since I need to lose 12 more lbs by the 15th of June, when I leave for Chicago.

I have started on a Couch to 5K program. So far I suck at it. But I have become obsessed (not Benedict/NIN/TVL level obsessed) almost with how happy people look when running. So I have decided to get my fat ass off the couch and see what I can do.

Alright, it is almost 2 in the morning. I should shower and head to bed.

Night my lovelies.

Elegie [2/2 + Epilogue]

2011-05-11T03:43:37Z

Title: Elegie (extended from the Random Song Meme v 2.0) [2/2 + Epilogue]
Summary: How John copes with Sherlock being gone.
Rating: NC-17 for the Epilogue, if you stop before then you can go with R
Pairings: Sherlock/John
Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, Alcoholism, Character Death (in the Reichenbach Falls kinda way)
Spoilers: Some from canon and some from s1.
Disclaimer: I make no monies off of this, trust me, people don’t pay me to write this or anything else. And if I can't carry John and Sherlock around in my pocket forever, then I might as well give them back.
Beta: xixie but I made changes after she read it, all mistakes are mine.
A/N: For the anniversary of Reichenbach Falls and for violetbruises, since she talked me into the extended version.

A/N 2: On both the first and second parts of this, some bits were stolen and modernized from canon. Bonus points if you noticed. ;-)

Part 1

Another six months pass and John stops even trying to hide the bottles. He stops going to work too. The only time he leaves is to make his now more than weekly trip to the cemetery. Sometimes he even just stays out there over night. The bottle comes with him too.

He masks it as drinking in Sherlock’s memory when he is there but really he knows the truth and he knows that Sherlock would too. Not that any of that matters now.

He’s woken up in the hospital a couple of times. Alcohol poisoning.

‘It’s almost funny that it has taken this long for that to happen,’ he laughs before checking himself out.

Mycroft barely makes good on his slightly veiled threat, he rarely steps in. John decides that he must still have the flat bugged though, or how would he keep ending up in hospital when he has pushed it too far.

However, John still finds him invading the flat and once at Sherlock’s graveside, where he just mentions how disappointed Sherlock would be if he could see him. That he didn’t give John his life back after Afghanistan to use it like this.

John is always quick to point out that Sherlock didn’t give him his life back at all, but they both know that is his hurt psyche talking because that is exactly what he did.

And just once, John comes to in a low security rehab facility. But he just waits until no one is paying attention and walks out.

***

It must be around six o’clock when John wakes to noises in the kitchen. Someone is cleaning. He hears the bottles being thrown in the bin. By the sound of it, they have been at it a while.

“Sod. Off.” He mumbles, disentangling himself from Sherlock’s sheets, grabs his half full rum and walks out. He has an idea of who is out there. The only person who disturbs him on purpose these days, since he has chased almost everyone else away. Even Lestrade had stopped calling.

He starts talking before he reaches the door.

“Mycroft. Get the fuck out.” He practically yells.

But it isn’t Mycroft in the kitchen, and he stops dead in his tracks.

“You’re surprised to see me,” the figure says turning around.

The bottle slips from John’s hand and he collapses to the floor. The next thing John knows is grey mist swirling before his eyes and the taste of cold water on his lips. He must have fainted.

“My dearest John,” says the well remembered voice, “I owe you my apologies. I had no idea you would be so affected by my leaving.”

“Leaving? Sherlock, you didn’t just pop off to Tesco’s, you died.” John doesn’t even try to mask his hurt or his anger. He pushes Sherlock away from him and stands.

Still in yesterday’s clothes, he does the only thing he can think to do. He leaves for the pub.

People give him a wide breadth as he comes through the door, looking more like a homeless vet than a doctor. The last three years have not been kind to John. He orders a pint and then goes to sit at the booth in the corner, planning on keeping to himself.

The drinks keep coming and John remembers all the trips to the cemetery, begging for just two more minutes with Sherlock. Now he is here, and John has run away.

After a few hours someone slips into the booth across from him. Neither of them speak at first, just taking in each other’s company once again.

Apparently, the time away hasn’t been good to Sherlock either, John notes. He is thinner than John remembers and paler too. His complexion speaks volumes about how unhealthy his life has been recently.

“You haven’t been eating.” John finally says, breaking the silence.

“The same can be said for you.” Sherlock replies with no malice or sarcasm.

“John, loo-” Sherlock starts.

“I thi-” John cuts himself off quickly, “Go on then. You want to explain what was so important about this. And I should at least hear you out, right?”

Sherlock sighs in relief, all but given the go ahead to try and fix this.

“My email to you was absolutely genuine. I didn’t expect to leave the pool that night. I didn’t die, as you can see John, in fact, I practically wasn’t hurt at all. Thanks to your actions, of course.” Sherlock pauses while watching for a reaction from John, he gets none.

“I went with you to hospital and once it was obvious that you were going to pull through, I made arrangements with Mycroft and left.”

“Mycroft knew.” John interrupts but isn’t surprised by this revelation.

“Of course. I knew I would need his help at some point and of course access to untraceable bank accounts. And his part in all this was to supply what I needed and most of all, to keep you safe. Because that is why I did it. Moriarty might have been dead but there were too many in his enterprise that would try and enact revenge on me and they would have used you to do so.

“I realized that fate had dealt me an extraordinary set of circumstances. If the world believed I was dead, then all those people would lay themselves open allowing me to take them down.

“I admit that this took me longer than I intended when I left you, my dearest John. Several times, I have sat down to email or text you, but it was important for me to continue to be dead and any change in your demeanor might have brought that into question.

“However, I did not know that this was happening.” He gestures to the pint that had showed up while they were talking. “Or I would have come back much sooner and risked the fall out.”

John’s face is still blank as Sherlock continues his tale.

“I asked Mycroft not to tell me anything that wasn’t necessary for survival while I was on the hunt. I knew I would not be able to work with the distractions. It was hard enough that I had you in my head wherever I went. I kept checking the blog and other than one initial post that I was dead, you never updated it. My one lifeline back to Baker Street and my John, and it was silent.” Sherlock looks lost for a moment as he waits for a response.

John sips his drink, and Sherlock doesn’t even try to hide his grimace.

“You let me think you were dead to protect me? That is what you expect me to accept, Sherlock?” John’s voice is frightfully even.

Sherlock shrugs.

“It is the truth. I did it all for you, for us. We would never be able to live in peace with what was left of Moriarty’s crew.”

“Sherlock, don’t even try that with me. You were being selfish. What did you think? That I would be too much of a hindrance, that you wouldn’t be able to do as much if there were two of us? Or is it the more likely option that you just were tired of me and wanted to do this alone? Couldn’t deal anymore with the ex-soldier with PTSD and psychosomatic limp?”

“No, that isn’t what I thought.” Sherlock quickly changes the subject. “Look, it’s obvious that I have hurt you. I’ll leave Baker Street. I’m sure that Mycroft can put me up for a few days until I find a place of my own...” He trails off.

“Leave Baker Street? You just got back.” John looks as if he was just slapped in the face.

“I am not going to make your life harder, John.”

“You’re an idiot if you think that going away again is going to make this easier on me. You can’t just walk back into my life after being dead for three years and then leave again...” John sighs, “Let’s go. This isn’t really a conversation for a pub.”

He pushes himself up from the table and drops enough bills to cover his tab. Together they walk back in silence.

***

The black car at the curb alerts them to Mycroft’s presence even before they reach the flat. Sherlock picks up the pace and practically runs up the stairs, taking them three at a time.

His brother is sitting in his armchair, twirling the infamous umbrella, when he comes through the door.

“Ah, brother, so good to see you have made it home safely. I admit, I expected at least a call. Mummy would have been so disappointed.” Mycroft says in the voice he always uses when he drops her name into conversation.

“And I expected you to look after John while I was away.” Sherlock spit back, invading his personal space. “You gave me your word, Mycroft.”

“He is fine. A little worse for wear but nothing happened to him while you were gone. There was a close call with a sniper once, but my men took care of it.” Mycroft seems completely at ease in all of this which only furthers in angering Sherlock even more.

Before he can respond, John reaches the top of the stairs just in time to hear Mycroft’s response.

“Excuse me, what? A sniper?” He asks, the concern seeping into his voice.

Both brothers ignore him.

“You call this fine? Look at him. Did you check on him even once while I was away? Or did you just figure that it was beneath you to keep tabs on him now that I wasn’t around?” Sherlock clenches his fists in obvious restraint to keep from punching his own brother.

A realization passes over Mycroft’s face for a split second before he quickly arranges his features back to neutral and stands, forcing Sherlock to take a step back.

“My apologies. I had no idea that you were in love with Doctor Watson, or I should have intervened more thoroughly.” He side steps Sherlock and walks out the door, not even waiting for the backlash.

The door slamming downstairs seems to draw John out of shock.

“You’re in love with me?” He asks, just barely above a whisper.

Sherlock collapses into the chair that Mycroft just vacated and looks slightly distressed.

John also sits and prepares himself for a conversation he has had many times over the last three years. This time though, it seems to matter.

“Do you know what I said to you at the cemetery every time I went there?”

Sherlock shakes his head.

“That if I had just a couple more minutes with you, I would tell you the truth. I’d tell you everything about how I felt, how I needed you more than breathing... that I love you.” John staring at Sherlock. This time it is his turn to wait for an answer that takes forever to come.

“Is that what you want, John? For there to be an us?” Sherlock doesn’t look up.

“Of course, if it is what you want.”

“You’re not Harriet and you’re not your father, but if you continue on this path then you will be. I’m not usually one for ultimatums but I need you to choose, my dearest John, this or me.” Sherlock looks up, finally making eye contact.

John thinks about his answer carefully, feeling the heavy weight of Sherlock’s gaze.

“You. I would take you over any of this. But I don’t know if I know how.” John reminds him of a lost child.

“I’ll help you but this is something you have to do for yourself and not me. There are meetings and things we can look into. I need you to promise me that you will try.”

“You have my word.” John agrees.

Then tension is so thick in the flat that John grabs onto the first thought in his head.

“You cleaned.” He says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Yes,” Sherlock pauses. “I threw everything out, all of the bottles you had around the flat, even my old stash of cocaine. The hardest substance here now is rubbing alcohol.

“You were right, you know. I did do it for selfish reasons. But not the ones you named. I really did it because I needed to keep you safe. If anything had happened to you, I would have fallen apart too. Only, it would not have been alcohol, but drugs and a lot of them.”

John gapes at him a moment. Both contemplating the personal changes necessary to make this work.

[A/N: The epilogue is the boysex that I could not make a decision on whether it should be included. But this is me, and how often do I NOT write smut? If you want to story to end here then I would suggest skipping the next bit.]

***

EPILOGUE

3 months later...

John lays on his stomach on the bed. He has just about drifted off to sleep when a now familiar weight slides under the sheet next to him.

“John?” Says a deep baritone voice into the crux of his neck.

“Hmmm?” John responds as fingers begin to play with the waistband of his pants.

“I’m bored.” Sherlock nips his shoulder lightly.

“And you’re waking me up because?” John asks, unable to keep the smile off his face.

“I thought you might prefer to entertain me, but if you’re busy I can always go back to that experiment with White Phosphorus.” Another nip, this time lower on his back.

John partially rolls over to see the other man.

“How do you even have- Never mind. I don’t even want to know.”

Sherlock pushes John back on his stomach and reaches to push down his pants. Then he straddles John’s thighs, leaning forward to lay his naked form along his back.

“You know, I could feign ignorance as to why you were naked when you crawled into bed, and why I’m naked now. “ John chuckles.

“But you won’t.” Sherlock says with a roll of his hips, his erection teasing John’s entrance.

“I don’t think people appreciate what I do to keep you from blowing up the whole block.” John laughs as he passes Sherlock the lube from the drawer of the nightstand.

“Oh, so that’s why you do it?” Sherlock starts to roll off John, “then I will go play by myself.”

“Sherlock, if you don’t get back here and finish what you started, I’ll tell Mycroft we have agreed to come to the Family Holiday in September.” John threatens with a smirk.

“You wouldn’t!” Sherlock freezes his movements.

John looks over his shoulder at him.

“I would you bloody cock tease.”

Sherlock resumes his position on John and leans down for an awkward over the shoulder kiss.

“If I didn’t love you...” He nips at John again as he slicks up two fingers.

Sherlock kisses, bites and lick’s down his spine and rubs the ridge of John’s opening, gently, teasing with just the tips of his fingers. John growls attempts to push back onto them.

“Pillow.” Sherlock says.

“What?” John asks, confused by the non sequitur.

“Under your hips.” He says using his free hand to pass John the second pillow from the bed.

“Oh.” John does as instructed. And from the quick glance Sherlock gets as John raises up on his hands and knees, he sees that John’s cock is dripping pre-come, even with the very little stimulation he has done.

“For all your talk, John Watson, you really want this.” He finally works in one and then two fingers, crooking them slightly to occasionally hit John’s prostate.

John moans with each push of Sherlock’s fingers. Never finding enough stimulation from either them or the pillow under him.

Sherlock opens the lube again with his free hand and pours some out, spreading it on with strokes of his palm.

Sherlock removes his fingers but quickly replaces them with his own cock and pushes into the slowly expanding muscle.

He pushes into the hilt, then pulls all the way out and enters him again. He does this for a third time, before he decides to stop teasing John.

This time when he enters him, Sherlock changes his angle and hits John’s spot, causing him to cry out after all the almost stimulation he has been receiving. Sherlock repeats this over and over again, each time slightly hard and faster than before.

He looks down and watches as he pulls out and thrusts back into John. And the sight mixed with the noises of complete debauchery that John is making is his undoing.

Sherlock feels his balls contract as his vision begins to cloud around the edges. He loses his rhythm but continues to push into John as his orgasm takes him. And if this could not feel any better, John clenches around him, managing to come from prostate stimulation alone.

When he can move again, Sherlock rolls off of John.

His pillow will have to be washed now, so he convinces John to roll over by and lays with his head on his lover’s chest.

“John?” He asks as John wraps his arm around Sherlock’s shoulders.

“Yes?”

“How long was I gone when you broke my chemistry set?” Sherlock follows the question with a small kiss on John’s skin to soften the question.

“Honestly, I don’t know. But I promise, as soon as I find another job, Sherlock, I will buy you another one. If I have to get it one Erlenmyer flask at a time.” He kisses the curly mop and begins to drift off to sleep.

“That won’t be necessary.” Sherlock says, not knowing if he means the chemistry set or the job, it’s kind of nice having John at home.

What are you doing today?

2011-05-08T21:59:07Z

Friend: "What are you doing today?"
Me: "Writing two different sex scenes to finish two different fics"
Friend: "Can't they just cuddle?"
Me: "Have you met me?"

So now you all know my plans for the afternoon. Oh and to go for a run... hopefully before starting one of the two AU fics that I have in the wings.

I don't write a lot of AUs, mostly because part of me think that it is annoying if not even remotely connected to the storyline or you know, real (well, about as real as we can get in fic). But the other part of me and the muse, once again, disagrees with me. And one of these, really, really, really has to be written.

In fact, I am looking forward to them both.

The second part of Elegie is officially off to my beta. Just waiting to get it back.

Ummmm, Hello.

2011-05-06T03:23:31Z

Just taking a second to pop in here. Needed to step away from the last half of the fic for a few minutes. The conversation was feeling forced. Plus, my eyeball is hurting. Guess staring at a computer screen for 15ish hours (at least) is bothering me tonight. Stupid corneal ulcer you're messing with my writing fic that for once, isn't straight up pr0n. It even has plot and stuff!!!

Feeling sad that I live on the wrong side of the ocean. I get like that occasionally... mostly when I hear about all the cool stuff that other people are doing. I will say this though, there is rumor that After the Dance (with BC) will open in NYC in the fall, if so I am totally there. I don't care what I have to do.

Okay, off out.

Elegie [1/2]

2011-05-05T03:57:57Z

Title: Elegie (extended from the Random Song Meme v 2.0) [1/2]
Summary: How John copes with Sherlock being gone.
Rating: R for language on this first part.
Pairings: Sherlock/John preslash
Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, Alcoholism, Character Death (in the Reichenbach Falls kinda way)
Spoilers: Some from canon and some from s1.
Disclaimer: I make no monies off of this, trust me, people don’t pay me to write this or anything else. And if I can't carry John and Sherlock around in my pocket forever, then I might as well give them back.
Beta: xixie
A/N: With May 4th being the anniversary of Reichenbach Falls, I wanted to do something along those lines. And this is for violetbruises, since talked me into the extended version. I know it is now the 5th for some of you but I am just making the deadline for those of us in the US. Hehe.

For days John drifts in and out of consciousness, but he can’t tell the difference between the chemically induced dreams and reality. Sometimes there are images from the pool, sometimes Afghanistan, other times there is Sherlock. Sherlock sitting by his hospital bed or pacing across the room, or even once having a heated argument with Mycroft barely above a whisper.

When he is finally coherent, though still groggy and a little unable to focus on things in the room, the person waiting for him is Mycroft.

“Wrong Holmes.” He chokes out, obvious that he hasn’t been using his vocal cords for some days.

Suddenly, there is a straw at his mouth. He sips the cool water, knowing that if he gulps it down he’ll make himself sick.

“Sherlock?” He asks looking up at Mycroft.

“You need to focus on getting better, John.” Mycroft responds with an attempt at a kind smile.

That is John’s first clue that something is wrong. The second is that Mycroft rarely calls him ‘John’.

“Don’t bullshit me. Where’s Sherlock?” The heart monitor speeds up sounding almost as anxious as he feels.

“I’m afraid my bother didn’t make it from the pool...” He continues to talk but John isn't listening. The white noise in his head is louder than it has ever been. Even louder than when he got shot or following any of his nightmares.

He closes his eyes and lets the morphine take him again.

‘Maybe this is another dream,’ he thinks to himself hopefully.

***

When John wakes again the room is blessedly empty. There are flowers on the table next to him but he doesn’t care enough to read the card. His mind recalling the conversion with Mycroft, going over it in his head, looking for tells that he was lying. But John can’t find any.

‘Sherlock’s gone.’ It sounds wrong in his head but his heart breaks all the same. That glorious man who gave him his life back, the one who seemed to know him almost better than he knew himself. The man that he loved... Gone. And there is nothing that John can do. A doctor and a soldier and he couldn't even save his one true friend.

John curled onto his side, the best he could still attached to the machines, and cried until he fell asleep.

***

This time the doctor wakes him. John is still in a daze. He remembers to answer the questions and tries to look relieved when they tell him he gets to go home but part of him doesn’t really want to go back to Baker Street.

He signs the appropriate forms, takes the bottle of pills from the hospital’s chemist and gets a cab.

A cab.

He can’t even take a cab without thinking of Sherlock. Thinking of that first night on their way to Lauriston Gardens. Knowing he should be angry at how Sherlock had just aired his dirty laundry but all he could think was how brilliant that mind worked. And how he was falling for the man since they met at Bart’s, but this moment was when he acutely felt affection.

John tries to chase away both the thoughts of Sherlock as well as the knot that is forming in his chest. It is almost a relief when the cab comes to a stop.

Almost.

Then he remembers where he is. Standing outside of 221B, John sighs and stares up at the flat. He secretly hopes to hear the sound of the violin from the window, but knows he will not. He considers going for a walk just to put off the inevitable or find another place to stay. But he doesn’t want to do that. Doesn’t want to leave the only place he has considered home since he was a child.

He unlocks the door silently and practically sneaks up the stairs. He can’t deal with anyone today, especially Mrs. Hudson who will mother him. John can’t face that right now, the sympathy and the pity.

Climbing the stairs, he bypasses the sitting room and heads straight to his bedroom. He removes his jumper and trousers, and wonders if he can avoid the rest of the flat forever. But he knows that the need for tea will win out in the end.

‘Tea.’ He thinks, ‘that is what I need.’

Now in boxers and an old army tee shirt he pads down to the kitchen. The sight of the chemistry set and the sundry evidences of the Moriarty case stop him in his tracks.

‘Fuck tea.’ He walks to the cabinet, pulling down a glass and the bottle of whiskey, then takes them both to where his laptop is still on the desk where he left it on that fateful evening.

John can’t decide whether he should put something in his blog or just delete the thing all together. He opens the lid and finds that the browser is on the home screen for his email. Logging in he finds more messages than he wants to deal with bit one catches his eye. Unable to stop himself, he clicks on it.

from: sholmes@thescienceofdeduction.co.uk
to: john_watson@gmail.com
date: May 4, 2011
subject: My dear John

I’m writing this just in case I don’t make it back from the pool tonight. I feel I owe you some explanation.

First, I’m pleased that after tonight the world will be rid of Moriarty. I do enjoy the game, John, I always have. I appreciate his abilities much like someone would appreciate a fine expensive wine. This is one of those delicacies that you indulge in once or twice in a lifetime. I fear the cost though, my dear John, the pain that you will feel if this does not end well. Which I admit, is highly possible.

Second, I knew I was meeting him when I let you leave this evening. I need you to be safely away from this final meeting. No man could have hoped for a better friend or better partner than you, John Hamish Watson.

As for my possessions, they are yours now. By the time you read this Mycroft will have all the pertinent information.

I hope you will forgive me and believe me to be, my dearest friend, very sincerely yours,
SH

John reads the email a second and then a third time, hits print and refills his glass.

There’s a knock on the door below, but he ignores it. John can think of only one person he wants to come through it but knows that isn’t going to happen. Eventually the knocking stops and John walks to the window, glass in hand, in just enough time to see Lestrade get back into his squad car and drive away.

He sits on the couch, refills his glass and reads the email again.

***

Days or weeks could have passed, John doesn’t know. He has stopped returning anyone’s calls and barely gets dressed except to go to Tesco or to the clinic. He wouldn’t have even gone back there if Sarah had not caught him as he was walking back to the flat.

But he goes diligently seven days a week now, always on time, always freshly showered, always sober. Pretending to be, not alright, but better. Handling his patients as he always did, though now will a little less patience than he had before. Anyone who saw him at work would think he was just depressed. They wouldn’t think about how his life had changed outside of these white stucco walls.

At first, John tries to hide all the empty bottles. He knows that Mrs. Hudson sometimes comes up to check on things during the day while he is away. Leaving the occasional casserole on the counter. Tsk-ing at the fact that he still has not moved or put away any of Sherlock’s things.

Every evening on the way back to Baker Street he stops and picks up a bottle or three of something nice. Tonight, it is Sherlock’s preferred wine.

His mood during the first bottle of the evening is what he considered ‘normal’ at this point. It relaxes him enough to shake off the day at the clinic.

The second gets him thinking as he pulls out the now worn and creased email.

I feel I owe you some explanation.

‘And I owe you some too.’ He thinks to himself. ‘But I will never get to make them. You will never know how I feel... felt about you, Sherlock. Though I guess you knew it the night at Angelo’s. I am sure you could tell it then. Married to your work and all.’

I knew I was meeting him when I let you leave this evening.

‘And like some idiot, you went alone.’

I need you to be safely away from this final meeting.

‘And I walked straight into his trap. I couldn’t even keep you safe and you didn’t run. Why didn’t you run, Sherlock?”

The tears begin to flow again but they are quickly soothed by anger. Because John is angry.

Angry with himself that he was a distraction to Sherlock at the pool. Angry that he could not take out Moriarty before the detective got there. He knew he should have tried harder. Angry that Sherlock had been so stupid to set up the meeting in the first place. But most of all, he is angry for being abandoned.

Rationally, John knows that people don’t choose to die. However, that is what it feels like sometimes. And now John is stuck in this flat, in this city, surrounded by memories, sometimes still hearing Sherlock’s violin or steps on the stairs, even though he knows they aren’t there. He has left him to deal with all of this, and deal with it alone. To watch as the world becomes a darker place because Sherlock was not in it. Forcing him to fill his hours with placating hypochondriacs rather than chasing Sherlock chasing criminals. To try and predict fortune cookies by himself. For making him pick up this fucking bottle in the first place.

Before he realizes what he is doing, John is up and across the room sweeping the chemistry set onto the floor. The few flasks that don’t shatter on contact he picks up and throws at the fridge, the cabinet, the door.

The third bottle of wine goes through one of the recently replaced windows. And John crumples onto the tile.

He knows he should care that he is sitting in glass. He also knows, he should answer the door that Mrs. Hudson is pounding on. But all he can do is sit there and cry.

“What have I done?” asking the empty room between sobs.

Mrs. Hudson’s stopped banging, ‘probably to get the spare key,’ John thinks to himself before he hears a different tread up the stairs.

Suddenly, John is being put in the shower, clothes still on.

“Damn it, John. What are you doing?” Lestrade asks him, turning on the cold water full blast.

He could attempt to fight him. And even being as drunk as he is, with the military training behind him, John knows he would win easily. But he doesn’t have it in him.

Instead he lets Greg man-handle him into dry clothes and onto the couch. Mrs. Hudson is sweeping up the glass.

John thinks he should tell her that he will clean it up but doesn’t know if he voices that thought or not. He sits there feeling as he did when Mycroft initially gave him the news, or when he pried the news out of Mycroft.

He looks down at his hand and sees he is holding a glass of water.

“Who gave me water?” he asks, not expecting an answer.

Lestrade sits down on the coffee table in front of him and starts to check him for shards of glass. John knocks his hands away.

“I’m fine.”

“Obviously, you’re not fine. You just destroyed the kitchen and the window. Not adding to it that you would have been brought up on charges if that bottle had hit anyone. Luckily, I was still at the station when the call came in and the desk operator recognized the address.”

“It won’t happen again.” John promises badly and they both know the lie when they hear it.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” He says, helping John to stand and leading him up to the bedroom. John catches Mrs. Hudson’s eye as he leaves, she smiles at him timidly.

John waits until the DI is gone and then creeps down the stairs, slipping into Sherlock’s room without her noticing.

He just needs to be near Sherlock tonight. To apologize for what he has done. But there is no Sherlock. There’s his room, the way that John always saw it when he would occasionally get a peek. A chest of drawers on one wall with bookshelves on the others. Case boxes here and there. The double bed unmade, exactly how Sherlock had left it.

John collapses onto the bed and breathes in the smell of chemicals, shampoo and Sherlock. All of these things are recognizable as ‘Home’ to John. For the first time since he has returned from hospital, he dreams, not of Sherlock dying. But of him shooting the walls, smiling at the thrill of a new case and giggling with John as if they were school children. Something that is infinitely more cruel in John’s mind, dreaming of him living.

***

He hates himself when he is working. Mostly because it is the only time he is sober. It gives him time to look at what he has become and what he is doing. He has become his sister. No, scratch that, he has become his father. Harry Jonathan Watson.

Harriet was at least a fun drunk before she got moody and then tired. John, as he was learning, went straight from relaxed to violent. In medical school and even in the army that had not been his response. But it is now and he knows it should scare him.

His therapist would probably say that his self destructive pattern was self inflicted punishment for feeling he failed Sherlock. And she would be right. John both knows and accepts this.

But he also knows something else too. That he rips his mind to shreds when he is clear-headed enough to think. Those are the nights that he finds himself going for a walk instead of the bottle. Sometimes he just needs to beat himself up some, mentally.

‘Probably a good thing I don’t have kids.’ he thinks to himself as he walks out the clinic doors. He takes a detour, one he takes at least once a week, sometimes more when he needs it, and passes into the cemetery. His feet find the way without him having to think about it.

Soon he is standing in front of a simple grey stone. There were no fancy embellishments, only a single quote, that John had requested the one time he talked to Mycroft at the hospital.

SHERLOCK HOLMES
6 January 1976 - 4 May 2011
“When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be truth.”
There was one wilted branch of Forget-me-nots at the base of the stone. John had been searching for something else when he had come across them at the florists. He knows Sherlock would probably not have cared for flowers, but it made him feel better and isn’t that what cemeteries are all about? Making the living feel better.

For when the time came, John had bought the spot next to Sherlock. After all, it was a better use for the money Sherlock had left him than all the alcohol he was killing himself with. He had even picked out the matching stone.

He stretches out on the ground as if laying by Sherlock’s side and speaks to him as he always did.

“My beautiful idiot, I miss you. I know you aren’t here and if you were you would get tired of me repeating it, you always did hate that. But it is true. It’s always true. There is not a minute that goes by that I don’t think about you. About the pool and what I could have done differently to keep you safe.

“It’s been a year now. I know you knew the risks in going there that night. But the world needs you more than it needs me and I would have done anything to keep you in it. I would change places with you in a heartbeat, even now Sherlock.

“You wouldn’t have retreated into a bottle. You would have kept on being brilliant. Making the world a better place, because you did. Just for being in it and being you.

“What I wouldn’t do for just two minutes. Two minutes to tell you all the things I couldn’t How I have loved you from that first week. That I had been trying to ignore it because your friendship was better than nothing. How I didn’t know what I would do if you found out and told me to leave. Bugger, it’s the reason I went on the pull so much. To try to keep my feelings for you at bay.”

He stands and brushes himself off. The sun has gone down now, hours later then when he first walked through the gates. He leans over and kisses the top of the stone, a poor substitute for the real thing but it is all he’s got.

“I love you, Sherlock.” He whispers, turns and walks towards Baker Street. If he doesn’t surface soon, Mrs Hudson will have Lestrade out looking for him and he doesn’t want to deal with either of them tonight.

***

John stumbles out of Sherlock’s room. He sleeps there nearly every night but it is still inherently Sherlock’s.

He throws the empty gin bottle in the bin. He hates gin and hasn’t had it since his army days, but last night it seemed like a good idea. It wasn’t, he realizes as he searches the drawer for the Paracetamol. It takes him a moment to notice he isn’t alone in the flat.

In the sitting room, in Sherlock’s chair, is Mycroft.

“No one sits there.” John says sternly, trying to cover his mental chastisement about being snuck up on and allowing their flat to be invaded.

Mycroft ignores the comment.

“Doctor Watson, this has to stop.”

“It really doesn’t.” John replies finally finding the bottle. Cursing to himself because it is empty.

“What would Sherlock say?”

“That doesn’t really matter, does it Mycroft? He’s not here to say it.” John throws the empty bottle in the sink and turns to the stairs. “I have to go to work, get out.”

“No, you don’t. I took the liberty of finding you a replacement for a few days. Doctor Sawyer understood. Apparently, she has been trying to get you to take some time off for a while now. Sit down, John. We need to talk.”

“Talk? Now, after all this time? It’s been two and a half years, Mycroft. I haven’t seen you since the day before I left hospital. If you wanted something you should have come before now.” He says barely keeping his anger in check.

“That was my mistake. I did not realize how bad this had gotten. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re honoring my brother’s memory by slowly killing yourself and I will not have it.”

With that, Mycroft rises and walks out the door, while John goes and finds a nice bottle of scotch that he was saving for a special occasion. Well, this would do.

TBC

A Note to the Sherlock Fandom:

2011-05-03T04:15:57Z

Dear Friends,

I am about to write an emotional piece that is probably going to fuck with my head. It is your duty, should you choose to accept it, to make me cheerful and happy again after. It is for you to decide how you do this.

All other fics are going on the back burner for a moment (even though I just have one boysex scene to write on A White Tie Affair) to churn this out, hopefully to be posted on the Reichenbach Falls anniversary of May 4th (let's hope my beta can find some internet).

Alright, off to writing.

*deep breathes*

My Random Song Meme v 2.0

2011-04-30T17:09:41Z

Title: My Random Song Meme v 2.0
Pairings/Characters: Sherlock, Lestrade/Mycroft (implied), John, Jim with a mention of Molly
Rating: PG-13 ish
Warnings: Mention of drug use, Suggested Character Death (but not really), Dancing and Smoking... EDITED TO ADD: Mention of abusive father.
Spoilers: Series 1, of course... but we have all seen them by now, right?

Author's Note: Shouldboverthis did one of these a while back. And I decided to get the juices flowing again. Un-beta & Un-britpicked. Grammar isn’t great but then again, it is just thoughts as they came out of my head.
Here how to do it:
1. To play, you turn on whatever music player you use and put it on Shuffle.
2. Start writing based on the TITLE of each song that plays.
3. You start when the song starts and stop when it's over.
No going back to change things (except typos and such, of course) or add new sentences on, once the song is done.
Post the title of the song, the artist and the length of the song. Do as many as you like but I chose to do five.

I. Send a Little Love Token - The Duke Spirit (2:41)

Sherlock is running though the streets. Chasing a suspect is just like getting high, only better. The cocaine and adrenaline both course through his veins. The cypher was easy but the criminal made it that way on purpose. He knows what he will find when he gets there. Another small clue, another link to Moriarty. It’s been 2 years since the pool. He is close, he knows it. But this one, this minor pawn will lead him to Moran. And through Moran, the man himself. Sherlock can almost taste Baker Street on his tongue. And so he runs.

II. Gimme Three Steps - Lynyrd Skynyrd (4:32)

A/N: Yes, I am Southern. And when we are born the first things they hand us are a gun and a Skynyrd album. Haha. *wink*

Lestrade walks into the pub. The American pub. He doesn’t know why he likes this place so much, with their Bud Lights and American Football. Yet, every Friday night that he doesn’t have a case, you can find him here. It is like his little secret. And on nights he is lucky, he will take home some tourist that likes his accent and his badge.

Tonight would be no different, except there is someone new sitting in his normal booth. The bowl of peanuts sit untouched in the bowl on the table.

“Mycroft, to what do I owe the pleasure.”

“I decided to see what you like about this place so much that you would skip a meeting with me to come here.”

“And you didn’t just kidnap me? I am touched.”

“Some things should be handled a little more delicately.”

An hour and 3 or 4 beers later, Lestrade finally asks, “Shall we get out of here?”

“I thought you would never ask.”

III. Elegie - Patti Smith (2:48)

Another empty bottle sits on the counter. When he was sober (only when he was woking) John would look at what he had become and hate himself. But the only way he could get by since the day he woke up in the hospital and was told that Sherlock was gone was with a bottle in his hand. He had become his sister, and if he had any children to slap around, he could have been his father.

The first few drinks would always start with him missing the man he could almost still hear sometimes around the flat. But as the night would go on he would get angry. On a good night, he would go for a walk and clear his head. But there were very few good nights. And even on those he would end up at the cemetery staring at a plain stone with Sherlock’s name and a couple of dates.

He was becoming nothing. And knew soon, he would lose the will to care even what little he managed to fake now. Then there would be two stones.

IV. Catastrophe - The Riverboat Gamblers (3:12)

Jim dances. No one really knows that, well except Molly, who always has been and always will be his faithful servant. She is the only one who sees him like this. Dancing in his pretty normal looking kitchen, at one of his few normal flats, in white boxer shorts, white socks and a white vest.

There is toast being made in the toaster and coffee bubbling away in the pot. He spins and grabs a mug from the cupboard, one he stole from Sherlock’s flat. A smiles crosses his face and he slides to the fridge for the milk. He continues to dance.

V. I Wasn’t Born to Follow - Social Distortion (2:54)

Sherlock sat under the bleachers and lit another fag. He inhaled deeply. For some reason, he was expected to be at this stupid Rugby championship game. Everyone from the school was. He would have just skipped it if the headmaster had not threatened to ban him from the chemistry labs if he did not make an appearance.

He put out the cig and walked around to the side of the pitch. Making sure that he was seen in attendance. If he had not been looking at the fans and parents that had shown up he might have noticed a certain blond team captain of the opposing team.

He turned and walked back towards the library. He had made his appearance.