When Sherlock received the news that John had been attacked in London he dropped everything in his search for Moran and returned home. He had to see John for himself. Needed to see the proof that John was alive. Hurt and a little broken, but alive.
He sneaked into the hospital, really he needed to speak to Mycroft about better security for John, as it was far too easy. Though Sherlock wasn’t fool enough to believe his overbearing brother didn’t know exactly where Sherlock was at every moment. Mycroft had probably informed his people that a shaggy haired, ginger man would paying a visit to Doctor Watson and that he should be left completely alone.
When Sherlock arrived at the door to John’s room, Mycroft had naturally gotten John a private space, he eased the door opened silently and cautiously peaked inside. John was fast asleep, no doubt thanks to the machines pumping medicine into his body. Despite the bruises darkening John’s face, a black eye and a rather terrible looking purple welt on his left cheek, Sherlock felt as if he had never seen anyone look to perfect and beautiful. The full impact of how much he missed John hit him harder than a train and tears, unbidden, formed in his tired eyes.
He quietly lowered himself in the chair beside John’s bed and carefully, oh so carefully, picked up John’s hand and held it in his. More tears rushed to his eyes as he lay a delicate kiss to John’s smaller, darker hand and whispered apologies against his skin. He pressed John’s hand to his stubble covered cheek and breathed in the scent of the man he gave up everything for.
“I’m sorry,” Sherlock whispered as he pressed another kiss on John’s palm. “I’m so sorry, John.”
John stirred slightly in his bed and Sherlock tensed as John’s eyes flickered beneath his lids. Half of him was begging John to wake up, to see those dark blue eyes sparkling and swimming with warmth. To hear John’s voice, to hear him grant Sherlock the forgiveness his doesn’t and will never deserve. But Sherlock knew it couldn’t be. Not yet. Not when John was still so obviously in danger.
Closing his eyes and placing one last lingering kiss to John knuckles, Sherlock made to stand up when John’s voice startled him.
“Hmm…who’s there?” he mumbled as he fought of the unconsciousness of the drugs. “Harry? That you?” John blearily tried opened his eyes and Sherlock’s breath caught in his throat. “Hello?” John’s voice was beginning to sound panicky.
“Shhh..” Sherlock soothed as he placed his hand over John’s eyes. “Go back to sleep, you’re all right. You’re safe, John.”
Sherlock moved his hand to John’s forehead and brushed back his fringe. “Everything is going to be fine,” he leaned over and pressed a soft kiss into John’s hair.
” M’ I dreaming?” John asked as he slowly slipped back into sleep.
“Yes, John,” Sherlock told him. “You’re dreaming,” his hand was now cupping John’s cheek, thumb caressing his eyelid.
John’s eyes opened now and gazed at Sherlock with so much sadness and hope and utter devastation Sherlock felt himself unable to speak. All words were stuck in his throat as he stared into midnight irises that drank his face in like a desperate man dying of thirst.
John’s hand reached out and touched Sherlock’s face, the back of his knuckles sweeping down his cheek, before his fingers traced feverishly over Sherlock’s cheekbone.
“I don’t want to wake up,” John said in a breathless voice. “Please, Sherlock. I don’t- I can’t- Please. God, don’t leave me again.” John’s voice was tight and clogged now, clearing fighting off the tears threatening to fall.
Sherlock leaned forward again resting his forehead against John’s. “Shhh. It’s all right, John. I promise someday when you wake up I’ll be here. But for now you have to let me go.” Sherlock pressed more soft kisses to John’s face and hair whispering words filled with promises he wondered if he could keep.
“Someday, John,” he said over and over again as he watched his friend slip back under to lure of drugs.
“Promise?” John asked in a voice so far away and quiet that Sherlock barely heard him.
“I promise, John. I swear I’ll give you your miracle.”
*This is NSFW! Put some headphones on to avoid embarrassment*
So this is the little treat I have been talking about! :D Think of it as, ‘Audio Sherlock Porn.’
I tried my best to get rid of the background noise, and add a little story to it as well :D I promise you that I ONLY used audio from the TV series, no extra audio has been added, what so ever!
And here is the download link that people have been asking for: http://www.mediafire.com/?8saj29bv4qwb5ud
Sherlock & Jawn Get It On!
- In 221B
“I looked you up on the internet last night. Found your website.”
“What did you think? Any good?”
“What to see some more?”
“Oh god yes.”
*Undoes pants. John starts inserting..his.. into.. Sherlock.*
“You doing it?
“You done it?”
“Yeah, hang on!”
*Sherlock and John get at it!*
“yes….careful!……….Oh, John”…….”YES!”…..”OH GOD!!”……………
*They finish up.*
“Me, yeah, fine..I’m fine..fine….
That, ah…thing, that you, ah.. that you did with, um… that was, umm….. good.
But I was hoping you’d go deeper.”
Made rebloggable because
Sherlock had an overbite. And a snaggletooth. And he hated both of them.
It was very rare to find photos of Sherlock smiling once his adult teeth had grown in. He’d noticed other people’s smiles and realized his own was less than perfect, how the snaggletooth made him lisp, how he’d sometimes bite his lip without meaning to. How Mycroft’s teeth had managed to grow in perfectly straight, not a gap to be seen or a tooth out of line. Sherlock had managed to get sick for every photo and retake day at school since the fourth grade, dropped his forced smile just before the flash went off for family photos, and avoided any sort of notoriety that would result in him needing his picture taken as a result.
He did not like his smile.
When Mummy had brought up the topic of braces on his sixteenth birthday, he had leapt at the opportunity. He dutifully sat through the x-rays despite how the bits of plastic pinched his mouth and stared in mute disgust at the mold of his teeth that had been cast from the resulting photos. He bore with silent dignity as the brackets were glued on and the wires slowly installed and tightened. He did not wince or grumble or groan, but sat back and let the orthodontist work.
And if for a few days every couple of weeks he couldn’t eat without unbearable pain, that suited him fine; not like he ate much anyway.
Still, though, even with the correction of his jutting canine a year later, a mouth full of metal was just as unappealing as a mouth full of crooked teeth, and it was very rare to see him smile.
Unless you were John Watson.
“And then,” John was dissolved into giggles, stuttering his way through the rest of his tale, hand on Sherlock’s shoulder to support himself as his frame racked with laughter, “Sebastian tripped over his laces, landing right on the basketball. Knocked the wind right out of him!”
Sherlock chuckled alongside, the laughter tugging his lips from his teeth and baring the gleaming silver brackets to the air. It wasn’t for a few moments that he realized John had stopped laughing and was looking at him.
Or more importantly, at his mouth.
Sherlock’s face heated and he closed his lips tight, teeth clenched and hands raised to further hide his braces from sight. Glowering at John accusingly, Sherlock swallowed, trying to force his illogical embarrassment away. Not like at least a dozen other students at school had braces, not like they weren’t accepted by society, not like he cared if people found them unattractive.
But John was smiling, that indulgent “you’re being ridiculous” smile he got when Sherlock was grousing over something only he found tedious or when he asked a question John thought everyone should know the answer to.
“You don’t have to hide them, you know.”
Sherlock didn’t lower his hands, brows knitting up on his forehead and his scowl deepening behind his palm. John reached forward, tugging the offending hands away, but Sherlock kept his mouth firmly shut, lips pressed in a thin, terse line.
Another laugh, and John’s fingers laced their way through Sherlock’s. “I happen to like your smile, Sherlock, braces and all. You don’t have to hide them from me.”
Sherlock stared down at their joined hands for a long moment, and smiled.
“I could see the look in Sherlock’s eyes - a flash of, not anger, but hurt. For a second, he looked like a little, lost child. I should have been horrified that he’d even doubt me for a second but, to be honest, it was so refreshingly human of him. He actually did value our friendship. He did, despite himself, care. Then he saw the explosives on me and he realised what was happening.” [x]
lost, i get lost, i get lost.
That’s what it’s for. - Arthur Miller