Hush (Sherlock, John/Sherlock, PG13)
Jul. 28th, 2010 12:41 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
emerald_embersTitle: Hush
Fandom: Sherlock
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 614
Summary: Having John Watson as a flatmate isn't quite a stroke of luck.
Sherlock was quite certain his finding John Watson for a flatmate was what most people would term lucky. John was a man of reasonable intelligence, enough that conversations with him were generally quite bearable, enough that when he didn't use that intellect to full capacity it was deeply irritating. John was not yet a lost cause.
He was also lucky in that while John presented himself as a relatively normal man he was surprisingly adaptable. Sherlock had waited for the inevitable verbal reprimands for taking his shoes off in public or lying down in the landing whenever he felt a headache threatening, but found John simply rolling his eyes or stepping over him without complaint.
Lucky, however, was a relative term and one Sherlock would scarce apply to himself under the current circumstances. One of the greatest pleasures in life to him had always been the sound of Mrs Hudson's gas boiler kicking into action, the sound of old fashioned, inefficient, but curiously reliable equipment doing its job, hot water spraying in the shower. Any previous flatmate who made the mistake of singing in the bathroom would normally be subjected to whatever level of abuse was required in order to have them leave, a deserved punishment for distracting him from the soothing nature of the shower's own chorus.
Unfortunately, John was proving distracting in this area in an entirely different way.
Sherlock had never paid much attention to the shower's occupants before, but when John took a shower he would find his mind wandering. He studied the sounds to work out water placement, the moment John stepped in, the break to apply shampoo, rinsing, washing arms and chest quickly and efficiently, legs following, always slowing a little at the parts he imagined to be tender.
Building a picture in his mind of how John showered had been distraction enough, though at least the regularity of John's showering rituals allowed him some peace of mind, but then one evening the pattern changed for no good reason; John paused at what should have been his legs and stayed there, a change in pattern maddening enough Sherlock got out of bed and walked to the bathroom, fully intending to knock and demand John tell him what, precisely, he thought he was doing in the shower for that length of time.
Increased proximity to the shower meant increased clarity as to what was going on inside it, leading Sherlock to back up against the wall opposite the bathroom and slide down it, sitting and listening, not quite sure how to process what he was hearing.
John was masturbating in their bathroom.
Sherlock couldn't think past that, the thought of John standing in the shower, one hand braced against the wall, the other on his erection. It felt strange to acknowledge, almost difficult, because he knew of sex, the idea of it and appeal of it, but it was something he had never taken much personal interest in. The thought of John as a sexual creature was altogether a little jarring.
Orgasm came and Sherlock stretched out on the floor, pinched his thumb tight, a little reflexology to try and fight a growing headache; he frowned when John opened the bathroom door, bright light from within the bathroom scarcely helping his headache.
John looked down at him and side-stepped him carefully, switched off the bathroom light. "You'll have to try harder to get a look up my towel," John said, before heading for his own room.
Sherlock considered protesting that he'd had no intention of taking a look, but found himself silent.
Protesting would have been dishonest when, in retrospect, he rather regretted not trying to look.
The End
Fandom: Sherlock
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 614
Summary: Having John Watson as a flatmate isn't quite a stroke of luck.
Sherlock was quite certain his finding John Watson for a flatmate was what most people would term lucky. John was a man of reasonable intelligence, enough that conversations with him were generally quite bearable, enough that when he didn't use that intellect to full capacity it was deeply irritating. John was not yet a lost cause.
He was also lucky in that while John presented himself as a relatively normal man he was surprisingly adaptable. Sherlock had waited for the inevitable verbal reprimands for taking his shoes off in public or lying down in the landing whenever he felt a headache threatening, but found John simply rolling his eyes or stepping over him without complaint.
Lucky, however, was a relative term and one Sherlock would scarce apply to himself under the current circumstances. One of the greatest pleasures in life to him had always been the sound of Mrs Hudson's gas boiler kicking into action, the sound of old fashioned, inefficient, but curiously reliable equipment doing its job, hot water spraying in the shower. Any previous flatmate who made the mistake of singing in the bathroom would normally be subjected to whatever level of abuse was required in order to have them leave, a deserved punishment for distracting him from the soothing nature of the shower's own chorus.
Unfortunately, John was proving distracting in this area in an entirely different way.
Sherlock had never paid much attention to the shower's occupants before, but when John took a shower he would find his mind wandering. He studied the sounds to work out water placement, the moment John stepped in, the break to apply shampoo, rinsing, washing arms and chest quickly and efficiently, legs following, always slowing a little at the parts he imagined to be tender.
Building a picture in his mind of how John showered had been distraction enough, though at least the regularity of John's showering rituals allowed him some peace of mind, but then one evening the pattern changed for no good reason; John paused at what should have been his legs and stayed there, a change in pattern maddening enough Sherlock got out of bed and walked to the bathroom, fully intending to knock and demand John tell him what, precisely, he thought he was doing in the shower for that length of time.
Increased proximity to the shower meant increased clarity as to what was going on inside it, leading Sherlock to back up against the wall opposite the bathroom and slide down it, sitting and listening, not quite sure how to process what he was hearing.
John was masturbating in their bathroom.
Sherlock couldn't think past that, the thought of John standing in the shower, one hand braced against the wall, the other on his erection. It felt strange to acknowledge, almost difficult, because he knew of sex, the idea of it and appeal of it, but it was something he had never taken much personal interest in. The thought of John as a sexual creature was altogether a little jarring.
Orgasm came and Sherlock stretched out on the floor, pinched his thumb tight, a little reflexology to try and fight a growing headache; he frowned when John opened the bathroom door, bright light from within the bathroom scarcely helping his headache.
John looked down at him and side-stepped him carefully, switched off the bathroom light. "You'll have to try harder to get a look up my towel," John said, before heading for his own room.
Sherlock considered protesting that he'd had no intention of taking a look, but found himself silent.
Protesting would have been dishonest when, in retrospect, he rather regretted not trying to look.
The End
