ninette-aubart: Sleepy doodler cannot resist the lure of the homoerotic. “Sherlock, come t
ninette-aubart:Sleepy doodler cannot resist the lure of the homoerotic.“Sherlock, come to bed, it’s half 3 in the morning!” John leaned against Sherlock’s back, no more than half-awake himself. The flat was warm, but Sherlock’s skin was cool–giving John a moment to wonder why on earth Sherlock would be playing with chemicals while shirtless.“Not yet,” Sherlock said, pouring a pale blue liquid from beaker to test tube. “Just a few more steps, and I’ll be able to isolate the different components of the mud from Katherine Jones’ boots.”John groaned and thumped his head against Sherlock’s shoulder. “What are you doing? You solved that, remember? The brother? The large one?” He was still sore from the outcome of that case: thrown into a skip by said brother–which was embarrassing AND painful, thank you very much–before bringing him to heel with a carefully placed warning shot while Sherlock stood by with his mobile, calling Lestrade. “No,” Sherlock shook his head, seemingly unaffected by John sneaking an arm around his waist. “I missed something. The brother said they went hiking, but the mud on her boots isn’t consistent with that. He couldn’t have killed her in the forest. He did kill her, of course, there’s no doubt about that, but we’ve got it all wrong. Stupid–I never should have trusted the obvious, of course he took her body out into the forest. He would, wouldn’t he… can’t believe I was taken in by–”“Sherlock.” John said it softly, and Sherlock’s flow of words stopped like a tap turning off. “So you’re saying… Scotland Yard got their man, but for the wrong reason.” He reached up and plucked the test tube from Sherlock’s hand and set it down into the rack on the table. “I think figuring out the details can wait until morning." "But–” Sherlock started, and John stopped him again by sliding a hand down across the cool skin of Sherlock’s belly, just barely skimming over the front of Sherlock’s pyjama pants.“You shouldn’t be doing experiments without safety equipment anyway,” John said, giving a slight squeeze. “Now come to bed.” John listened to the change in Sherlock’s breathing, the slight hitch there, before Sherlock sat the beaker down on the table. “I was safe enough,” Sherlock muttered, still sounding just a little reluctant to leave his work.“Yes, but you were distracting,” John said, gently turning Sherlock around to face him. “Now come to bed, you git.” He leaned up and kissed Sherlock with a soft, open mouth, and turned to walk back towards the bedroom. He knew Sherlock would follow. -- source link
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