ASK20: Sherlock play swing, naked.
Crave
There are three things Sherlock Holmes craves above all others.
* A case
* Tobacco
* John
Of these there is one he wants to the point of distraction. There’s one he’ll never give up. And there’s one for which he’d die.
Everyone knows which is which. The new neighbors two doors down. The postman. The teller at the local bank. Whether they know him as Mr. Holmes, as Sherlock, or simply as sir, everyone damn well knows.
“Don’t.”
John knows, too. Of course he does.
“Not again.”
Sherlock’s first case came when he was nine. He deduced where father had hidden mother’s cigarettes. Her thanks—a trip to London—had been all the positive reinforcement the bright boy needed.
“You can’t do it again, so stop.”
Sherlock had his first cigarette at fourteen, ‘borrowing’ one from mother. He knew she knew but as one fiendishly bright addict to another she understood the need.
“They won’t let you, and I don’t need it.”
Sherlock’s first realization that John was different, vital, rare, there’d been a woman in pink grown cool between them and it felt like the words brilliant, amazing, and incredible were pressed against his skin.
“There’s no cancer, Sherlock. The tests came back negative. You know this. I don’t need your blood again.” John held out a steady, wrinkled hand. “You know what I need. Especially today.”
Of the few things Sherlock craves above all others there’s only one he wants to the point of distraction, will never give up, and for whom he’d die.
And everyone knows.
Of course they do.
Sherlock stepped into his husband’s arms, pressed a kiss to his warm neck. “Happy seventy-first birthday, John.”
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The wonderfully gifted xxxxxx6x’s created this beautiful image—”As Time Goes By”—of retired John and Sherlock. Thank you for this xxxxxx6x.
Always sad. Always sweet. Always beautiful xxxxxx6x.
Freaky and his little Jonny.
Some kind of Sherlock and Frankenstein crossover story.
Porn Advent Calendar: December 31, 2011
* I will get fit this year. And I’ll stay fit.
Slumped on the sofa, laptop on his belly, John rolled his eyes at his computer. He’d made this resolution every December thirty-first for the last five years and it meant three things: God damn push-ups. God damn jogging. And fucking celery.
I will… ∞ ∞ ∑ ∆ ◊ ∞ ∞
At their desk pretending he was following his lover’s directive to ‘focus that brilliant mind on something new—make a few resolutions with me this year,’ instead Sherlock was doodling mathematical symbols or watching John.
* I’ll teach Sherlock how to manage money.
John scowled at his laptop. Yeah, well, that was presuming they damn well made any money this year.
I will < > ~ < > ~ < > ~ <>
Sherlock kept drawing the less than and greater than signs until they were…mating.
* This time I’ll say yes to the presentation Mike Stamford wants me to give at the Seville conference.
John frowned and remembered last year. God but he didn’t want to go to that damn conference again. He hated leaving Sherlock.
I will ∆ ≈ ∆ ≈ ∆ <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <>
Sherlock went back to drawing the…mating signs.
* I’ll take that sodding typing course this year at the further education college.
John pulled a face at his laptop. Just what he wanted at the end of a long day running round London, a night course with a bunch of stroppy, spotty kids.
I will…find resolutions boring. Sherlock glanced up. John’s face most definitely was not boring. Sherlock watched his lover focus that brilliant mind of his.
* I’ll look into that position Mycroft was talking about.
John sneered. He liked Mycroft just fine but the idea of working for the man made him want to bite something.
I will… Sherlock suddenly had a resolution. …give John a reason to smile. Now.
* I’ll get a…
Unhurried movement caught John’s eye about the time Sherlock’s shirt slinked off his shoulders.
The tall man stood and John remembered his sweetheart had been wearing nothing but that white button-down shirt. “Put some clothes on you beautiful exhibitionist,” John had said an hour earlier. Sherlock had complied. More or less.
Now most definitely…less.
Sherlock plucked up John’s laptop, put it on the coffee table. He then went to his knees between John’s knees. He bowed his head.
“Shhherlock…”
Many, many times they both resolve to be quieter.
“Sh—Sherlock…”
In deference to Mrs. Hudson, of course.
“SHERLOCK!”
They didn’t manage to keep that resolution this time either.
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The beautiful artwork is from the gifted xxxxxx6x. Advent prompt courtesty of me. And yes, in Atlin’s World O’ Porn Advent goes on longer than in the real world, apparently. Will continue short fics on Tumblr once or twice a week, so do share prompts as they occur to you, and thank you for reading and noting the fics you liked! atlin.merrick@yahoo.com.
Gah! This glorious artwork gives me a sweet damn pain in my sweet damn pain place.
I need a tummy rub.
as time goes by…
