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errantcomment) wrote2010-11-08 01:30 am
The Solstice Suite: Part Two
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Pairing: Gen, UST if you tilt your head
Rating: G.
Word Count: 750
Summary: Gonna try and do a fic a week based around the weeks leading up to Christmas for our two favourite boys. If you have any particular requests, go for it, I'll try to work it in.
Notes/Warnings: Fluff, basically. Hopefully not too terrible. I've had exams and a kick-ass cold, so sorry this isn't longer/better.
John, standing in an alleyway in the London dark, entertained the notion that Sherlock Holmes was a robot put on earth by aliens purely to vex the locals. No, he decided, as he watched his breath plume in the air, aliens were too far-fetched. A cruel and pinching wind howled through the narrow alleyway, blowing the rain almost horizontal in needle-sharp flurries. John hunched into his jacket. Didn’t anyone get murdered in nice warm houses anymore? He hadn’t realised he’d left his gloves and scarf behind till after they had left, and now he regretted not making Sherlock turn the taxi round to pick them up. Apparently, his mad flatmate wasn’t bothered by the cold (probably the same temperature as his blood). He was happy even though his hair was rapidly being plastered flat to his head, on top form after five (silk dressing gown and sulk-filled) days of Being Bored. He was cheerfully poking about in the nearby bins (not allowed near the body till Anderson was done), his coat swept up over his knees to keep it out of the wet. He thrust his chapped hands deeper into his pockets and shivered miserably as the wind blew right through him, seemingly intent on turning his liver into frozen pate. The body on the ground was protected by a white tent, and people were huddled round it disconsolately.
“John, come here, what do you make of this?” still crouched down he waved a long piece of darkly sodden wood taken from one of the bins. John took it gingerly.
“Um. Perhaps Van Hel-,” No, wait, he wouldn’t get that. He was already staring up at John like he was speaking Urdu. “Well, what would you like me to make of it?” It really was cold, and John was starting to think wistfully of the warm fire and tea he had left at Baker Street. Sherlock stood up straight, suddenly towering over him.
“You’re cold,”
“Yes, very well done. Your genius does not escape you,” John huddled down as a vicious gust of wind blew a parting in his short hair. Sherlock huffed in what could have been amusement or irritation.
“Why didn’t you bring a scarf? The wind whistling round the chimney not enough of a hint for you?”
“You were the one who insisted on rushing out like the place was on fire,” John grumbled and grimaced as rain splattered his face. Sherlock sighed.
“Here,” he pulled off his scarf and before John could protest, wrapped it round his throat in a business-like manner. It was warm and dry from being under Sherlock’s long coat. It smelt like chemicals, Sherlock’s aftershave and the indefinable metallic scent of London at night (like home). He didn’t really have time to think about it, as Sherlock took the piece of wood from his numbed fingers and let it clatter to the floor and took off his own gloves, shoving them in his pocket.
“Sherlock-”
“I’m not looking after you if you catch the flu,” Sherlock’s hands were warm, almost baking, and he clasped John’s fingers together easily. “And you can’t work if you can’t feel your fingers,”
John was glad the wind had already whipped colour into his cheeks, since he was fairly sure he was blushing. Sherlock rolled John’s smaller hands between his own and bent over them, cupping them, blowing a steady stream of warm air over John’s reddened fingers. John stared at the parting in his flatmate’s damp hair, now level with his eyes, transfixed by this curiously intimate action. His fingers were tingling. Someone cleared their throat and John pulled away his hands like they were burning. Sherlock straightened, apparently unruffled. He smiled a small, private smile at John before turning to the intruder.
“I’m er, I’m not disturbing anything?” Lestrade’s face was carefully blank but John caught an undercurrent of amusement and glared at the older man, shoving his hands back in his pockets, which (to be fair) were a lot warmer- he could feel them now, anyway. He burrowed into the scarf automatically as the wind blew wetly in his ear.
“I found the murder weapon,” Sherlock picked up the piece of wood, gloves magically back in place. “Come along John, we can look at the body now,”
Lestrade raised his eyebrows at John as he went past.
“Shut up,” John said.
“Never said a word,” Lestrade grinned as he followed the shorter man to the tent.
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I can just see Lestrade's "blank" face.
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Your description of winter weather was so good, it made me feel cold! Brrrr..... (Need Sherlock's scarf now!)
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If it did happen the fandom would explode though. Rainbows and kittens every where. What a mess...
Worth it though.
Thanks for reading. =)
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And, aw, Sherlock gave him his scarf! That's sweet!
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Thanks for reading. ^^
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Hope your exams went well and you are feeling better soon! ^_^
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English winters are a complete bitch, because they're not so much colder than anyone else's but they hold a bigger grudge.
Thanks for reading. ^^
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*squees*
SO sweet. Can't wait for more
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You're reading my stuff. o.o
Glad you liked it. :p
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...Am I not supposed to?
*stamps foot*
But I want to. It's good.
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Cause you're really good!
I recommend you to other people.
People I know in real life.
That know where I live.
I'm just a bit star-struck. :p
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You're star struck by me? I've never star struck anyone before... I've always been the one star struck.
I think that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me.
I'm going to print it out and stick it in my scrapbook
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Bless.
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I'm just waiting for Anderson or Donovan to post one online. Or stick it in John's blog in the comments.
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John's a closet Van Helsing (movie?) fan, eh?
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though I almost wrote it as such.I think he's totally into the old Hammer horror movies- on Halloween he got Sherlock to sit down and watch a few with him- the Horror of Dracula and whatever.
Since then, John's caught him pretending to be Frankenstein whilst doing his experiments once or twice.
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lol! Now imagine the reactions of Lestrade or Molly if Sherlock were to start quoting Frankenstein while in the morgue.
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I'm glad you enjoyed it, thanks for reading.