storyline one.

[docwithablog]

chronology -

00. word association w/ Sherlock

1. gen texting w/ Sherlock

2. the case of the missing first violinist w/ Sherlock

3. the case of the missing first violinist w/ Sherlock

4. the case of the missing first violinist w/ Sherlock

5. the case of the missing first violinist w/ Sherlock

6. texting w/ Sherlock

7. texting w/ Sherlock

8. texting w/ Sherlock

9. texts from last night w/ Sherlock

10. the case of the dying detective w/ Sherlock

11. the case of the dying detective w/ Sherlock

12. the case of the dying detective w/ Sherlock

13. the case of the great game w/ Sherlock

14. the case of the great game w/ Sherlock

15. texting w/ Sherlock

16. otherwordly w/ Sherlock

17. the case of the navel treatment w/ Sherlock

18. the case of the navel treatment w/ Sherlock

19. the case of the navel treatment w/ Sherlock

20. the case of the navel treatment w/ Sherlock

21. texting - part one | texting - part two w/ Sherlock

22. the case of the navel treatment w/ Sherlock

23. texting w/ Sherlock

24. the case of a scandal in belgravia w/ Sherlock

25. texting w/ Sherlock

26. the case of a scandal in belgravia w/ Sherlock

27. the case of a scandal in belgravia w/ Sherlock

28. the case of a scandal in belgravia w/ Sherlock

29. truth or dare w/ Sherlock

00. texts from last night w/ Sherlock

30. the case of the devil's foot w/ Sherlock

31. the case of the devil's foot w/ Sherlock

32. the case of the devil's foot w/ Sherlock

33. the case of the devil's foot w/ Sherlock

34. the case of the devil's foot w/ Sherlock

35. the case of the devil's foot w/ Sherlock

36. the case of the devil's foot w/ Sherlock

37. texting w/ Sherlock

38. the case of the devil's foot w/ Sherlock

39. the case of the devil's root w/ Sherlock

00. word association w/ Sherlock

00. texting w/ Sherlock

00. penny for your thoughts w/ Sherlock

40. midnight texting w/ Sherlock

41. interlude w/ Sherlock

42. interlude w/ Sherlock

43. interlude w/ Sherlock

44. texting w/ Sherlock

45. the case of the sign of three w/ Sherlock

46. the case of the sign of three w/ Sherlock

47. the case of the sign of three w/ Sherlock

48. texting w/ Sherlock

49. texting w/ Sherlock

50. texting w/ Sherlock

51. anniversary w/ Sherlock

52. texting w/ Sherlock

53. interlude w/ Sherlock

Comments

[docwithablog]

[ He's been half-awake for all of five minutes when Sherlock enters the bedroom, saying his name and telling him to wake up. He's been listening to him move about in the kitchen, thinking that he's working on something semi-scientific again, a new collection of blood spatters, possibly, the way he does when he needs to activate himself and just because John's completely knackered, doesn't mean Sherlock would be. The man's got another threshold for these things than most people. However, his voice doesn't sound at work and John has learned to distinguish these things by now. He doesn't sound like he's just got a case or he wants to enumerate his test results one by one, he sounds -- well, warmer, if going by his tone. Fonder. Jesus.

He didn't kill him, did he? Has he come back changed?

Groaning, he shakes his head, hair sort of a messy haystack on top of it, and sits up, pushing back against the headboard with one pillow lazily popped up against it for comfort. Only then does he actually look over at the other man, standing with a breakfast tray (wait, they have one of those?) full of actual -- food (what, he can cook??), some of it looking very fancy and decidedly non-British (???) and John's eyebrows go up, all the way to his hairline probably. His body feels spent still and sticky from sweat and other fluids and he should undoubtedly shower before eating anything, but it looks too delicious to be practical about. Yeah, Sherlock, too. So, in Sherlock's words from the previous day: ]

Could get used to this.

[ Anal sex in the morning, waking up to breakfast the following day. Definitely. ]

[acuriousincident]

Mm.

[ He waits for John to sit up against the headboard before putting the tray down on his lap, taking care not to drop anything in the process. The bedroom smells like sex - completely and thoroughly - and he likes the thought of it, of coming in here clean and leaving with the remnants of yesterday on his skin. John's looking nicely rumbled, with his hair all over the place and his voice slightly hoarse, groggy. The man did sleep for, what? 26 hours? Quite astonishing.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed a bit gingerly - though, his arse did hurt a lot worse when he woke up the first time around half-past six in the evening yesterday - Sherlock grabs one of the cups and looks at John. ]

Coffee or tea?

[ The pots are in the kitchen, still - purely, a matter of practicality, what with the tray having a somewhat limited capacity. His mind, still a tiny bit sluggish, comes up with John's preferences concerning both within a couple of seconds. He watches the other man quietly and waits, time passing by differently today, somewhat slower than usual. It's been like that ever since he got out of bed. Like a come-down in reverse; with the high giving way to something much like peace, rather than pain or agitation. Well, all right, there's pain but it's more like an ache, a reminder. He doesn't mind. It's like being marked, in a way. ]

[docwithablog]

[ The tray is a bloody wonderland of food, let's be real here. Besides the staples (buttered toast, sausages, fresh-pressed orange juice, very delicious), Sherlock has cooked some kind of shirred eggs in ramekins with hints of bacon and tomatoes in them as well as -- some very French-looking pastry, brioche-like, with raisins. He's never actually had anything like it before, John. Can't even name the thing. It does smell good enough to make his teeth water, though, and he can hear his stomach rumble quite insistently, but considering that he hasn't eaten for a whole day now, maybe that's to be expected. He's hardly even taken a piss, has he? Been comatose, that's what he has.

And what isn't to be expected is the fact that Sherlock's cooked for him. Made him a meal. Things that apparently happen when you fuck the man. (When you claim him). He smiles, more widely than is his normal habit and picks up a piece of buttered toast, weighing it in his hand. It's light. You shouldn't think it was there, but it is and that's somewhat of a miracle.

Coffee or tea, Sherlock asks, then, sitting down on the edge of the bed (gingery, oh, he was there) as if to emphasise -- and John considers the question for a moment, concluding that a healthy shot of caffeine is just what the doctor's ordered right now. ] Coffee, please. [ He takes a bite of the toast, the butter melting and thickly layered while glancing over at the other man. For someone who can easily settle with army rations, John suddenly appreciates good food all the more, doesn't he? That could be a pretty symbolic sentiment, really. The difference between being alone and being together.

Christ. ]

[acuriousincident]

[ Nodnod. He gets to his feet slowly, his lower body aching at the movement and making him grit his teeth briefly. At certain angles, well - he feels it, definitely. John did shove twenty centimeters worth of hard cock up his arse, it's bound to leave some noticeable after-effects. He'd checked it out in the mirror when he got up to shower and there'd been a couple of minor rifts, a lot of swelling and redness. Expected. As the hours have gone by, the pain has grown less and less pronounced and he's almost... regretful about it.

The pain keeps him grounded in his body, subtle as it may be. Consequently, he feels... grounded to the moment. The more it dissipates, the more it slips away and whilst memories can be both very detailed and weighty, there's just something about the physical reminders... the pull in his body at every moment, the deep-seated sensation of ache... He slips into the kitchen and pours John a cup of coffee (no sugar), pouring a cup of tea for himself afterwards before heading back to the bedroom.

This time, when he hands John the cup, he doesn't sit down himself. Instead, he walks over to the window and opens it, slightly, letting in the cool air as well as the sounds from the street downstairs. Cabs, people, shopping, someone running in high heels, uneven weight distribution, meaning she's carrying something in her left hand, something like a laptop, late for a meeting, job interview? He blinks.

The mental glass dome he's been living in ever since they went to bed yesterday fractures, though it doesn't quite break. ]

[docwithablog]

[ Sherlock disappears into the kitchen and returns with two cups, coffee for John and tea for himself, though he doesn't sit down, instead handing John his cup and walking over to the window with his own, opening it slightly, a fresher, cooler air blowing into the room, bringing the sounds of the London street below with it. He leans back against the headboard, sips his coffee and watches Sherlock. Watches Sherlock being very quiet (sometimes I don't talk for days on end) and looking contemplative. Lost in thought. John wants to ask him what he's thinking about, but at the same time he respects the man's need to just be right now, not be pulled back to reality and stay in whatever inner landscape he's caught up in. There are other things John could ask, after all, less intrusive things, strangely enough. Seeing as what he asks is -- ]

How's your arse?

[ Very specific, very physically centered. Sherlock can have his thoughts to himself, but they shared his body tonight, John's allowed a certain interest, isn't he? Besides, if there's anything he needs to fix, as a doctor, now's a good time. It's been more than 24 hours, if Sherlock's experiencing anything beyond general aches, possibly something's not quite right. While talking, he's moved on from the coffee and the toast to the eggs (which are the most delicious thing he's ever eaten for breakfast) and a nibble off the pastry which isn't quite his thing, but not unpleasant or anything. Just -- raisins. Yeah.

Eating his eggs along with a sausage in a few big, greedy bites, he looks over at Sherlock, thinking he might remember the stiffness to his movements for quite a while to come. Might even savour the memory a bit. There's something extremely satisfying about having left an impression, a completely physical one. It's like being twelve again, right, and writing J + S with a knife in the trunk of the tree at school. A little something for prosperity, not that John ever cared about that before.

That's how things change, presumably. ]

[acuriousincident]

[ As John digs into his breakfast, Sherlock notes that he clearly likes the eggs (they are delicious and more interesting than regularly fried eggs) and that the raisins aren't... to his taste. Ugh. There's always something, isn't there. He adds that little slip of knowledge to his John!file and decides to bake croissants one day, when he has the time and the inclination. It does take quite a while, at least if you do it right. They have a French cookbook, his family, that's been passed down from generation to generation and every recipe is quite elaborate.

He's deep in thought and thus, realises only about half a minute later that John's asked him a question. Blinking again, he looks up. Thinks back, rewinding. Oh. Oh, right. ]

It's fine.

[ He could add something obvious about it being a little bruised, a little swollen or what have you. But John's a doctor - fine, in his terminology, refers to a wide range of states, all firmly within the concept of no medical intervention required. Anything beyond that, Sherlock would mention. You don't want that particular part of your body to suffer serious complications of any sort, really. However, John was careful with him. Took... care.

That's a nice thought.

He sips his tea and leans against the window sill, gaze gliding away from John once more, thoughts wandering pleasantly without gaining any sort of actual purchase. It's a good way to be. ]