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Sometimes Sex Alarms Me (3/3)
Summary: Occasionally Sherlock joins Greg and John in bed. Sometimes it doesn’t end very well.
Notes: Chapter 1 and Chapter 2
Greg was the first one up in the morning, he always was, and had already started making breakfast when John made his way downstairs.
“Morning,” Greg said over his shoulder.
John smiled at him, shooting a glance towards Sherlock’s closed door.
“Not a sound,” Greg answered the unspoken question. John shrugged and started to clear out the table in the sitting room so he would be able to lay it later. They were dressed already, even though John was still barefoot, which rarely happened before breakfast on Sundays but both of them knew why: they wanted to put as much distance between themselves and last night as possible and were eager to jump ahead to when things went back to normal again.
Half-way through their breakfast Sherlock came out, wearing the dressing gown he had slept in. Sherlock muttered a reply to their greetings and went straight to boil some more water. He struggled to convince himself to take his tea to the sitting room and not just go back with it to the bedroom. When the tea was made and he couldn’t stall much longer he slowly made his way to the sitting room and sat down in his armchair rather than at the table. Greg held out the breadbasket to him and after a moment of consideration Sherlock took a toast. It was cold, obviously, but it was all right to nibble on as an awkward silence stretched between them.
“Sherlock…?” John said tentatively after a while.
Sherlock sighed. “I don’t know.”
“Are you sure?” Greg asked.
Sherlock nodded. He didn’t know what had made him react last night and it was the most frustrating and disappointing answer there was. For all of them. There was absolutely nothing to fix, nothing to change, nothing to improve. It had been one of those times when nothing or everything had been triggering and he couldn’t pinpoint what had started it.
“But you’re okay?”
“Yes,” Sherlock said without hesitation, but then he frowned slightly. “Are… are you?”
Greg and John looked surprised at him.
“Yes.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Good,” Sherlock said, a bit surprised himself that he had asked that question.
They looked at each other all three, none of them knowing what more to say but the silence wasn't even remotely as awkward anymore. John was the first one to turn away, picking up his newspaper, and the other followed his lead. They might all be a little bit bruised, but nothing that would lead to any lasting damage and that was very comforting knowing.
Notes: Chapter 1 and Chapter 2
Greg was the first one up in the morning, he always was, and had already started making breakfast when John made his way downstairs.
“Morning,” Greg said over his shoulder.
John smiled at him, shooting a glance towards Sherlock’s closed door.
“Not a sound,” Greg answered the unspoken question. John shrugged and started to clear out the table in the sitting room so he would be able to lay it later. They were dressed already, even though John was still barefoot, which rarely happened before breakfast on Sundays but both of them knew why: they wanted to put as much distance between themselves and last night as possible and were eager to jump ahead to when things went back to normal again.
Half-way through their breakfast Sherlock came out, wearing the dressing gown he had slept in. Sherlock muttered a reply to their greetings and went straight to boil some more water. He struggled to convince himself to take his tea to the sitting room and not just go back with it to the bedroom. When the tea was made and he couldn’t stall much longer he slowly made his way to the sitting room and sat down in his armchair rather than at the table. Greg held out the breadbasket to him and after a moment of consideration Sherlock took a toast. It was cold, obviously, but it was all right to nibble on as an awkward silence stretched between them.
“Sherlock…?” John said tentatively after a while.
Sherlock sighed. “I don’t know.”
“Are you sure?” Greg asked.
Sherlock nodded. He didn’t know what had made him react last night and it was the most frustrating and disappointing answer there was. For all of them. There was absolutely nothing to fix, nothing to change, nothing to improve. It had been one of those times when nothing or everything had been triggering and he couldn’t pinpoint what had started it.
“But you’re okay?”
“Yes,” Sherlock said without hesitation, but then he frowned slightly. “Are… are you?”
Greg and John looked surprised at him.
“Yes.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Good,” Sherlock said, a bit surprised himself that he had asked that question.
They looked at each other all three, none of them knowing what more to say but the silence wasn't even remotely as awkward anymore. John was the first one to turn away, picking up his newspaper, and the other followed his lead. They might all be a little bit bruised, but nothing that would lead to any lasting damage and that was very comforting knowing.
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I really like your description of Sherlock and the aftermath. I really like these lines in particular:
The warm water was soothing and he took a moment to just stand there before he started to carefully clean himself. He hadn’t figured out what he tried to wash away – partly due to the fact that he didn’t dare exploring that train of thought – but he compulsively felt like he had to.
no subject