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Yep, I wrote another smutty fic today:

You Shield Me – John protecting Sherlock from thugs is nothing new. Neither is Sherlock protecting John from his nightmares.

teaser below the cut

Sherlock winced as the gun blast echoed in the space. He glanced over to see John had moved his gun to a different target. But the men were dropping weapons now, the wounded one holding his arm. Sherlock’s phone was in his hand, already texting Lestrade. He couldn’t help but see the fear on their faces, the ice in John’s eyes. They were amateurs: John was not.

“Look, man, we didn’t want any trouble,” said one, keeping his hands up. John’s gun never wavered.

“The police will be here shortly,” said Sherlock, taking in the young man. Broken home, occasional drug use. Typical.

“You all right, Sherlock?” John’s voice was as calm as if discussing a cup of tea.

Sherlock stepped closer to him, barely brushed his hip with his hand. “Quite all right.”

John’s eyes flickered to Sherlock, tongue wetting his lips as he shifted his hold on the gun imperceptibly. Sherlock looked towards the door, small smile on his face. There was the sound of cars and he knew the police had arrived.

“Here are your thieves, Inspector,” said Sherlock as Lestrade led the way inside. “John shot one.”

“Just a little,” said John quickly. “He’s fine.”

Lestrade muttered about paperwork as John quickly slid his gun back into his jeans, covering it up with his jacket. Sherlock watched the action closely, never tired of it. More police were arriving now and they quickly slipped out the side door.

“Let’s get some dinner on the way home,” said John as if he hadn’t just been staring down half a dozen armed men.

Sherlock made a non-committed noise as they walked back towards the main road. He tugged John into an alley once they were far enough from the police cars and kissed him deeply. If it was up to him he’d kiss John in front of the Queen and everyone, but he knew John would rather fewer people know about them. And contrary to John’s belief he did listen. Sometimes.

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Sunday Six

I’m not sure what this fic is going to be yet, exactly, but here’s the start:

Sherlock winced as the gun blast echoed in the space. He glanced over to see John had moved his gun to a different target. But the men were dropping weapons now, the wounded one holding his arm. Sherlock’s phone was in his hand, already texting Lestrade. He couldn’t help but see the fear on their faces, the ice in John’s eyes. They were amateurs: John was not.

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This short fic is a little different. It’s johnlock and mystrade in one fic. But I wanted to show the similarities between the two relationships. Mostly I’m just praying it makes sense:

Tandem – Two relationships, each unique, but also mirrors of one another in ways their participants never know.

teaser below the cut

Sherlock lay awake, watching John sleep on his side. He looked almost boyish, lines of worry and stress smoothed out and softened by the moons soft light. One small hand lay curled on the pillow, forming a loose fist. The other hand was tucked under his chin, lost in shadows. His white t-shirt rode up, exposing the soft stomach.

Greg watched Mycroft sleep. It wasn’t unusual for the man to show up on his doorstep late at night. More often than not Greg was awake watching late night telly. He’d take the man to bed, maybe after a hot shower and they would sleep the way they slept best; side by side.

John’s chest rose steadily, heart strong and steady as always. Something worrisome must have crossed his dreams because his brow suddenly furrowed, lips parting to release a breathy whimper. Sherlock clasped the hand under John’s chin, feeling him squeeze, only relaxing when Sherlock’s lips brushed his cheek. John guarded Sherlock’s days; Sherlock guarded John’s nights.

Mycroft had seemed particularly bothered by something tonight. Greg wouldn’t even begin to guess the reason. It could be anything from a bit of cracked china to an attempt on the Queen. His brow was creased as he breathed softly, curled up on his side. He ran his hands down Mycroft’s back, soothing him. The man mumbled something and shifted. Greg leaned down to kiss his cheek, hand moving around to his chest. Mycroft whimpered. “You’re with me,” whispered Greg in his ear. “Safe.”

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Would just like to drop a prompt. Prompt: Sherlock and John comes home to see Mycroft playing with Hamish. [And allows Hamish to play with his black umbrella]

It ended up being a ficlet, so I’ll just post it here:

John smiled at Sherlock as they walked back into Baker Street. It had taken some convincing for Sherlock to just go on a date, but well worth it. His husband had hardly seen the point; after all they were together every day anyway. But this was dinner and not a case and John was secretly hoping Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t mind watching Hamish for a little bit longer. He leaned up and kissed Sherlock as he pushed open the door.

“Pappa! Daddy!” John abruptly broke the kiss as Hamish crashed into them. John swung his head around and saw the incongruous sight of Mycroft sitting on the floor in front of the couch laughing.

“What the hell are you doing here?” John turned as Hamish tried to climb him. He picked up his son and glared at the elder Holmes.

Mycroft smiled. John held Hamish a little closer. “Can’t I come see my nephew?” Hamish squirmed down and went for the umbrella.

Sherlock put a hand on John’s shoulder. “You waited until we were gone.”

Sighing, Mycroft watched Hamish play with his umbrella. The boy was four and curious. “I have not seen much of him.”

John took a breath. “We’re not looking to keep you from him.” He moved to go make tea. “You’re welcome to babysit next time.”

Hamish got the umbrella open and crawled under it, peeking out at the adults. Sherlock sat down next to his big brother. “You are good with children.”

“I do believe John had other plans for when you got home. I could take Hamish out.”

A small smile crossed Sherlock’s face. “I believe Hamish would enjoy spending time with his Uncle.”

John reappeared with tea and handed one to Mycroft. Hamish came out from under the umbrella, something in his fist. “Uncle?” he asked.

“Oh, let me have that Hamish.” Mycroft quickly pried it from his hand before John could see what it was. “Probably you shouldn’t play with that umbrella.” He tugged it closed and put it behind himself.

John shook his head. Better not to ask.

“Mycroft is going to take Hamish for the night,” said Sherlock.

“Oh?” John raised an eyebrow.

“Yay!” Hamish climbed into his Uncle’s lap.

“Well, can’t argue with that.”

Mycroft stood up, taking the umbrella in one hand and Hamish’s hand in the other. John put a coat on his son. “You be good for Uncle Mycroft.”

“Yes Papa.”

They watched as Mycroft walked him out. John looped an arm around Sherlock’s waist. “I suppose he’ll be fine. Come on to bed.”

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Since I’ve been posting fics at 1am this week, here’s a morning reblog with what I’ve been up to:

Alone in the Woods – On orders to take some time away from London, Sherlock finds out the best part of camping.

Midnight Touch – Mycroft’s been working too hard. Greg knows how to make him relax.

What John Didn’t Know He Wanted – Sherlock and John have been sleeping together a few weeks. This time Sherlock takes control.

Wash Away the Bruises – Short post-case shower sex pwp.

The worst part is it’s only Thursday. I just might end up writing more, who knows.

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Oh look, up until 1am writing again. Mostly I just wanted an excuse to write John Watson chopping wood:

Alone in the Woods – On orders to take some time away from London, Sherlock finds out the best part of camping.

Teaser below the cut:

There were many times Sherlock Holmes observed John Watson. Oftentimes John was unaware. This was one of those times as Sherlock lounged against a tree with a book in his hands, secretly watching as the smaller man swung an axe over and over again, splitting firewood. This was all John’s fault, after all. There had been yet another close brush with death and danger and Mycroft demanding they take a break and get out of London for a bit and John had suggested they go caravanning. So now Sherlock was pretending to read while a shirtless John Watson grunted with each fall of the axe.

The sun shone through his blond hair. His compact muscles rippled under his skin.  Sherlock was well aware of the effect watching John was having on him, but fortunately the man was completely focused on his task. He set a final log on the stump and brought the axe down with a satisfying sense of finality. “There, that should be enough wood for the weekend.”

“What was that?” Sherlock put the book down as if he hadn’t been paying any attention.  John wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm, giving Sherlock a marvelous view of his chest. “I said, I think that’s enough wood for the weekend.”

“You would know,” Sherlock set the book down, watching him.

John chuckled. “Yes, I can’t imagine the Holmes family did much caravanning.” He picked up a bottle of water and Sherlock watched him swallow, a trickle of water running loose down his chin. Sherlock swallowed as John brought it down again and wiped the water away. “Want some?”