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Finally got the next chapter up of my selkie fic.
November 1931 – Hamish is growing up fast, and John relies on him when they go out for a rescue.
teaser below the cut
John carried in an armload of wood, quickly shutting the door against the cold sleeting rain. The radio played softly, some wordless music while Hamish leaned over his maths homework. John couldn’t help but smile as he watched his son and crossed to the fireplace. Hamish had reached that gangly stage of thirteen when he was all limbs and nothing seemed to work together quite how it was supposed to. Putting the logs down and feeding one into the fire, he spoke without looking over at him. “How are you doing?”
“Not bad,” grumbled Hamish, fisting his hands in his curly hair. “At least maths make sense.”
“Don’t neglect your literature though,” said John, standing and thumping a thick volume by Hamish’s elbow.
Hamish rolled his eyes and picked up his pen again. John ruffled his hair and Hamish batted his hand away. Still smiling, John reached over and turned the radio up as the news came on. More bad news about factories closing and unemployment going up. John was very glad he didn’t have to worry about that. There were rumors Mycroft might close the factory in town, but so far he’d been making every effort to avoid it. John took fewer supplies from Mrs. Hudson and slipped a little extra money into the woman’s pocket. He was considering asking Mycroft to reduce his stipend. After all, everyone needed to pitch in.
He picked up some sewing and settled in by the fire. Hamish was growing so fast John was half-tempted to put him in a skirt. Already it was clear he’d be taller than his father, not that it was particularly hard to do. He turned the work towards the light of the fire, listening to the storm kicking up stronger outside, body tensing as he knew this was just the sort of weather they got called out in.
Sure enough, the wireless crackled to life. “John.” John dropped his sewing and went to answer while Hamish turned off the radio and got up to fetch their supplies.
“Here, Mrs. Hudson, what is it?” answered John.
“Family of five was due up here an hour ago from a village south. They never arrived.”
“We’re on it,” said John, taking his mackinaw from Hamish. At least they had a powered little boat now that made it much easier in weather like this. He quickly banked the fire before heading out, ducking his head against the driving weather, Hamish on his heels.
In a few minutes they were heading out, Hamish manning the spotlight up front while John steered the boat. The wind and waves whipped cold and salty around them, making it difficult to see. “There,” shouted Hamish over the roar of sea and engine, pointing at Sherlock’s dark form, barely visible above the crashing waves. A faint bark carried above the noise and Hamish shouted directions to his Dad as Sherlock led them across the stormy bay, light of the village just visible in the distance off to the right.
Stichnick gave me a prompt the other day of John and Sherlock trapped in a cold car, so here’s what I came up with:
Body Heat – Trapped in a car without any heat, John and Sherlock find themselves in a compromising situation.
Teaser below the cut
“Well this is bloody brilliant,” grumbled John, turning the key again to no avail.
“When the temperature drops to a certain point…” Sherlock started.
“Shut up,” grunted John. He wrapped his coat tighter around himself. Outside the snow was blowing hard enough to make it nearly impossible to see. A gust of frozen wind rocked the car. Of course they were in the middle of nowhere for a case, of course they were stuck in a blizzard, and of course the car had decided to die on them.
John blew on his hands as the air grew colder. He was wearing a jumper, but not a heavy coat and already he was starting to shiver. “Still no signal?” he asked Sherlock, peering at his phone.
“No.”
“Fantastic.” John cast his eyes heavenward and stuffed his hands in his pockets. Sherlock turned around in his seat and started rooting around in the back seat. They’d borrowed this car from the local mayor and the back seat was filled with odds and ends. Really the whole car was a heap of junk, which was probably why he didn’t mind loaning it out. After a few minutes Sherlock came up with a stained blanket that smelled a bit too much like grass and horses in the small space.
“I think I would rather freeze,” grumbled John.
Sherlock settled back in the passenger seat, then suddenly reached over and hooked a long arm around John, dragging him into his lap. “What the hell are you doing?” John hissed.
A gif that accurately sums up my feelings when i find out someone even mildly tumblr famous has read and likes my janto321 stories.
I worte a thing for Red Pants Monday!
The Magic of Red Pants – When Sherlock is bored, John’s red pants provide an excellent distraction.
teaser below the cut
“Bored.” Sherlock lay stretched out on the couch, staring at the ceiling. This was the fifth time he’d announced his boredom in the last thirty minutes and John wasn’t about to suggest Cluedo again. Taking two deep breaths he finished his tea while watching Sherlock. The man was staring at the ceiling, fingers steepled at his chest, hair wild and uncombed. John was certain he hadn’t left the flat for days. His dressing gown was open, t-shirt rumpled and riding up, exposing a bit of pale bare stomach above his pyjama bottoms.
John finished the sentence and saved the document before getting up and heading for the couch. It was warm today and was wearing just a t-shirt and jeans himself. He could see Sherlock watching him as he climbed onto the couch and straddled Sherlock, hips slotting together as he leaned forward and settled on Sherlock’s narrow chest. A smile quirked across John’s lips.
Sherlock moaned softly, dropping his arms to his side. He rocked up against John. “You are wearing too many clothes,” he muttered.
“Am I?” John thrust against him once, twice, feeling Sherlock growing harder underneath him. “And I’m wearing something I thought you’d like.”
Pushing John up, Sherlock went for his belt. He moaned again as he got John’s flies open. “Red?”
Grinning now, John got up just long enough to peel off his jeans, revealing the red pants he was wearing underneath. It was worth it for the look of naked lust on Sherlock’s face
Six Sentences from a work in progress. I’m currently writing something for red pants Monday:
“And I’m wearing something I thought you’d like.”
Pushing John up, Sherlock went for his belt. He moaned again as he got John’s flys open. “Red?”
Grinning now, John got up just long enough to peel off his jeans, revealing the red pants he was wearing underneath. It was worth it for the look of naked lust on Sherlock’s face
