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The Red Snow	By : orceena Category: S through Z > Sherlock Holmes (2009) > Sherlock Holmes (2009) Views: 2450 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the characters within. I am not making any kind of profit from this story.

Chapter List
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Sherlock gasped as he repeated John's question to himself.
"Why haven't we?" John asked when he ceased stroking Sherlock's chest as he turned his body so that they were back to chest again. Sherlock sat up a bit and cleared his throat resting his arms against the tub lips. He slowly pondered the doctor's question. Poor man truly was going mad. He knew very well two men together was against the law. Not that the idea of sleeping with another male has never crossed his mind. Sherlock was a scientist after all. Experimenting a curiosity with another male was never really out of the question, but with John? His dearest friend, colleague, and brother? Would he really give him a chance...? He sighed to himself listening to John splash at the water patiently waiting for his answer.
"I...I don't know."
"I would like to," John smiled to himself ready for the rejection. This confession was more of a spur of the moment, a shot in the dark for John. Whether or not he was serious with himself has yet to be determined. In the mean time, the filter for his mouth stopped working. He really didn't care at this point, however, what happened to him. He was with Sherlock and that's all he cared about right now.
Sherlock closed his eyes and leaned his head forward to rest his chin on John's shoulder. His heart skipped a beat and he tensed for a moment suddenly regretting his words. He was about to say something but decided against it once his heart started to calm itself. He didn't actually expect Holmes to be open to the idea, but here the man was leaning on him like they were lovers already.
"Holmes?" John questioned as he stared at Sherlock's leg next to his.
"Me too."
Carefully he raised his hands and began rubbing John's arms in soothing strokes. John inhaled deeply as he found himself actually enjoying the light contact. He was unsure of what to do with his own hands so he just left them in the water. He gasped when he felt Sherlock's warm lips kiss the nape of his neck. A warm heat ran through his body to his groin. He was getting hard. This whole moment was so exciting.
"Sherlock...." John rolled his head forward so Sherlock could have better access. He was rewarded with a small breath across the shell of his ear. It was followed by a small kiss. He shivered.
"John, if we do consent to performing physical relations beyond our friendship, I must let you know now that I would never rush you. I know Mary's death was sudden, but you do not have to do this if you're not yet ready." He paused to kiss below John's ear.
"You...you've wanted this to happen?"
Sherlock hugged the man to him then a sudden wave of sadness striking him. "Yes, John. I...confess to having such feelings for you." John shifted in his hold so he released him. John turned his head till he at least caught Sherlock in his peripheral vision.
"Holmes, I...I honestly don't know what to say..."
"You don't have to. As long as we were being honest with one another, I could care less about how you will respond. Come heaven or hell, I will always be here for you no matter what. If you so wish to end our relationship, I would understand."
"No, Holmes, no. I don't wish to do that at all. I'm just touched by your words."
Sherlock leaned in forward again smirking to himself when John edged to lay against his chest again. Sherlock was careful to keep his loins out of John's way. He didn't want to frighten his friend just yet.
Carefully, Sherlock reached around John to grab hold of the soap. "Stand up for me, old boy. We must get you clean before the water gets cold."
John silently obeyed as he stood followed by Holmes. They still weren't facing each other.
"Close your eyes, John."
"Holmes, why -"
"Please. Just close your eyes."
"Honestly Holmes," John retorted but did as he was told. His mind suddenly went still when he felt Sherlock's hands rub against his warm frame.
Skin on skin, light careful touches and gentle kneading of the flesh had John's insides burning with desire. Soon his back and shoulders were slathered in soap as Sherlock continued his movements. Bouncing off the walls were the soft sounds of the water that was splashing around their calves. John was so glad he wasn't sick anymore. This was just another restful afternoon with Holmes. In a bath tub. Together. Being bathed after being sick. Was there any where else he wanted to be right now? Especially after the intimate moment they had just shared? His patients would have to wait. No calls for the doctor today. Sorry, but his wife has been murdered. Can he take a message for you? A smile crossed his face.
Wish his mind made up, John started to rub his thighs as he felt Sherlock reach around his body to lather his stomach. He could feel the man's heated body from behind him just and inch away from his skin. Contact had to be made, clean or not. John swayed backwards using Sherlock's distracted moment to grab his hands and mold their bodies together. Sherlock stumbled a second before gaining his balance holding onto John's ribs. John moaned into the air when he titled his head to the right letting Sherlock ghost a small kiss on his exposed neck. Sure that John was stable, Sherlock reached into the water to brush the soap from his body rubbing in soothing circles. John hated the loss of his hands on his own so he sought them out again. He failed. Damn his eyes being closed and damn him for listening to Sherlock.
"Sherlock, please let me see you," John breathed out. He couldn't take it any more. He needed to see and wanted to touch. Be touched.
"Shh...I promise, whatever you want, John. But, we must get you cleaned up first." Sherlock grabbed the soap again and began lathering it in his hands. "Turn around."
John obeyed suddenly curious as to why Sherlock wouldn't let him see him naked. By now, he was used to Sherlock's antics and none so far have deterred him from seeking his companionship. He may be irritating at times, but he has never failed him. He never failed to amaze and never failed his reasoning. John trusted Sherlock to speak on his own terms. Right now he was just enjoying their time together.
Pulled away from his thoughts by Sherlock's maneuvers, he produced a small gasp of pleasure when Sherlock brushed over his stomach with the cleanser. Sherlock continued in silence seemingly unaware of the effects he was giving the doctor considering how affectionate he was just moments ago. The atmosphere has changed slightly. Sherlock seemed more hurried now, moving his hands faster over his skin keen on finishing this as soon as possible. John didn't want it to end.
"Sherlock, what's wrong?" he asked as Sherlock was rinsing him off. It made him shiver.
"Nothing, old boy. The water has gone cold and I don't wish for you to become even more ill than you already are."
"I feel fine, Holmes. You have done a nice job taking care of me. I don't even remember how much it was."
"A half bottle," Sherlock calculated suddenly lathering the doctors hair.
"A half?"
"Your bottle was only half full," he managed to whisper while wiping suds from John's forehead.
"But...yours was -"
"Water and it was only half full."
John opened his eyes and found the detective's staring straight into his. "Holmes, did you know that I would -"
"Of course not," Sherlock reached over to grab a wet rag to wash the suds from John's hair.
John was confused. He remembered drinking from the bottle in his study after he found Mary, fell asleep, woke up again when they arrived and grabbed Holmes' bottle. He doesn't remember what it tasted like. He doesn't even remember finishing it. But he did. Didn't he?
"I never finished it did I, Sherlock." By this time, his hair was fully rinsed and they were standing in their body oils. The atmosphere was definitely different as John was trying to place the facts together. He didn't care about the bottle, or if he even almost drank himself to death. What puzzled John was the fact that Sherlock had replaced his bottle with the water in the first place. He replaced John's favorite form of alcohol with water. Sherlock knew he would take to the bottle. "I never took it with me. I forgot about it before I left. But you didn't. You remembered, Sherlock. You remembered my favorite drink." A tear rolled down his cheek.
Sherlock cupped that cheek and carefully wiped the tear away.
"Mr. Holmes? Dr. Watson?" Mrs. Hudson voice broke their silence through the door along with a knock and they broke away from each other. Sherlock quickly dashed for his clothes while John just sat back down ruffling his hair. "Do you need any clean towels?" Sherlock bee-lined for the door when he saw the knob turn. He was still naked. Reaching it, he slammed his body against the wood keeping it firmly closed and locked it. "Mr. Holmes? Is everything alright? What's going on?"
"Woman! Please. Go put the kettle on, would you? We don't need your assistance!"
"Mr. Watson, should I believe the man?"came her annoyed voice muffled by the door.
"Yes. Yes, Mrs. Hudson. Everything is alright. Tea would be lovely. Thank you." A small shuffling of depleting footsteps was their answer. Sherlock sighed in relief as he turned back to Watson.
By now the tub water had grown cold and John's stomach was no longer sick. He stood to exit the bath. Sherlock was there in an instant to help guide him over the lip. He wanted to protest, but he didn't. He would've done the same thing if it were Holmes.
"Bloody hell," John winced at the sudden jolt of pain in his leg."This cold will be the death of me." He had to sit on a nearby chair. Sherlock retrieved a towel from the closet and began drying him off, nudity be damned.
"Do you realize how beautiful you are?" John smiled at his friend as he watched with fascination.
"You even find my scars appealing?" Sherlock smirked back at him as he laid the towel on John's head. He stood to put on his own clothes while John dried his hair. He stopped when he saw a new mark on Holmes' shoulder.
"Holmes?" he asked while reaching for his nightgown.
"Hmm?" Sherlock pulled his shirt on quickly.
"That mark, on your left shoulder. It looks fresh. When did you have time to go fight?" John giggled as he imagined Sherlock outwitting those idiots.
Sherlock stilled for a brief second before walking over to him holding out an arm. John gladly took it as he was lead from the bathroom, both men fully clothed now.
"The day before."
"Before.....ah. Before....Mary, you mean." They walked into Sherlock's bed chamber. It wasn't late enough to go to sleep, but the sudden realization hit John like a ton of bricks and he felt heavy. The snow fall outside didn't help at all either. Snow was heavy to, just like his heart. Red snow was even heavier. John wiped at his eyes before he sniffled.
"Damnit!" John growled low as he slumped onto the bed.
Sherlock remained silent and walked towards his pipe. He lit it and saw the tea kettle on the table.
"Tea, old friend?" he called softly hoping John had stopped crying. It tore him to pieces.
"Yes, please." His hands twisted themselves in the comforter. his knuckles were white. Whiter then they had been when he gripped the rail. Whiter then the snow. "I should've never left her."
Sherlock looked up from the tea cups he was carrying over to the bed. He set them on the side table before seating himself on the bed. "You mustn't blame yourself, Watson. There was no way you could've known." The pipe was finished and set aside as well.
"Then I should've left the gun. She would have - she could have....God! Why was I so blind?!"Anger rose from the depths of his feet springing him from the bed. He strolled over to a lamp and smashed it while screaming. A plate next suffered his wrath. He had threw it hard producing a satisfactory shatter against the hard wall. "Why did this happen?! She was young and, and brilliant! Why! Why did this happen!" He smashed the kettle spilling the hot water. "Why did this happen to my wife?!?!" Rage spilled fourth destroying everything it touched, including a couple of Sherlock's beakers and tools. All the while, Sherlock just sat and watched in silence. He didn't even flinch when another plate sailed past his head nearly taking out a window. John finally lost his coordination and toppled to the floor landing on the tiger rug. A choked sob caught his throat before he screamed again. And again. And again. Sherlock sighed as he rose to lock the bed room door. He knew Mrs. Hudson was crying by now listening to this anguish. He slowly walked over to where John had curled up on the floor. He was choking into his hands.
"Shh." Sherlock circled John's form and brought him as best he could into his arms. John sobbed heavily against his chest as he gripped his damp hair.
"I'm hot. I need air. Sherlock, I need air, please!' John sounded desperate as he pushed himself away from his friend and tore off his night shirt. Sherlock stood with him. John was naked now and his chest tightened with panic.
"John, please, try to calm yourself," Sherlock pleaded with the hysterical man.
"I need air. I need out. I want out!" John headed for the window. Sherlock's eyes opened wide.
"Watson!"
John managed to open the damned thing before Holmes could stop him. The snow was heavy and cold and the street was just below. John could get to the street if he jumped. He could make it. He could be free, he would....John stepped onto the window sill. Before he could take the plunge, Sherlock was behind him in a flash wrapping his arm around the skinny torso flinging him back into the room. John rolled to a stop and shot an evil glare in his direction. Sherlock quickly shut the window. He didn't expect to be slammed against the wall by the enraged man. Instinct kicked in and he went to remove the arm that was around his neck. Watson held steady as Holmes clawed at it tearing his skin open. They wrestled to the floor with John choking his friend into the ground. Holmes was able to free his left arm and began digging his fingers into John's bad leg. The poor vet screamed in agony and let go of his for now adversary. Sherlock was able to crawl a few feet before he felt his body being dragged across the floor backwards. The men exchanged grunts and growls as they each tried to gain the upper hand, all the affection gone. Pure hatred fueled the fight from afar and unused torment and anger with each other surfaced turning this into a a do or die situation.
Watson finally gained the upper hand and straddled the man's hips. He felt his skin snag on Sherlock's buckle, but it didn't stop him from grabbing Holmes' collar. He reared his fist back and slammed it as hard as he could into Sherlock's face. Time froze when Holmes let out a snuffled gurgle. John was panting heavily now his fist hanging limp in the air. Sherlock started breathing heavier now and snorted blood onto the floor. Watson released the man's collar and slid off of his writing body his anger now subsiding.
"Oh god. What have I done? Sherlock. Sherlock talk to me." John crawled over to Holmes' curled body. The detective sat up as to John's dismay, blood was seeping down into the sleuth's mouth. "Oh god, Holmes. What have I become. I should be locked away. Oh god. I'm a monster." He held his head in his hands.
"Hit me again."
Watson paused and looked up confused. "Sherlock?"
"Hit me, Watson."
"Holmes, no. I don't want to."
Sherlock crawled over to the doctor. "I deserve it."
"No!"
Suddenly, Sherlock was on him tackling him to the floor pinning his wrists above his head. John squirmed and wriggled scraping his soft flesh against the man's clothing. He sobbed.
"Please, Sherlock. Let me up. I don't want to fight any more. I just want to die. I'm good for nothing."
Sherlock leaned in closer before releasing his wrists. "How, John?" He whispered gently stroking the man's cheek.
"I let my wife die, I abandoned my best friend. I left the life that I loved. And I'm not as smart as you. I don't know who killed her and I'm not even thinking about it. I don't want to think about it. What's it matter if I find out? She can't come back.. What's the point. Please let me up, Holmes. I'm warm."
"Promise you won't go near that window?"
"Promise."
Holmes shifted so Watson could roll out from underneath him. The doctor slithered his way up and lay back on the bed with a deep sigh.Sherlock began to strip till he was naked and lay down next to him.
"I'm sorry I broke your nose."
"I'm sorry I hurt your leg. And it is indeed not broken, dear. Merely ruffled." He wiped the dry blood onto his blanket.
Watson giggled a bit before turning onto his side with his elbow propped to face his friend. "What would you do if I kissed you right now?"
Sherlock turned on his side, too. They stared long and deep into each others eyes. John's were blotched, and Sherlock's were just gorgeous allowing the affections that were evident this afternoon return to their full glory.
"I would say, why haven't you done it sooner?"
*********
TBC
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- 7
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The Red Snow