Sherlock fic!
Sep. 11th, 2010 01:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
charameiTitle: Clippings and Crosswords
Rating: PG
Genre: Umm. Fluff? slice of life?
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock/John, sort of.
Wordcount: 728
Disclaimer: There are a lot of people who own some part of the rights to Sherlock. I'm not one of them.
Summary: John's reading the paper. Sherlock's gathering toenails. This is all the fault of this thread over at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
asexy_sherlock.
His slipper comes off quickly enough. Sherlock tries to tug his sock off in one quick movement, too, but the friction between John's foot and the footstool stymies him the first time. He pulls harder the second time; hard enough to pull John's foot into the air before it thumps back onto the stool, suddenly cold.
John does his best to ignore all of this. He was reading the paper before Sherlock decided he wanted John's toenails and he's going to keep reading it, and he is not going to give Sherlock the satisfaction of knowing that this is annoying him. Not on purpose, anyway.
Sherlock's hands are surprisingly warm as he takes John's foot firmly and separates out the big toe. Then he stops, repositions his hand, John feels the clipper come into place, and – Sherlock stops again. Repositions.
John reads the same clause over and over again for a good ninety seconds as Sherlock tries a variety of different ways to hold his feet. He bends John's toes backwards and forwards, twists his foot all over the shop, stands, sits, kneels... all without making a single clip.
Finally, he comes up alongside John's outstretched legs and tries leaning in from above the foot. John's fingers tighten involuntarily on the paper; it rustles, and Sherlock says, "It's no good, John. I'm going to have to sit on you. The angles are all wrong."
John lowers his paper a couple of inches. "Then let me cut them."
"You lack the necessary precision," Sherlock says, not for the first time today.
"Oh, but you've got it even when the angles are wrong?"
Sherlock huffs slightly. "No; that's why I need to sit on you."
"You're not sitting on my lap," John says, and goes back to his paper.
"What about your knees?"
"My -?"
"Your legs are on the footstool; I could easily sit on your knees and calves without causing you too much discomfort."
John examines at Sherlock from the corner of his eye. Even crouched on the floor, as he is now, there's a lot of him. He wouldn't fit on John's legs.
He knows where this is going to end up. He says yes anyway, and Sherlock grins suddenly at him and swings a leg over his calf.
Sherlock's weight settles onto John's legs; John goes back to pretending to read the one clause that he can't seem to get past while Sherlock fidgets and squirms and tries to fit his long frame onto John's not-very-long legs.
It's inevitable: Sherlock starts inching backwards. John reminds himself that he did say Sherlock could sit there (though right now he can't remember why), and that he knew that Sherlock would do this and that really, it shouldn't be a surprise by now.
He wonders if all of Sherlock's family are as uptight as the two he's met. There's got to be a reason for this need Sherlock feels to manipulate physical comfort out of him. Or more likely he's picking up a touch of the overdramatic, and it's just another game to stop Sherlock getting bored.
A rustle announces that Sherlock has made contact with his paper. Soon there's a bulge in the middle of it where Sherlock's back is as he bends down to clip John's toenails and put them carefully in a small glass bottle.
Now that he's in position, Sherlock goes from squirmy to still in no time, and peace finally reigns as he gets down to actually clipping John's toenails and John rests his paper on Sherlock's back to do the Su Doku.
There's silence for a couple of minutes, then Sherlock says, "That's a seven, not a five," without so much as twitching in John's direction and it occurs to John that the toenail-clipping must have finished quite some time ago.
"You can get off me now," he says.
"Then what will you do your puzzle on?" The answer is obvious and they both know it, but as ever, now that Sherlock's on his lap John finds that he likes him there, and doesn't want him to move all that much.
By the time Sherlock's finished the Su Doku without ever having laid eyes on it, John's gone from 'you can stay' to 'this is comfortable', and they move onto the cryptic crossword, the little bottle of John's toenails lying forgotten on the floor.
Rating: PG
Genre: Umm. Fluff? slice of life?
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock/John, sort of.
Wordcount: 728
Disclaimer: There are a lot of people who own some part of the rights to Sherlock. I'm not one of them.
Summary: John's reading the paper. Sherlock's gathering toenails. This is all the fault of this thread over at
asexy_sherlock.His slipper comes off quickly enough. Sherlock tries to tug his sock off in one quick movement, too, but the friction between John's foot and the footstool stymies him the first time. He pulls harder the second time; hard enough to pull John's foot into the air before it thumps back onto the stool, suddenly cold.
John does his best to ignore all of this. He was reading the paper before Sherlock decided he wanted John's toenails and he's going to keep reading it, and he is not going to give Sherlock the satisfaction of knowing that this is annoying him. Not on purpose, anyway.
Sherlock's hands are surprisingly warm as he takes John's foot firmly and separates out the big toe. Then he stops, repositions his hand, John feels the clipper come into place, and – Sherlock stops again. Repositions.
John reads the same clause over and over again for a good ninety seconds as Sherlock tries a variety of different ways to hold his feet. He bends John's toes backwards and forwards, twists his foot all over the shop, stands, sits, kneels... all without making a single clip.
Finally, he comes up alongside John's outstretched legs and tries leaning in from above the foot. John's fingers tighten involuntarily on the paper; it rustles, and Sherlock says, "It's no good, John. I'm going to have to sit on you. The angles are all wrong."
John lowers his paper a couple of inches. "Then let me cut them."
"You lack the necessary precision," Sherlock says, not for the first time today.
"Oh, but you've got it even when the angles are wrong?"
Sherlock huffs slightly. "No; that's why I need to sit on you."
"You're not sitting on my lap," John says, and goes back to his paper.
"What about your knees?"
"My -?"
"Your legs are on the footstool; I could easily sit on your knees and calves without causing you too much discomfort."
John examines at Sherlock from the corner of his eye. Even crouched on the floor, as he is now, there's a lot of him. He wouldn't fit on John's legs.
He knows where this is going to end up. He says yes anyway, and Sherlock grins suddenly at him and swings a leg over his calf.
Sherlock's weight settles onto John's legs; John goes back to pretending to read the one clause that he can't seem to get past while Sherlock fidgets and squirms and tries to fit his long frame onto John's not-very-long legs.
It's inevitable: Sherlock starts inching backwards. John reminds himself that he did say Sherlock could sit there (though right now he can't remember why), and that he knew that Sherlock would do this and that really, it shouldn't be a surprise by now.
He wonders if all of Sherlock's family are as uptight as the two he's met. There's got to be a reason for this need Sherlock feels to manipulate physical comfort out of him. Or more likely he's picking up a touch of the overdramatic, and it's just another game to stop Sherlock getting bored.
A rustle announces that Sherlock has made contact with his paper. Soon there's a bulge in the middle of it where Sherlock's back is as he bends down to clip John's toenails and put them carefully in a small glass bottle.
Now that he's in position, Sherlock goes from squirmy to still in no time, and peace finally reigns as he gets down to actually clipping John's toenails and John rests his paper on Sherlock's back to do the Su Doku.
There's silence for a couple of minutes, then Sherlock says, "That's a seven, not a five," without so much as twitching in John's direction and it occurs to John that the toenail-clipping must have finished quite some time ago.
"You can get off me now," he says.
"Then what will you do your puzzle on?" The answer is obvious and they both know it, but as ever, now that Sherlock's on his lap John finds that he likes him there, and doesn't want him to move all that much.
By the time Sherlock's finished the Su Doku without ever having laid eyes on it, John's gone from 'you can stay' to 'this is comfortable', and they move onto the cryptic crossword, the little bottle of John's toenails lying forgotten on the floor.
