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It had been a long couple of months. Sherlock couldn't stop his work with the Met, and Mycroft had taken more of John's time than John had initially thought. He was willing to do it, though, since the man was a bloody brilliant planner when it came down to it. John Watson sighed, and leaned back in the poorly designed hospital chair. You're meant to run a little faster than that, love.
His projection was soft and light, more of a teasing whisper than anything. The man in the bed hadn't awakened yet, though John knew – well, Sally knew, anyway – that Sherlock would be up on his feet at least in time for their wedding. Whether it would still happen on its original timetable was another thing entirely. John was about to doze off when he 'heard' Sherlock's quiet reply. I was running, John. Just the wrong way. Sherlock tiredly sent him the picture of the whole scene, and John winced when he realized that Sherlock had miscalculated how many thugs the murderer had in his employ.
Oooh, I'm sorry, he sighed, running his hands through Sherlock's hair in a comforting gesture. Too bad we couldn't have teleported out of there.
Sherlock's breath hitched as he laughed, and John grinned, coaxing him 'toward the light', so to speak. Pain/stress/fear/pain/ John blinked, casting back toward the waiting room, touching Greg's mind, catching the relay of feelings in acrid yellow/bile/sourmilk/pain.
Yuck, John commented, then explained about his fiancé's mental state. He's almost awake. If you can sneak past the nurse I think you and Sally could come in, if you like. Lord knows you both will help him not be so annoyed at the situation.
Mmmph? Fine, if that's what the two of you want... John could feel him 'tapping on Sherlock's shoulder', so to speak. Mate, you alright with a bit of company? John sheepishly realized that the man had dozed off a little, and sent an automatic apology. No worries, John, s'what we're here for.
Sherlock shunted the pain aside a little, waking enough to reply to Greg. A little company would not go amiss. Did you catch the bastards? John chuckled.
Only you would wonder about that...
Think you would too, actually, Watson, Sally commented as they stepped in. “Looks a bit of a mess.”
Thanks, ta, Sherlock's mind replied before he could censor his thought. Ugh, John, you're rubbing off on me...
John grinned, and Greg grimaced. “Stop that, you two. Bad enough I have to deal with it at the flat. If that's the way you're gonna be, we'll make sure you're okay and leave...” He turned to John, concern and warning in his tone. If you do decide to do something to take his mind off the pain, Johnny-boy, shield well. Don't know how many bloody empaths are in here, and if you get too crazy, you could mar some little kid's mind for life. It was a serious warning, for all the humor he injected into the words.
“Thanks, Greg,” he voiced his appreciation as the older man briefly set a hand on his shoulder, shrugging off both the emotional and verbal gratitude.
“Yeah, we got 'em, Sherlock. They're all locked up.” Greg found himself a seat, and Sally perched herself on the edge of John's for a few moments.
Thanks, Dad, Sherlock replied to both the warning and the news, the pain making him even more grouchy than normal.
Good reminder, though. John grinned, letting his affection for their crazy little bunch shine through. Might do at that. He's always cranky when he's in pain. Sherlock mentally objected to that, and John amended his statement. All of us are, love. Sherlock grudgingly agreed, and passed off some of the pain down the link a bit so he could wake up.
That's new, they all seemed to think at the same time. Sally stood up, moving to stand on the other side of the bed, crossing her arms across her body.
It was only logical, Sherlock replied, trying not to share all his pain with everyone. “John,” His voice was gravelly and John leaned over, kissing his forehead gently.
I have an idea for an experiment, Sherlock, John proposed, scooting his chair closer to his fiancé's bed. Once our partners in crime leave.
“Well, that's me told,” Greg grinned. “If you didn't want us here...”
“I didn't say that. Besides, he's gonna be out of commission for a while, so he'll need distracting as much as possible. You know how he gets.”
Better than anyone – other than you, Greg replied. They settled in, Sally stealing a chair from out in the hallway. The nurses were surprised to see so many people there, but since it was Dr. Watson and his fiancé, they figured he knew what he was doing. They talked for several long hours until Sherlock tired, and John felt his mind fall into the slow lassitude of sleep.
John heard Sherlock wake up several hours later, and he reached out a hand to comfort him. Alright, there, love? John had dozed off shortly after Greg and Sally had left, and his back and neck ached from the stupid chair, but otherwise, he was fine. I could kill for a cuppa, he thought, leaving it open to Sherlock whether he'd listen or not.
Rather you didn't, Sherlock teased. Feeling better. Whatever they put in that drip calms the muscles enough. I can heal now. However, I'm bored. Sherlock shifted a little, opening his eyes to gaze at John. You mentioned an experiment?
Mmmm... John grinned. Wondered if that mind-palace of yours has bedrooms.
It didn't until I met you. Now, I have one, filled with memories of us... Sherlock grinned. Would you like to see it?
See it? I thought about making use of it. His grin turned wicked for a moment, and he leaned down, settling his lips on his lover's for just a moment. I thought that might keep you from getting bored. It may not be as physically satisfying as a good hard fuck, but studies show that fantasies can create similar chemicals to the actual thing.
Sherlock thought about it for a few moments, and nodded. I have heard that as well. Now I see what Greg was talking about. Perhaps you could help me 'soundproof' the room first? Would that be enough?
“That's brilliant,” John spoke out loud, careful to keep his words soft.
How will you get in, though? We have no Salvia Divinorum... Sherlock sounded interested and slightly petulant, like his really good idea wouldn't be able to happen.
Have a feeling we won't need it. We're so close now, I think that I could get in just by trying. That's the experiment part. I'll tell one of the nurses, and have them monitor my heart rate or something, some sort of way of keeping it safe. Give me a few minutes to figure it out. He grinned and stood, pacing for a couple minutes. Alright, love, let me go give the instructions to the nurse, and I'll be right back. Sherlock's attention followed him as he left the room. John didn't mind, as it wasn't anything very private. He returned shortly with a more comfortable chair, set it down at the foot of the bed, and settled himself into it.
“Okay, Sherlock. All I need from you is to visualize your mind-palace, and your eyes are the front doors. I've been in there before, so it shouldn't be too unfamiliar.” He felt his lover's assent, and watched (and felt) as Sherlock worked on visualizing as he often did. “Now,” he kept his voice low and soothing, “keep the image in your mind, and open your eyes. Open the front door, Sherlock, and let me in, please.” He couldn't prevent the shudder of emotion at the trust this required. One of the things Mycroft had been working on with him was control. Now, he was going to see if the control was worth anything. He inhaled, made his own mental preparations, then slowly, gazed into Sherlock's eyes and sunk himself into his lover's mind.
“Well done, John. Welcome to my Mind-Palace.” Sherlock spun around, and made a dramatic flourish.
“Looks a bit different, doesn't it?” John saw some of the same doors, but several of them had changed a little.
“The mind is an ever evolving place, John. Do keep up.” John would have liked to spend more time looking at the doors, but Sherlock had already walked up a stairway, presumably into their bedroom. He followed, excitement growing.
“What kind of walls do you want in here, Sherlock?” John was gazing at the full room. There was a projection screen and a stack of DVDs on the floor. John figured he knew what the contents of the discs would be, so he didn't bother asking. There were all sorts of implements and knickknacks around, including the restraints they'd used the night they'd all visited here before. They were reminders of fantasies, memories, and … “Hey, is that my jumper?”
“Smells like you.” Sherlock grabbed it, and sheepishly stuffed it under one of the pillows.
“I'm not going to complain that you want to be reminded of me, Sherlock.” John grinned, and embraced his lover, nibbling gently at his ears. “But we need the walls. Any particular design you want?”
“That new material Mycroft was going on about. It looked interesting.” John knew exactly what 'material' Sherlock was talking about, so he nodded.
“You'll want to imagine it, imagine the properties of it, the way it looks. Much like you did this house for me to enter. Then, you can either just change the walls to that, or make a stack over there, and we'll work together on it. Floors and ceilings too.”
“I'll do it.” Sherlock sat down on the bed, fell into his 'thinking' position, and the walls began changing texture.
“Brilliant,” John exclaimed. As usual, he was enthralled with the focus and determination of his lover's mind.
Sherlock grinned, and finished his work in earnest. “There. I think that's it.”
John tested it, trying to send a thought beyond it. “Well done, Sherlock.” He advanced toward the man, taking in his appearance, now that they could focus on the more pleasant parts of John's 'visit.' He was wearing his usual attire: long, button-down silk shirt, dark trousers, and a jacket. His coat, thankfully was draped across a chair, and he wore no socks or shoes. “God, you look good.” Sherlock blushed slightly, and John stepped closer yet. He reached out and pulled Sherlock to a standing position, sliding his arms around the taller man's neck to pull him into a bruising kiss. He scrabbled at Sherlock's shirt, undoing the buttons, sliding his hands along skin. Sherlock slid his hand under John's jumper, rucking it and the shirt beneath up to do the same.
“It is a good thing those nurses are such dullards, or they might discover what we're doing in here,” Sherlock grinned against his cheek, pulling the shirts off his shoulders and stepping back so John could shuck his own. “All the symptoms you listed were precisely quoted from the list of your medical texts on arousal and human sexuality. If they had half a brain, they would connect our names, and … mmmph!” John cut off his train of thought with another kiss, this time pressing his chest against the other man's.
“Too much talking.” John pulled back after a moment, caressing Sherlock's skin, thumbing gently at his nipples, nibbling at his neck. “Want you.”
“Ahh, I see,” Sherlock pushed him back, and began undoing his trousers. “Damn science, you just wanted to get a leg over.”
“Partially,” John admitted, though he did want to see if he could fall into Sherlock's mind. “I did have a real experiment in mind. Mycroft suggested I try something similar...” It was his turn to be cut off by a pair of lips on his own. Sherlock had shed his trousers and pants fairly quickly, and kissed John while he helped him do the same.
“Don't mention him in here, please. He has his own room; let's let this room just be us.” There was a very real worry there, and John nodded his understanding, laving his tongue against Sherlock's skin.
“I can do that, yeah,” he murmured. Finally fully naked, John grabbed Sherlock's hand and led him to the bed. “Nice bed. Bit bigger than ours, innit?”
“It is the bed from our vacation.” They'd gotten a chance to take a couple days and head to a quiet bed and breakfast and it had been one of the best weekends of John's life. The place was fairly deserted and the elderly couple who ran the place were completely normal, or maybe even less susceptible to psychic influence than most.
“Mmm. Good memories.” John nibbled on Sherlock's skin, missing the taste of sweat. It was a new experience, and he would enjoy it. He could have the real thing when Sherlock wasn't in pain. He laid Sherlock out on the bed and began examining him with hands and lips and teeth and tongue. Sherlock's breath began to hitch, and he rolled his head back and forth on the thick pillow. “Johnnnnn.....”
“Mmm?” John replied, licking and kissing around his lover's inner thighs by now. “You want a blow, or should I fuck you?”
“I should think we could do both, considering it is within our minds. Perhaps you could fellate me first, and then fuck me?” John chuckled at Sherlock's words.
“True. I don't want to spend too much time in here, but we could take the time to test that theory.” He grinned, and pulled Sherlock's legs apart more, then without a word of warning, he took the man's long, thick cock into his mouth and began sucking. “Besides,” he heard his voice say, as though coming from him though his mouth was occupied, “don't need to breathe in here, do you?”
“Mmmm,” Sherlock's mind was starting to slow, either from the attention or from the drugs. Probably both. “Interesting effect.”
John chuckled, then sucked even harder, realizing he didn't have the physical limitations he did in real life. He envisioned a strong vacuum, but one that wouldn't hurt his lover.
“Fuck, John, what are you doing?” Sherlock's body bent almost full as John sucked him dry in a matter of a couple minutes.
“Putting my mind to work,” John replied, saucily.
“Bloody brilliant idea. Let me try.” Sherlock beckoned him up.
“Some things never change.” John's voice echoed through the room, but it was a soft, tinny sound. “Oh, god. That must've been my subconscious thought.”
“Mmm. I believe you are correct.” Sherlock lifted John up, settling him down against the foot of the bed, then turned the tables, sucking on John's cock with the extra force.
“Sweet Christ!” John screamed. “That feels good.”
“I did imply...” Sherlock sounded smug. “You doubted me?”
“Not a damn bit.”
“Let me experiment a little...” John had no objections to that, so he laid back and let Sherlock play. He was torturing him, drawing him to the brink of orgasm and pulling back again, varying the pressure in his sucking from feather light to inhumanly-possible.
“Sherlock, just get on with it,” John hissed, near enough to the end of his patience. “Please!” He growled, thrusting up into that delectable mouth. Sherlock chuckled darkly, but bent to it, increasing the pressure slowly until John was nearly insensate with need. Luckily, this time, he kept going, and John nearly blanked out with the intense pleasure coursing through his … mind. “Oh, fuck, Sherlock...” He sat up, moving to entwine his frame with his lover's. “It's weird that our thoughts echo through like that...”
“We are connected mentally, John. For an intelligent man, you certainly have your dull moments.” Sherlock rolled, draping himself along John's body, nuzzling into his neck. “Thank you, amaroux.” John's mind translated that into sweetheart, and he grinned, kissing Sherlock's forehead. Sherlock continued. “I will definitely be less stroppy with this possibility available.”
“Always looking for ways to keep you sane,” John grinned. “I know we could do more, but you really do need your sleep. I don't know about staying in here while either of us is asleep. We could test that another time when Greg or Sally's around to give us a tap on the shoulder if we need it.”
“Mmm. Come sit closer to me, at the very least, John.” Sherlock squeezed him tightly and then released him. John was very careful to pick up all his clothes, redress and leave by the same path. He wanted to be sure not to harm Sherlock in any way.
“Love you,” he whispered to the door before kissing it and walking through.
He thought he heard a contented sigh from the 'house' as he fell back into his own mind.