Jar of Hearts
Dec. 8th, 2011 07:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
trista_zevkiaTitle: Jar of Hearts
Author: Trista_zevkia
Chapter: 1/1
Fandom: Sherlock, BBC series
Characters/Pairing: Sherlock/John
Rating: PG-17
Warnings: SLASH
Summary: A surprising gift. Title stolen from the song by Christina Perri, but not a song fic.
Disclaimer: All this happened, more or less
Author's Notes: My first Sherlock/John. Do let me know if I should bugger out of your fandom and go back to reading only.
Sherlock could remember every gift he’d ever been given. To be more precise, he could remember every gift that had touch his heart, the much rumored as nonexistent muscle. He could remember the toys lavished on him as a child, from his parents, brother and staff. He’d never believed in Santa, as the logistics of the thing had always troubled him. Not the part about traveling around the world in one night, that was possible given enough speed. If Santa lived at the North Pole, not known for its availability of materials, where did the elves get the material to make the toys?
He’d also received a great deal of gag gifts, crude attempts to elicit a laugh from him or at his expense. Either way, the fake handcuffs, giant magnifying glasses and magic eight balls weren’t worth remembering. That didn’t stop his brain from remembering, just made him think about ways to make the memory go away. Electroshock therapy wasn’t available without medical supervision, but drugs were.
Still, none of the gifts handed to Sherlock, wrapped or not, had made him breathless with delight. So it was to be expected that he had no basis for comparison to what he was feeling now. The gift under the tree, a new bow for his violin, professionally wrapped at the store, was nice, but didn’t make him feel this. Why not? They were both practical, useful to him, so why was the item in his hand different?
John had walked through the door, a shopping bag covered item in his hands. He set the thing down and hung up his coat. John picked it up, carried it over and handed it to Sherlock where he sat on the couch.
Sherlock had pulled off the plastic bag as quick as he could.
“They were going to throw it out, but I knew you’d find a use for it.” Once Sherlock was holding the jar, staring at the contents, John went to make tea.
It was a jar of pig hearts, useful in medical experiments and surgeon’s practice sessions because of a similarity between pig flesh and human. Wasteful to throw it away, since they were done with it and Sherlock could think of several experiments he’d like to try. Except he wasn’t thinking of those experiments, he was thinking about his emotions. They were overwhelming his ability to think, when he needed to figure out why he was feeling those emotions.
John had thought about the violin bow, knowing Sherlock could use it. Probably spent hours thinking about it, trying to figure out what to get him. This was a spur of the moment thing, a bit of re-gifting even, to help Sherlock with his experiments. Experiments John hated, especially confronted with a new one first thing in the morning.
Maybe that was it. John liked violin music, so technically, the bow was for both of them. John hated the experiments, but still got the hearts, a gift for Sherlock alone. John was willing to put up with something, just to make Sherlock happy, and Sherlock couldn’t find an ulterior, selfish motive for that act.
“Nudge up, I want to watch telly.” John said, as he set two mugs of tea on the table.
Sherlock set his jar of hearts next to his mug of tea, and turned to study John as he worked the remote.
“Sherlock?”
“Yes, John?”
“You’ve got a jar of hearts, real hearts, and you’re studying me.”
“Yes, John.”
“Would I be an idiot if I asked why?”
“No, it took me a while to figure it out.”
“Are you going to tell me?”
“You brought me something, knowing it would cause you discomfort.”
“Yeah.” John flicked a glance at Sherlock, but kept his attention mainly on the telly.
“Why?”
“Because I thought you’d like it.”
“I do.”
“Good.”
“You don’t.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s for you.”
“I want to give you a heart.”
“What?” Now John’s attention was all on Sherlock, as if he expected to get a heart thrown at him.
Sherlock frowned, wondering why John was so nervous about this. Once Sherlock figured out what this was, he’d be able to explain it to John. But John was nervous now, and Sherlock wanted to what? Fix that? Make John relax, so how did he do that? A demonstration, if Sherlock could think of a physical representation of what he was feeling.
Believing he knew the correct interpretation of the gesture he’d come up with, Sherlock stretched across the couch. His long arms helped him pull John to him, so he could give him a thank you kiss. Nobody had ever told Sherlock that kisses had a will of their own, nor would he have believed such nonsense until this moment.
When he pulled back from the kiss, it was the fault of his inadequate lungs. Though he was having trouble getting air into them now, even without John’s face covering his own. John was looking at him with wide eyes. Surprise and desire visible in every line of his body.
“John, is this were we have sex?”
“Yes, I mean, no. Um, it sounds like a good idea, a really, really good idea, but I get the feeling you’ve not figured this out yet.”
“You want me to have an understanding about what such an action might mean.”
“Exactly. No offense, Sherlock, but you’re kind of new to this.”
“Can we kiss more? So I have enough information to make an informed decision?”
“Absolutely, snog away.” John nodded wisely, but leaned in to get back to the kissing.
Sherlock pulled John to him, and got wholeheartedly into his experimenting.
Author: Trista_zevkia
Chapter: 1/1
Fandom: Sherlock, BBC series
Characters/Pairing: Sherlock/John
Rating: PG-17
Warnings: SLASH
Summary: A surprising gift. Title stolen from the song by Christina Perri, but not a song fic.
Disclaimer: All this happened, more or less
Author's Notes: My first Sherlock/John. Do let me know if I should bugger out of your fandom and go back to reading only.
Sherlock could remember every gift he’d ever been given. To be more precise, he could remember every gift that had touch his heart, the much rumored as nonexistent muscle. He could remember the toys lavished on him as a child, from his parents, brother and staff. He’d never believed in Santa, as the logistics of the thing had always troubled him. Not the part about traveling around the world in one night, that was possible given enough speed. If Santa lived at the North Pole, not known for its availability of materials, where did the elves get the material to make the toys?
He’d also received a great deal of gag gifts, crude attempts to elicit a laugh from him or at his expense. Either way, the fake handcuffs, giant magnifying glasses and magic eight balls weren’t worth remembering. That didn’t stop his brain from remembering, just made him think about ways to make the memory go away. Electroshock therapy wasn’t available without medical supervision, but drugs were.
Still, none of the gifts handed to Sherlock, wrapped or not, had made him breathless with delight. So it was to be expected that he had no basis for comparison to what he was feeling now. The gift under the tree, a new bow for his violin, professionally wrapped at the store, was nice, but didn’t make him feel this. Why not? They were both practical, useful to him, so why was the item in his hand different?
John had walked through the door, a shopping bag covered item in his hands. He set the thing down and hung up his coat. John picked it up, carried it over and handed it to Sherlock where he sat on the couch.
Sherlock had pulled off the plastic bag as quick as he could.
“They were going to throw it out, but I knew you’d find a use for it.” Once Sherlock was holding the jar, staring at the contents, John went to make tea.
It was a jar of pig hearts, useful in medical experiments and surgeon’s practice sessions because of a similarity between pig flesh and human. Wasteful to throw it away, since they were done with it and Sherlock could think of several experiments he’d like to try. Except he wasn’t thinking of those experiments, he was thinking about his emotions. They were overwhelming his ability to think, when he needed to figure out why he was feeling those emotions.
John had thought about the violin bow, knowing Sherlock could use it. Probably spent hours thinking about it, trying to figure out what to get him. This was a spur of the moment thing, a bit of re-gifting even, to help Sherlock with his experiments. Experiments John hated, especially confronted with a new one first thing in the morning.
Maybe that was it. John liked violin music, so technically, the bow was for both of them. John hated the experiments, but still got the hearts, a gift for Sherlock alone. John was willing to put up with something, just to make Sherlock happy, and Sherlock couldn’t find an ulterior, selfish motive for that act.
“Nudge up, I want to watch telly.” John said, as he set two mugs of tea on the table.
Sherlock set his jar of hearts next to his mug of tea, and turned to study John as he worked the remote.
“Sherlock?”
“Yes, John?”
“You’ve got a jar of hearts, real hearts, and you’re studying me.”
“Yes, John.”
“Would I be an idiot if I asked why?”
“No, it took me a while to figure it out.”
“Are you going to tell me?”
“You brought me something, knowing it would cause you discomfort.”
“Yeah.” John flicked a glance at Sherlock, but kept his attention mainly on the telly.
“Why?”
“Because I thought you’d like it.”
“I do.”
“Good.”
“You don’t.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s for you.”
“I want to give you a heart.”
“What?” Now John’s attention was all on Sherlock, as if he expected to get a heart thrown at him.
Sherlock frowned, wondering why John was so nervous about this. Once Sherlock figured out what this was, he’d be able to explain it to John. But John was nervous now, and Sherlock wanted to what? Fix that? Make John relax, so how did he do that? A demonstration, if Sherlock could think of a physical representation of what he was feeling.
Believing he knew the correct interpretation of the gesture he’d come up with, Sherlock stretched across the couch. His long arms helped him pull John to him, so he could give him a thank you kiss. Nobody had ever told Sherlock that kisses had a will of their own, nor would he have believed such nonsense until this moment.
When he pulled back from the kiss, it was the fault of his inadequate lungs. Though he was having trouble getting air into them now, even without John’s face covering his own. John was looking at him with wide eyes. Surprise and desire visible in every line of his body.
“John, is this were we have sex?”
“Yes, I mean, no. Um, it sounds like a good idea, a really, really good idea, but I get the feeling you’ve not figured this out yet.”
“You want me to have an understanding about what such an action might mean.”
“Exactly. No offense, Sherlock, but you’re kind of new to this.”
“Can we kiss more? So I have enough information to make an informed decision?”
“Absolutely, snog away.” John nodded wisely, but leaned in to get back to the kissing.
Sherlock pulled John to him, and got wholeheartedly into his experimenting.
