A/N: Ok people, ask and thou shall receive. Here you go the much requested follow up to You'll Have To Do Better Than That. I'm not sure if it's going to be any good. It's kinda hard building a story around one moment that just popped into my head while watching the episode, though luckily a couple of other moments appeared in the back of my brain while re-watching Hounds of Baskerville. (oh, how hard is the life of a fan fiction writer, having to watch and re-watch episodes just so you get it right. *sigh*) I wasn't at all sure I could pull off a sequel if I'm honest, but I gave it my best, so please be gentle if it doesn't meet expectations.
Anyway, this picks up just after the events of the previous One-Shot. For those who haven't read it, you might want to do so before reading this. Though I guess it's not all that necessary as the events in that story are reviewed in this one.
WARNINGS: This is Slash, so don't like, don't read. No Beta-Reader so will probably Grammar/Spelling mistakes. Contains spoilers for season two, story is set during that episode Hounds of Baskerville, and I have had to borrow a few lines from the actually episode. (If you've seen the episode, you'll know which ones. If you haven't seen the episode, should you really be reading this? Rofl. - but so you know, anything involving romance, kissing and other such stuff is all mine own work.)
He hated the arrogant sod. Two hours ago his infuriating bastard of a flatmate had kissed and groped him rather unceremoniously in the living room chair, in order to get him to relinquish the secret stash of cigarettes. If that wasn't bad enough he'd been smugly proud of himself ever since. John could see it in his face.
Sherlock may be able to deduce what someone's great grandfather did for a living just by looking at your left thumb, but John could deduce when Sherlock bloody Holmes was being a smug git. - Probably because he was always a smug git.
And why was the great detective so cheerfully proud of himself? Because Dr. John Watson's body was frustrated and horny and apparently did give a shit where the attention was coming from. He knew who to blame of course, not only for the dry spell in his sex life but for Sherlock sudden interest in seduction over deduction. It was her fault. The woman. Irene Adler.
The six months of screwing with Sherlock's head had left both the detective and his flatmate/colleague on the verge of insanity. John had lost yet another girlfriend to his friendship with Sherlock and hadn't been able for find another. - If he didn't know better he'd say Janette had put the word out. Which of course was ridiculous. - Sherlock himself, had for months been giving off an uncomfortable air of cheerful excitement, secrecy and morbid depression. Which had thankfully come to an end with Ms Adler's, more permanent death. Ever since Sherlock had been back to his old self, well except for his renewed addiction to nicotine. - Thank you very much Mycroft Holmes - Which they were in the process of weaning him off of. That's what had lead to the kiss/gropefest that morning.
Sherlock had been in desperate need of stimulation after a tedious case involving harpooning a dead pig. - Don't ask. - anyway, he'd demand that John hand over the cigarettes, but they'd already agreed to go cold turkey after weeks of failed attempts using patches, sprays and gum. But Sherlock was having a bad day and was feeling desperate. So desperate that he'd resorting to seduction.
To say that John had been surprised would be an understatement, as would saying he'd been angry, embarrassed and far too turned on for his own good. He had thanked heaven a thousand times since for sending them an interruption in the form of Henry Knight. Because John feared just how far the whole situation would have went.
~ SHERLOCK ~
Sadly the arrival of young Mr. Knight hadn't distracted him has much as he'd liked. While they'd sat listening and questioning Henry about his father's death twenty years ago, John's mind couldn't quite shift the memory of Sherlock's mouth and hand on him. What was even more disturbing was the fact that suddenly John was checking Sherlock out.
After giving Henry his usual 'of-course-I'm-showing-off-I'm-a-show-off-that's-what-we-do' deduction display, he'd ordered the young man to light his roll-up, which Henry gladly done, before Sherlock processed to lean over the young man and inhale the cigarette smoke like he was some kind of vacuum-cleaner.
It was at this point John, much to his own disgust, anger and embarrassment, found his gaze setting of the revealed curve of Sherlock's arse. - Not once, but twice. At if that hadn't been enough, he'd felt that familiar stirring in his stomach that was usually reserved for women.
It hadn't ended there of course. After forcing his mind back to the case at hand he'd thought it he was on the road to recovery. Sherlock was back on form as he brushed aside the younger man's fears as if they were nothing, telling him it was a childhood trauma and that he should go back to Devon, getting up from his seat and marching off into the kitchen.
He didn't get that far. Henry turned around and pleaded with him. Announcing that he'd seen a 'Gigantic Hound'. For some reason, John still didn't understand, this peaked Sherlock's interest. After making Henry repeat himself word for word, he pulled that 'now-that-interesting' look and started walking around the room. His long, slim, elegant, beautiful finger pressed in prayer to his full elegant beautiful lip. - Damn it, stop that.
"Sorry, what? A minute ago footprints were boring, now their promising?" John had asked with confusion.
"This has nothing to do with footprints, as ever John, you weren't listening. - Baskerville, ever heard of it?"
"Vaguely, it's very hush, hush." John had replied, completely ignoring the slight insult Sherlock though his way. After all, it wasn't the first and it wouldn't be the last - and he'd said far worse.
"Sounds like a good place to start." Sherlock announced.
"You'll come down then." Henry said with renewed hope.
"No I can't leave London at the moment, far too busy. But don't worry, I'm putting my best man onto it…." Sherlock smirked, slapping John on the shoulder. "…can always rely on John to send me all the relevant data as he never understands a word of it himself."
"What are you talking about your busy, you don't have a case. A minute ago you were complaining…."
"Bluebell John. I've got Bluebell. The vanishing glow in the dark rabbit." Sherlock announced, bouncing on his toes. "NATO's in uproar." he added turning to Henry.
"So your not coming." Henry looked truly confused.
Sherlock shook his head, pouting at John.
John glared at his flatmate. Bloody Holmes. He was being a prat, just for the sake of it. John knew it. He didn't give a toss about the vanishing rabbit and he was very interested in the Hound of Baskerville, he was just winding John up. Pushing his buttons. John had the slight suspicion he knew what he was after. The damn cigarettes.
The detective and the doctor met gazes. Sherlock challenging him. It was clear in his eyes that he'd actually do it. He'd send John on his own all the way to Devon, just to spit him and all because he won't hand over the fags.
But there was something else in Sherlock's pale blue gaze. It was that look again. The look he'd given him not thirty minutes ago before… John sucked in a deep breath and leapt to his feet. The sod wasn't going to pull that trick again, not with a client in the room. Not unless he wanted a broken nose.
"Ok." He straighten his back, cleared his throat and walked over to the mantle piece to retrieve the secret stash from underneath the skull. Turning back to throw them to Sherlock, who caught them in both hands, only to throw them away with a grin.
"I don't need those anymore. I'm going to Dartmoor." Then turned to leave. "You go on ahead Henry, we'll follow on later."
"Huh, s-so y-you are coming?" Henry stuttered confused.
Sherlock returned with that swagger he gets when he's excited about a case. "A twenty year old murder, a monstrous hound…" he looked between Henry and John. "I wouldn't miss this for the world."
~ SHERLOCK ~
Now here they were on the way to Dartmoor. The pair sat in silence as they had been from leaving Baker Street. John trying his hardest not to look at Sherlock, deciding to busy himself with his notebook. Already beginning to write up the case for later. Sherlock as usual was typing away on his mobile. Sending texts, browsing the internet for data. Though sometimes John suspected he was secretly playing some game or other, his concentration being so focused that John had to repeat himself if he asked a question.
They reached Dartmoor before early afternoon and went in search of their hire car. John had called ahead for reserve one. After filling in the paper work and collection the keys the pair headed out to the lot where a land-rover was waiting patiently for them.
"I'll drive." Sherlock announced, holding out his hands for the keys.
John stopped and looked at him. "What?"
"I'll drive. Keys." he snapped his fingers.
John clenched his jaw and glared at the taller man with irritation. "Sherlock, you can't drive."
The detective huffed impatiently. "Of course I can drive."
John eyed him wearily. "Really? - Show me your licence."
"I don't have one."
"Then your not driving." John told him sternly, continuing on to the vehicle.
"John. Give me the keys." Sherlock demanded. "A licence is not necessary. I am fully educated in the ways and means of driving. I've read up on the subject countless times. I know how a car works. Just because I have not wasted either my precious time or money gaining a little piece of plastic that some bureaucrat thinks I need to prove this skill does not mean I am incapable of doing it."
John turned to stare at his friend for a long moment. Leave it to Sherlock to state his case in a way that makes it bloody hard to argue with. "Sherlock. It's the law."
Sherlock scoffed. His gaze narrowing as he stepped closer to John. "I am perfectly capable of driving John and we are unlikely to be pulled over and questioned. So if you please." he held out his hand.
"I said no Sherlock. I don't give a shit if you think you can drive or not, or if you think having a licence is pointless. I'm not putting my life on the line because you have a whim to put your research into practice."
Sherlock observed his friends. "That's all you ever do John." he smirked. "Whenever you assist me on a case, your always putting your life on the line. - Why is this any different?"
John hated him. He really, really hated him. "It just is." John snapped.
Sherlock's features softened. - Dangerously. His gaze become fixed on John in an unnervingly familiar way. He took a step forward, just a step and lowered the tone of his voice. "John." he purred. "Don't make me…."
The keys were thrown into Sherlock's waiting hands. John turning around, his heart pounding in his chest and a heat spreading from his toes to his cheeks. He rushed to the land-rover and climbed into the passengers seat, all the while repeating to himself. Bastard. Bastard. Bastard.
Sherlock got behind the wheel with a bright satisfied grin on his well defined features and the sight infuriated John. Sherlock started the engine, shifted the gears and pushed down on the accelerator, all the while being aware of John holding him breath.
"Calm down John. This is as easy as solving the Cabbie case." Sherlock announced as the car moved forward.
"And how long did it take you to figure that one out? - How yea…"
"Shut up John." Sherlock snapped.
~ SHERLOCK ~
The journey to the hotel was interrupted by Sherlock wanting to check out the landscape. Not because he wanted to sight see or take in the dark beauty of the Moor, but so as to gather data on the area. So they'd pulled the land-rover over and taken a walk over the large expanse of Devon countryside.
John had to admit, though not to Sherlock, that the detective had been rightly confident in his ability to drive. They hadn't had any major accidence. The closest they'd come was when a hare had darted out in front of them, which Sherlock had missed by a breath. Sherlock hadn't had the car swaying all over the road, it hadn't stalled or kangarooed its way along the long stretch of tarmac. All in all, Sherlock Holmes drove the same way he did everything. - Perfectly.
They'd driven in silence, - at least until Sherlock had announced his plans to gather data. - and it had given John time to think. Something he wasn't used to doing. That was to say, he wasn't used to think about Sherlock, more pacifically Sherlock kissing him.
Sherlock apparent new pursuit of trying to persuade, though John would probably prefer the term black-mail, him into doing whatever the detective wanted by means of threatening to kiss him, was already beginning to worry him. Sherlock was already hard enough to live with, they were already surrounded by speculation about their relationship, John was already having trouble convincing women that he wasn't gay, without having to worry over whether or not Sherlock was going to try and persuade him again.
And what if the shit decided to do it in public? A cold sweat spread across John flesh and he shivered. He'd never get another girlfriend is Sherlock started kissing him in public…Not that he wanted him to kiss him in private, no way, he wasn't gay - despite what everyone, his body and the woman thought.
He glanced over at Sherlock and found him concentrating wholeheartedly on the road in front of him. John could tell his mind was working. He had that look on his face, his lips pressed together. The one that had kissed him a few hours ago. The ones he'd kissed back.
John shook his head to dislodge that thought. What the hell was happening to him. He needed get laid, that much was sure, but until then he would focus his mind of the case, after all that's what he was there for. The official blogger of Sherlock Holmes. The case not the kiss. He told himself over and over.
Sadly, that was easier thought than done.
A/N: There you go J hope it met with your approval. I have tried my hardest to keep the same feeling as the One-Shot pilot.
Notes about the chapter:
1) Obviously certain things are taken from the actual episode. - As I said, you should know which, but if you don't. The conversation between Sherlock. John and Henry are that's to the episode. I merely added the thoughts behind them.
2) The Sherlock driving scene comes from well, honest I have to thank Mark Gatiss for inspiring that. While I was listening to the season one commentary Mark mention that if Sherlock could drive, which he doubt (yet strangely made him do so in the episode) he'd be able to do just because of the way he is. It would be just another of those things Sherlock Holmes can just do. And bam, inspiration.
So, let me know what you think, I would really love you to.
Thanks for reading. Next chapter ASAP.