The totally awesome swissmarg(on lj) is translating the whole story from German to English. I am sooo gratefull for her work. She is doing a fantastic job.
Title: Never Change a Running System (Part 1)
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Author: lorelei_lee1968 (Lorelei Lee)
Pairing: John/Sherlock (or 'Johnlock', as I have often seen in)
Summary: Sherlock discovers his sexuality – with far-reaching consequences for John.
Category: Fluff, romance, slash, graphic sex, humour and drama. (The usual ... this is always what I get when I write something.)
Notes: This story is set sometime after series 1. I also refer to some things from series 2, so it's slightly AU...
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I don't earn anything from this and am only doing it for fun. Sherlock Holmes belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The BBC series Sherlock belongs to the BBC and Moffatt and Gatiss.
Never Change a Running System
"I would actually be quite interested to know how you managed to get what look like typical injuries from barbed wire on this exact spot," John Watson remarked, not even bothering to try to hide his curiosity.
"I know," Sherlock Holmes replied with his usual casual arrogance.
John couldn't help but admire his attitude. After all, the only consultive detective in the world was lying flat on his stomach on the couch with his trousers around his knees, while John was attempting to clean all of the tiny wounds.
"What I don't understand, though, is how you concluded that the injuries are from barbed wire," Sherlock continued mildly, in a lofty tone.
"Afghanistan," John answered curtly. "Forgotten already? Oh no, that's right, you never forget anything. So that was simply an astoundingly obvious attempt to insult me so that I'd lose track of what I was getting at."
"To get out of you why you were climbing over a barbed-wire fence." John inspected the wounds and dabbed them once more with antiseptic solution. "At least you're up to date on your tetanus booster."
"Yes – thanks to you!" Sherlock hissed through gritted teeth.
It didn't exactly sound like he was grateful, but John was used to it.
"So. Why were you climbing over a barbed-wire fence?" John repeated his original question.
"You never give up, do you?"
"And you are never going to answer the question, are you?" John said lightly as he started to place plasters over the area he'd just cleaned.
"Well now, that's actually quite interesting," Sherlock murmured after the fifth or sixth plaster.
"What is?" John asked, not really paying attention.
"I've got an erection."
It took exactly one point five seconds before John's brain had processed the message and revealed to him the meaning of what Sherlock had just said. His hands jerked away from his flatmate's body.
"What?" he cried, noting with alarm that his voice cracked slightly on the word. "I ... Sherlock ... I'm so sorry ... I didn't mean to ... If I'd known..."
"Then you wouldn't have tended to my injuries?" Sherlock interrupted. "Don't be ridiculous." He snorted. "Why should you feel the need to apologise for one of my bodily functions – or rather malfunctions?" Sherlock tossed a look at John over his shoulder that was so utterly absent any trace of arousal that John was able to get himself somewhat under control again.
He still couldn't think of anything better to say than to repeat Sherlock's word.
"Malfunction." John swallowed thickly. Why did his voice suddenly sound so raw? And why was he embarrassed? If anyone should be embarrassed, it was Sherlock. But his reaction was as academic as ever.
"Obviously. My body misinterpreted your medical ministrations for sexual stimulation," Sherlock lectured. "However, I fail to see how that could have happened. Admittedly, such reactions are under the control of the limbic system rather than the brain, and as such occur mainly at a subconscious level." Sherlock turned his gaze away from John and returned his head to exactly the same position it had been in at the start of John's treatment: one cheek against the armrest, both eyes staring straight ahead.
"Ah," said John, because absolutely nothing more intelligent came to mind. "Right..." He cleared his throat. "I'll just leave you alone then."
Sherlock turned back to him and gave him a once-over, his forehead creased in confusion.
John squirmed with embarrassment once again.
"Well, I mean, you'll want to... take care of the problem," he said, hoping that the heat in his face didn't mean that he was blushing.
"Oh, that," Sherlock said dismissively, returning to his previous position. "No, that will go away by itself. I don't see any need to waste energy on doing anything about it."
John needed a moment to digest that tidbit. Once he had, he kicked himself for having once again fallen prey to his usual error in judgment. Why did he persist in measuring Sherlock by normal human standards? When would he ever learn that Sherlock simply wasn't normal? He could only shake his head at himself.
"Right, then... whatever ... I'm done here anyway."
"No more plasters? According to my estimate, there are at least six wounds that haven't been properly cared for," Sherlock stated with perfect accuracy.
"Plasters? Oh, right, plasters..." John repeated distractedly, hurrying to affix the remaining bandages. As soon as he was finished, he all but fled the room.
The thought of what was pressing against the cushions of the couch made him feel it would be the best thing all around – despite Sherlock's apparent detachment – to put as many walls as possible between himself and his erstwhile patient.
(to be continued…)
There exists already a fanart cover for this story... check out the Ao3 link here on my profile.