The Intellectual Johnlocker

based on the ask that @cj-holmes sent me, it was so cute i just had to draw it <3

and then last night the muses struck.

24 hours later, completely unexpectedly, here you go, 2000 words of Sherlock crackfic, courtesy of @my-mind-palace-blog‘s incredible prompt. (sorry everyone, no smut. i don’t have that in me right now.)

….so yeah. my first finished sherlock fic. that just sort of…happened.

can’t emphasize enough: pretty much pure crack, fluff and silliness. bit meta. Also, explicit language incl few words for people’s private parts. and some references to oscar wilde.

tagging some others @fleurdelisandbees @conversationswithjohnlock @may-shepard @my-mind-palace-blog @where-is-the-woman @tehhappiebunnie @ofmindandmagic @kimbiablue @warmpineneedles @88thparallel

I’ll post on AO3, too :)

St ( r ) aying Off Script

Sherlock Holmes requires context.

The first time that John (Hamish) Watson makes love to (William) Sherlock (Scott) Holmes, there are twenty five British dandies in attendance.

wanton: sexually immodest or promiscuous

wonton: a type of dumpling commonly found in Chinese cuisines

Wontonly

It had been another slow night at The Wonderful Wonton and John was just about to lock the door when he heard the harsh buzz of the door alarm going off. Turning from where he had been washing the last of the dishes to face the door he tried to hide his sigh as he sized up the new customer.

The sigh died only half formed when he took in the tall, posh, and undeniably lovely man before him. His hope that the man would just order something to take away so John could finish closing up and go back to his bedsit died away in that instant too, because for reasons unknown the man was bent nearly double examining the knob on the front door with a small magnifier. This gave John a first class view of the man’s arse and anyone who would not want to spend as much time in the presence of such magnificence deserved to be sectioned.

John had to cut his leer short when the man snapped the magnifying lens closed and straightened up. “Mediocre curry, but excellent dim sum. Yes, this should do.” He said, seemingly to himself, and started towards the counter.

John was caught unprepared by that voice, deep and velvet smooth. He wanted nothing more in life when to roll around naked on it. Before that thought could start forming pictures in his mind, John grabbed his cane from where it had been hooked over the edge of the sink and hobbled to the front counter, leaving the half dried dished behind him.

Reaching the register, he looked up and felt the reflexive retail smile fall away as he took in the details of the man’s appearance that he had missed while preoccupied with his posterior. His face was long and so pale it almost glowed in the restaurant’s bad lighting, set off by the shock of dark brown curls that framed it. Most striking were the eyes, they were some indefinable light color. John immediately wanted to spend the next several hours gazing into those eyes and listing all the colors he found.

John wasn’t sure how long he did stared, but the man had had to arch an eyebrow and clear his throat to break John out of it. Blushing, John looked down at the menu stuck to the counter. He was even more embarrassed when he had to close his mouth, which must have been hanging open, and swallow the saliva that had pooled there before he could speak.

Still looking down he said, “Welcome to The Wonderful Wonton, what can I do to you?”

There was a long pause, then the man asked, more curious than anything else, “I don’t know, what can you do to me?”

“Oh, God. I meant ‘what can I do for you?‘” John corrected, his blush deepening.  

“Interesting,” The man said, then his voice dropped an octave and became almost a purr. “The two are not mutually exclusive.”

“What–” John started to ask, tripping over the word.

He was cut off by by a thoughtful hum, before the man continued, “What is good here?”

“Well, um, as you guessed the curry is not great…”

“Oh, I never guess, John,” The man said, leaning over the counter to tap the nametag pinned to John’s shirt.

“Then how did you know.”

“The door handle, of course. You can always tell a good Chinese place by the bottom third of the door handle.”

“You can’t tell everything though, since we actually don’t have dim sum here. As the name says we make wontons.”

“Wontons!” the man exclaimed. “It is always something.”

“Yeah,” John said, starting to recover his equilibrium a bit. “Well, they are close. Our wontons just have a thinner shell and are steamed and served in soup.

“Good, I am glad I wasn’t incorrect about it getting steamy in here.”

John chuckled at the horrible line and the last of the embarrassment and tension left him. If this guy wanted to flirt and flirt outrageously, well, John was up for that. Oh, yeah, he was up for it. Literally, not to put too fine a point on it.

He dragged his eyes up and down the figure in front of him, blatantly appraising and approving, and licked his lips before he let them form a predatory smile. “It certainly got more steamy when you walked in.”

To his surprise, it was now the man’s turn to blush. His breath seemed to have grow uneven and his eyes were locked on John’s lips. When John licked them again, this time more slowly, a shudder ran visibly through the man and he inhaled sharply.

Still, he sounded confident and completely in control as he said, “That might be true, but just how steamy it could get depends on whether or not the wontons are as wonderful as promised.”

“They are. I guarantee that once you give us a try no other wonton will satisfy you. In fact,” and here John grabbed two chopsticks out of the cup on the counter and stepped over to the soup tureen. Adroitly fishing out a wonton, he cupped a underneath it and carried back to the counter. “Try one, on the house, and tell me if it is not the best thing you have ever put in your mouth.”

“Well, it might be the biggest anyway,” the man shot back with a knowing smirk, then his pink, heart-shaped lips parted and John slid the little dumpling between them.

The man closed his lips around the smooth wood and leaned forward, taking the chopsticks deep into mouth and only stopping when his lips were resting against John’s fingertips, moaning wontonly. The sound vibrated through the chopsticks.

“Sweet Jesus,” John groaned in return and he watched in fascination as the man pulled back. A drop of the thick broth dripped out of the corner of the man’s mouth and John reached out to wipe it away with his thumb. Before he could pull back the man darted forward again to take that thumb in his mouth, sucking the soup off and swirled his tongue across the pad.

Overwhelmed by both the slight and the feeling, John half shouted, “Fuck!”

The man nipped his digit lightly, then released it. “I think that perhaps it is time to lock the doors for the night. Wouldn’t you agree, John?”

“Oh God, yes.” John said.

He hit a button to pop open the register and took the door key out of the last change compartment, all but running to lock the door.

It’s finished! And I’ve died and gone to heaven! <3

john gave sherlock a good morning kiss over breakfast this morning and stuck a headband with two wobbly bee antenna in his curls. sherlock hmmphed but it was only for a laugh anyway and he wore the headband all through breakfast just to make john smile, and then he forgot he was wearing them. he forgot he was wearing them when mrs hudson came up to deliver some halloween treats, and he forgot he was wearing them when lestrade came up to drop off some cold case files for the weekend, and he forgot he was wearing them when mycroft dropped by to plead with sherlock to please take our parents to the phantom of the opera, it’s your turn anyway really. 

After fifteen minutes of searching through my pins…

It’s it kind of sad that the original canon had a much more feminist version of Irene than Mofftiss do?