#ler!john

SUMMARY: john is an egotistical, hyper little shit. we all know that!! in a state of boredom, he goes up to his stoic older brother and decides to surprise attack him. it actually works, and once he's done, thomas gives john 5 seconds before his own demise

SEASON SET: SEASON ONE. JOHN IS 24 AND THOMAS IS 29

TW!!: swearing, brief smoking, mentions of death + war and mouth tickles

Small Heath, Birmingham was no easy place to live in 1919. After the war, tension was everywhere - the already raving streets now full of chaos and smoke. Grime coated the exterior of houses, fog clouded the city sights and children were roaming everywhere, unaccompanied and endangered.

Birmingham was no fun anymore, even for people in gangs - well, that was John's perspective. Being the youngest of the three main brothers, he had to grow up quite quickly, mature too fast. And although, yes, he was a capable man with a strong heart, he was also quite childish and his mindset resembled that of a teenage boy.

He needed some action— some spice to make his day, hell, maybe even his week a little more interesting. So, what not better to do than to torment his second-oldest brother? His most stoic brother? Thomas Shelby. Yet, sometimes, John had to admit even he was scared of his older brother, as his oldest was also a bit weary of the middle child. Why? Before the war in France, Thomas was lively - he laughed, he smiled, he was happy. But, after the war, that person didn't come back. A new Thomas came - a hardened, more stern, more emotionless Thomas that lead the gang called the 'Peaky Blinders'.

Aside from that aspect - John wasn't so worried. Maybe Thomas would appreciate it? Maybe he could escape fast enough? Oh well. No matter the consequences, he was already hooked on-

Well. What? He didn't know what to do -- so, he sat down in the meeting room, pondering. He didn't want to hurt Thomas, far from it, actually. Maybe it'd be good to see his brother laugh, at least once in a while, maybe he could..

It clicked.

It was stupid.

It was childish.

Oh, but that was who John was anyway, and God did it work. He'd just have to tickle him - I mean, when was the last time he saw that happen? Probably not even once. At that, John was set. Determined, he stood up and went to go find his brother.

"Aunt Pol! Aunt Pol? Have you seen Thomas anywhere?"

No answer.

"Arthur!! Where the fuck's Tom?"

"Oh, John, Tommy's in his office as usual. You should know that."

That was easy, only took 15 minutes. But, anyway, John made his way in without knocking and took a seat in front of his brothers desk, a cheeky, sly smirk already starting to force his way onto his lips. "What's up, Tom?"

Thomas only sighed, he didn't even have to look up to hear the smile in his younger brother's voice. He knew it meant trouble. Keeping his eyes on his letter as he wrote it, he answered gruffly. "Yes, John? What is it? If it isn't about business, it can wait." That only made John snicker.

Adjusting his hat, John rolled his eyes. He straightened out his suit and leaned backwards, his head hanging off of the chair. "What'cha doin', eh?" The mischievous one asked, lighting a cigarette and beginning to smoke it. Taking a long puff, he waited for Thomas' answer - a sigh of frustration.

Thomas kept his eyes on his pen, still writing about important things as he talked to John, trying to keep his mind on business. "Writing a letter to the Lee Family. We're conspiring for a deal. Now get out if you don't have anything important to say." He then looked up at John, finally, with a serious and stern look on his face.

"Why are you so serious, huh, bro? What's the matter?" John took another few puffs before stumping his cigarette down in Thomas' ash tray. "You know, you should laugh once ina' while. I haven't seen you laugh since the war. Ever since France, seeing our friends die n' shit, you haven't even made a joke! A fucking joke, Tom." Chair scraping against the wooden floorboards as he stood up abruptly, the sneaky, young adult made his way behind Thomas.

"You have seen me laugh, John."

"Not properly!"

The Leader of Peaky Blinders only rolled his eyes and set his pen down - that's when he tensed. "John. Get your 'ands off of me. I swear to God-" A sharp intake of breath.

"Oho- Are you still fuckin' ticklish, Tom?" The older brother immediately tried to escape, but a firm squeeze to the stomach made him snort and double over. Of course John still knew how to make him snort, of course. The younger only grinned widely and began to flutter his fingers over his navel.

"Pffhahaha- F-Fohor Christ sake, Johohn!" Thomas grabbed John's wrists, trying to push them away to no avail as he was only pushing weakly. It had been a while since he was able to laugh freely, and he didn't mind it so much. "I'm tryhying to w-write a fuhuck- fuckihihing lehehetter!" Slightly embarrassed, he hid his face in his arm, a soft pink hue settling on his face.

Not listening, John dragged his nails up along his brother's abs to his ribcage - his nails slightly grown out - and began to vibrate them gently into the skin in between each individual rib. "Your letter isn't fuckin' important right now. What is important is seeing you piss yourself laughing!" That earnt a sarcastic huff from Thomas, who was trying to keep his giggles in, hiding his mouth in his arm, but it was no use.

"Ahalright- Alright.. Thahahat's enohoHOUGH- JOHOHN!" The 29-year-old man practically squealed as he kicked out a leg, his younger brother had drilled his thumbs into his ever-so-sensitive hip divots. Slamming his hands into John's, he tried to push his wrists away for real. But, the tickling had made his strength evaporate. "LEHEHET ME GOHO- RIGHT NOHOW!"

"Mmm.. Nah. This shit is too fuckin' priceless go let go." That's when he felt Thomas really try to push him off, and he had to wrap his arms around the man to keep him still. John spidered his fingers up and down his sides and gently pinched at his hips. The Leader was in hysterics, banging his fist onto the table as he practically shook with laughter.

"G-GEHEHET THE FUHUCK OHOFF!" Thomas' cheeks began to ache from smiling so much - that's when he knew be bad enough. He then tapped out, and John slowed his hands to a stop. Smiling widely, the younger ruffled his hair. "Ahaha.. Heh.. Fuck.."

"See? That wasn't so bad, was it, Tom?"

"Five seconds."

"What?"

"You.. You have five fuhucking seconds to run before I bloody hunt you down."

John felt his cheeks heat up instantly, and be bolted faster than he ever had. He wasn't about to let this fucker- "Five." SHIT.

"Nononono-" He scrambled out of the office and into a room that no one ever went in. Yet, he wasn't safe there. Hidden behind the door, he felt Thomas near the room he was in. The door swung open, and John almost burst into nervous giggles right then and there. He had to cover his mouth, his cheeks already burning in embarrassment. He was fucking twenty-four! Why was he acting like a fourteen year old?!

Walking around the room slowly, Thomas checked every possible space John could be in. The latter thought he was safe, until: "You know, John. I'm not stupid." A snort slipped. He tried to bolt for it again, but felt hands wrap around his waist right before he set a foot out of the door.

"Noho- Nononono- Tohom-" John panicked through giggles, pushing at his hands.

"I'm not touching you yet."

That's when John felt himself get pinned to the floor, his arms being hoisted above his head. "That's- That's nohot fucking fair! I d-didn't pin you!" Thomas only raised an eyebrow and began tickling.

"Life's not fair, John." He began a lecture as he started to pinch and knead his brother's delicate sides, eliciting squeaky, boyish, frantic laughter from the grown man. "You should know that, for starters. We grew up in this shithole."

"SHUHUT UHUHUP! FUHUCK YOUHU-"

He let out a sweet snort, burying his blushing face into his pinned shoulder.

"Now, now, John. Not every sentence you speak has to have profanity in it." Thomas tutted, smirking when the younger arched his back when the older began to knuckle his ribs, snorting and squeaking with sweet belly laughter.

"I-IHI SAHAID SHUHUT UP, T-TOHOM!" John screeched, falling back against the floor and attempting to curl up. He was being dramatic, as usual. This wasn't a problem for Thomas, though, who kept switching spots to keep John laughing like a mad man. He found the edges of John's untucked shirt and slid his hard, calloused hands in to scribble at his belly button, electing a scream. "EHEHEHAHAHAHA-"

"Tch. Twenty-four, and you act like a toddler. You need to keep your shirt tucked in, John. The Peaky Blinders can't be seen as a lousy gang, can it now?" He scolded his brother as he ignored the screams coming from him. His blunt fingernails and rough skin only added to the torture as he switched between scribbling and clawing his lean stomach. John's eyes scrunched close.

"OHO, FUHUCK OHOFF- T-THIHIHIS GAHAHANG IHIS SHIHIT AHAHAHANYWAY-"

"...Is it now?" Thomas inquired, face darkening slightly as his fingers froze. Oh shit. Fuck. Please have mercy.

But, John wouldn't give up. Not now. He was doomed either way! "Y-Yeheah... I-It is.. WaitwaitwaitWAIIIT-" He instantly shrieked when he felt Thomas pull his shirt up to his ribs, eyes snapping open, all thoughts of not giving up vanishing.

"What? What do you possibly have to say for yourself?" Thomas asked with a raised eyebrow, eyes flickering down to John's midriff - the sensitive, delicate skin had gained a soft, red hue to match his blushing face.

"P-Plehease... I swear, I-I didn't mehean it-" John shied under his gaze, hiding his wobbly smile with his arm. This was a rare occurrence of when Thomas actually gave tickles like this, and they were the WORST.

"That won't save you." Thomas then proceeded to blow the biggest raspberry ever known to man onto John's lower stomach, his stubble scratching perfectly against the skin beneath. When I tell you John shrieked, I don't mean a brief one, I mean one that rang throughout the streets of Small Heath.

John shook his head from side to side hysterically, letting out extremely childish giggles, tears pricking his eyes (and soon streaming down his already glossy cheeks) as Thomas placed not one, not two, but three raspberries all over his stomach. "FUHUHUCK- OKAHAHAHAY! PLEHEHEASE- IHIHI- I'M SOHOHOHORRY!!" He yelled, barely able to speak before his laughter went completely silent. That's when Thomas took the sign to stop, releasing John and patting his chest.

"Still as weak to them as you were when you were twelve." The older teased lightly, standing up and watching John do so. When the younger stumbled, he gently caught him and rubbed his back. "Tuck your shirt in, look appropriate and go rest. We have a busy day tomorrow."

John nodded, wiping his tears with his sleeve. "Y-Yeah... Whatever.."

"...Love you, Tom."

"I love you too, John. Go rest now, and don't disturb me again."

~~Earlier that evening~~

“Aha! Professor- what a pleasant surprise!” Sherlock grinned when his eyes landed on the familiar blonde man sitting by. “I take it you’ve finished your evening classes at the local university?”

“Hm? Oh, Mr. Holmes. A pleasure to see you too, yes.” Said man smiled, the expression a bit tired. “I’ve been stuck at the office for quite some time today-  I’d much prefer teaching my students over grading their work.” Turning to the bartender, he ordered a round of drinks for them as the detective sat down. “How are things with your profession?”

“Boooring. If I get one more missing cat case, my head’s gonna explode.” Sherlock groaned, leaning into a hand as he vented about his most recent cases. If Watson were here, he’d probably scold him for speaking so crudely about his work. At least with William he could be frank. The Professor never seemed to be phased by Sherlock’s lack of filter.

“I suppose that’s the cost of popularity. You gain more work, but it lacks the intrigue you’re searching for.” William smiled behind his whisky as he watched Sherlock shoot his back, slapping his cup down with a satisfying nod. “Surely it’s not all boring?”

“Eh, I suppose. We did uncover quite the cheater! This lord- heh, he really thought he was slick.” Sherlock turned, something sinister in his tipsy grin. “He was sneaking women into his bedchambers almost every night! You know how he got caught? We found him in the bu-”

In Sherlock’s excitement, his hand accidentally knocked his empty glass towards the ground. Both men reached for it at the same time, William’s reflexes faster due to sobriety. Sherlock missed altogether.

What didn’t miss was William’s hand accidentally brushing the detective’s side.

“Gah!”

“Oh? Apologies, Mr. Holmes. Did I hurt you?” William looked up at the other, eyes curious at how red the other looked then. “Mr. Holmes?”

“I-It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” Sherlock turned back to the bar, arms crossed around his middle in a failed attempt to look casual. That certainly sobered him up. William tilted his head curiously before his easy smile returned.

“Very well- I shall take my leave. My brothers; they tend to grow worried for me if I’m out later.” He gathered his bag and hat, leaving a coin for the bartender with a nod. “We’ll have to pick up where we left off next time, Mr. Holmes. I’m intrigued to hear how your riveting story ended.”

“Oh? Yeah, sure, definitely.” Sherlock nodded, unable to look anywhere but that blasted whisky glass. William passed by from behind. As he did, Sherlock felt something like a prod to the ribs, making him shoot up with a yelp.

“Apologies.” William smiled, eyes dancing with devilish delight. “I tripped.”

Sherlock was left sitting there at the bar for quite a long time.

~~Current Time~~

“That’s all?” Watson asked, blinking at his friend. “Sherlock, with all due respect, don’t you think you’re overreacting to such a small gesture?”

“Overreacting?” Sherlock sat up, his glare hot. “That was no small gesture, Watson! Moriarty, I could see it in his eyes! He knew what he had discovered!” Sherlock started to stand, pausing as if remembering Miss Hudson’s warning before easing back in his seat. “I felt like a fool- for something so, so childish!”

“Sherlock, many people are ticklish.” Watson reassured him, wincing some when Sherlock cut him another look. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, and besides- the likelihood of Moriarty using it against you is slim.”

“That’s not the problem, John! It’s not that he knows I’m…” Sherlock stumbled, squirming in his seat. “Sensitive- It’s how annoying it is in my everyday life! I can’t even get fitted for a suit or checked at the department without being reminded of it!” The detective huffed, crossing his arms. “I was cursed with this dreadful ailment- a trade perhaps for my intellect. Given the ability to solve cases but now I must live with too sensitive skin!”

“Yes. Unfortunately there isn’t anything that can be done for that.” Watson mused. “No potions or medicines exist to remove ticklishness from the body.”

Sherlock nodded glumly, and then stopped. Eyes widening, his brain went into overdrive. “John, you ol’ chap, you’re a genius!” Sherlock grinned, making the doctor look up with a blink. “A medicine to stop being so sensitive! It’s perfect!”

“Sherlock I wasn’t being serious-” Watson began, finding himself being pushed out the room gently by the detective. “Sherlock?”

“No time! I must get to work, Watson! Time is of the essence!” Sherlock smiled before shutting the door in Watson’s face, leaving the other staring at old mahogany.

“Oh dear…” The doctor yawned, suddenly too tired to deal with this. “This will only end in disaster, won’t it?”

~~~

“John! John! Come quickly!” Sherlock’s cries shocked Watson out of his morning routine. The doctor raced towards the bedroom, panic setting in. Has Sherlock hurt himself? Did an experiment go wrong?

“Sherlock, what is it?” Watson sprinted into the room, finding Sherlock in mint condition before him. In his hand he held a beaker containing a ruby red liquid. “Erm..you have a drink?”

“What? No, this is no ordinary drink, John!” Sherlock shook his head, presenting the glass to the other. “This is my creation! A cure for the dreaded sensitivity afflicting my body!”

“What…oh. Your remedy for being ticklish.” Watson felt his body relax, glad to know no real danger was before him. “I’m glad you’re- What are you doing?”

Sherlock, after presenting the cup, chugged the entirety of its contents in one go. Wiping the drips of red from his lips, he nodded. “Oh yes…I feel it, John. My genius is working!”

“You’re mad!” Watson cried, running over and grabbing Sherlock’s collar. His skin looked fine, no sudden changes in color or texture. “Why would you drink that? Oh no- where’s the charcoal? Tell me you have charcoal!” John yanked open the nearest drawer, searching for the tablets. “We need to get you to the hospital before you-”

“John, John, easy!” Sherlock took his arm, pulling him away from the drawers. “I’m fine! If the solution was dangerous, clearly I’d be dead now, wouldn’t I?”

“Poisons work differently, Sherlock!” John grabbed the beaker, bringing it to his nose. “If we can identify the chemicals-”

“John.” Sherlock cut him off, finally silencing the other. “I assure you I’m fine. I know my way around a lab, thank you.”

The doctor was quiet, still staring at the beaker in hand. Finally, he sighed, putting it down on the table and turning to his flatmate. “Alright. I trust you. So, this magical medicine you made?” John gestured to Sherlock’s body. “Does it work?”

“I don’t know. That’s the thing about humans, we can’t exactly test ourselves regarding our sensitivity.” Sherlock looked thoughtful before making his way over to the couch, shrugging off his jacket and shoes. Once comfortable, he sprawled out along the cushions, tucking his arms behind his head. “Come on now.”

“Erm…what?” Watson asked.

“Do it.” Sherlock told him. Watson stared some more. “Come on now- we don’t know how long this remedy will last.”

“You want me to…tickle you?” Watson asked. Sherlock flushed at the question, but nodded. “Are you sure?”

“Yes yes! Now hurry! Before the solution wears off!” Sherlock fussed impatiently. Watson sighed before walking over, stretching out his hands.

“Very well. Just remember, you asked me to do this.”

“Hah, no worries! If this worked, I’ll be imu-uuhhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuuhuhne!” Sherlock spasmed when Watson’s fingers touched his body, clawing at his stomach and sides. “Aheahhahahahhahaha! Whahahahhahaht the hehhehehehhheehhell?”

“Did it not work?” Watson asked, brows furrowing as he continued dragging his fingers along Sherlock’s torso. “You sounded so sure. Should I stop?”

“Nohohoohoohhohoho! Keehehehheheep gohoohohoohing! Mahahhahaybe it neehehehheds tihihiihime to kihihihihck ihiihih-IIHIHIN!” The detective all but squeaked when Watson pinched his lower ribs, his hands shooting down from behind his head to guard his torso. “Johohohohohoohn, dohoohoohohon’t!”

“Don’t what? If I recall, you weren’t even that ticklish here.” Watson mused, starting to smile. He let his other hand creep up Sherlock’s open side, walking up his ribs one bone at a time towards his armpit. “Or ticklish here? Maybe your medicine made it worse?”

“Perehehahhahhahahahps? Ihiihihihihihi nehehehehhehed to dohoohohoho mohohohore reeheehehshehehehharch! Aheahhahahhaahaha!” Sherlock squirmed to and from on the couch, batting at the hands. His cheeks were bright red now, his hair growing messier by the minute. “Geahhahahaha, ohoohoohkay! Ohoohohohkay, Wahahahhahatson, stahahhahap ihihiiihhit!”

“Already? But shouldn’t we check all the usual spots first? You never know- the medicine might have numbed a few.” It was absolute bull, what Watson was saying. Really, he was just starting to have fun. Sherlock could be quite the disaster when he wanted to be, driving him and poor Miss Hudson into his antics. It was nice to finally get some much needed revenge.

“Gohoohohohohohd pohohohoohint! Prohohohohoohcehehehheheed!” Sherlock nodded, arching with a cackle when Watson’s hands dug into his armpits. “AHEHAHHA I TAHHHKE IT BAHAHAHCK! I TAHHAHHAKE IT BACK GEHEHHET OHOHOHOOOHOHUT!”

“Hmm…nope, that’s still the same.” Watson dropped his hands down, grabbing Sherlock’s waist. The brunette all but shrieked, nearly jumping off the couch in his hysteria. “That’s the same too. Actually, I think your waist got worse, Sherlock!”

“WHHAHAHHAHAHTSON PELAHHAHHHAHAHSE!” The detective squealed, practically hugging himself to protect his tickle spots. No matter how tightly he pressed his arms in, Watson found a way past his defenses. “MOHOOHOHOVE SOHOOHOHMEWHERE EHEHHHEHLSE!”

“Okay okay…how about here?” Watson grabbed his hip, nearly getting a fist to the eye from Sherlock’s wild squirms. “Okay, definitely still ticklish. Here?” He squeezed his thigh, giggling some at the snorts he earned. “Yep, that’s still normal.” He even dared to tickle his feet, running a single finger down Sherlock’s sole.

“JOHOHOHOOAHAHHHHAAHAN!” Sherlock’s voice cracked from how bad it tickled, eyes wet with mirthful tears and voice fading in and out.

“Yep, you’re still ticklish everywhere.” Watson laughed, finally pulling his hands back. “Looks like your new medicine was a bit of a bust, ol’ chap.”

“Eheh…eheheh…heheh….” Sherlock groaned weakly, body limp with exhaustion against the couch. His hair fell in his face, matted with sweat and blocked his vision. Watson reached out to move it away when Sherlock proved too tired to do so. “Shahame…and heheere I thoohhought I did sohohomething…”

“Perhaps you should count yourself lucky you didn’t die from it?” Watson offered, earning a light pinch to the arm. “If anything, I think it made you even more ticklish than before.” “Drahahats…that’s ihihit. I’m leahhahving medicine to ohohohothers.” Sherlock groaned, closing his eyes. “I…I need a moment. Mahahaybe several.” He was out moments later, soft snores puffing out his lips. Watson smiled before standing.

“Here I was thinking you were killing him.” Miss Hudson’s voice made him jump. Watson turned to find her leaning against the doorframe, a soft smile on her lips as she watched Sherlock sleep. “Can’t blame you if you were. I’d want to kill him too.”

“Did we disturb you? I apologize.” Watson began, stopping when she waved him off.

“It’s fine, truly.” She walked over to the desk, picking up the beaker. “He drank it too. Such an idiot.”

“Yes. Though I have a feeling you knew he would.” Watson walked over, a secret smile touching his lips when their eyes met. “Wine, Miss Hudson?”

“It looked similar enough.” She winked, tucking the glass in her skirts. “You really think I’d let him drink whatever that concoction was? He’s bad enough alive. Imagine what he’d be like dead?” She shuddered. “He’d haunt us for all eternity.”

“He certainly would.” Watson agreed, laughing. “Would you like to have some tea with me, Miss Hudson? I’m curious to know what other interference you’ve done for the sake of Sherlock.”

“But of course, John.” She nodded, turning to the door. “That would be lovely.”