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In a Sherlock AU series (in the one starring by Benedict Cumberbatch), who do you think Regulus and James would be? Who do you think would best play Sherlock? james or regulus? Who would be doctor Watson? (of course it would be a SherlockxJohn)
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Was given this prompt idea by @nottoolateforthegame
âSherlock/John drunk and giggle and snuggly on a cold/stormy nightâ
See below page break for the full post.
The wind howled against the sides of the flat; rattled along the edges of the living room windows and whipped leaves and debris through the streets. Inside 221B, a fire crackled below the dusty mantle, but despite the cheerful light, it did little to warm the chilled space with its cold, hard wood floors.
The living room was silent; empty of sound and occupants. Down the hallway, soft voices, speaking in warm murmurs, slipped from beneath a closed door. Inside, Sherlock and John huddled beneath the comforter on Sherlockâs bed, glasses of whiskey in hand, their faces gently flushed.
âSherlock!â John groaned; his voice was very slightly slurred by the effects of strong liquor. âStop putting your damn feet on meâtheyâre like ice!â He wiggled in the bed, shifting away. He was nearly successful when a long arm wrapped around his shoulders and yanked him back, a head of dark curls pushing into the dip between his neck and shoulder.
âIf you werenât so warm, I wouldnât do it.â Sherlock quipped from his resting spot. âNot my fault.â
John rolled his eyes, but there was a faintly pleased glint to his face. âSeems like nothing is ever your fault.â He replied, lifting his arm and letting the detective worm his way closer: despite his aloofness, Sherlock seemed to enjoy cuddling, often wrapping himself around John like a curly-haired snake.
âCorrect.â Sherlock hummed, finishing his drink. Placing the empty glass on the bedside table, he pressed himself back against John. They sat together like that, naked beneath the covers, and he relished the feeling of Sherlockâs warm skin against his. Except for those damn cold feet. John winced, gritting his teeth as Sherlock pressed his frigid toes against Johnâs leg.
âBloody hell,â John gasped, pushing at Sherlock with his hands. âWhy are your feet so damn cold?â Sherlock shrugged beside him, a malicious smile spreading across his face.
âAll the blood goes to my brain, John.â He smirked. âMy feet donât solve cases.â
âWell, they certainly solved this one.â John muttered, jabbing at the other manâs side. To his surprise, a low giggle erupted from Sherlockâs lips, and he jerked away. They stared at one another, Johnâs eyes wide with surprise. The detective watched him warily.
âSherlockâŠâ John began, his words slow and thoughtful. âAre youâticklish?â
âI most certainly am not.â Sherlock huffed, but his eyes darted away, and his face appeared redder than the alcohol could explain.
John grinned, a slow, almost predatory expression on his intrigued face. His own head swam with the whiskey, and he set the glass aside to face Sherlock fully. The other man was already leaning away from him, half out from under the covers, eyes narrowed.
âJohnâŠâ he warned, holding up a hand. âI am not ticklish.â His voice was insistent, but, as he stepped off the bed, John still advanced after him, that same predator-like look on his face.
When Sherlock made to flee the room, John lunged, locking his arms around Sherlockâs waist and bringing them both to the ground. As they fell, John shot forward, grabbing the back of Sherlockâs head so his hand hit the wall instead of the back of Sherlockâs skull.
Sherlock raised his eyebrows at the man sprawled across his chest. âImpressive reflexes, Watson.â He noted, and John smirked.
âI was a soldier.â He quipped. Sherlock rolled his eyes.
âGoing to use that one often, are we?â
âOh, you bet. Heyââ John grabbed at Sherlock as the detective tried to wiggle away. Pinning the tall man between his thighs, knees on either side of his waist, he planted his hands on the floor, bracketing Sherlockâs head. âWhere do you think youâre going?â
Sherlock scowled up at him, faint trepidation ticking along the edge of his jaw. âLook here, Johnââ he began, then jackknifed as John twiddled his fingers swiftly over Sherlockâs ribs. An absurd burst of giggling laughter slipped from the detectiveâs full lips and John snorted in shock, his eyes squeezing shut in glee.
âBloody hell, Sherlock,â he wheezed, shaking his head. âHow did I miss this?â
âVery droll, John.â Sherlock snapped, wiggling beneath the other man and finding himself held securely in place. He slumped into a pout, glaring up at John. âCome now, youâve had your fun. Now get off.â He kneaded his hands insistently against Johnâs bare chest, frowning when the other man captured them, leaning down to brush his lips over the arch of the detectiveâs cheekbone.
âMmm, but I already âgot offâ, remember?â John breathed, and his thighs gently squeezed where they pinned the other man to the floor. Sherlock shivered and lifted his head to bring their lips together, sinking into the long, heavy kiss as his eyes slid shut. Johnâs tongue danced with his, delicate, deliciously wet contact.
When their mouths parted, Sherlock lay limply beneath John, face flushed and eyes dark. âDoes that mean youâre not up for a round two?â The detective asked, his voice husky and rough.
âMaybe,â John hummed, leaning back and smirking down at him. âBut firstâŠâ the smirk grew into a malicious grin, and he descended upon the other man, twitching fingers moving over Sherlockâs chest, sides and lower stomach. John laughed helplessly as Sherlock snorted and wiggled beneath him.
âJohn,â He gasped, slapping uselessly at the other manâs hands âStop.â
John finally sat back, a satisfied look on his smug face. âI knew you were ticklish.â He triumphantly announced, flicking Sherlockâs side when the detective petulantly rolled his eyes. Â
âYes, John, very good deduction work.â Sherlock muttered, moving to his feet as John rolled off his legs. As John stood, Sherlock turned and splayed a hand over his lightly haired chest. âNow itâs my turn, and Iââ he moved forward until John backed against the bedframe. âDeduceâŠâ he gave John a gentle push, and John let himself fall onto the bed, laying on his back, legs hanging off the edge; a faint smile twitching along his lips as his eyes moved slowly over Sherlockâs body. ââŠthat is it time for round two.â