Chapter Text
Sherlock and John were arguing all over again. “You don’t even know what you’re looking for!” This was the twenty-first shop they’d visited that day and John was fed up. He was footsore, hungry, and despite the many fascinating oddities they’d looked at during the course of their search there really were only so many hours a man could spend shopping before he snapped. Sherlock was in full detective mode, eyeing each shelf methodically as he examined the merchandise in hopes of discovering an artefact that had been stolen. There was no description beyond a very vague I’ve never seen anything like it so Sherlock was mentally discounting anything he recognized and focusing on objects that were unique or at least extremely unusual. John’s old duffle bag had been pressed into service. It was crowded with items now, none of which had anything to do with the case but all of which had piqued Sherlock’s interest. Instead the sack was filled with assorted hand weapons, medieval devices they couldn’t fathom, interesting tools, old coins, and a small puzzle box that was inlaid with mother of pearl and John was the one carrying it around.
“I will know it when I see it!” asserted Sherlock for the hundredth time that day. John growled in frustration, “If you can control your animal noises John perhaps I can focus on our search!” Sherlock tried to ignore John but it was very difficult. When John got like this Sherlock couldn’t prevent the hairs on his forearms from standing up. He had resorted to wearing long-sleeved shirts at all times, even his pyjama tops now all came with long sleeves. There was something about John that made Sherlock feel strange deep inside and try as he might he could not discipline his transport. It had been bad enough before but since John returned to Baker Street Sherlock had despaired of regaining control of his transport. Damn his limbic system!
John bit back a retort and glared at his flatmate and best friend. It was better to let Sherlock continue when he was like this; there was no point in trying to distract him no matter how empty his belly felt. “It could be anything. It could be this weird metal thing right here, look.” he pointed at a double band of what seemed like copper that was the correct size to fit around someone’s wrist, or if their arms were skinny, their upper arm.
“That looks like a pair of bracelets. I know what a bracelet is so that can’t be it.” Sherlock glared at the set. They were unusual though. Try as he might he couldn’t quite follow the edge of them. Both of them seemed to have only one edge but that couldn’t be right. He picked them up and took a closer look at it. There was a five pound price sticker on it so Sherlock fished a note from his pocket and handed it over, “I want to examine this later.” he said as he stuck it into the bag. John groaned and now even Sherlock could hear his belly rumbling. “For goodness sake John, you ate just yesterday! You can’t tell me you’re hungry already!”
“I am ravenous Sherlock because most people eat three times a day, not three times a week!” John wanted to pop Sherlock right in his rolling eyes but at least he left the shop and headed directly to a nearby restaurant. “Thank you.” said John after he placed a substantial order.
“I expect to get back to work the second you finish refuelling.” said Sherlock acerbically. He was tapping his foot impatiently.
“Your transport needs fuel too, part of that order is for you.” said John and he had his doctor face on so Sherlock bit back his next argument. When John made that face he wasn’t going to change his mind or allow Sherlock to slip away without eating something. Now Sherlock regretted his habit of keeping his back to the wall. In order to flee the table he would need to get around John and there was nothing more humiliating than being tackled by John in public and re-seated.
“As long as we get back to the search directly afterward.” he stressed instead, conceding with ill grace. John just smiled grimly and nodded sharply. Sherlock had to press his lips together and look casually out the window. They’d been living together for four months now, four months since everything in their mutual worlds had gone to hell and back leaving just the two of them once again. The Work was the only thing that remained easy between them but like all the rest of Sherlock’s addictions, John Watson was impossible to resist entirely. Self-discipline had never been more important. Sherlock had to watch himself every moment; he couldn’t let John see how his mere presence affected him.
John swallowed hard as Sherlock looked away. Like always the detective’s profile struck a chord deep within the poetic heart of him. The patrician façade that Sherlock presented the world had only fooled John for a short while. He knew that beneath the cold and collected exterior of the world’s only consulting detective was a complex and feeling man who comprehended far too much of the world’s evil and still did his best to do right, even when he found it annoying. John knew Sherlock needed the distraction cases brought and he was grateful for the one they were working on. Sherlock had been completely absorbed for hours and had given in to John’s food demands with much less arguing than he’d prepared for. John knew how to pick his battles so he stayed further comment and dragged his eyes away from Sherlock. That indefinable something was still between them and the awkwardness had grown over the weeks since John had finished moving back to Baker Street had made their time together strained.
Dinner was quiet and because Sherlock was trying to humour John he ate half of his food before he put his fork down and waited patiently. He rather enjoyed watching John eat. The soldier was neat and efficient, consuming each bite with the enjoyment of a man who had several times thought he’d eaten his very last meal and had sworn to make every meal thereafter count. Sherlock couldn’t help but be impressed with John, he was brave and honest, a true hero, not a blind follower but a warrior who possessed a keen sense of discretion about right and wrong. Sherlock bit his lip before he began to stare at John all over again. He’d caught himself doing it more than once and chided himself each and every time. John wasn’t gay. He’d gotten married to a woman and everything. Even if it hadn’t worked out John had stated time and time again how not interested in men he was and Sherlock would never offend his only friend by laying bare his hidden feelings. He couldn’t do that, not to John.
John chewed slowly, every bite a mystery as he tried to calm his racing pulse. He was grateful that Sherlock had finished eating already. There was something about how he dealt with each small mouthful that stirred John in a disturbing way. He needed to control himself. Sherlock had no interest in intimate relationships, if no one else understood that, at least John did. He wouldn’t push himself on Sherlock, not matter how John felt about his tall strange friend. Sherlock was amazing and John would never be ashamed for the feelings he could hardly control. How could anyone not feel something for someone like Sherlock once they’d gotten to know him? Still, Sherlock trusted so few people in the world and John would never betray that trust by making the detective have to deal with John’s base animal needs. John would deal with that issue himself. He wasn’t even going to think about dating again, not after everything and besides, Sherlock never liked the people John brought home anyway and these days, John couldn’t stomach the idea of bringing anyone back to Baker Street. That was their place and it wasn’t a problem anyway, not really. Sherlock was worth any sort of sacrifice.
Once their meal was concluded Sherlock threw down his credit card and nearly shouted at John who tried to pay for his own meal separately, “We are on a case John! All case related expenses go on my card, you know that!” John was a proud man and Sherlock would never wound his pride by helping him financially so Sherlock instead took every opportunity to pay for things by insisting they were business expenses that they charged back to their client. John seldom argued it and in this way Sherlock managed to give his only friend a bit of a break. Sherlock had plenty of money and no one but John to spend it on so he did his best to care for his prickly soldier, even claiming John’s expenses when they worked for the Met where they didn’t get paid at all.
After dinner they kept visiting shops until they couldn’t find any that were still open and were forced to return to Baker Street. By then John’s duffle bag was almost splitting at the seams with oddments and curios, all of which he complained about but none of which he’d re-shelved. Sherlock smiled to himself, John made a lot of noise when Sherlock got like this but in reality the detective knew his soldier enjoyed the strange ways they occupied themselves while on cases. John really was the best most perfect friend a body could have. John was possessed of all manner of useful skills, all of which he faithfully employed for Sherlock no matter how he groused while he did it. After all their years together, and the years they were apart, John had only grown more interesting as he picked up tidbits here and there just as he had while he’d travelled the world while in the army. John was cleverer than Sherlock had initially given him credit for but after all this time Sherlock no longer felt the sting of dismay when something new about the doctor came out. Now Sherlock looked forward to the next surprise, always astounded when John somehow knew things, amazing things, things like how to quietly pick a rusted lock because he’d gotten stuck in a fire-zone once and had to sneak out of an abandoned hospital, or how to immobilize a man twice his size using a series of finger strikes John refused to teach Sherlock, or how to make the most mouth-watering stir-fry Sherlock had ever tasted, or the way John effortlessly took care of their home, never needing to ask Sherlock where things went or how they should be stored away. John knew things, useful things, and Sherlock appreciated that. “Lay it all out John. Tea please.”
John almost snorted when Sherlock spoke. He was already emptying the bag onto the coffee table and had already planned to make some tea, he was dying for a cuppa. He always made tea when they got back from being out, Sherlock didn’t need to ask but at least he was saying please these days. That was different and very welcome. Sherlock had been changing ever so slowly since John had returned home. John knew they were very close to regaining that old effortless intimacy they used to share, way back when, back in the days when they were used to breathing each other’s air and sharing the same small space without awkwardness. John regretted not seeing how they fit together like lock and key right from the first moment. Instead he’d focused himself on denying his latent homosexual feelings toward his odd and brilliant flatmate so hard that he’d missed every obvious clue there was. His self-defeating decisions had cataclysmically shattered their world and John was filled with so many regrets. He was meant to be with Sherlock. That was it. They were friends and they always would be. John wasn’t interested in looking for love in someone else’s arms. He’d be satisfied with living with his other half simply by being Sherlock’s best friend. That would be enough. “Give me a minute alright?”
Sherlock knew John’s arm was bothering him and keeping him irritated would keep him from noticing how stiff it had gotten in the last hour so Sherlock huffed and made annoyed sounds until he deemed enough time had gone by before snatching the bag rudely away from John and pushing him toward the kitchen. “Just make tea John!” Sherlock began to lay his acquisitions out neatly to begin examining his new treasure horde.
John smiled to himself on the way to the kitchen, rolling his shoulder as he went. He’d been half a second away from putting that bag down, how had he not noticed the number it was doing to his bad arm? Sherlock was like a small child sometimes, impatient and incapable of waiting for anything but John found Sherlock’s attitudes to be endearing. He was so eager to learn, so excited to solve a new mystery. Today had been an exciting one for Sherlock, he’d been like a child on Christmas morning all day and John’s mind was now filled with a lovely assortment of memories of Sherlock’s happy smiling face as he lifted up one new mystery after another. John had been pleased to haul around the ever heavier sack just to watch Sherlock’s eyes light up or to see that thoughtful frown he wore when he was stymied by something.
There were two bottles of wine on the counter and John eyed them and then the kettle. Today had been long, maybe a drink would be a better way to relax than a hot cup of tea. Mind made up John poured two glasses and brought them back to Sherlock. “Changed my mind.” he said, proffering a glass to Sherlock.
Sherlock glanced at the wine and took the glass, trying to ignore how warm John’s fingers were as they touched briefly, “Thank you.” he raised his glass, “To friends.”
“To best friends.” said John and they drank. Seating themselves John looked over everything, “That’s a lot of stuff Sherlock.”
“Fascinating isn’t it?” said Sherlock with a happy smile, “I’m positive these coins are real, the clerk had no idea what he was selling, that was obvious. I’ll have to research some of these hand weapons, and this scroll is intriguing. I can’t wait to translate it.”
“You know ancient Greek?” asked John sceptically. He was very relaxed now. They’d stopped and changed into their pyjamas and were now sitting on the sofa once more.
“No but it can’t be that difficult.” said Sherlock pragmatically. John rolled his eyes but kept looking things over. There were so many different things from around the world that he didn’t notice when they’d finished the first bottle of wine except that Sherlock went to the kitchen and got the second one. They had moved onto the items they couldn’t figure out together and had begun laughing at each other’s attempts to articulate a description. John had stowed each thing back into the duffle bag after they’d looked at it so it was packed tight once again. Closing his eyes John leaned back against the Union Jack pillow, the strap to his duffle bag tight around his hand. Sherlock was looking at the strange bands, “Give me your wrist.”
Obediently John stuck his left arm out and watched as Sherlock slipped the band onto him. It was bigger than it seemed because Sherlock managed to get it all the way up to his bicep, “Odd, I wouldn’t have thought it would be big enough to get past my forearm.” he mused, “Here, try this one.” He took the second band and ignored Sherlock’s fussing and pushed it onto his long slender left arm where it fit perfectly around his bicep as well. “I now pronounce us best friends for life.” said John solemnly.
Sherlock couldn’t help laughing. He was more than a little tipsy and John always managed to say amusing little things like that with such ease, “I promise to love and honour my best friend until the end of days.” he replied.
“See that you do.” said John seriously. That lasted about two seconds and then they were both laughing at one another. “What was this again?” There was a beautifully carved box. It was clearly modern but the designs were lovely and John had been admiring it when Sherlock bought it.
“Mehndi kit.”
“Mehndi kit? What’s it for?” John poked at the small wooden box filled with a tube of something with a metal tip.
“It’s for making patterns on your skin, it wears off over time. India. It’s like a tattoo but not permanent.” Sherlock had always admired the art of Mehndi and was positive he could manage to do it but was uncertain about the actual patterns. Oh well, that’s what the internet was for. He could at least see how it was done. “Let’s look up a DIY video.”
John was excited. This was brilliant, how had he not known about this? “I always wanted a tattoo but I could never decide on what I’d want to have on my skin forever. This is great, yes! I want to be marked like that!” he said. Wobbling a bit John grabbed his laptop and looked up pictures of ancient pictish tattoos, “There, those ones. Do me.”
“Do you? Are you saying you want me to draw all of that on you tonight?” Sherlock was rapidly becoming sober. John was showing Sherlock a picture of an ancient Pict warrior. He looked noble and he was very covered with an elaborate design that seemed to even feature a human face. There wasn’t an untouched part of the man. Is that what John wanted? The thought of touching John all over was a very appealing one, “Are you planning on wearing a kilt like they are or do I have to use my imagination to determine where your marks begin and end?”
John snorted. Sherlock was trying to get out of this. Well John was just drunk enough not to want his best friend to have the last word as it were, “I’ve got m’kilt. It’s upstairs. Haven’t worn it in years, be right back. Get that kit ready.” This was a great idea. This was the most fun idea they’d had in ages. John couldn’t even remember the last time they’d had a night in where they’d just had a good time goofing around or playing games. This was a fantastic idea, he’d never been so glad to have his kilt, his mother had sent it back to him after his marriage had ended. He hadn’t worn it in years so why not?
Sherlock stared at John’s retreating back as the small man staggered away to put on his kilt. To put on his kilt! Sherlock felt an unwelcome plumping of his nether parts at the vision that flashed through his mind…blinking slowly he researched application techniques. He was really doing this. He was really going to paint John Watson’s naked body with Mehndi.
Sherlock had to breathe deeply for a minute before he went to his bedroom and put on the tightest pair of pants he could find before he put his pyjama bottoms back on. He couldn’t trust his transport and this would take hours to do!
Sherlock had to brace himself against his bureau. He was going to be touching and decorating John Watson’s naked warm bare skin while the love of his life wore only a kilt and they were just friends. Could he do this? Could he mark John like that and control himself? He had to. John was so happy right now, he hadn’t been this happy and relaxed since before…since before. Taking a deep breath Sherlock clenched his fists and exhaled slowly. He could do this. He was doing this.
John was having a great time flinging his clothes off. He loved his kilt and seldom had a chance or inclination to wear it but it was his Watson kilt, how could he not have one? Shucking his pants off cheekily John threw them in the corner of his room and wrapped his kilt on but forewent everything else, leaving his stockings and sporran on the bed along with everything he normally wore with the kilt. He wanted the full body tattoo. That man on the internet looked fierce and John really liked it. Maybe it was an affirmation of his masculinity after everything he’d been through or maybe he was reaching back to his ancient roots but whatever it was tonight John Watson was mostly naked and already heading back downstairs to let Sherlock Holmes cover him with ink from head to toe.
Sherlock felt all the air leave his lungs as John marched himself back into the living room. He was clad only in his kilt and the metal armband they were both wearing. John was gorgeous and Sherlock felt himself react almost instantly. Gritting his teeth Sherlock quickly thought of the most horrific thing he could imagine and recalling what it had looked like walking in on his brother and Lestrade was enough to douse the flames of passion thoroughly. In fact he needed another drink so Sherlock emptied his glass quickly as John lay himself out on the sofa face down with their Union Jack pillow tucked under his neck and chest so his back was arched a bit, “Make it good Sherlock, I’m trusting you here. Don’t paint something embarrassing on me; I know where you keep your poisons.”
Suddenly Sherlock felt serious about the whole business, “You can rely on me John. You are my best friend, I will not let you down.” Considerately he fetched a straw and refilled John’s wine glass, setting it on the floor beside the sofa where John could reach it easily. The laptop was right on the coffee table in front of them and both men studied the image carefully, “You’re certain John? This is the style you want?”
“Well maybe not the face on my stomach but all the other stuff looks grand. Do that!” They inspected the picture closely again.
“The face is an integral part of the pattern John, are you sure?” John stared at it.
“I don’t know if I want someone’s face on my stomach for two or three weeks.” that’s how long the paste was supposed to last on his skin according the instructions, “Look, there are faces on his knees too. Why was that?”
“I have no idea. It would be very frightening I suppose.” John looked interested, “Now you want the face.”
“I want the face. Make it scary.” John flipped over and threw his arms up above his head, exposing his torso completely. Sherlock forced himself to continue breathing evenly as his eyes wandered down the hard fit body displayed in front of him. John had gone through a bad patch after everything had been said and done, he’d lost a lot of weight when he stopped eating regularly but he’d gotten over all of it but had yet to catch up with the podge that Sherlock really, really missed seeing. Still, rippling muscles on a soldier were hardly offensive, “Get going, you can’t plan all night.”
Sherlock took a deep breath and wished he had more wine. Blinking he took up the tube and a sheet of paper, practicing his lines for a minute or two. When he was sure he could manage without making John look like he’d been decorated by a child he leaned in and asked one last time, “Are you sure John?”
“Do it.”
One last deep breath was all Sherlock could do to calm himself as he examined John’s torso one more time. Bending down he closed his eyes as he thought of the pattern on the laptop and the shape of John’s body. When he was sure he had it all organized in his mind Sherlock began to draw.