ginbitch (ginbitch) wrote,

  • Location:
  • Mood:
  • Music:

Fic: Hands, Feet, Head, Heart (Sherlock/John, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, Mycroft)

Title: Hands, Feet, Head, Heart
Word count: 750
Rating: R? depends how high you rank sex...
Warnings: None
Pairings: Sherlock/John, Mrs Hudson/oc, Lestrade/oc, Mycroft/oc
Summary: For the prompt 'Love' - in some of its many forms...

Beta'd by the amazing kate_lear. Thanks honey! You're a star! This one is for fengirl88, whose lovely Lestrade/Maurice fics inspired the Lestrade section.


His lover’s hands scrabble and fist in the sheets.

“Yes, God, yes, there…”

He laughs and catches John’s mouth with a kiss.

Fingers clutch at his hair as he presses deeper and feels his lover clench and curse before driving him on, on, on…

They have been lovers for thirty-six days, twelve hours and ten minutes.

Sherlock pauses to suck at the palm of John’s hand, running his tongue along the fingers, taking them into his mouth and sucking hard. Until John’s frantic thrusts become too much, and he begins again, rocking his body deeper, tighter, closer.

John’s knees are drawn up to his chest. Sherlock feels John’s feet flex as he comes, the toes curling tight with pleasure. He lightly plants a kiss on the upturned sole before thrusting in deeper, deeper…

…until all separation is lost and they are one.


The first thing that struck her about her husband, God rest his soul, was his feet. She was on her hands and knees, cleaning the floor of the Palace Hotel, so absorbed in her work that she didn’t even notice him come in. And then there they were: a pair of shiny black shoes, far more expensive than anything belonging to the Palace’s usual clientele.

She scrambled up, apologising, but he made a joke and helped her to her feet. He was graceful as a dancer and handsome as the devil and she thought to herself, “My, but aren’t you a catch?“

They went dancing at the Empire ballroom and drank sparkling wine which might have been champagne. When he proposed, she said yes without a second thought.

Funny, how things work out.

She knew he had secrets but didn’t realise what kind. The first time she found blood on his suit, she idly wondered if he’d cut himself shaving. But there was far too much, and when it happened for the fifth time, she realised that she couldn’t keep on pretending.

Right was right, after all, even though he was her husband.

She was glad, on the whole, but sometimes missed the girl she had been back then. That foolish girl who’d had her head turned by a pair of shiny shoes and dancer’s feet.


Lestrade likes to think of himself as a level-headed sort of bloke. Not one for flowers and fancy gestures. Fortunately his partner is the same: down-to-earth and unfazed by the late nights, early mornings and unpredictable hours of the case.

When they find out that Lestrade’s gay, most people think he must fancy Sherlock. He and Jack have a good laugh together about this – and it’s another reason to be grateful for his partner’s steady heart and calm, unflustered head.

Their love might not have the whistles and bells you see in films but it is no less profound for all that. It grew quietly and comfortably from the first time they met and it warms them now as they sit, side by side, watching television.

Later, they will wash up in companionable silence and go to bed. He will rest his head on Jack’s shoulder and be lulled to sleep to the sound of his lover’s heart.


His heart lifts as he leaves the office. Soon, soon he will see her again. Ridiculous, perhaps, this reaction after so many years together but he will allow himself this one moment of weakness, the counterpoint to the relentless drive of his days.

Sometimes he stops the car on the way home to call at a select boutique for those biscuits that she loves so much. She will look quizzically at him, as if to say, “What, again?” before accepting with every sign of delight.

If he is working late, he will occasionally ask Anthea to collect her and bring her to his office. No-one else is trusted with this task.

She is a tabby with white paws and is the best protected cat in London, possibly the world. He supervises her security detail personally and when she goes out hunting, a silent army of watchers in unmarked vans track the red dot of her chip across their screens.

When he gets home, she weaves between his legs in an ecstatic figure of eight. He makes himself a drink and settles down in his armchair to read reports on China. She lightly leaps into his lap and gently touches his nose with her own. Satisfied that all is well, she curls her tail around her paws and goes to sleep.

Tags: bbc_sherlock, fanfiction, john/sherlock, mrs hudson, mycroft, sherlock
  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.
← Ctrl ← Alt
Ctrl → Alt →
← Ctrl ← Alt
Ctrl → Alt →