Original Story Title: Alibi
Original Story Link: http://f-m-r-l.livejournal.com/22587.html
Original Story Pairings: Sherlock/John
Original Story Rating: NC-17
Original Story Warnings: None
Remix Story Title: In search of an alibi
Remix Author: dweo
Remix Beta: Lady Khady
Remix Britpicker: Lady Khady
Remix Story Pairings: Sherlock/John
Remix Story Rating: R
Remix Story Warnings: None
"In search of an alibi"
Sherlock sat up with a gasp, his dream still fresh in his mind and the ghosts of hands still on his body. He stared at his wall, because if his eyes the images played over and over. He forced his breathing and heart rate back to normal and cursed. It was the fourth time this week he woke up gasping and achingly hard.
He glared at the tent his sheets made; a tent that betrayed his state too clearly. His hand unconsciously sneaked to his cock and he hated himself for giving into his body's weakness so easily. He never in his life felt an urge his strong. Even when he was younger he could usually beat his sexual fantasies into submission. With another glare at the sheet he brought himself to a rather unsatisfactory climax, and as much he tried, he could not stop the name tumbling over his lips.
A few hours later, after a punishingly cold shower and a long mental trip on his sofa, he came to decision. He needed to act, because his tactic of ignoring the whole situation hadn't worked so far and the way things were going he would never have a peaceful night again.
He of course blamed the whole situation on John, because while Sherlock did not always understand people's feelings he could read them perfectly. Subtle hand moves, eye contact, he could tell if people were happy, sad, angry or in love. But it John who stumped him and after all these years, after bombs, guns, mad dogs, after three years apart, Sherlock still could not discern what John to him.
John's words said friend and rather loudly too.
"No, I'm not gay."
"We're not a couple."
Every time all the time, but then he would put his hand on Sherlock's waist for several long seconds, just to move him aside. Sherlock even went so far as to look up what would be acceptable physical contact between friends. None of the websites gave any useful answers.
Then there were the looks. John always knew where Sherlock in the room and again the websites told him this wasn't normal behaviour for friends, but at the same time Sherlock knew that John would keep an eye on him at all times, because if he didn't Sherlock would probably get himself killed. Just look at how close Mycroft kept his eyes on him. That thought had been a good way to cool his libido and kept the dreams at bay for a day.
The looks John gave him after a successful case still high from the chase were a whole other matter. That look said: "Take me; take me now; take me here against this wall." Not even the thoughts of Mycroft had helped with those images.
There was also the casual acceptance of Sherlock's behaviour. Sherlock had still not discovered the thing that would scare John away and he had tried.
John accepted it all and even though he got angry, hit Sherlock, ignored him, walked away, he never left him for good.
All of this, all of John's words and movements should be enough to tell Sherlock everything. He did this for a living; he used to looking beyond the obvious, beyond what people's words said, and Sherlock's own feelings did not help him to keep a level-head either. Facts kept getting blurred in favour of daydreams.
Sherlock knew he had to find out for sure, if only for his own peace of mind. He knew the direct approach could very well explode in his face and he would prefer to have many more sleepless nights and the loss of his sanity with John as a friend and flatmate than reading the situation wrong and lose John completely.
Somehow he had to create a ruse that would give him credible deniability. 'It's for a case' seemed to work for all his missteps, so why not use it this time.
He decided to approach this like he did with a case, test his hypothesis. He needed to devise an experiment; one that would give them both a chance to deny everything. This excluded face-to-face contact. The picture of him kissing John which entered his mind distracted him for a while and Sherlock was sure he would not be able not stop himself from acting on his feelings, if he came in touching distance of John.
So remote contact, Email?
Sherlock shook his head. Email would be out, too slow, no immediate reaction and he wasn't entirely sure about his own ability to write seductively.
He thought it over; the reaction would be immediate, at least from his side, John was a very slow writer and that again would mean waiting. Besides Sherlock had very little trust in John's ability to operate the phone in normal situations let alone when flustered.
It was direct, and Sherlock knew John liked his voice, but phone sex brought other logistic problems with it. Holding a phone meant he would have only one hand free, and Sherlock wanted to make sure the experiment would not be hindered by stupid things like dropped phones.
The answer came to him a flash and he ran out of the flat five minutes later. The nearest electronics store held the answers or at least the answer to his simplest problem. And that was where Sherlock found himself looking down at the two packages in his hands.
"They are both top of the line. That one has the best sound. So clear you can hear a p on the other side, but if comfort is your concern take that one. There have been customers who forget they have it in and go to bed with it." Sherlock tried to make a decision and at the same time tuned out the annoying shop assistant.
Sound of comfort?
In the end the answer was simple and he took both. Then the next question presented itself. Where he going to do this?
John's odd need for privacy meant it should happen somewhere John would feel comfortable, somewhere he would not be overheard. So that would basically exclude the whole of London, with Mycroft's tendency to spy on them.
The answer of course was simple.
John's bedroom was bare and extremely clean. His bed was made so tight Sherlock knew that even John would notice if he sat on it. The nightstand beside his bed was also bare and Sherlock knew exactly where to put it. Out of sight, but still within hand reach, just in case he was forced to wait a few days with his plan.
He shuddered at the thought of more sleepless nights and disturbing dreams.
He put the headset (he had gone for comfort in the end) in the drawer and retreated back to his own room. He sat down, made himself comfortable and put the other earpiece in his ear. He hadn't cared for comfort; he just wanted to hear every sound, every heartbeat.
He still wasn't sure what he was going to say, what he was going to do. The internet had been unsurprisingly explicit and completely unhelpful when it came to phone sex.
He reached for his laptop to do some final research to find the final answer. Then the front door opened and Sherlock let his laptop drop with a loud bang. He held his breath, but it appeared that whoever walked up the stairs hadn't noticed. His heart raced and he knew this was the moment, so he carefully picked up his phone, double checking the number and pressed the dial button.
"John, I need you to listen to me, and keep listening. Can you do that for me? A man's alibi depends on it."
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