bakerstreet | Return to me, my love

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Return to me, my love

ALWAYS COME BACK

smut meme;

They may be a rambler, a gambler, always on the run, a wanted criminal, someone with a higher calling, or just not the type to spend time with you (which may be fine by you), yet somehow, they'll always find their way back to your door. And they'll, again and again, find themselves wanting you, for support, for healing, for feeling alive, for venting frustration and anger, for anything and everything at all.

You'll welcome them with open arms...and an open bed, because you want them, too.

Comment: prefs, info, preferred role, etc.
Reply: to others.
Thread: with them.

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[ ota. ]

[ probably the one being come home to.

give me everybody and everything. MCUs, DCEUs, crossovers of all stripes. ]

(( m/m or m/f both welcome. castmates and non-castmates equally adored. I can play Steve from anywhere along his timeline ))

[ Care for Thor post-Ragnarok (if you've seen it). If not I don't mind another timeline! ]

(( saw it loved it and that sounds perfect to me :D ))

[ All MCUs welcome. DCEUs and other crossovers can come, too. ]

[Potentially interested in something?]

(( definitely :D ))

[I am all for John chasing Sherlock half way across the globe to drag him home. Or the other way around... I have this image in my head now of Sherlock tossing John over his shoulder...

I haven't had my coffee yet.]

((I mean not a bad image at all. :D

But! Shall we have John chasing Sherlock like the truant child that he is?))

[>:)

Yess~]

Edited (html fail) 2017-11-29 15:35 (UTC)

(( excellent :D

Will you start us up?))

[Here we go! And sorry it took so long. The moment I sat down, I had what felt like a dozen things to do.]

John Watson was a patient man. He was an understanding man. International case, large profile client... He got it. But that was three months ago. He was tired of sitting here in London, waiting for Sherlock. So, he did what any logical (or illogical) person would do. He went after the damn detective. He didn't care what people thought of it. He was tired of what people thought, what they would whisper about. He had grown tired of it after the Fall. He was who he was and he was not going to pay any attention to the whispers of those who didn't matter.

So that was how he found himself sitting in a chair of Sherlock's hotel room. He had his back to the door and was looking out the window at the city lights. It was oddly beautiful. Not in the way that London was, but any large city was beautiful at night with the lights twinkling in the dark. He glanced at his mobile. He was exhausted, the flight from London had felt longer that it really was. But he wanted to see the Detective, to have him come home.

Edited 2017-11-29 17:09 (UTC)

(( no worries! I got ambushed by meetings myself until just now ))

For all his intellect and (often self-proclaimed, but infuriatingly accurate) brilliance, Sherlock had never exactly gotten people. Quick to offend unintentionally, just as quick to do so with intent when it suited him, the intricacies and finer points of emotion weren't his comfort zone. It took a person with patience verging on sainthood worthy to tolerate him, much less anymore. Which has always been fine.

Fewer distractions, less noise to the signal that he honed in on with such desperate intent, all his life.

Until John Watson, anyway. Funny how one person managed to fit in his life in a way he'd never expected, like their broken sharp edges were fractured in such a way that they aligned, puzzle pieces. But those edges were razor sharp and even Sherlock was aware his cut deep. Maybe that was why he'd taken on this case, away from John and Baker Street and London.

Maybe he should have expected John to show up, half a world away. And some part of him must have, or some part of him hoped he would, given that the desk at the hotel had been told that should his aaaociate show up, one Doctor John Watson of London, England, we was to be given a key to Sherlock's hotel room -- a fairly posh suite, given that he wasn't the one who had booked or paid for it, only slightly in disarray.

When Sherlock made it back to the room, pushed open the door and found it no longer as empty as he left it, he hardly acted surprised. A moment's pause and he simply pushed inside, letting the door click shut behind him. "You must be jet-lagged, John. You're welcome to the bed. I don't make much use of it."

[Ah the world of business...]

John was not a dumb man. He knew the way he and Sherlock seemed to careen towards one another, circled each other. They fit together, in ways no one else did. He knew that it could be harmful. And time apart from each other helped. But three months. Three months he was at his end. He knew that he needed Sherlock and Sherlock needed him. He let out a breath and turned the chair around.

His eyes swept over the other man as he examined him, barely taking in the words the man said. It was obvious he wasn't eating enough, that he was working himself too hard. The case was an important one, he understood that. John rose from the chair and made his way across the room to where Sherlock stood.

He still didn't say anything as he reached up and pulled the scarf from around the detective's neck, letting it drop to the ground. John met his eyes briefly before bringing his other hand up and gently shoving that gorgeous coat off his shoulders.

"I will make use of it. With you." He said before looking up, meeting Sherlock's almost iridescent colored eyes. John leaned up and kissed him. Letting months of frustration out.

(( also sorry for the dreadful typos. phone tagging with stupid fingers ))

There was a fraction of a moment -- as Sherlock watched his scarf be pulled away and let to drift to the ground, felt the weight of his coat slide from his shoulders (and cooperated enough to let it fall free of his arms to land in a heavy woolen pile on the floor at his feet -- that he considered protesting that he was occupied, that the case demanded his attention. But that breath of a moment passed and was near slammed aside by the fact that he'd missed John far too much to try to keep up that illusion.

Besides, his thoughts were dulled by the day and the sleepless string of nights, and something about the other man's presence alone seemed to ease that, sweep some of the fog away to allow for a clarity he'd been missing for a while now. And the clearest thing of all was the singular thought: John was here.

So there was that moment of surrender, as there so often was, when their lips met, of Sherlock conceding the struggle to stop himself from falling straight into everything or the other man. And god it was a struggle, especially after so long. So why fight it? Sherlock opulent come up with a reason. So he kissed him back, perhaps shockingly pliant, hand lifting to curl to the side of John's neck, fingers pressing to the nape of his neck, firm and insistent.

He did however, draw back enough to speak -- really his biggest downfall when all was said and done, that he always had something to say, "So you traveled all this way to be bossy?"

[It's okay!]

John laughed softly at those words and then grinned. "Perhaps I did. But you quite enjoy it when I'm bossy." He answered. God he had forgotten how much he appreciated Sherlock's unique beauty. How much the man meant to him. All in three months. He was doomed. He didn't know if he could last anymore without this man. This maddening, wonderful man.

He moved his hands from Sherlock's shoulders to start to unbutton the shirt he wore. It wasn't so much sex he was after. But touching him, feeling him. He needed to ground himself in Sherlock, in this. He swallowed and then looked up at the detective. His detective.

To give into this, to everything that he was. It was terrifying, but god did he want it. To give in, to let it consume him in so many ways. John knew he loved Sherlock, and would walk through hell and back for him.

The good doctor was quite motivated today. Sherlock found himself well on the way to undressed before he'd even managed to unfasten a single one of John's buttons. Well. He had some ground to catch up on the. That was fine. Sherlock hardly considered it a disadvantage he couldn't overcome. Long fingers slip from the other man's neck to begin coaxing buttons undone one-handed.

"Telling me what I enjoy now," Sherlock clicked his tongue in mock disapproval before conceding with a smile that managed to find his eyes more than his mouth, "Though I suppose you'd know."

John was likely the only one who knew him quite so well, understood him as much as anyone could given who Sherlock was, what he was like. He met the gaze turned up at him with his own, held it level for a moment. Really for all that he expected to be more focused in this time away from John, he was nearly afraid to admit it was the exact opposite, that some piece of his mind was never really here, lingering back the better part of the globe away in London.

He shivered as he felt those fingers move from his neck down. And down to dispose of his shirt. John swallowed and shrugged it off his shoulders, letting it pool to the ground. He was long past the insecurity about the scar on his shoulder. Sherlock had shown him how it was important. And it was almost odd, how something he considered ugly, had become so important. If he hadn't been shot, he never would have returned to London, he never would have met Sherlock...

"Oh I do. I know how you like it when I go down on you, when I make you cling to the headboard, and you enjoy it when I'm pliant and eager under you." John put his hand on Sherlock's lower abdomen, teasing the pale skin.

They moved and orbited around one another. They fit together and complimented each other. Sherlock saved him and he saved Sherlock. A part of him was always with the detective.

There was nothing ugly about John Watson -- now that that absurd moustache was gone anyway, though even that had been entirely endearing in its own way, not that Sherlock would ever admit as much. Now though, fingertips were drawn to the shape of that scar, a brief graze before his hands move to map over the familiar terrain of John's chest. Nothing tentative here, not anymore, not for a long while.

Warm skin beneath his hands -- he really had missed this. Another thing he wouldn't admit all that easily, perhaps even to himself. It was complicated in a way that was far beyond the puzzle of any case he'd ever had to work through, solve. A knot he didn't know how to untie, wasn't sure he wanted to anyway.

His stomach caved beneath that touch, too hot to be ticklish, exactly. He managed to keep his voice level at least, the usual, casual, arrogant tone. "So you've missed me."

A verbal dodge because every word John said was true.

[DW ate my reply. And I just noticed this morning. Sorry....]

John stared at the detective, searching his face. He reached up to touch one cheek. A spot he slapped once upon a time. There had been many moments he wished they hadn't encountered. But it hurled them towards the point that they were meant to be at.

"By missing you... You mean waking each morning wondering why you went off without me, bringing myself to completion because you weren't home? I spent the past three months missing you, aching for you. Somehow you have become my other half Sherlock. A piece I didn't know was missing until you left my life."

He moved his hands and pushed Sherlock back onto the bed. "You have two choices. Finish stripping and holding on while I ride you. Or simply watching while I bring myself off."

[ My only real preference is that everything be (at least somewhat) consensual. Additionally, I like fantasy/historical settings more than modern ones, but I can do either.

I love assumed CR, crossovers (♥ ♥ ♥), convoluted scenarios, combustive attraction, bickering, first time, culture differences, ingenue/gruff, worldly man, inhuman characters, Beauty and the Beast dynamics because duh, uncomfortable sex, creativity due to said uncomfortable or awkward sex (ie, dick's too big to fit, better wow with stellar oral sex), partners eager to please, arranged marriage AU, fairy tale/fantasy settings, magic, passionate reunions, redoing first times that didn't go so well. sneaky trysts, orgasming to exhaustion, risk of discovery, emotions spilling out in private, meaningful communication via sex, and much, much more.

Ridiculously into Tolkienverse (dwarves yes pls), ASOIAF/GOT, HP (my kingdom for a Newt Scamander or Lupin), and MCU right now and equally into AUing Belle to fit in any of them, but check out my slightly embarrassing dream list of shit I'd like to play. Sorry for the long-ass copypasta you may now return to your regularly scheduled smut prompts. ]