Under Cover of Darkness

 “Alright, careful now, there’s a bit of a step here.”

A soft giggle echoed through the darkened house, quickly muffled by a hand clapped over the offending mouth of the indistinct figure that had uttered it. The two figures froze in the middle of the sitting room, hands clasped together and bodies held in absolute concentration as they listened intently for signs that they had been discovered. Thankfully they were answered only by silence, and after a moment of tense alertness they both relaxed slightly and began to creep towards the stairs once more. The taller figure was leading the way, guiding the smaller through the darkness by the hand and relying on memory alone to get them to safety. The house was nearly pitch black at this time of the night, the occupants either sound asleep or safely ensconced in their rooms, and the man picking his way with utmost care through the room had absolutely no desire to disturb them.

“Ok, we’re just about to the stairs now” Martin whispered as quietly as he could manage in Molly’s ear, hoping that she would be able to contain her giggles this time. They had stayed out at the pub for far longer than he had intended, caught up in talk and laughter and the joy of finally seeing each other again after three long weeks apart. It was Molly’s first time in Fitton, and she had managed to scrape together enough vacation days to come and stay for nearly an entire week. Now, with the buzz of just enough alcohol to make them delightfully tipsy and the electric promise of what was to come singing in their veins, Martin felt at once both wonderfully alive and absolutely terrified of being caught.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want his housemates to meet Molly - well, not exactly. He certainly wasn’t ashamed of her or anything ridiculous like that. Most days he could hardly believe how lucky he was to have found a woman as beautiful and brilliant and kind as Molly, and at almost all times he found himself so bursting with happiness that he wanted to shout it out to the world. But not tonight. Tonight was the first time that Molly was going to see where he lived, and the first time that they would spend the night together anywhere that was not her flat. In fact, this week would be the longest time that they spent together so far, and the very last thing that Martin wanted was for it to be ruined at the start by one of the nosy and overly chatty students to interfere in any way. The very thought of one of the students telling Molly an embarrassing story about him, or even talking about his life at all was enough to make him cringe in horror and it was certainly not what he wanted tonight. No, introductions could be saved for later. Much later.

But, just as they were creeping down the hallway of the second floor and Martin thought that they were in the clear, the worst occurred. Having forgotten all about the unnaturally creaky floorboard that was smack in the middle of the hallway, Martin managed to step directly on it and set off a groan that was loud enough to sound like the house was going to shake itself apart. He froze, but it was too late. The sound of startled college student came through the bedroom door next to them, and before he could do anything but turn and stare the door was jerked open to spill light into the hallway around Colin in a rumpled t-shirt and pajama pants, scratching his head and looking extremely confused. 

“Martin?” he asked with a sleepy yawn, squinting into the darkness. “Is that you mate?”

Repressing a sigh, Martin turned to face the young man and prayed that he could get through this conversation quickly and get on with more pressing matters. “Yeah Colin, it’s me. Sorry to wake you, I’m just getting in a bit late.”

Unfortunately, Colin seemed to have caught sight of Molly standing behind him in the dark hallway. “No worries, I was studying for an exam anyway. Who’s that with you?” As if on a cue, sounds of life starting coming from the other bedrooms surrounding them, and one by one curious faces in various stages of tiredness began to poke out of their doors to see what was going on. In a matter of moments the hall was flooded with light as he was put under the intense scrutiny of not only Colin but Seth and his girlfriend Kathy, Olivia, Rupert, Lizzie and her sometimes-boyfriend/sometimes-not Darren, and the poor sod Fitzwilliam whose parents had been far too enthusiastic about Jane Austen for his good. Every eye was turned on them, every eye taking in their clasped hands and jumping to the obvious and inevitable conclusion.

Martin could feel his face turning bright red as the silence grew to astoundingly uncomfortable proportions, and when he heard a giggle escape from one of the girls he was fairly certain that he was going to melt into a puddle of shame right then and there. But before he could stammer out an explanation or excuse to aid their escape up the stairs, Molly stepped forward into the light and said brightly “Hello there everyone, I’m Molly.” Every single face swiveled to look at Molly in surprise, Martin’s included. “It’s nice to meet you all finally.”

The tension broken, students surged out of their rooms to come and meet the newest addition to their household. The girls flocked around Molly, jostling to meet and greet and say hello, while the boys hung back slightly and looked her up and down in what they assuredly thought was a subtle manner that could not have been more obvious. Molly handled it all with grace that was likely born of the several glasses of wine she had drunk with dinner, laughing and shaking hands and sending Martin a quick smile to reassure him that yes, this was alright. Seth gave Martin a quick nudge and a thumbs up, winking with a lascivious grin and sending another flush blooming across his cheeks at the implication. Any hope of privacy or secrecy was long gone, but somehow with each smile and happy pat on the back that he received, Martin found that he cared less and less about propriety as a glow of camaraderie and previously unknown friendship spread through him. The fact that Olivia leaned over to Molly to whisper “Make sure you take good care of him, he deserves it” in a voice so loud that everyone was sure to hear didn’t hurt either.

At last everyone was satisfied that Molly was in fact a decent human being, and that she was indeed welcome in their home. Several more knowing grins and winks were sent Martin’s way as they made their way towards the staircase, and Martin was even able to send a wink or two back they way they had come. But just when he was sure that they were in the clear and would finally be able to get some privacy for the evening, the cluster of students was disturbed by the sudden arrival of the last member of their assembled family. Dennis, ever the standard for laziness and slobbery in the house, wandered up the stairs sleepily from the kitchen clad only in a bathrobe that had been left wide open for anyone who cared to look. He took in the scene before him with a yawn and a disinterested stare, only raising an eyebrow in slight curiosity as he looked over at where Martin and Molly were standing together on the stairs. With another yawn, he turned towards his room and mumbled “You know, ‘s just not fair really. Why should you get the hot one when you don’t even try?” With another yawn, he muttered over his shoulder as he disappeared into his room “Good on ya, mate.”

As Martin fled up the stairs towards his room, a helplessly giggling Molly trailing behind him, he was not sure whether or not to be insulted or pleased at Dennis’s comment. But when Molly pushed him up against the wall with an enthusiastic kiss the moment they entered his flat, that question disappeared entirely to be replaced with matters of a far more pressing and entertaining nature.

Here Comes The Sun

(Part One)

Under normal circumstances, gathering together an entire houseful of college students in one place for any significant amount of time was enough of an achievement to merit a special notation on the calendar, but to have everyone sitting around the kitchen table at 8 AM on a Saturday morning and mostly coherent while doing so was very nearly a miracle. The last time even a fraction of the house at Parkside Terrace had been awake this early on a weekend was when exams were in full swing and both Colin and Olivia had stayed up all night studying together in the kitchen in a frenzied attempt to pass their chemistry class, and that had been a case of “never slept” instead of “got up early”. This morning was quite frankly an anomaly of fantastic proportions, and not one that was likely to be repeated soon.

The early morning wake-up rumblings for the household had begun with Olivia once again, and she was very decidedly not happy about it. To be honest she had absolutely no idea why her body had decided that it needed to be awake at 7:30 in the bloody morning on one of the only two days that she got to sleep in, but awake she was and awake she was going to remain for the time being. No matter how she tossed or turned in her narrow bed she simply could not fall back asleep, not with the sliver of light that was coming through the window to fall directly on her face or the way Lizzie and Darren were both snoring as they clung to each other across the room. Finally with a frustrated groan she lurched herself out of bed and rummaged around blindly for the slippers that had managed to disappear again, grumbling angrily to herself all the while until she finally located them under a pile of dirty clothes that had not yet made it to the laundry. Bollocks, I really need to do those…later. Not now. Coffee now.

( Read more... )

Could You Be (Comfort To Me)

painpainbrightsoLOUDpain

It was bound to happen sooner or later. There was only so much a body could take when it was constantly pushed to the extremes of endurance before exhaustion set in and forcibly shut it down. Skipped meals, nights spent awake instead of sleeping, constant running and searching and examining the minutia of the world for the tiniest clue all took their toll eventually. And when Sherlock had been awake for five days straight investigating one of the most difficult cases he had tackled in years, his body had had enough.

painburningsearingtearingrippingtwistingpain

The migraines didn’t happen often, but when they did come, they were debilitating. He couldn’t see, couldn’t move, couldn’t even think in anything but increasingly delirious circles when the world had been reduced to nothing but a burning mass of twisted pain brought on by the slightest provocation. Light hurt. Sound hurt. Everything, even breathing hurt. Sherlock was a man who lived on the strength of this brain and his senses, and both had turned against him. It was unbearable, and there was nothing he could do.

stopohgodpleasestopcan’tseecan’tbreatheneedtothinkneedto…need to…need…

John stood in the doorway, frozen in wordless horror. Every light in the flat was off, every window was covered with a blanket, he hardly even dared to breathe for fear of making a sound, and still Sherlock was in pain. It tore at him to see Sherlock, Sherlock, the man who could shrug off the most grievous injury curled into a ball on his bed, whimpering at the slightest creak of the floorboards and murmur of traffic because of how it shattered his skull to pieces. John had known in the abstract that Sherlock sometimes worked himself into migraines when things got particularly bad, but he had never seen it before, never seen the evidence for himself and witnessed the collapse of the strongest man he had ever known. And there was nothing John could do. He was helpless.

pleasenomorepleasestopohgodwhy

Well, if John could not actually stop the pain for Sherlock, he could at least be here. It was true that Sherlock was probably past the point of knowing whether or not anyone was even in the room with him, but John needed to do something, even if it was just for himself. He certainly could not just sit alone in the living room while the only person who mattered was suffering so horrifically. Stepping delicately and slowly forward, John picked his way across the room around the creaky floorboards to make his way as silently as he was able towards the bed where Sherlock lay trembling. He froze several times when a groan rent the air at a misstep or quiet shift of the building, but finally he was there and settled himself gingerly onto the bed next to a body that was huddled so small it did not even look like Sherlock anymore. Truthfully, he wasn’t. Not now.

pleasenosoundnolightnoIcan’t…I…touch?

Softly, so softly it was the barest whisper of motion, John laid his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. Muscles shuddered and tensed in reaction, quivering like leaves in a gale, but he did not jerk away. In fact, after a moment of uncertain stillness, he leaned into the touch with the tiniest whimper. John did not dare to move, simply keeping his hand in place and holding so still he could not even bring himself to breathe. And slowly, fraction by fraction, with a sound that was at once both whimper and sigh, Sherlock leaned into him.

painburningpainsoftsearingpaintouchJohn

Long minutes, or perhaps it was hours later, Sherlock had shifted himself so that his head was cradled with the gentlest tenderness in John’s lap. He was still curled into a defensive ball, eyes still held shut with fierce intensity, still radiating pain with heartbreaking ferocity, but he had stopped shaking. As John’s hands ghosted through his tangled curls, tracing with the barest touch over his scalp in soothing circles, his trembling softened, gentled, stilled. His breathing normalized as well, no longer coming in agonized gasps but instead rasping out in time with John’s carefully controlled inhalations. He was not better, not by a long shot, but he was perhaps beginning to come down from the height of his agony. And that was a small victory that John would cherish. He bent down slowly to press a feather-light kiss into messy curls, sending a prayer to whoever would listen that the beautiful brain he so treasured could find some measure of peace. I’m here, love. For however long you need me, I’m here until the pain leaves. And after. I’m here.

Johntouchsoftpaincomfort...touch…John…

She Sounds Lovely

 Birling Day, that most illustrious and potentially lucrative of occasions that unfortunately only rolled around once a year, was always a special day for the crew of MJN Air. It was certainly unusual to say the least, if unusual was a word that could be applied to a day that began with a frisking of the First Officer that had become an airfield institution and usually ended with either the successful theft of expensive whiskey, or a drunken millionaire being dragged off their plane, or perhaps a shouting match between CEO and said First Officer, or on one memorable occasion all three at once.

But today was different, even for a Birling Day. Because on this day the Captain of the aircraft had not slunk in with his tail between his legs, had not flushed angrily at Douglas’s pointed joke about last year’s disaster, and had not even stuttered when greeting the passenger who belittled and berated him on a constant basis. Martin was, well, happy. And it was so strange and unsettling turn of events for the perpetually miserable pilot that it was frankly making Douglas almost nervous. 

It was when Martin began to hum jauntily under his breath even after Mr. Birling had insinuated that Martin would die miserable, poor, and alone that Douglas began to suspect that something was really out of the ordinary. He watched the man he spent so many hours cooped up in a tiny deck with out of the corner of his eye, trying to figure out what on earth had gotten into Martin to make him so calm and so relaxed that he had not yet made a single blunder or mistake in the flight. But when he saw the smile that was hovering over Martin’s lips even when he was looking at the instruments, the easy languidness of his movements, and the far off look in his eyes, it all clicked into place.

“Martin, you dog, why didn’t you say anything?” Martin jumped guiltily and looked over at Douglas with wide eyes, clearly startled by the sudden question. “Was she pretty?”

Martin’s eyes widened even further, and the happy flush drained from his cheeks so rapidly it was as though it had never been. “I – I – I have no idea what you’re talking about Douglas” he stammered.

Douglas only grinned wider, not even bothering to try and hide his amusement. “Come now, it’s obvious. And besides, there’s no shame in it! And if she was pretty then I might even owe you some congratulations.”

But before Martin could turn any paler than he already was or stammer out another pathetic attempt at rebutting Douglas’s assertion, Arthur burst into the flight deck with all of his usual grace and delicacy – that is to say with all the grace of a baby elephant first learning to control its limbs. “Congratulations? What congratulations? I love congratulations!”

The terrified look on Martin’s face only cemented Douglas’s plan. “Well Arthur, I do believe a hearty slap on the back is due to our illustrious Captain here, who if I’m not quite mistaken got lucky with a lady last night. I have no idea how he accomplished this, but that’s the mystery of life for you.”

Arthur’s eyes lit up like lanterns. “Oh, wow! That’s brilliant Skipper! Congratulations on having sex last night!”

A very audible groan came from Martin’s lips, although it was somewhat muffled due to the fact that his face was currently buried in his hands. That groan was silenced however by the sound of approaching footsteps that could mean one thing and one thing only. Martin’s head snapped up, eyes wide with horror as Mr. Birling himself barged his way into the flight deck in his customary illegal trip to see how the plane was flown.

“What’s this I heard about sex?” he grumbled, clearly having overheard the entire conversation on his journey up the tiny plane. “Don’t tell me that pathetic excuse for a man was intimate with a woman last night and I wasn’t, that’s preposterous. How much did you pay for her?”

The pale blanch was instantaneously replaced by an angry flush as Martin gaped and stuttered at the brusque question. “I didn’t – I didn’t pay for sex!” he gasped out, clearly appalled that anyone would ever accuse him of such a thing.

“Now now lad, there’s no shame in it. I’m a man of the world and I’ve seen a thing or two, I just want to know if you got a fair deal of it or not.”

Martin very nearly looked as though he were about to cry from the shame and embarrassment of this conversation. “But I –“

Douglas interrupted Martin smoothly before he could get any further, voice cool and impersonal. “Mr. Birling, I can assure you that Captain Crieff did no such thing as paying anyone for their services last night. He made a lovely woman very happy, and she was quite lucky to have him.”

Silence filled the flight deck after this statement, and Mr. Birling’s eyebrows shot up as he looked over at Douglas in surprise. The two men stared each other down for several long moments, questioning eyes meeting a stony glare until he finally relented with a shrug. “Oh, right, carry on then, chaps. Come along then idiot, I need another drink.” He turned and left the flight deck without another word, Arthur trotting behind him.

In the echoing silence that followed them, the only sound that could be heard was the gentle hum of GERTI’s engines rumbling away beneath their feet. Finally though Martin spoke, voice so quiet it was nearly lost in the sounds of flight. “Thank you Douglas.”

“Think nothing of it, Captain.” Douglas answered evenly. Suddenly he grinned wickedly, causing Martin’s eyebrows to knit together questioningly. “Now, I do believe you owe me every sordid detail about this woman you took home last night, or I will never forgive you.”

This time, the flush that stole over the Captain’s face was smug and exultant and contained not one trace of shame, and Douglas smiled happily to himself to see it. “Well…her name is Molly…”

Lover to Lover

This conference had seemed like such a good idea on paper - a few days out of London to clear his head of the turmoil brought on by double shifts at the clinic to handle the sudden onset of cold season colliding with a massive triple homicide case that had sent him and Sherlock running about the city for four days without sleep - but by the second day of lectures and meetings and endless hours of forced socializing with people he didn't know, John had realized with sickening certainty as he found himself drumming his fingers impatiently only five minutes into a panel and rolling his eyes at the fourth terrible joke in as many minutes that leaving the city to sit in idleness with stodgy old doctors who hadn't had a truly exciting moment in at least thirty years had been a terrible idea.

But even as he had been getting ready to pack up his suitcase and take the first train home and return to the murder, mayhem, and beautiful madness that he craved so strongly it left him weak (not to mention the man who made it all happen who had haunted his dreams as he slept in a bed that felt so empty it made him ache), a clatter startled him out of his frenzy of packing and drew his eye to see a piece of paper flutter to the ground next to the small box that had fallen out of a previously ignored pocket in his suitcase.

With a frown he bent down to examine the box, which upon further inspection was revealed to contain (1) a small black notebook, (2) a set of note cards with tantalizingly vague clues that appeared to describe various members of the conference, and (3) Sherlock's own magnifying glass tied up with a red ribbon, and by the time he had finished looking over the items and turned his attention to the note written in Sherlock's spidery handwriting that read "John, it has come to my attention that at least five attendees of your conference are cheating on their spouses and two are involved in a long-running prescription abuse scheme - I trust that you will not let me down in your investigations" the frown had long vanished and been replaced by a smile that threatened to crack his face in two and a fierce glow of love and happiness for the man who knew him even better than he knew himself.