Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Claymore

Chapter 13

Sherlock lay curled up at John’s feet for hours, he no longer felt his cramping muscles, in fact Sherlock felt as if he had turned to stone. A trickle of sweat ran down his neck as Sherlock lay unmoving.

“Sherlock?” John asked as if he had just been napping. “Sherlock, are you okay?” John asked again in a firmer voice.

Sherlock sat up and began to rub his legs to get the feeling back in them; after the tingling pain subsided he crawled over to where John was sitting up watching his slow progress with a worried frown on his face. He then reached out and pulled Sherlock to his side. “Sherlock, you’ve been crying. What’s wrong?” John asked softly as he slowly ran the outside of his hand along Sherlock’s tear stained face.

“You don’t remember? John, you…you died in my arms.” Sherlock whispered as he looked up into John’s searching eyes.

John pulled Sherlock even closer. “I do remember being wounded and in pain, but I don’t remember dying,” John said as he ran his hand through Sherlock’s hair.

Sherlock reached up and opened John’s shirt and inspected the place on his body that had been torn open. It was completely healed with only a slight purplish look scar where once Sherlock had seen lacerated tissue and black blood. “I don’t understand,” Sherlock said in a confused small voice.

John laughed. “Now, that’s a change usually I’m the one saying I don’t understand.”

Sherlock ignored John’s remark as he stared straight ahead trying to grasp John’s miraculous recovery. “John, Clare told me that to save you, you must become a Claymore like herself. John, do you feel any different?”

John thought for a moment and closed his eyes as every sense opened up to his surroundings. It was as if he had been seeing in black and white all of his life and now all of sudden he could see in color. John leaned his head back to enjoy every sensory element in his environment. The sound of the water pouring over the stones in the steam heater, the sound of his own rapid heartbeat and the sound of Sherlock’s slower one, he could almost taste each individual water molecule in the mist from the steaming rocks, the smells of rice cooking in another part of the shelter, the smell of Sherlock’s fear, his tears, the smell of his very essence, God it was intoxicating. “Sherlock, this is wondrous, I only wish you could experience it with me.” John said as he drew in a long breath.

Sherlock stared at John in incomprehension. “John, I am so confused, I don’t know what to think.”

“Don’t think, Sherlock,” John whispered as he slid his arms into Sherlock’s jacket, desperate for the feel of his warm skin. “Sherlock, God you are beautiful,” John said as he divested Sherlock of his shirt and jacket and ran his cold wet lips down Sherlock’s neck, stopping to lightly scrape his teeth against the pulse that beat in Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock lay compliant as John straddled over the top of him, slowly untied the front of his hakama-his pants, and slipped them off. John then began to massage Sherlock’s lower back, kissing Sherlock’s quivering stomach muscles as he did so. It didn’t take deductive reasoning to figure out where John’s mouth was going to touch next, still when Sherlock felt John’s mouth consume the intended target; he tried to resist the urge to thrust his hips upward.

“Sherlock,” John gasped into between gulps, “Don’t do that, don’t restrain yourself. Here let me guide you,” John grunted as he moved his hands firmly to Sherlock’s lower back. Sherlock let out a yelp of pleasure when John pulled his lower back up so that he moved deeper into John’s mouth. Sherlock felt as if he were in a surreal dream world as his body began to tense followed by a type of lightness that he only experienced when John made love to him. After his release, Sherlock lie in John’s arms and let the feeling of sweet nothingness take him.

As tired as he was Sherlock was a considerate lover, so with one limp, sweaty hand he reached in between John’s legs. John chuckled softly. “Sherlock, you are too spent, let me help you,” John whispered as he slipped off his own hakama. Without out a word, John moved Sherlock’s legs apart, he then prepared Sherlock for penetration with his fingers, gently talking to Sherlock as he did so. “Sherlock, am I using too much pressure? Sherlock let me reach further in. Yes, my dearest Sherlock, that’s the spot, is it not?” John whispered as he moved deeper in Sherlock, past any physical discomfort, past any repressions, past his mind-palace, to the place- the place that only he and John shared. Afterwards Sherlock fought the exhaustion that threatened to overtake him until John kissed his cheek. “Sherlock, go to sleep,” John said as he gently nuzzled Sherlock again.

When Sherlock, awoke John was already dressed with a bowl of rice for him. “Come, on my lay about flat mate, eat something. We’ve got to get going as soon as you are rested and feeling strong enough to travel.”

Sherlock took the bowl from John’s hands as he uneasily watched the unhuman like gestures John used as he trained with his sword. “His movements were just too fast,” Sherlock thought as John sped through a 103 movement kata that would have normally taken at least 10 minutes to complete. John finished in a minute and a half, without breaking a sweat.” John put the sword in its sheathe and sat beside Sherlock. “How are you feeling? Come on eat your rice, I added some onion broth to it and the one of the other guests said it tasted great. So, come on eat up.”

Sherlock glanced over at cheerful, strong John, “What about you? Didn’t you have any?”

John laughed. “Sherlock, I don’t need to eat anymore. I am a Claymore and God I am invincible.” John shouted as he bounced around the room.

Sherlock nodded sadly, ate his rice and then prepared to get a shower. A few hours later and he and John were making their way through the snowy mountains that their companions had traveled before them. John had to constantly slow down for Sherlock, but he didn’t seem to mind as he cheerfully pretended to rest with Sherlock at each stop. As the sky darkened John stopped at a cave, “Come on Sherlock, let’s set up camp for the night.”

Sherlock nodded. He felt so inadequate for he knew John was only stopping so that he could rest.  Sherlock made his way further back into the cave as John hurriedly started a fire, portioned out meal rations and spread out comfortable mats for them to sleep on. As he moved some of the rocks beneath their mats John cut himself. “Damn,” John swore as he sucked on his finger.

Sherlock watched in fascination as John sucked at the trickle of black blood that dripped down his thumb. “John, does your blood still taste the same?” Sherlock asked curiously.

John’s eye’s looked black in the dancing firelight as he held out his hand towards Sherlock, “There’s only one way to find out. Sherlock, the world’s greatest consulting detective, come here and suck my thumb.” John said.

Sherlock walked over and put John’s thumb in his mouth and then slowly moved his tongue around the cut, gently sucking a small amount of blood out for a sample. It wasn’t salty; in fact it tasted sort of earthy like a shitake mushroom. John’s mouth came open in an O shape as Sherlock sucked harder on his thumb. “Jesus, Sherlock that feels so good, please don’t stop,” John gasped as he staggered to the ground. Once he was on the ground John reached up and pulled Sherlock down next to him. “Sherlock Holmes, what am I thinking?” John asked he stuck his thumb back into Sherlock’s open mouth. Sherlock smiled, for it didn’t take a proper genius to figure out what was going to happen next.

As the pre-dawn chill filled the cave, Sherlock snuggled closer to John. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and sighed. “My poor Sherlock you are shaking with cold.” John said as he pulled Sherlock closer. After a few more seconds of shivering, John got up and stretched,” My poor Sherlock is freezing, so I am going to build a lovely fire and then back to the trail okay?”

Sherlock’s teeth were chattering together, but it wasn’t from the cold.