Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Claymore

Chapter 16

John watched Sherlock train with pride, though he was not as strong as himself and Clare, he was fast-cunning. Even though Sherlock was convinced that he had lost his mental acuity in this world, John knew otherwise, Sherlock was still well…brilliant. It made John’s head hurt as he tried to keep track of Sherlock’s fighting strategy. Even before his opponent would make a full strike with the Bo, Sherlock would counter it. “God, he is brilliant-wonderful,” John thought as he watched Sherlock with a mixture of lustful longing, hero worship and just plain adoration. It was hard to compartmentalize just how he felt about Sherlock. All John knew was that Sherlock was his link to life, his friend, his hero, his lover. For a moment John let his mind drift over every aspect that he knew about his beloved and then the unthinkable happened, Sherlock left an opening in his defenses and wham his opponent hit him on the bridge of the nose.

Sherlock went down like a sack of potatoes, blood spurting from his nose as it spattered the snow. “Dear God, let him be okay,” John thought as he ran to Sherlock’s side.

Sherlock rolled on the ground holding his nose. “Jesus, God, shit, damn fu…,” Sherlock swore in every language he knew, as a result the swearing went on for quite some time.

John slid to the ground beside Sherlock and gently took his hands away from his blood soaked nose, ”Easy Sherlock, let me take a look,” John said softly as if were talking to a head shy horse. As John caressed the insides of Sherlock’s wrist with his thumbs, Sherlock settled down. “Okay, Sherlock, let’s see what we have here,” John said as he gently lifted Sherlock’s head and positioned it against his side. John eyes filled with tears for that beautiful nose was broken and he would have to set it. “Sherlock, I am going to have to set your nose, and Sherlock, it’s going to hurt,” John said as he inhaled the intoxicating smell of Sherlock’s blood. John became so engrossed with Sherlock’s scent, that for a moment he lost track of his purpose. “Someone bring me a towel, some wads of gauze and a small bucket of snow,” John ordered as he smoothed the hair from Sherlock’s forehead and rocked him slightly.

A few moments later the items John requested were handed to him by a frightened looking servant girl. John took the items and then said,” Sherlock, I need you to gently blow your nose into this towel,” John instructed. After Sherlock had removed as much blood as possible by blowing into the towel, he lay back against John. John felt as if he were going to throw up, for this was going to be so painful for Sherlock. “Sherlock, keep your eyes fixed on me,” John softly ordered as he put his fingers at the top of Sherlock’s nose and pressed firmly.

Even though it was cold outside, Sherlock began to sweat profusely as he tried to keep from crying out. “Sherlock, it’s okay, you need to scream out, sometimes that helps with the pain,” John said as he prepared to do the procedure once more. Again John placed his fingertips at the top of Sherlock’s nose and pressed against his nose firmly. This time Sherlock cried out and became so pale that John thought that Sherlock was going to pass out. John was sweating just as much as Sherlock as he placed his palms down the side of Sherlock’s nose, adding firm pressure and moving in a straight line. John did this twice and then looked at Sherlock’s nose from several different angles.  He then placed a finger as far up as it would go into Sherlock’s nostril and aligned the nose from the inside. Once he was satisfied that the nose was straight John helped Sherlock to his feet, led him over to the seating area and instructed Sherlock to hold ice on the nose as John finished up and stuffed little wads of gauze up Sherlock’s nose to assist in the  setting process. John then walked over to where Sherlock’s opponent stood. “Is he going to be okay?” He asked.

“Yes, no thanks to you. You should have had more control, you should have been able to pull the strike, so since you didn’t, I am going to show you how it feels,” John growled as he punched the man in the face as hard as he could. As the man hit the ground, John continued to hit and kick him, until the snow was spattered with Sherlock’s opponent’s blood. John knew he was losing control, but the smell of blood drove him to frenzy. “Oh God,” John thought as he felt the desire to kill spreading through his body. It was an experience so intense that it seemed almost like  sexual arousal. John threw his head back and his eyes began to glow. “This is it, God this is it,” John thought as he gasped for air, and then just as John was going to give in to his need, he felt a tug at his sleeve.

“John, stop, the man was only training hard the way he is supposed to. John please, you’re going to kill him,” Sherlock pleaded as he plucked at John’s shirt.

John turned around, his eyes glowing, in anger for his blood lust was aroused and he needed to taste it. He needed to feel its salty flavor running down his throat, “Get away from me,” he growled.

“John, no,” Sherlock pleaded again. “Please stop.” Then Sherlock got an idea, as a trickle of blood ran from his nose. He soaked his fingers with as much of his blood as he could and jammed his blood soaked fingers into John’s mouth.

John immediately responded. “Oh God, yes,” John groaned as he sucked hard and harder on Sherlock’s bloody fingers. When he had sucked them clean, John began to kiss Sherlock, biting his lip so that he could taste more of Sherlock’s blood.  The villagers stood by and watched in horrified fascination, for they knew better than to disturb a creature like John. John sucked on Sherlock’s lip a few more seconds and then stopped. His breathing was heavy and the corners of his mouth had blood caked in them. John’s eyes went from golden to blue as he stared at Sherlock, as if it were the first time he had seen him. “Sherlock, what have I done?” John whispered.

“You straightened my nose, almost beat my sparring partner to death, licked blood from my fingers, bit my lip and sucked the blood from that and this,” Sherlock said as he moved John’s hand discretely to the hardness between his legs.

John snatched his hand back. “Sherlock, you’re crazy.”

“Really you’re just beginning to figure that out?” Sherlock said softly.

John looked at Sherlock’s pale face, his swollen nose, the dried blood around his nostrils, and the dark circles under his shinning green eyes and gasped. “Sherlock, my God how you move me,” John whispered as he took Sherlock’s arms and stared deep into the depths of his beautiful sad eyes.  “Wait here while I tend to your sparring partner’s injuries,” John whispered as he reluctantly let go of Sherlock’s arms.

Sherlock watched John as he tended to the man he had brutally beaten. John’s face was full of stain and Sherlock could tell from the way his sparring partner was constantly nodding his head that John must be apologizing over and over again. Finally, John got up and headed back to where Sherlock stood waiting for him. When John reached him Sherlock became overcome with dizziness and fainted dead away in John’s arms. John scooped him up as if Sherlock were a rag doll and carried him back to their strange little house.

Sherlock woke up to the smell of something cooking. Whatever it was it smelled delightful and Sherlock’s stomach growled in agreement with his olfactory senses. Sherlock made his way into the kitchen and stood in the doorway as John prepared some sort of soup. As John stirred something in a pot bubbling with some sort of nourishment, Sherlock’s chest actually hurt as he thought of how much he loved John.

John turned around and smiled at Sherlock. “Sherlock, you’re awake. Good to see you up and about. Come here and let me see that nose.” John said cheerfully. Sherlock silently padded over to where John stood and let John’s gentle fingers examine his nose. “Aw, my poor Sherlock, you are going to look like a raccoon tomorrow. A cute adorable raccoon,” John chuckled as he put his arms around Sherlock and held him close. After a few moments John reluctantly pulled away and beckoned Sherlock over to a chair. “Sit down and have some of my noodle soup,” John said as he proudly brought a bowl of the delightful smelling soup and sat it in front of Sherlock.  Sherlock usually picked at his food if he ate anything at all; however this time he sipped the soup with a relish that John had never seen Sherlock apply to food before. As John watched Sherlock lap up the soup he was content just to stand there and watch him. “Even when he slurps his soup, he fascinates me,” John thought.