![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
vulgarweedTitle: Stay All Night With Me
Fandom: Sherlock (Appalachian AU)
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Rating: M (angst, violence, sexual suggestiveness)
Warnings: a major character death that doesn't really happen.
Summary: It turns out that Vietnam is not John's last source of Nightmare Fuel. Sherlock adapts.
Author's Note: Unlike the previous two, this IS really plot-dependent on The Bone Fiddle and has major spoilers for the way it doesn't really end.
This time, Jamie was quick with her knife. The first stab took Sherlock in the gut, the second in the chest, and the third, buried to the hilt in his long slim neck. This time it was Sherlock who clutched at himself in shock, his white hands going red with the blood he failed to hold inside. It was Sherlock who slumped backwards into the mine shaft. Turning to John, making John the last sight in his eyes as the light left them, and he fell.
Jamie pointed the gun at John, herding him towards that dark pit. “You want to be with him,” she said, aiming the revolver between John's eyes. Yes. Yes, John really did. He closed his eyes and waited.
John woke to a tight, strong arm around his waist from behind. A nightmare newer than Nam, and somehow Sherlock knew, and applied a different method. “I know who died in your dream, John. Take whatever proof you need that it was false.”
John shook off sleep with a jerk and a turn, and then was on him, seeking everywhere Sherlock's pulse could be found surging hard: his neck, his chest, that glorious, growing handful between his legs.
He knew, John thought, almost crying as he buried himself in the strong life force of Sherlock's body.
~
The title is probably a lot more resonant if you've listened to The Bone Fiddle playlist
Fandom: Sherlock (Appalachian AU)
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Rating: M (angst, violence, sexual suggestiveness)
Warnings: a major character death that doesn't really happen.
Summary: It turns out that Vietnam is not John's last source of Nightmare Fuel. Sherlock adapts.
Author's Note: Unlike the previous two, this IS really plot-dependent on The Bone Fiddle and has major spoilers for the way it doesn't really end.
This time, Jamie was quick with her knife. The first stab took Sherlock in the gut, the second in the chest, and the third, buried to the hilt in his long slim neck. This time it was Sherlock who clutched at himself in shock, his white hands going red with the blood he failed to hold inside. It was Sherlock who slumped backwards into the mine shaft. Turning to John, making John the last sight in his eyes as the light left them, and he fell.
Jamie pointed the gun at John, herding him towards that dark pit. “You want to be with him,” she said, aiming the revolver between John's eyes. Yes. Yes, John really did. He closed his eyes and waited.
John woke to a tight, strong arm around his waist from behind. A nightmare newer than Nam, and somehow Sherlock knew, and applied a different method. “I know who died in your dream, John. Take whatever proof you need that it was false.”
John shook off sleep with a jerk and a turn, and then was on him, seeking everywhere Sherlock's pulse could be found surging hard: his neck, his chest, that glorious, growing handful between his legs.
He knew, John thought, almost crying as he buried himself in the strong life force of Sherlock's body.
~
The title is probably a lot more resonant if you've listened to The Bone Fiddle playlist
