FAULT LINES Chapter 3

Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Victor Trevor, John Watson/Sebastian Moran, John     Watson/Greg Lestrade,
             John Watson/Mycroft Holmes, John Watson/Others
Warning: M/M Slash

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson belong to each other.

Thanks to NOFAVRELL for the Beta. See her art =)
http://nofavrell.deviantart.com/art/I-m-back-John-322461855?q=gallery:nofavrell/32180411&qo=31

Summary: There were a hundred of reasons why what his sister has been suggesting was wrong in so many levels. He was hurting and drunk and miserable and angry and he most probably will regret a number of things in the morning including an earth shattering headache.

Link to Chapter 2: http://akistrife.blogspot.com/2012/12/fault-lines-part-2.html

You can also read the whole fic in ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN:   
"http://archiveofourown.org/works/616139/chapters/1111274"

CHapter 3

The Drinker

*~*~*

Count backwards

Before you get too heated and turned on

You should have learned your lesson all of them, times before

You've been bruised, you've been broken

Then there's my mind saying think before you go

Through that door, it could lead you nowhere

(This guy)

Has got you all romantic, crazy in your head

Do you think I'd listen, no I don't care

--Red Blooded W.

*~*~*

John was already chugging down his second pint of beer by the time the blonde lady took a sit on his booth, a platter of fried assortments and another bucket of malts in tow. She was wearing a pair of ragged jeans and what otherwise could’ve been a nondescript shirt if it wasn’t for the deep V of its collar that revealed more than a tease of the cleavage underneath. Her blue eyes were already boring down at him under arched brows, her painted lips curved diagonally in an attempt of hiding a smirk. All in all, John thought that his sister looked rather fit these days as she settled herself comfortably directly in front of him with an elbow on the wooden table, her cheeks resting on the balls of her palm.

Harriet Watson mutely took a continuous swig from a bottle, only dropping it back down the table when she’s swallowed the lost drop. Wiping at her mouth with the back of her wrist, she then looked at John challengingly. John wasn’t really inclined to start a discussion about his sister’s drinking addiction when he himself was already getting his ass drunk at the moment and especially not when it was him who initiated a month-long-overdue contact with his sister-- in a Pub. Taking another bottle resolutely from the bucket Harry has brought, John arced a corner of his lips in a failed attempt of a smile. “Hi, Harry.” John greeted.

Harry snorted as she rolled her eye balls, her eyes bright with lucidity that’s only in attendance with her when the percentage of alcohol hasn’t picked up yet in her bloodstream. John thought he ought to feel guilty to have called in his sister when she clearly hasn’t been drinking.

“Really, Johnny. We don’t see each other for a month and that’s the best you can say?”

“Shut up, Harry.” John mumbled as he emptied another bottle of beer.

“Yes, because you called my gorgeous ass in here the soonest you recovered from your hibernation just so I could shut up and watch you drink.” She retorted. “That is, unless you just wanted a sparring partner with drinking in this stinky, dirty of a Pub.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste at the word. “I should definitely drag you to the ones I go to.”

“Piss off. I kind of like this Pub.”

“Right. So tell me, lil bro, what’s the trouble in paradise? Got that detective of yours pregnant? OH God, are you pregnant?”

John sputtered on his drink before choking and entering a fit of coughing. He looked at his sister with widened eyes and mouth opened in an expression of surprise. He licked at his lips and started to bombard Harry with a question when his sister waved a hand vigorously and clumsily at him as her other hand begun tipping another bottle empty into her mouth.

“You’re not the only gay here, Johnny. Of course I knew.”

“What?”

“Of your pregnancy.”

“What?” John felt compelled to ask yet again. He was reminded of why precisely he’s been sort of avoiding contact with his sister. Harry’s not a very good company when drunk but she’s also a pain in the ass when sober. Harry has the habit of talking like shit and in circles and in an almost always directionless manner. John thinks she’s been doing it deliberately at him.

“Kidding!” She grinned like a feline, her eyes crazy with humor. “You know, it doesn’t need a detective to figure out about your arrangement with your detective. You’ve been practically a married man the moment you moved in with your flat mate.” She narrated smugly, her chin turned upwards in a proud huff. “So I’m not the only gay in the family. Done. I’m actually a little offended you didn’t deign me worthy enough of your secret when I’ve known of your bisexuality since before the army.”

“Oh mother of—” John groaned as he swept a hand over his face in an attempt to rearrange the huge irritated frown that had somehow settled the soonest Harry opened her mouth. “You knew?”

“I just said I did.” Harry shrugged as she reached out for another bottle, the platter of food still completely ignored. “Move on, Johnny. I knew about the magazine you kept in your school locker and about your little crush with that Murray fella—his name’s Billy wasn’t it? I just wasn’t really sure if you acted upon your sexuality is all.” She quipped. “But tonight sort of confirmed it.” Harry, of course, had the gall to laugh mockingly.

“Harry—” John called, his voice low and almost growling in an attempt to reprimand her.

“But you didn’t call me to talk about your sexuality crisis or about your little first ‘crushies’ and experience,” Harry continued relentlessly, both of her elbows digging on the table as her hands  supported both of her flushed cheeks, her face now leaning desperately closer to John. “You’re here to talk about your detective. Hence, the question: who got pregnant?”

John swallowed and stared at his sister for a few beats as he mulled over the choices of snapping at Harry for her appropriate display of sisterly love when he needed it or giving out a dry laugh over her craziness.

John settled for a sniff.

“Pregnant?” He asked. “Really, Harry, is that the best you can guess at, or the best of your idea of a joke?” John finally smiled, as a sign of acquiescence with his sister’s antics before he flagged down the waiter for another pint.

“I’m not the one who wanted to talk, Johnny, so just talk.” She said as she lied back on her stool, a bottle of beer quickly following her mouth. 

John bit at his lips before sighing in defeat “You’re right. It’s Sherlock.”

Harry, bless her soul, had just remained quiet as she lazily consumed their liquors and stared with glazed eyes at John. It was already difficult to talk about and it would be incredibly more so had Harry continued with her snippets and misplaced retorts. John just badly wanted to get it out of his lungs, get it out of his system so he could finally attempt to sort himself out.

“He’s going to get back with another guy.” John started, the heaviness that had remained idle somewhere in his gut now creeping upwards and tightening at his chest. “See, he was single but wasn’t technically so when we first met. He’s been sort of waiting for someone else…” John felt his throat burn and it wasn’t from the alcohol. He was thankful for the interruption as the young waiter brought down a pint in front of him. He smiled a ‘thanks’ to the other guy in an attempt to distract himself from the verge of breaking down. The waiter’s face brightened and smiled back at him before striding away towards a different booth. John took large gulps of the alcohol before turning his face back at Harry who’d remained content in her own stillness, waiting patiently for John.

“This other guy’s apparently coming back within the week and Sherlock’s choosing him.” John continued resolutely, his eyes avoiding Harry’s. “I’ve always known. He’s told me before and I knew what I was going into but…”

“You’re in love with him.” Harry whispered, almost gently as she leaned closer.

“Yes.” John croaked, angry at his own voice for cracking the way I did. He finished the pint in one go before dropping the glass on the table and taking in a lungful of air. “I sort of made myself believe that this fucking day would never come, or that it would take a really long time—at least longer than this—, or that he would at least choose me.”  John continued. “He didn’t even fucking hesitate, Harry.” John finished helplessly as he raked his hand at his hair. He was finding it hard to breath now and his eyes stung but it was probably helped with the amount of alcohol he’d already ingested. He needed more.

Harry was already flagging signals at the young waiter before John could and he realized that they’ve somehow swiftly consumed all the bottles and pints of alcohol on their table, the food untouched. “Yet you were always telling me not to dig my own grave.” Harry commented kindly.

John’s own face soured in distaste before letting out a bitter chuckle. “I did dig a grave of my own in this, didn’t I?”

“That, you did. He’s a bastard.”

“I’m your brother; of course he’s a bastard to you. I told you he’d told me from the beginning he was waiting for someone else. An ex of some sort.” John let his head fall down on the table, his right cheek resting against the cool wood. “I’m a wreck, Harry.” He slurred. The accumulated alcohol hitting him on full force as he finally laid down his head.

John’s eyes fluttered shut as he felt Harry’s warm hands tousle his hair delicately. “Why did you allow yourself to fall in love with a man who’s self-proclaimed taken, Johnny?” Harry murmured.

“He’s brilliant, and sexy, and amazing, and beautiful, and he does me fantastically.” John giggled at his last description, his mouth now a little more loose. “And he said he loves me.” John bit out, almost as an afterthought, almost as a secret he shouldn’t have shared.

Harry’s hand stilled from its caress. “He loves you?” Harry asked almost incredulously. “He’s ditching you.”

John opened his eyes as Harry’s words slapped him on his face. It fucking hurt like hell and he knew he couldn’t blame Harry and let her take responsibility for it. “He said he loves me, not that he’s in love with me, Harry.”

John hated himself. He hated to use some mucked up phrases that he couldn’t really understand himself nor try to explain to anyone to and he thought that he probably shouldn’t defending Sherlock the way he indirectly was doing.  A tantalizing bulge decorated with a golden zipper obscured his view and made him forget of the next words he’d plan on telling Harry. In front of him was what without a doubt, a very detailed shape of a cock covered by leather trousers with a fucking golden zipper. John reckoned that he could grab the poking metal with his teeth if he just inched his face a little closer.

Harry’s hand pulled at his hair tightly, bringing him back to his senses. Startled, John raised his head and recognized the familiar face of their waiter, now sporting an amused little grin over his lips. He’s rather good looking- now that John’s staring at him in the face. Belatedly realizing his own thoughts, John felt blood pool on his face and thought about how he was probably flushing a brilliant shade of red at being caught red handed.

‘The waiter was wearing a bloody leather’ was what John’s drunken mind screamed. The said waiter slowly handed down a couple of pints of beer before flicking back his eyes at John. He flashed a sly grin, eyes in merry twinkle as his eyebrow arched in an unspoken query. “Just flag down if you need more. Sir.” He told John, voice dangerously husky and low that reminded John of Sherlock’s baritone voice. John felt the paradox of feeling his chest tighten at the thought of having lost Sherlock and of feeling the minute but tantalizing twitch of his arousal at the same time. The waiter’s words were definitely imbued with an innuendo. He gulped down before motioning a nod. Beer. He needed a lot more.

He looked at Harry the soonest that the waiter walked away and saw his sister smirking at him, head tipped sideways and her eyelids a little droopier now. John frowned at his newly delivered drink before starting up with it again. He coughed a short cough deliberately as he brought down the glass. “So,” he started. “Sherlock’s not in love with me.”

”He just loves you.” Harry said, eyeballs rolling dramatically.

“Yes.”

“Does your detective loving you make things a little better?”

“Worse. It makes things a whole lot worse. Shittier.” John admitted in defeat as he slumped back down on his stool. “Anyone could love a friend, a brother, an animal, a pet…just about anything. Anyone could love for so many reasons and knowing Sherlock, it wouldn’t possibly be of a reason I’d have preferred. So no, I’d have done a little better with this if he didn’t feel anything for me at all.”

“Bastard.” Harry quipped, her lips clamped at the rim of her glass, eyes peering shrewdly at John.

“He could be a prick, yes.”

“You’re still defending him.”

“Am not.”

“And? What else is there, John?”

John willed his heart to stop pacing frantically. There was only one thing left for him to say: The biggest slap on the face; John’s biggest fall. His left hand was trembling as it held the mug of beer so he made use of both of his hands to hold it steadily. It was only when he finished the pint that he looked at Harry straightforwardly and like the soldier that he is confessed, “He doesn’t want me to leave our flat. He said I could stay over my previous room even when he’s gotten back with him.”

“Son of a bitch!” Harry had screamed in that shrillest voice of hers, drawing unwanted attention from the other people at the Pub. John winced and imagined his eardrum getting pierced. This was one of the reasons he said Harry was a lousy and awful companion when drunk. Harry still isn’t even halfway to getting fully drunk unlike John. Damn alcoholic.

“Harry…” John was really thinking of subduing his sister but he was already drunk and tired and the blood vessels of his brain were probably dilated enough. Besides, he’s feeling a little bit touched that his sister was adamantly taking his side and was somehow holding herself up from getting fully drunk. God knows that even with her tolerance, Harry can get drunk within half an hour had she wanted to.

“The fucker, John!” Harry wailed, her voice hitting all the high notes. John thought she could’ve made it to a decent choir had she desired so. “Tell me you fucking didn’t say yes to the fucker, Johnny!?” He was amused that Harry managed not to use the fucking curse word at him.

“You fucking did!” Harry accused when John didn’t answer immediately.

John abruptly laughed out loud genuinely, the first time he did so after he’s left 221B. His barked laughter echoed all throughout the room, his eyes brightening as he finally settled down with just a smile on his lips. Trust his sister to break all expectations. “Relax, Harry.”He grinned. “I didn’t. I’ve been staying at Mike’s flat for a week now.”

“Mike? Stamford the fatty?”

“Don’t insult him when he’s the one who’s been providing me roof. And yes, he IS the fat one.”

“Tell me you’re not paying him with sexual favors?”

“You think I’m whoring myself out?”

“You could be a whore, Johnny but you’d only be whoring yourself out if you wanted to. No, I’m simply asking if you’re paying for the flat or not because a week’s too long to be camping out in a friend’s.”

“Shit, Harry, stop talking like a fucked up maze..”

“Mazes don’t talk Johnny.”

“It’s supposed to be a metaphor. Speak where I can follow you.”

“I was also speaking in metaphors, then. Just answer the question so you could finally get a nice decent fuck in the loo with your waiter.”

“No. I can’t afford to pay for Mike’s rent so I’d have to leave there immediately and I was thinking of staying over at your place and -what? Shit Harry, what did you just say!?”

“The waiter, obviously. You’re drunk and miserable and I don’t want to put up with you like that in our house. What you need is one decent quick shag so you could purge all the shit out of your system.”

“So you’re a doctor now?”

“Been a doctor once with Clara. I actually used as stethoscope when I was doctoring her.” Harry grinned lewdly.

John groaned and internally cursed Harry. He did not need to hear that. “I don’t need…”

“You do and you’re drunk so it’s perfect. I’ll get us a cab once you got out of the loo, don’t worry.”

John was worried. There were a hundred of reasons why what his sister has been suggesting was wrong in so many levels. He was hurting and drunk and miserable and angry and he most probably will regret a number of things in the morning including an earth shattering headache. John felt there was something else he should be asking but whatever it was, it kept escaping from him. “What makes you think—”

Harry kicked at his foot below the table and snapped. “Just go to the fucking loo and see for yourself. Gee, John, just go or I’d be dragging your ass out there myself and tie you up!”

John grunted and blindly got on his feet as he let himself obey his sister’s command. He needed to take a piss anyway so he might as well go and prove his sister wrong. If he felt a painful twinge on his cock, he pretended to ignore it. Swaying and with poorer control of his legs, he made his way to the bloody toilet amidst the myriads of tables and chairs he bumped into every now and then. This was his sister’s fault. This was Sherlock’s fault. This was his own fucking fault.

John eventually made it to an empty cubicle and uninterruptedly voided to his delight. He’d closed his eyes for several seconds and realized he’d been so close to drifting off to sleep while leaning on the wall, his cock still out of his pants. Readjusting his trousers, John opened the door of his cubicle and was about to get out when a firm hand pushed him back in steadily yet somehow gently until his back was on the wall.

Blinking in surprise and mild disorientation, John gazed up and saw the familiar face of their waiter-in-leather-pants-with-golden-zippers. John felt his heart try to wrestle out of his ribs and he felt the familiar coil of arousal on his abdomen. Without breaking his pace, the waiter traced the outline of John’s cock against his pants, his trousers apparently still open. John’s breath hitched and his knees buckled but the hands on his chest kept him steady. “Shit.” John moaned, apparently caught off guard.

The young waiter took it as a sign of approval and inserted his hand in John’s boxer to stroke the aching appendage directly.  John bit his lips as he felt a thumb gently circle on top of his slit, smearing the precum all over the crown. He was almost fully hard now and his cock was engorged enough to feel the constrictions the boxers were providing. He jerked his hips up in an effort to convey the signal that he really, really needed to free his cock now. The young waiter, devil that he is, grinned before attaching his mouth at the lobe of John’s ear, biting before saying, “The name’s Raz, in case you were wondering.”

Raz licked at John’s ear before snaking his hand and pinching John’s nipple over the shirt even as his other hand continued its assault on John’s cock, stroking languidly and lightly. He licked a straight line down John’s neck before settling in on John’s clavicle and sucking. “Saw you tonight and thought to myself I gotta definitely have you, drunk or not. Do you know how sexy your eyes are?” Raz continued, punctuating his every word with nips and licks. “Been sending you signals the first time. Your sister’s quite the adept at reading them. I should’ve known that flagging my bulge in front of your face would do the trick.”

John groaned as Raz pulled at his balls, the light pain jolted John out of his drunkenness and with a hiss he pushed at the younger boy’s shoulders until he had him against the wall. “You’re too young to be teasing someone like me.”

Raz smiled and pulled sharply at John’s cock. “Prove it.” He said daringly at John, his hand still clamped at the doctor’s cock.

John thought that he didn’t like Raz’s proud expression at the moment. Granted, he was an attractive man, slender and pleasing to the eyes. It was Raz’s smugness that was his failing. It reminded John of Sherlock and he didn’t want to give in to the pain that was already wrecking him from inside out. He didn’t need to think about Sherlock now of all times. John needed to forget but it wouldn’t be with someone like Raz. If Harry was right about purging it all from his system, someone as ordinary and weak as Raz wouldn’t do. The realization, however, doesn’t make John’s hardness go away.

John grabbed Raz’s wrist and pulled out the waiter’s hand from his pants. His eyes on the younger man, John opened the buckle of his belt and let his trousers fall to his feet. Raz’s eyes were trailing over John’s erection under his boxers, hungry and decided. “Take of your trousers, Raz.” John said softly but not leaving any place for questions. “You won’t get to fuck me tonight and I’m too tired to do you.” 

Raz looked him in the eye before he wordlessly pushed down his leather trousers and revealed his own cock that wasn’t sheathed with brief or boxers. John felt his throat go dry at the sight and he allowed himself a few, quick strokes as he watched Raz get down on his knees in front of him. He’s had an alcohol and such a scene like this was still enough to stimulate him that he’s almost feeling dizzy.

John looked down as he felt Raz’s hand grab the waistline of his boxers and pulled the entire thing down in one movement. John let out a breath of relief as he felt the cool air hit the slickness of his aching flesh. Raz grabbed the base of John’s cock with one hand and heeding the doctor’s words, used his free one to stroke his own erection. For a moment, John was just mesmerized at the sight of the younger man stroking himself with one hand. Realizing that he needed this to finish as quickly as possible so he could go home with Harry, he held a handful of Raz’s hair to get his attention. “Let’s get this over with, Raz.”  John let the waiter’s name roll off his tongue like a purr.

John closed his eyes as the younger man’s warm, wet mouth enveloped him.

***

True to her word, Harry was waiting for John as he got out from the loo. He was already feeling exhausted and he’s missing terribly the feel of a proper mattress against his back. He was conscious of the piece of paper that was now inside his pocket. The one where Raz had scribbled his number for John to call if he wanted another go. Stringless. Clean. Detached.

The heaviness of his chest was forgotten now, the ache only a dull throb that was sung to sleep but was probably bound to awaken tomorrow. For now though. John was just properly spent and drained enough that he was assured to have a dreamless sleep tonight. Harry, who was already snogging with a girl at the darkened corner of the bar perked up and went to him the soonest that he entered her line of sight. She gave a lopsided grin, her eyes knowing and mischievous. John gave her a relaxed shrug back and bumped shoulders with her as they made their way towards the exit of the Pub. It wasn’t the time yet to review whether or not listening to Harry and having a quick dirty sex at the loo was a good idea or not but John was definitely feeling a little better than he did in the whole week since he has left 221B.

He felt better.

That is until he came out of the Pub and came face to face with Sherlock Holmes.

LINK to CHapter 4: