Sherlock Holmes (
i_favour_you) wrote2013-06-08 11:13 pm
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Entry tags:
AU
Follows this.
It wasn't until he found the beach that he realized they had made it to Cape May. Of all of New Jersey, this was possibly his least favorite place. It was so nice here. Cosy shops, happy people, and homes that cost far too much money.
Also, art supply stores. Sherlock purchases the needle, thread, alcohol, and some glue. Can't look too obvious, even with the blood under his fingernails and the tears in his tee-shirt. Not long after, he parks the stolen car in front of a chain hotel and goes in as calmly as possible to book them a room. His body is vibrating with panic. He can't remain this calm for much longer. Watson is bleeding. She's injured. He has to smile and wait in line and be bloody calm.
He pulls a coat out of the bag of clothes to put over Watson's shoulders once he gets back to the car.
"There's a vending machine and room service," he tells her. "We can get you orange juice and water for the blood loss."
It wasn't until he found the beach that he realized they had made it to Cape May. Of all of New Jersey, this was possibly his least favorite place. It was so nice here. Cosy shops, happy people, and homes that cost far too much money.
Also, art supply stores. Sherlock purchases the needle, thread, alcohol, and some glue. Can't look too obvious, even with the blood under his fingernails and the tears in his tee-shirt. Not long after, he parks the stolen car in front of a chain hotel and goes in as calmly as possible to book them a room. His body is vibrating with panic. He can't remain this calm for much longer. Watson is bleeding. She's injured. He has to smile and wait in line and be bloody calm.
He pulls a coat out of the bag of clothes to put over Watson's shoulders once he gets back to the car.
"There's a vending machine and room service," he tells her. "We can get you orange juice and water for the blood loss."
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She kisses him back, and steadies herself against him with her good hand on his shoulder as he lays her down. Once she's settled, she reaches for his belt as she kisses him, undoing the buckle.
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"It is entirely possible that I greatly underestimated the time I want to spend with you," he says. "12 hours will, most likely, not be enough."
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"Really," she murmurs back, her hand now working on the button of his trousers. "Do you have a revised estimation?"
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She only has the one hand, and he has very little patience. He moves one hand away from her to help with lowering his trousers.
"Possibly two."
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His impatience amuses her, and she helps as much as she can to push down his trousers, then his boxers. She wants him naked, but she hardly has to tell him that.
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He rolls to the side to kick his boxers away, and then rolls back towards her. He presses his mouth to her collarbone again, and then down her sternum, towards her belly.
His voice is serious again. "Please."
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"Yes," she whispers. "Sherlock, yes."
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There's a sharp knock at the door. Sherlock jerks up, eyes going immediately towards the door.
"Who is it?" he calls, voice breathy.
"Police," comes the response.
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SHIT.
They can't run. They're both naked, the cops are right at the door, and she's in no condition to outrun anyone. The only thing they can do it pray these are not the cops who are gunning for them.
"I should talk to them," she says quietly, struggling to push herself up. "Either they'll be more likely to trust me, or they'll just shoot me and get it over with."
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He releases her arm and nods, getting to his feet. He grabs her his tee-shirt.
"All right," he says.
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She manages to get to her feet. "Help me put this on," she whispers.
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He tugs on his jeans and moves back to the bed. By the rumpled bedsheets, it's fairly obvious what they've been doing. But by the cut-up bloodied shirt, they might assume something else. He knocks the shirt to the other side of the bed, as well as the alcohol and scissors.
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She steadies herself at the door, fumbles the chain open, then unlocks and opens the door, just enough so they see her and not much of the room.
"Can I help you?"
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"A stolen vehicle was found in the parking lot of this establishment," the officer says. "A potential hostage situation may have occurred."
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"Oh my god," she says, looking concerned with a touch of shocked. "Are we in danger? Should we stay inside and keep the doors locked or something?"
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"Is everything okay?" Sherlock asks from the bed, sounding like he'd only caught a snippet of the conversation.
One of the officers speaks to Watson. "No, but we'll be by in the morning, need to get a few statements." Her lack of attire clearly makes the officer uncomfortable.
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"Yeah, sure, of course. We're glad to help in any way we can."
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The awkward officer moves to try to go to the next room, and Sherlock eyes the window cautiously. They'll be watching for who might try to leave earlier. Of course they will be. This is going to be significantly more difficult than he originally thought.
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She closes the door, turns the lock, replaces the chain. Then she leans her forehead against the door, closes her eyes, and does a slow count to five to make sure they've moved on.
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"You should get some sleep," he says. "We'll need to leave before they come back tomorrow."
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"My dear Watson," he murmurs. "Come back to bed."
She needs to sleep. He needs to plan.
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She holds onto him, forcing her legs to work as much as possible, to take them back to the bed.
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