Work Header

A Dabble In Drabbles

Chapter Text

Jim was slowly introducing John to the idea of a lazy morning. By slowly, it means Jim held John down against the pillows, golden sunrise shining through the high windows of the flat, and told him in no uncertain terms that John was not allowed to leave the bedroom until at least eleven. If he tried to, Jim was not above locking the doors from the outside and making sure John enjoyed his day off in what the criminal called, the proper fashion.

John sighed, and let Jim pull the covers over the two of them without much more protestation. Sherlock was in Canada on some big case, and Jim had talked John into staying behind so they could spend more time together. John had a feeling that Jim had some hand in the murder, since it was big enough to pull Sherlock all the way across the pond, but both consultants denied that being true.

“Go back to sleep,” Jim murmured as he settled his arms around John’s torso once more. “It’s too early for you to be getting up.”

“It’s six thirty Jim!” John protested, his face getting mashed into the pillow by Jim’s arms on his sides. “I always get up at this time.”

“Not today.” Jim was pressing his lips against John’s shoulder, nose touching the scar from the war. “Today you’re staying here, with me.”

John felt behind him until his hand was on Jim’s hip, as awkward as it was. “Does it really mean that much to you?”

He felt the answer against his ribs, Jim’s clever fingers tapping it out on his skin.


He tapped back, fingers stuttering just a little at the odd angle.

Then I will stay.

Chapter Text

John was moaning, Sherlock pressing up against him silently. Above, to the sides, even inside him. Everything was Sherlock and there wasn’t anywhere he could go to get away. John grabbed fistfuls of the sheets, struggling to hold onto something real that wasn’t the pounding of Sherlock’s cock in his arse.
“God, yes, oh yes!”
Sherlock was always so quiet during these times, when John had no control over his mouth. John, bent double over the end of the bed, his feet pressed against the floor and his collarbone against the mattress, breathing in sharp little gasps and expelling everything in harsh moans. While Sherlock stood over him, the detective’s hand splayed across the sheets, hips jerking back and forth as he fucked John, the tempo only increasing in it’s irregularity as they drew closer to their respective completions.
It was only when Sherlock came inside John’s arsehole that he began to make noises, whispering John’s name as he pressed a lazy kiss to John’s shoulder, moving his hands to John’s neglected cock as he pulled out, stroking John until he came as well, covering the sheets and Sherlock’s hand with sticky fluid.
“John,” Sherlock said, and John replied with his lover’s name, as they both crawled up into the bed, sheets kicked down to the end to be dealt with in the morning, both exhausted but one more so than the other. John fell asleep first, curling up inside Sherlock’s embrace, his hands against the detective’s chest. Sherlock stroked his hair with one hand, rubbing his back with the other until he too, fell asleep.

Chapter Text

Jim looked over at John, the way the man's blond hair sprawled across his forehead, his nose against the pillow cover, his hands making gentle fists in the sheets. So quiet in his sleep now, no nightmares to wake him up. They had stopped when he'd moved in with Jim, though the criminal knew it had nothing to do with the excellent they had been having. No, it was that Jim was more dangerous than anything John had faced in the war. Jim was a fuse, begging to go off, and John was in the same room as a nuclear bomb. Of course the nightmares had stopped, and the hand tremors. The cane John had brought with him was in the corner, gathering dust, a little reminder that whatever Jim thought of Johnny, he was not the first to fix the problems buried in his little head, nor would he be the last. Jim ran a finger along the line of John's hair, pushing the short little bangs back from his skin. John made a soft noise and turned over in his sleep, towards Jim. He watched John for a moment to make sure he was staying asleep, then sat up and grabbed his mobile from the bedside table.

Come and pick him up. We're done with this.



"You made what sort of deal?" John was furious. No, beyond that. He was livid, ready to kill Sherlock if someone would just pass him his gun back, please, thank you very much.

"A trade, John. You for Sebastian Moran. He's Moriarty's right hand man."

"And a bit more than that, I should think," Jim said from the other side of the room, a sing song twang to his words. "It's more than fair."

John gave Jim the middle finger without taking his eyes off of Sherlock, which only made Jim laugh. "And why wasn't I asked about this? Sherlock, I'm a human, not some book you can just borrow out to your friends whenever you feel like it."

"We didn't ask you John because I knew you would agree anyways."

"Yes? And why is that?"

"Because Johnny boy," chirped Jim from the corner. "If you can do to me what you did for Sherly, I might actually stop killing people for a little while. And I know you'll like that."


Sherlock was playing his violin when the text came in. A single glance at his mobile's screen told him all he needed to know. If Jim was done playing with John, then Sherlock would have to be done with Sebastian. So he'd won then. He hadn't been the first to grow bored of his companion, or need to send him away for someone more reliable. No, Jim had broken. And if his text message was any clue, it was because John had done exactly what he had done to Sherlock. Found his heart and forced himself inside, just like he would continue to do to everyone he met. There was something special about that army doctor, something Sherlock couldn't read in his jumpers or haircut. He always managed to be people's weakness, even people who made a point not to have any.

He put down his violin and went to his bedroom door. "Get up Sebastian. Your boss has decided he wants you back." He tossed his phone at the naked man, before going back to the living room. He needed to play a new song.

He would miss Sebastian.

Chapter Text

We're sorry, but we just can't deal with a child like him.

Jim looked down at the letter in his hand, the crumpled up piece of paper that had been fished out of the recycling bin and flattened by shaking hands. Unwanted, yet again. At least this time they had the decency to the agency, even if they hadn't said anything to him. Such was the life of a foster child who woke up screaming every night, who wouldn't talk at all unless repeatedly prompted, who couldn't even read lips, just words on paper. Unprepared, the first house had said. Too much work and overwhelmed had come after that, while house number five hadn't even given a reason, just contacted the government to take him back. They had a dog, and a son Jim's age. He had been crushed.

There was a tap on his shoulder. Jim looked up, shoving the letter into his shirt pocket before it could be taken from him. He wasn't supposed to have it, after all. The man, he looked to be in his early twenties or even late teens, said something, his lips moving rapidly. Jim shook his head and said slowly, double checking the shape of his lips. "I'm deaf. Can you write that down?" The man looked abashed, nodded, and patted his pockets before pulling out a cell phone.

You're Jim Moriarty?


The man smiled, and tapped out his response before showing the screen to Jim.

I'm Sebastian Moran. You'll be staying with me until they assign you a new home.

Jim nodded, and grabbed his knapsack. Home? Ha. They were just houses, places to stay until he was old enough to get a house of his own, maybe even move back to Dublin and find his brother. He missed Richard, and no one ever told him what had happened to him. Lost in the system, just like Jim. Sebastian walked in front of Jim, starting to say something, before he realized his mistake and pulled out his phone again.

How old are you Jim?


Wow not much younger than me

"I'm small for my age."

Sebastian moved his head in a way that was clearly a chuckle, and held the front door open for Jim before typing a new response on his phone.

And I'm big for mine. We'll balance each other out.

Jim couldn't help but smile as he climbed into the passenger seat of Sebastian's beaten up blue torus. Maybe this stay wouldn't be so bad after all.

Chapter Text

John's hand over his, tracing the scars from his bad fall in first year.

His mouth on John's hair, hugging each other to stay warm at the bus stop.

John's weight on his back, pushing him into the mud.

His laughter mingling with John's voice in the echoing chambers of the locker room.

John's soft eyes, look up at the stars while Jim looked at him.

Finding John's hand in the back of the bus, holding each other close.

John. John. John.


They had met on the first day of walk on try outs, when Jim had been the surprising little upstart, literally, and John had been the no surprise there lifer. When Jim had been paired with John by virtue of them being the first two to show up on the field, and they'd worked well together despite the physical differences. Jim had made up for his size in speed, while John had a natural brain for the game that not even the coach could find a problem with.

They had roomed together in second year, and then gotten a flat together during the summer and held onto it when school started up again. Jim had paid the lion's share of the rent, since he was on a full business school scholarship, and John was just scrapping by using his army pay outs. They had separate rooms at first, after all what was the point in paying for a nice two bedroom if you don't used both? Then Jim came up with the idea of converting one of them into a gym, and they moved his stuff into John's room because it was bigger, and put all the exercise stuff in the other bedroom, though he still hung his suits up in the closet there. Got to keep formal wear away from John's ugly jumpers.

It's nearly the end of third year, and Jim's already panicking because John's going away for med school in just another year and he'll be graduating with his business plan already lined up and he just can't handle that. So after waiting for outside of practice one evening, because John is always so much slower at changing than he is, he makes up his mind. As soon as the locker room door swings up and he sees John's face, he mashes their sweaty lips together and whispers that John's never allowed to leave him.

That's when the cheers and wolf whistles from the rest of the team start up.