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221B week, day 5: It goes without saying

BBC Sherlock

No spoilers for Series 2

Rating 12 (implicit slash)

My characters tend to talk too much: I though it was time for a speechless fic.



They never talk about it. They never talk during it. But they've known since the night John ran after Sherlock through the streets of London and their hands touched afterwards. Only a matter of time before another touch that went on for far too long. Sherlock's hand on John's neck, and the piercing stare that promised to eat John up, crack open his very bones to the marrow. And John's defiant glare back, as his hands started to tug at Sherlock's shirt tails and met no resistance.

Words would complicate things, entangle them in complex emotions, decisions. They rely even now on touches and glances. Talking would only slow down the lust that kicks into John when Sherlock's hips move just so. And Sherlock knows exactly what it means when John licks his lips and looks him up and down. No need to announce the obvious deduction.

And so it goes on, wordlessly, if not silently. There are groans, of course, slurred sounds that could be interpreted as words, when they invade each other's bed at night. Deliberate bed-sharing would require a conversation, a regularisation of the position, overweight the fragile structure between them. What goes on must be kept secret even from their own lips, lips kept busy elsewhere. Better, surely, to keep quiet, ensure their silence is never broken.