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Literature Text
When John showed up at the Yard you were patiently waiting for him on a bench with your iPod out and headphones in your ear, fresh from an after workout shower. You pulled them out as he joined you, sitting down with a huff and handing you the knife that Sherlock had taken from you earlier, “Your brother said you might be wanting this but that he wants it back when you get home.”
You frowned at him, reminded of this mornings incident, “Are you sure you want to do this John?”
John just gave a small nod. You sighed and pushed the knife back at him, “You keep it then. I have others. He only sent it because he knows that I favor it for its balance and grip.”
John began to protest, he couldn’t take your favorite knife, but you shook your head, “Think of it as a gift to make up for almost killing you with it this morning.”
He looked at it now, a little skeptical, but you didn’t give him a chance to think it over further, pulling him up and then beckoning for him to follow you. You lead him to a room with a wall lined thickly with wood on one half and cork on the other and set your bag on a table in the corner, “You should be able to use that one for pretty much anything but once you get the hang of it you’ll learn your own preferences and pick out your own knife… or in my case knives.”
You weren’t kidding when you said that, producing three from your bag and three others from your person. John watched you intently as you did so. Noticing this you blushed and quietly said, “I guess all us Holmes’ have our obsessive quirks. Sherly has his tobacco and I have my knives.”
John realized then that you didn’t just share this with people, it was something private that you didn’t like others know. You sighed running a finger over one sadly, “It wasn’t always this way, I used to obsess quite happily over tea… but I guess some things are meant to change. Tea can’t keep you safe in the dark alleys of a foreign country.”
John stepped forward to try and comfort you but you quickly looked up and smiled at him, “Let’s get started then shall we?”
You went over how to hold the knife, the ins and outs, and the definitely don’ts and then stepped back to let him sink or swim, “Just give it a throw. I need to see what I’m working with before I teach any further.”
John hesitated and you took the moment to look over a lot more than his stance, eyes drifting down his form, before shaking your head and getting back to the task at hand. He took a deep breath and went for it, the knife hitting the wall about a foot below the ceiling and going in only about an inch.
You smiled as he turned around rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, “A little high but a good start. You need to follow through with the throwing motion and keep your elbow pointed at where you want it to go.”
You handed him another knife and he turned around to contemplate what you’d said. He pulled his arm back and you stepped forward so you were directly behind him and pressed at his shoulders and corrected his grip.
He could feel your breath on his neck as your long fingers gently corrected where he was off and he had to blink a couple of times to keep his focus. He had told himself that Sherlock was wrong. You couldn’t fancy him.
After dismissing the idea, he had decided to continue on around you like normal but right now you were making it so very difficult. He could smell you, vanilla, cinnamon, and lavender, with a hint of tang that he thought could be apples. You leaned in to reposition his arm and your breath tickled his ear. Every gentle graze sent shivers down his spine and he was positive you knew.
He was wrong. This was one of those areas where your emotional side got in the way and you had trouble seeing clearly. You were still trying to figure out how you actually felt toward John, even more so now that Sherlock had brought to your attention your previous behavior. The incident earlier had left you thoroughly confused, the intense eye contact and thing with Sherlock.
And then of course there was the kiss you’d given him, your brain was having trouble wrapping around the reason why you’d done that or the fact that you’d even done it at all.
You pulled away and stood back to look at him for a moment, trying to collect you thoughts, before letting him continue, “Try it now.”
He let the knife loose and this time it hit where he had intended and went in two inches. He grinned proudly and spun to look at you, “I did it.”
You giggled, he looked like an over excited child, “Yes you did. Great job John.”
You let him practice a while, correcting things when you needed to, and then when you felt comfortable enough with his progress the two of you started chatting. It wasn’t until near the end that you asked, “So how did things go with Helen?”
He had been mid-throw and the question made him falter, the knife coming sailing in your direction instead of toward the wall in front of him. It flew by you and into the wall next to you, you mentally thanked your brain for remembering that when you had learned many knives had gone the wrong direction and that it was best to stand aside.
You looked at the knife in the wall, “I’ll take it not well then.”
You were happy about this but couldn’t figure out why… You wanted John to be happy and you’d even helped him get ready for this particular date so why did you want to jump around gleefully over the fact it had gone badly.
You kept you face blank to hide your internal turmoil as he came to retrieve the knife, “Actually it went rather well. She’s just not my type.” He made eye contact when he said the last word, in a way that said ‘you’re my type’ and you went pink.
“Oh I suppose that would put a dampener on things then.” You said casually, picking up a couple of knives to distract yourself.
You frowned at him, reminded of this mornings incident, “Are you sure you want to do this John?”
John just gave a small nod. You sighed and pushed the knife back at him, “You keep it then. I have others. He only sent it because he knows that I favor it for its balance and grip.”
John began to protest, he couldn’t take your favorite knife, but you shook your head, “Think of it as a gift to make up for almost killing you with it this morning.”
He looked at it now, a little skeptical, but you didn’t give him a chance to think it over further, pulling him up and then beckoning for him to follow you. You lead him to a room with a wall lined thickly with wood on one half and cork on the other and set your bag on a table in the corner, “You should be able to use that one for pretty much anything but once you get the hang of it you’ll learn your own preferences and pick out your own knife… or in my case knives.”
You weren’t kidding when you said that, producing three from your bag and three others from your person. John watched you intently as you did so. Noticing this you blushed and quietly said, “I guess all us Holmes’ have our obsessive quirks. Sherly has his tobacco and I have my knives.”
John realized then that you didn’t just share this with people, it was something private that you didn’t like others know. You sighed running a finger over one sadly, “It wasn’t always this way, I used to obsess quite happily over tea… but I guess some things are meant to change. Tea can’t keep you safe in the dark alleys of a foreign country.”
John stepped forward to try and comfort you but you quickly looked up and smiled at him, “Let’s get started then shall we?”
You went over how to hold the knife, the ins and outs, and the definitely don’ts and then stepped back to let him sink or swim, “Just give it a throw. I need to see what I’m working with before I teach any further.”
John hesitated and you took the moment to look over a lot more than his stance, eyes drifting down his form, before shaking your head and getting back to the task at hand. He took a deep breath and went for it, the knife hitting the wall about a foot below the ceiling and going in only about an inch.
You smiled as he turned around rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, “A little high but a good start. You need to follow through with the throwing motion and keep your elbow pointed at where you want it to go.”
You handed him another knife and he turned around to contemplate what you’d said. He pulled his arm back and you stepped forward so you were directly behind him and pressed at his shoulders and corrected his grip.
He could feel your breath on his neck as your long fingers gently corrected where he was off and he had to blink a couple of times to keep his focus. He had told himself that Sherlock was wrong. You couldn’t fancy him.
After dismissing the idea, he had decided to continue on around you like normal but right now you were making it so very difficult. He could smell you, vanilla, cinnamon, and lavender, with a hint of tang that he thought could be apples. You leaned in to reposition his arm and your breath tickled his ear. Every gentle graze sent shivers down his spine and he was positive you knew.
He was wrong. This was one of those areas where your emotional side got in the way and you had trouble seeing clearly. You were still trying to figure out how you actually felt toward John, even more so now that Sherlock had brought to your attention your previous behavior. The incident earlier had left you thoroughly confused, the intense eye contact and thing with Sherlock.
And then of course there was the kiss you’d given him, your brain was having trouble wrapping around the reason why you’d done that or the fact that you’d even done it at all.
You pulled away and stood back to look at him for a moment, trying to collect you thoughts, before letting him continue, “Try it now.”
He let the knife loose and this time it hit where he had intended and went in two inches. He grinned proudly and spun to look at you, “I did it.”
You giggled, he looked like an over excited child, “Yes you did. Great job John.”
You let him practice a while, correcting things when you needed to, and then when you felt comfortable enough with his progress the two of you started chatting. It wasn’t until near the end that you asked, “So how did things go with Helen?”
He had been mid-throw and the question made him falter, the knife coming sailing in your direction instead of toward the wall in front of him. It flew by you and into the wall next to you, you mentally thanked your brain for remembering that when you had learned many knives had gone the wrong direction and that it was best to stand aside.
You looked at the knife in the wall, “I’ll take it not well then.”
You were happy about this but couldn’t figure out why… You wanted John to be happy and you’d even helped him get ready for this particular date so why did you want to jump around gleefully over the fact it had gone badly.
You kept you face blank to hide your internal turmoil as he came to retrieve the knife, “Actually it went rather well. She’s just not my type.” He made eye contact when he said the last word, in a way that said ‘you’re my type’ and you went pink.
“Oh I suppose that would put a dampener on things then.” You said casually, picking up a couple of knives to distract yourself.
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You awoke the next morning in an empty bed to the sound of clattering from the kitchen. Getting up from the bed, you yawned loudly and stretched, wrapping your dressing gown around you. Sauntering over to the kitchen you saw Mrs Hudson preparing a cup of tea and a plate of toast.
“Morning Mrs H!” You said causing the old woman to jump a little but then smile as she saw it was you.
“Good morning dear! How are you feeling today?” She asked stirring the milk into the tea.
“A little bit tired and sore, but I’ll survive.” You smiled, leaning against the doorframe. “Where are John and Sherlock?&rdq
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You and John both returned to the flat in a taxi due to your current state. You both got out of the cab and you took John’s hand as you entered 221B. Your grip tightened on John’s hand as you climbed up the stairs to Sherlock’s flat, he wasn’t going to be happy.
“Hey, it’s going to be okay.” John reassured you, before opening the door to the flat. You walked in, you were expecting to hear a huge lecture from Sherlock but surprisingly he wasn’t there. You gave a sigh of relief, you couldn’t be doing with one of his lectures right now, you were far too tired. You plonked yourself down on th
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“Up! Now!” You groaned into your pillow and looked over at your clock with squinted eyes. It was 2:15pm and to be honest you had no intention of getting up today, you were going to stay in bed and sleep because you couldn’t sleep last night and you’d quite frankly had enough of everything and there was just no point. “(Y/n) I’m not going to tell you again. Get out of bed, now!”
“No, you can’t tell me what to do with my life, go away.” You grumbled putting your duvet over your head.
“Don’t make me order you.” You lifted your arm from under the duvet and held it up
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Look at John, throwing. knives~
Look at the reader, throwing knives.~
What a perfect way to spend quality time with each other. Next time they should juggle torches.