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A Bit Better	By : VulpineBeesKnees Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 3330 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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“Wake up John,” Sherlock said softly, a kiss pressed to the doctor’s temple, “John you need to wake up if we’re to take a shower before breakfast.” Sherlock had done a lot of thinking the night before, and he thought that perhaps he had read things wrong. Perhaps he could try this ‘sweet’ thing after all, if that’s what John needed. The man deserved that much.
Another kiss was pressed to the corner of his mouth. “John, I stayed with you all night, the least you can do is wake up and take a shower with me.”
John’s head lolled toward Sherlock, attempting to return the kiss with his eyes still pressed closed, missing his mark slightly. Letting out a defeated sigh his eyes finally fluttered open, blinking rapidly against the bright light streaming into the room. When he could finally focus on Sherlock he smiled, the detectives curly hair was unruly, the epitome of sex hair even after a night of sleep.
“Did you actually sleep or did you just lie here all night?”
“I slept some.” the detective admitted, however he didn’t tell the older man that he’d only caught himself dozing for a few minutes a time or two. He smiled and brushed the side of John’s face. Looking down at him, he pressed a gentle kiss to John’s lips. It was chaste, and a simple touching of the lips, but it made Sherlock’s heart skip a beat.
When he pulled away, his eyes met blue ones, and he let his thumb caress down the side of John’s face. “Now that your questions have been answered can we please have a shower? Mycroft will be along in a little while to fetch us, and I don’t think either of us want to smell like sex when we go horseback riding with my mother.”
“God no, that would definitely be not good.” John leaned into Sherlock’s touch, enjoying the detectives sudden affections. After a moment he moved to sit up, pushing his body up with a groan he stopped with his feet hanging off the edge of the bed as he rolled his sore shoulders. His entire body was aching from the previous night's escapades, but he smiled at the memory all the same.
Chuckling softly John got to his feet, “Hot shower would do me good anyhow. Bit sore from last night.” He flashed a teasing glance back at Sherlock as he headed for the bathroom that might have been considered accusatory had he not been grinning madly.
Sherlock followed, his bare footfalls echoing as he entered the bathroom as well. Maneuvering into the shower, he turned it on, one hand under the spray to judge the temperature. Once it was perfect, he poked his head out of the door to beckon the doctor inside. When John moved to follow, he took the smaller man by the hand, and pulled him in the rest of the way, positioning him so that the pleasantly hot water was cascading over their backs.
Then, in a move that he knew would totally surprise the man, instead of pulling him back against his chest as he normally would, his hands moved up John’s arms to his shoulders where they began massaging the tired achy muscles. His thumbs dug in slightly, finding the knots he’d forced there the night before and expertly getting them to release. Once the blonde’s shoulders had relaxed, he moved down to begin rubbing at the extremely tight muscles beneath and around his shoulder blades, cool fingers ghosting over his gunshot scar every now and then.
John couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped his lips as the deft fingers expertly relaxed his tense muscles. John chuckled at the explicit sounds spilling from his lips of their own accord. Rolling his neck to the side he sighed, placing his hands on the side of the wall of the shower to keep his balance as his body completely unwound under Sherlock’s ministrations.
He moved in to kiss John’s neck, but as the doctor shifted, something caught his eye. The scar on his left shoulder. The detective’s breath hitched and he pulled back, however, to maintain the idea that everything was alright, his fingers continued their mastery. Even though it had been months, and the wound had healed nicely, the scripted S that had been branded into John’s shoulder still knocked the breath out of him. It was raised and just a few shades pinker than the rest of John’s skin, much like the one on his shoulder, but this one was so much worse. The detective’s brows were knit together as he struggled to reclaim the mood he’d had earlier.
This marring of John’s skin was entirely his fault, that being the case, who was he to deny John anything? He leaned down once more and placed a light kiss on the back of John’s neck, his lips soft and only slightly trembling. He cursed himself in his mind. <i>Damnit! Get yourself together! Even John is not that much of an idiot.</i>
John hadn’t missed the sudden change in the detectives demeanour. He turned to face Sherlock, unknowingly turning the marked arm so it was in between them. He didn’t say anything at first, studying the odd look on detectives face. Running his thumb under the quivering bottom lip John’s own brow furrowed in confusion.
“Sherlock?” There were very few things that could cause the stony man to show his emotions, so when he did it honestly frightened John. His own voice faltered slightly with worry. “What’s wrong?”
The hand that had been running along the quivering lip slid up to cup his cheek, running his thumb along his cheek bone softly. He offered the detective a soft, supportive smile.
One long fingered hand reached up and covered John's as Sherlock leaned into his touch. He was silent for a long time, both of them standing under the hot spray.
"Nothing of consequence." His voice was normal again as he composed himself, "Don't worry about it." He offered the doctor a smile of his own, reassuring this time, and stopped any further questions by pulling him in for a chaste but not unfeeling kiss.
He could easily delete this guilt he was feeling, he wouldn’t have to hide it, but it felt like a betrayal to all John had done for him to do so. Instead, he continued to snog the man in his arms, the kiss quickly becoming more passionate as he forced his guilt to the back of his mind.
Sherlock succeeded in changing the topic, John’s worry quickly fading as he was pressed back into the wall, warm water running over both of them. A bit of reason remained as he pulled off of the kiss softly, giving the pronounced cupids bow a soft peck before pulling away completely. The friction between their bodies was reigniting his arousal, and all they needed was Mycroft to show up while they were shagging in the shower.
“Alright then, don’t tell me.” John knew something was wrong, but there was a reason he didn’t push Sherlock to talk about emotions. He took what the detective offered him, he wasn’t about to push him away by expecting too much. “But I’m afraid if you try and have me here in the shower I may not be capable of going horseback riding. Raincheck yeah?”
He placed another soft kiss against the detectives lips before pushing off the wall and grabbing the bodywash that the shower had been so thoughtfully stocked with before their arrival.
Sherlock chuckled and sniped the body wash from the doctor, proceeding to wash his back for him in appreciation for not pushing further. The rest of their shower was uneventful save for Sherlock letting John wash his curly hair at the other's request.
They were just finished dressing when a butler, not Mycroft, retrieved them for breakfast. When they entered the dining hall, Madame Holmes was already dressed in typical English equestrian gear, and Greg sat chatting with her happily. Mycroft was nowhere to be seen.
"I have some things to attend to, enjoy your breakfast." Sherlock said softly, planting a kiss on top of John's head and slipping away before he could protest.
“Things?” John repeated incredulously, but the detective was already rounding the corner. John shook his head before dropping into the seat next to Madame Holmes, across from Lestrade.
“Good morning.” He offered cheerfully to the both of them before pouring himself a cup of tea from the kettle between them. “Any idea where he’s run off to now?” He was looking at Greg now, considering Mycroft was also missing he hoped the DI would have some clue.
"No idea." Greg said, shaking his head and chuckling.
"Something impossibly romantic." The regal woman chimed in. Her tone was teasing, but there was a familiar glint of mischief in her eye that both boys had obviously inherited from her. Greg, however didn't catch it.
"Mycroft? Romantic? Is that even possible?" His sigh was somewhere just short of a laugh as he ran his hand through his hair. Then something struck him and he stopped, "Well..." His face turned about two shades of red, "Maybe he can be, but I honestly can't see that in Sherlock. Then again I'm not dating him..." He waved the thought away and tucked into his food.
The comment struck a chord with John though and he had to catch himself from spatting ‘Yeah you’re not’ back at the DI. His face dropped, obviously taken aback and hurt by Greg’s words. Turning his focus to his plate John pushed around the eggs with his fork, sipping at his tea. It was bad enough having to defend Sherlock’s actions to himself, he didn’t need to do it with Greg and the Holmes’s mother as well. Thankfully Madame Holmes quickly pushed through.
"Mycroft tells me he will be meeting your children tomorrow after you return home. How splendid!" The woman's voice lowered softly as she leaned towards the DI, "I've always wanted grandchildren."
Greg blushed furiously and mumbled a thank you before returning to his food feeling mortified, but the woman’s comments pulled John from his reverie. Turning his attention to the embarrassed man across from him John attempted to hide the earlier disappointment.
“So you talked to him then?” John was honestly pleased for them, so it wasn’t too hard to show his enthusiasm, “I told you it’d be fine.”
"Yeah, he was surprisingly open to the idea..." Greg rubbed the back of his head, "I don't know why I was so worried."
Just then the Holmes brothers rounded the corner. Mycroft looked rather smug, but Sherlock seemed irritated. However, when he sat down next to John, the detective seemed to almost know what had transpired. He pressed a soft kiss to the blonde's temple before nicking a piece of toast off his plate and nibbling on the corner.
Sherlock didn't know exactly what had happened, but the doctors body language suggested he'd been gearing up to defend someone, probably the detective himself. He found it easier if he told himself he was slipping into a role like he had on so many cases before. Because it was easy if he was doing what John needed, he could push away the thoughts of what he himself wanted, and just play a part until, well, until things changed.
John deserved to be happy after all the detective had put him through, and if he made him happy by acting like a total fool, he'd do it. Within reason.
His left hand found John's under the table and gave it a soft squeeze as he took another, larger bite of toast, knowing that his eating would be awarded by one of John's brilliant smiles.
John watched Sherlock warily, trying to discern what he’d been doing, but as the detective took yet another bite of the stolen toast he relaxed, gripping the hand in his. He was surprised by the affectionate gestures, but the idea that they weren’t genuine didn’t even cross his mind as he smiled at the detective before turning back to the rest of the table. Of course John still wanted to know what him and Mycroft had been up to, but he’d ask later.
A bit more relaxed now, with Sherlock’s reassuring gestures, John actually ate a bit of the eggs he’d been pushing around his plate.
Mycroft took his seat next to Greg quickly, obviously still pleased with whatever victory he had won from his brother. “Worried?” he started, having only caught the tail end of the previous conversation, but then his eyebrows shot up and it became evident that he had deduced the rest of the conversation. “Ah, yes. I don’t know why you were worried either.”
Pouring his own tea Mycroft looked to his mother knowingly. “Everything is taken care of. When will we be off?”
"As soon as everyone is finished with breakfast. I had Winston draw up some riding clothes, boys I've had yours brought down to the stables as well." She smiled, "I'll meet you down there soon." With that, she left them to their breakfast.
Before long they were making their way down to the stables where their clothes were given to them to change. John and Lestrade were given a pair of riding pants and boots, however Mycroft and Sherlock’s outfits were complete with riding jackets. Sherlock pulled his on and grimaced before buttoning it.
"It's a little tight." He complained, then turned a playful glare on the doctor, "I blame you for adding this extra weight, always insistent on eating..."
“Oh yes.” John teased, “Such a shame I insist you take care of your body.”
Shaking his head John finished lacing the new boots. The new clothes had obviously been bought for each of the men, John wondered how exactly Madame Holmes had acquired the their sizes. But he supposed she really was like her sons, a little too observant at times.
John couldn’t help but think the entire scene was like something out of someone elses life. The large building had eight pristine stables, with eight horses of varying coats. When Madame Holmes reappeared shortly after they had finished changing, just in time too considering Mycroft had begun teasing Sherlock over the straining buttons of his vest, she introduced each man to their individual horses. Apparently she had decided beforehand who would ride each horse, she seemed insistent upon it. Leaving the Sherlock and Mycroft to help Greg and John with their horses she moved along to her own white stallion, assisted by Winston.
The horse brought to Mycroft was a pale palomino mare who threw her mane impatiently as she was haltered, waiting on the riders to mount. She seemed to look down her nose at them and huffed snobbishly. The stallion Mycroft was helping Lestrade to mount was a tall dapple gray horse. The beast stood tall and proud as the DI placed his foot in the stirrup. He pulled himself up easily, and Sherlock wondered if his brother had brought him horseback riding before. However, as Mycroft led the two into the small paddock to wait, the stallion’s first step was a little wobbly. He recovered nicely though.
The grullo mare they brought for John lowered her head and seemed to be looking him right in the eye. Sherlock had to commend the doctor for looking right back without fear of the large creature. When she deemed him worthy, she nuzzled her nose against his cheek, her lips nipping at his jumper and snuffling in approval.
Sherlock moved up behind the doctor as he instructed him on how to best get into the seat. “Both hands on the saddle horn. No, cup it in your hands like this.” he turned them so that they were on the far side of the hardened leather, facing them, “Yes very good, now, left foot in the stirrup, and pull up, I’ll help you if you get stuck.”
John grumbled softly about being capable as Sherlock put a guiding hand in the small of his back. It took John a moment to secure his first foot, his height not doing him any favors, before pushing off the ground and throwing his other leg over. It only took two tries to get him fully up on the saddle. Leaning forward he ran a hand along the mare’s neck, smiling as he patted her fondly, before looking back to Sherlock.
“The last time I rode a horse I was probably ten, and I’m fairly certain it was on a lead.” He laughed as he took hold of the reins in front of him lightly. “I’m assuming you’ve done this since you were old enough to walk?”
“Before.” he said lightly with a chuckle as his own jet black stallion was brought forward. John’s mare immediately nickered and tried to get closer to the stallion, but a hand from Sherlock stilled her. “Woah there Nightingale... woah.” He cooed gently to the mare. She tossed her head and let out an annoyed snort before taking a few steps towards the paddock. She didn’t move any farther though. Just turned to watch Sherlock and the black stallion. The detective watched, a little surprised as the stable hand came up to pet the stud’s mane.
“I haven’t seen anything like it Master Holmes.” He said watching the mare carefully, “Ol’ Bastion here has been in a right snit ever since you quit coming out, but one day, about four or five months ago, after ‘Gale got outta heat, we turned ‘em out in the same pasture, and they’ve been glued to each other ever since. I’ve never seen Bastion so gentle with another beast or person ‘ceptin you sir.” Sherlock patted his stallion on the neck and swung up into the saddle easily.
“Is that so?” he asked. The horse’s ears flicked back as if listening, “Have you found yourself someone who actually tolerates you?” The beast beneath him tossed his head with mild agitation. Sherlock reached down to pat him apologetically as he looked up to find both the mare and John watching them. His eyes grew wide for a moment before he could bring himself to look away. “You’re going soft.” he muttered to himself before pulling on the rains and making a clicking sound with his tongue to urge the wild-eyed stallion towards the paddock, John’s mare falling into step easily, close enough that the two riders could talk, but wouldn’t bump into each other.
Mycroft and Lestrade were not quite as quick to mount their horses, but once they had, the group followed Madame Holmes out into the grounds. Madame Holmes led them through the countryside, leaving the couples a bit of their own space. There was a stark difference between the pairs though.
Mycroft’s horse kept wandering off, distracted by plants it seemed to be interested in eating. She seemed to have a mind of her own, oblivious to the fact that her rider had other plans. The two seemed more than happy, Lestrade still elated over Mycroft's willingness to meet his kids, but the obstinate mare seemed determined to make her own path through the brush.
John and Sherlock’s horses on the other hand were inseparable. The two were able to chat comfortably, their feet barely inches from each other. Every so often the black Stallion Sherlock had been riding would gently nudge John’s mare with his nose, nickering softly. Eventually their conversation drifted back to the horses.
“I heard, when you were talking to the man back at the stables.. You used to come out here? So... he’s yours?” John nodded towards the stallion. Even before the fake suicide John hadn’t heard of Sherlock visiting his mother, it seemed that even after all this time there was still so much he didn’t know about the elusive man.
“If I had a particularly difficult problem I’d come out here and brush Bastion. There was something about the repetitive motion that helped me think. Mother more often than not didn’t know I was here.” he brushed his fingers through the long mane of his horse and sighed. “I missed him. There were many times I could have used his company. Or that of a few others really, but...” he stopped, his throat tightening against the words he’d been about to say.
“In any case, I’m sure he’s glad to have me back. From what mother told me, he wouldn’t let anyone get near him enough to do more than feed him until the knots in his mane started catching too many brambles.” He returned his gaze to John as their horses walked at a brisque, but pleasant pace behind his mother, Mycroft and Greg, well more Greg than Mycroft, making a racket behind them.
“He’s a downright stubborn horse, but he was my only friend in my university years and well beyond that until I met you. He’s getting on in age, about fourteen now give or take.” Sherlock let his eyes fall closed as he relaxed into the familiar sway of the beast beneath him, “If this is something you enjoy we can come visit mother more often, I’m sure she’d be glad to have us.”
“I wouldn’t mind it.” John replied softly, unabashedly watching Sherlock now that his eyes had fallen closed. He seemed utterly at peace like this, and that alone was enough to make John want to come back. They rode in comfortable silence for a bit longer before John spoke again after yet another aggravated groan from Greg caught his attention.
“Those two don’t seem to be enjoying themselves quite as much,” John glanced back, trying to hold back the giggle bubbling up inside of him at the sight of Mycroft having to duck beneath branches as the oblivious mare walked under a few shorter trees. “I’m guessing Mycroft didn’t spend as much time out here?”
“It’s Mycroft.” Sherlock said as if it were obvious, turning in his saddle to get a look at the goings on behind him, “Does he really look like he ever spent much time out of doors?” He laughed at his own joke, and Bastion stepped to the side, brushing his leg against John’s. He wasn’t sure why, but the simple brush felt different than normal. He turned back to John just as they breached the edge of the vegetation.
“Ah, I was wondering when she was going to lead us here. Mummy absolutely adores the game of polo. Mycroft and I played a few times when we were younger. We get a little.... competitive.” he said. Ahead, the elder woman was getting everything set up along with Winston, who had come via a small cart with the supplies.
John and Lestrade, of course, had never played polo, but it didn’t take long to explain the rules. Madame Holmes was quick to instruct both men, walking them through the game before they split off into teams. Madame Holmes, John and Sherlock were on one team, while Winston obliged to join Mycroft and Lestrade. It was probably good that Madame Holmes had taken to helping John and Lestrade, as her sons were quickly making the calm match into an utter scene.
Both of the Holmes had started the game insisting they only played because of their mother, but by the halfway point they were muttering insults under their breath when their mother was out of earshot. They seemed to be making up for how amiable they had been the previous night. The majority of the game was played by a rather overzealous Sherlock and Mycroft, who seemed unaware that they were playing a team game.
At the end of the match Mycroft managed to pull their team ahead, just beating Sherlock. Sharing a wary glance with Greg, John got off his mare and made his way over to the DI under the pretenses of congratulating him, while passing off the tenner he had just lost. Then he made his way back to a probably fuming Sherlock. He was thankful they were all eating lunch separately. John wasn’t sure the two could last near each other much longer.
“Well that was... interesting. Your mother seemed to enjoy herself.” John rocked on his feet sheepishly before looking up at the detective, unsure of his current mood. “So.. lunch?”
The detective growled softly, the reminder of his brother besting him twice in one day was not a pleasant one. “Bring your horse over here, but don’t get on her.” he said gruffly, his voice betraying his terrible mood. When the doctor complied, he took her reigns from the other’s hand, wrapping them around his own saddle horn before reaching a hand down to John.
“Come on then,” he kicked his foot out of the stirrup so John would have a place to step up, “I want you to ro ride with me. I’m sure Nightingale wouldn’t mind the reprieve. Our lunch spot isn’t far now.”
John hesitated before taking the offered hand and jumping up in front of Sherlock. It took a bit more coordination, as the stallion was taller than the mare John had been riding, but the detective pulled him up easily. John slid back in the saddle, pressing him comfortably against Sherlock’s chest.
Sherlock’s arms wrapped around him to grasp the reins and start the stallion into motion. The mare just pressed up against his side and was content to walk beside them, pressing into the black beast’s side every now and then. Sherlock’s hands stayed on the reins as they bid his mother goodbye, but once they had entered the brush, and were far enough away, his right hand subtly left the reins to rest on John’s stomach. Pressing lightly, he urged John’s hips backwards as his head lowered, pressing into the doctor’s shoulder.
The events of the day had been difficult for him, And his brother besting him wasn’t even the worst part of it. Sherlock felt stretched thin, and he supposed all the crazy emotional things he’d been working through, along with his lack of sleep the past few nights were finally wearing on him.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” he asked, his voice still grated from irritation, but less so than before.
Leaning his head against the side of Sherlock’s John sighed softly, relaxing into the detectives hands before he answered, “I did. Did you? Other than the game of course.”
One of John’s hands left the saddle to lay over the one pressing on his abdomen, ghosting over the pale skin before lightly lacing their fingers. The only issue with the day, that John could see, was the outcome of the game, he had no idea the internal turmoil that had been wreaking havoc on the detective.
Sherlock hummed noncommittally. They stayed like that, John wrapped up in Sherlock’s arms until they broke through the trees once more, into a clearing with a beautiful lake. Everything was starting to turn green, and the flowers were beginning to open, so the vegetation was an explosion of color. Sherlock guided them over beneath a Weeping Willow that grew near the lake, it’s branches bowing so that the lowest ones dipped in the water creating a natural privacy barrier. The detective held open the branches so that they and the horses could pass through with ease.
There at the base of the tree was a plush blanket, a large cloth lined basket, and a small ice chest waiting for them. Sherlock smiled and helped John off of Bastion before guiding them over behind where they’d be sitting, tying them up to a branch. He removed their saddles since they might be a while, and immediately the horses sidled up to each other. Bastion looked bored, but he accepted the affection from the mare without protest.
Sherlock chuckled and made his way back to John removing his riding coat as he went. The air was warm, and he had exerted himself earlier with polo, so he unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt as well, letting the breeze cool his heated skin. When he was close Sherlock dumped his riding coat and moved up behind John to wrapping both arms around his waist. Letting his head fall forward he pressed his nose and lips to the top of the doctor’s head.
“I’ve been looking forward to this part all day.” he said simply.

A/N: We seem to be developing a habit of ending our chapters with a line of dialogue.. *leshrug* Whatever. You know where to find us.
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