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8 of swords reversed
Eight of sword upright is a card that indicates a situation in which someone has become so entangled in thought or what other people think of them that they simply cannot move. This card reversed indicates a person who has finally been able to cast aside the blinders of normality to see that they have always had the power to free themselves. Swords are the suit of thought so usually this card indicates someone who did not or could not think themselves out of a situation until they found the will to 'think' outside the box. Thinking outside of society's 'rules' can cause a time of swift reformulation of character; all it takes is the flexibility to change one's mind.
9 of wands
Nine of Wands progresses on from the exuberant urge to communicate with the universe that is in the 8 of wands to a more controlled state. It is time for one to use the communication skills learned to protect oneself and one's present condition. All sorts of communication based skills can be used to guard and victory is not guaranteed. Taking a guarding position can set oneself up to deal blows as well as receive them but this card indicates that there is skill enough to protect what is most precious. Also that what one is guarding is worthy of the guardianship; just stay the course and things will resolve.
Ace of Wands
This card indicates a new project in the realm the wands govern, that of communication, most specifically writing. Either the project is completely new or the use of it is so changed that others perceive it as a new direction. This is the first wild explosion of writing creativity, the first word on the page or typed onto the screen. It speaks also to the inherent power of those who use words as their tools. It is wise to think on a time when a storyteller, or bard, could bring down a king with his power to communicate those things they would have hidden. A very powerful card indeed and one brimming with hope as all the Ace cards are. It's time for the world to change again.
John found that he had seen the situation with Sherlock far too clearly. The detective jerked awake all too often, sometimes with a wild cry, sometimes with John's name on his lips. Harder for the doctor was the time when Sherlock seemed to be begging mercy in his dreams from a John Watson who seemed not to care. John woke Sherlock carefully from that, sitting up and petting Sherlock's wild curls, speaking softly of his admiration and love for the man. It was a heartbreaking relief when those sea change eyes open with confusion until reassured that the gentleness surrounding him was the real John Watson.
After that John stayed awake and again reviewed his own actions since Sherlock had returned. Had he really been that cruel? At first he rejected the notion but dawn brought that clarity of thought that could only happen in the quietness of the very early morning. He had been cruel, striking out at the man whose head was pillowed on his leg, the man who had sacrificed everything twice for John. He had even allowed the man who had worked two years alone to guarantee John's safety to plan that wedding to someone who later shot him! All because John had wanted, or thought he wanted, a 'normal' life and that meant a wife, a child and a mundane boring existence in the suburbs.
"I must have been insane." he said, too soft to awaken Sherlock's finally peaceful sleep. The cool light of the morning filled the bedroom and John finally let himself drink in the lovely form in detail. There simply was no line of Sherlock's form that was not elegant and graceful. He was reminded of Greek sculptures of athletes, all smooth lines and whipcord power. John knew that his life was about to change profoundly and he needed to trace the reason why he hadn't allowed himself to even consider this direction until now.
It probably had a lot to do with his father, a man who lived with the bitterness of never having attained the prominence he thought he deserved. The man controlled the entire family, even John's mother when she was alive, to always put on a mask of normality to the outside world. And if you did not follow the rules or tried to confide in anyone David Watson would always be just one step behind 'explaining' and always seeming the most rational, responsible father in the world.
He never hit any of them so for a long time John never thought of it as the abuse it was. He thought all fathers made a hobby of pushing his wife and children into silent fits of tears and rage. He had no evidence otherwise, his father was never like that in front of any witnesses so for all a young John Watson knew it happened in every home. He was better than Harry at conforming though, letting himself be told what classes to take, what sports to go out for, what to consider proper and what was inherently wrong. His father was determined that John become an important person and it was easier to comply than to defy the man. It became harder.
Harry had first confided in her brother about her attraction to other girls and John was still ashamed that his first reply was, "Just so no one else finds out." Before that he and Harry had been quite close, unity was one of the few ways they had to defend themselves from the sharp side of their fathers tongue. But that day it had been Harry who had cried silently as John had constructed an elaborate plan to keep her secret; not just from their father but from the world in general. She never confided in him again and within the year had been found out. David Watson, unable to bear the 'shame' of having a homosexual daughter, had given Harry 500 pounds and showed her the door. Then he redoubled his pressure on John to conform; to make his plans fit those that his father wanted for him.
That sometimes John fantasized about a male movie star in the privacy of his own room while he jerked off was a cause of deep shame. That he fantasized about women as well seemed his only saving grace so John schooled himself to never notice a man, to concentrate all his sexuality on the female form. By the time he was in the army John was so good at it that he automatically flirted with just about any woman he came into contact with. It felt normal and by that time John wanted nothing more than to be normal.
It had become much harder to do so after he had met a certain raven haired detective with the most brilliant, kaleidoscopic eyes which missed nothing. Even more than his eyes, Sherlock seduced John with his mind, as much with his distaste for 'norms' as with his sheer brilliance. Still later that night when John found himself flirting with Anthea or whatever her name was. It had been a knee-jerk reaction to place himself firmly back into the box of normality, but that box no longer really fit and John spent the next 18 months fighting it or hiding in it.
John sighed at the events that giving in to the binding ties of normality had given him. If he had let go of that tunnel vision and allowed himself to love Sherlock from the beginning would he have been left behind while the detective took on the world for his sake? He doubted he would ever know for sure but now was not the time to brood over past mistakes. Now he would break out of that box and allow himself to do what his heart had been aching for. He would love Sherlock with his mind and body, expressing it in any and every way he could until the other man was convinced that John would never leave him, never demean him. And when he had accomplished that John would repeat it all again until the end of their lives. Thinking of himself as an old man, still sitting in his armchair within easy reach of a silver haired Sherlock made him smile. There was no one he'd rather grow old with.
"What are you smiling about?" Sherlock's tone was soft and tentative, no trace of his usual imperiousness. He invited rather than demanded.
"You...us, growing old together. I want that. I never want you more than a text away from me." John replied, fighting back the last traces of his father's touch on his mind and spirit.
Sherlock's eyes scanned his face and John could tell he was putting the last pieces together of why he had been so reluctant before. John felt the urge to hide but shook it off, he wanted Sherlock to discard the masks that had hidden them from each other so he had to shake off his own. "Oh, that's how it was." the detective concluded finally. "I should have seen."
"Why? I had hidden it so much I rarely saw." John shook off those last ties and felt lighter and more free than he had ever been. "I can see it now and I don't want it. Normal is boring." he smiled down at the man who defied everything about normality and reveled in the shy smile he received back.
"I feel I should have known though." Sherlock stretched like a cat, causing the breath to catch in John throat and his heart to beat harder. "I bet Mycroft knew."
"You know this is the last situation I want to discuss your brother in." John said with a certain dryness as he grinned right into those glorious eyes that had been a major feature in his fantasies for years.
"And what situation is this?' Sherlock asked slyly but there was a vulnerability in his eyes like John had seen on the night of his wedding.
John leaned down to kiss Sherlock's eyelids closed, he hated that look of longing, "This is the situation where I'm going to spread you out on this bed and show you exactly how much you are loved. I've had so many fantasies about this." He gently pushed Sherlock on to his back and swept the sheet off the narrow muscular chest. "I'm going to show you every one."
"John, I have fantasies too." a blush stained those sharp cheekbones.
"I know but you've spent the last three years proving how much you love me; It's my turn now. Will you let me?" John never wanted to force something on his lovers much less the love of his life.
"I..... yes, I yield to your experience. But I'm not.... I'm not what Mycroft implied."
"You've had a lover?" John kept his tone light. The last thing he wanted to do was embarrass the man who lay so unselfconsciously next to him.
"One, a long time ago. It was over in a few months but we covered the basics." Sherlock looked away, biting that lower lip John wanted to nibble on for him.
"Good." he replied firmly.
"Good?"
"Yeah, making love to a virgin is a great fantasy but being in bed with one when I don't really know about some.....specific." John slid down, and placed a firm kiss on that lovely neck, "things between men is preferable. I don't want the slightest danger that I might hurt you."
"You would never hurt me."
"How can you have such faith in me when I've spent the last year doing nothing but hurting you?"
Sherlock smiled at him blissfully, his eyes at peace, "That wasn't you; that was your father."
"Christ," John sighed in pure prayer, "What did I do to deserve you?'
"You were born." Sherlock said and turning on his side pulled John into the deepest kiss. The kisses they had shared the night before were nothing to this. Those had been tentative explorations and reassurances, this sparked a fire in John's veins that burned down to his soul and he reveled in the flames.
John called on all the skills he had learned over all the years to stay ahead of Sherlock raw passion. He knew when to give in a bit and when to take back control winding the threads of passion between them into a tight coil. Meantime his hands stroked down Sherlock's scared back with reverence, silently assuring his lover that each was a mark of honor, a sign that could loved freely and finally be loved in return.
Carefully, he pulled Sherlock closer to him; moaning when he felt how hard the man was and pressing closer to show Sherlock he was the same. Soon enough they were both trembling just from feeling the other's erections through their pants. John rocked his hips just enough to feel a bit of friction, "Keep it simple this time?' he asked.
"Anything, "Sherlock gasped, he was breathing hard through his nose, likely trying to stifle a moan, "absolutely anything."
"Anything you want too, love." John gently reminded him.
"You're here...that *is* everything. It’s the entire world."
John's heart ached again at Sherlock's utter devotion. He left Sherlock's lips to lick and bite at Sherlock's neck until finally a nibble behind the ear made the younger man cry out and shudder against him, "Yeah, that it." John murmured as Sherlock began to also rub himself against John's leg. "Let me hear what I do to you. I could drown in that voice. I want to."
With a decisive movement John rolled Sherlock back flat, "Let's discard these, shall we?" he said, sliding the waistband of his lovers pants over his hips. He looked down and the slim, beautiful, erection visibly hardened when revealed to his gaze. "Perfect." he murmured and Sherlock moaned wantonly, twisting to try to get contact and a bead of precome oozed from the already wet tip. "You like it when I say those things." he leaned down to catch the moisture on his tongue. the taste was different but John reveled in the flavor.
"I....yes." Sherlock's eyes were closed in bliss and his neck arched as his body reached for more.
"Good, I like saying them." John buried his nose in Sherlock's pubic hair and groaned as the scent burned right down to where his own cock throbbed with need. He nuzzled and licked all the way around the area and tentatively took the head into his mouth, learning this new sensation.
"John!" Sherlock cried, trembling with the effort it took not to move, not to thrust up, "Please, I want to see, I want to touch. Oh God!" he cried as John took more of him in his mouth. His hands clamped on to John shoulders and dragged him up so they were eye to eye. "I need to see you this time, John." he said, his breath gasping, his eyes wild, "I want to see you come. I want to make you come. I've thought about it for so much."
"Alright," John reassured the beautiful wild creature in his arms, "Alright, there will be time for everything else later. The rest of our lives."
"Yes," Sherlock sighed in satisfaction, sliding John pants down just enough so he could close his hand around John's twitching dick, "The rest of our lives might be just enough."
John moaned and couldn't help thrusting up into Sherlock's hand. The slim fingers that stroked such beauty out of a violin were now learning his reactions and as always he was a quick study. John nearly forgot to get his hand back on Sherlock but smiled with satisfaction when his lover froze momentarily as he was stroked firmly.
They were used to reading each other's minutest reaction from across a room so it didn't take long for each of them to find just the right rhythm to suit the others pleasure. But John wished to excel this time so he was delighted as Sherlock's hand lost it's skill as the rest of his muscles strained towards climax. "That's it Sherlock, let go." John murmured, watching that beloved face as the tension preceding orgasm turned it into the very definition of beauty. "You're so good, so beautiful for me. You feel so right in my hand. I can't wait to feel you in my mouth....can't wait to feel you inside me. So brilliant." Sherlock lips opened as he reached the very precipice and John swallowed his cries as he fell over the edge, savoring the warm spurts on his abdomen and over his hand. He stroked Sherlock through the last spasms and brought his fingers up for a taste. "Perfect." he said, smiling into Sherlock's hazy gaze.
"God, I'm never going to get enough of you." the detective moaned and went back to stroking John, his eyes quickly becoming intent, "John," he sighed, the name uttered as something sacred, "Come for me, come on me. I need it. Please." And that's all John needed to hear as the words crashed straight through to his bones and he erupted into orgasm. He wanted to press his face into Sherlock's neck but had just enough self control to not hide from that cataloging gaze. This wasn't the time to hide anything.
As the last spasm receded John could hear Sherlock murmur, "That was so perfect, so you. John, thank you." And if the younger man's eyes were a bit wet over the blissful smile that graced his face John refused to comment. He wouldn't question this perfect rightness that settled into his bones.
They kissed and caressed each other softly in the afterglow until Sherlock muffled a yawn in John's scarred left shoulder. John smiled to himself, slid his pants the rest of the way off, and got some warm, wet flannels to clean them both of tenderly. "You need some more sleep." he said, noticing Sherlock's owlish blinking.
"Ridiculous." the protest was automatic but there was no will behind it. Sherlock muscles were so loose and unraveled that John doubted the man could lift his head.
"Nope, you need it." he confirmed, delighting in the curls of Sherlock's faint smile. "Then we both need breakfast. Give yourself a few more hours and I'll go make sure it will be ready by the time you wake up again." John kissed Sherlock's neck and eyes and, lightly, his mouth; smiling as it stretched in another yawn, "I'll be in the kitchen if you need me."
"I always need you." was the murmured reply.
"I know that now." John said, placing one last firm kiss on to Sherlock's shoulder as the detective finally gave himself up into sleep. "I'll never forget it again."
John clicked the kettle on and as he waited for it to boil he ran upstairs for his dressing gown. He hoped he'd be able to move more things downstairs soon. More importantly, during this precious time while Sherlock was not observing him he needed to start some things in motion to guard his lover from the outside world. In between his musings on his past John had considered what he could do to shield them both from public opinion and as he sipped his tea it solidified into a solid plan.
First, he had to make sure that what the press and Moriarty had done to Sherlock in the past was put out for everyone to see. He needed to solidify Sherlock's image as the self-sacrificing hero that he was. That blog post he had written when Sherlock first came back was pathetic. He could and would do so much better using every narrative trick that he had ever seen in books to pull at the heart of every person who read it. And he cited every source he could find available to the public as corroboration. Fortunately, he'd kept enough notes that it didn't take too awfully long and Sherlock was sleeping the sleep of the exhausted but sated. John felt more than a bit of pride over that fact.
But it wouldn't do to put this story directly into his blog. The swift turnaround of his attitude would be unexplained and he didn't want to go into the whole mess surrounding Mary or Magnussen. So he created an new email account and started establishing an online presence in that fan club that had arisen in Sherlock's absence and showed no sign of disbursing any time soon. He took time to establish fan 'credentials' with the group, he had kept his eyes on it distantly as he had mourned Sherlock's 'death'. He knew just the right things to say. Then he passed the document he'd written to one of the more intent members, not Anderson, but some woman who had never actually met Sherlock or John in the flesh. Then, to make sure, he deleted every other copy from his computer and if he was lucky it would be a day or so before Sherlock would discover the new email account. When asked John wouldn't lie but he'd really like this to spread a bit on the internet before Sherlock asked.
As he got up from the computer to really start working on breakfast his phone vibrated to signal a text message.
And how long will my brother's new defender in the realm of public opinion do battle? MH
John smiled. Hell with Mycroft helping him he might just be able to hide this from Sherlock long enough for his plans to be more firmly rooted.
As long as he needs it. I hear the government might want to disappear him for some reason. Not on my watch.
The reply was almost immediate.
My felicitations on the happy event.MH
John's blushes hadn't time to cool before the next text arrived.
You may need some better encryption. It will be in the boxes of your things from Ms. Morstan's flat among your flash drives. Plug it in every time you wish to do battle. MH
So you have eyes on Mary?
Ms. Morstan fate has been taken up by a higher power. It's out of my hands. MH
John frowned momentarily, the words sounded a bit ominous, but they also sounded final. He knew he wouldn't get anything else from the man, Mycroft was the more stubborn of the two brothers in the end. So John deleted the messages and turned his thought to something he could handle....breakfast.