A Study in Bubbles - A Johnlock Fanfiction

Part 1 -

John sat, tea in hand, relaxing with the morning paper in his usual chair. Golden shafts of sunlight streamed in through the window, and he hummed one of the new violin concertos that Sherlock had been composing the previous weekend as he flipped through the pages. What a lovely morning he mused to himself, sipping at his tea. Usually Sherlock was in the kitchen, bustling about with whatever experiment he had cooked up the previous night, or snoring loudly while he slumbered in his bedroom. Sherlock had no idea of the cacoffiny he created while sleeping, and John always chuckled at this notion. But this morning, all was peaceful in 221 B (with the exception of the London traffic).

Just as he was beginning to wonder where his troublesome boyfriend could've gone, he heard the door fly open behind him. There standing in the doorway with harpoon in hand, was a very bloody Sherlock Holmes. John's initial reaction was to be taken aback, but after living with the man for the duration he had his gruesome escapades had become routine.

"Really Sherlock, with the harpoon again?" John questioned exasperatedly.

"What? I was---"

"Bored. Yes, I know, I know," John sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Well would you rather I had stayed home and shot the wall?" Sherlock quipped, resting the weapon against the doorframe. "I thought it more considerate to occupy myself elsewhere while you were asleep."

John pursed his lips, gazing up affectionately at the filthy man before him. Blood was streaked across his forehead where he had attempted to wipe it in vain. It was smattered all across the luxuriously high cheekbones, and his hair was matted in the places where it the blood had dried. Folding his paper and setting it aside, John stood.

"Oh, poor pet, look at how filthy you are. It's a shame, I did quite like that shirt on you," he stated, walking slowly over to his boyfriend and caressing his arm softly.

Sherlock regarded the hand warily, his haughty disposition still toughening his exterior as it often did after a case or experiment. John continued to gaze up at the taller man, and watched Sherlock's eyes soften as they landed on him. Sherlock started to lean in for a kiss, but John stopped him with a finger.

"Not until we get you cleaned up. I'll draw the bath, you work at getting the stains out of the shirt. There's some ammonia in the cupboard," John said, starting off towards the bathroom. "Oh and do actually try to get the stains out? I really do like that shirt."

Sherlock smirked as he watched the older man walk to the bathroom, admiring the view. Unbuttoning his shirt, he heard the water starting into the bath and John rustling around in the cupboard under the sink for the bubbles. Sherlock silently hoped he used the lavender scented one, as it got him...relaxed, for later activities. He let his mind run with the thought a bit as he worked to get the stains out.

Before long, the stains were nearly gone and the sound of the bathwater was muffled by the mountain of bubbles that had surely formed by then.

"Bath's ready love," John announced, peeking his head around the bathroom door and smiling warmly at his lover. Sherlock returned the smile and nodded, laying out the shirt to dry. He kicked off his shoes and socks, and started towards the bathroom.

Opening the door and walking in, Sherlock inhaled deeply as the warm scent of lavender entered his nose. The comforting aroma was welcome after enduring the pungent smell of blood. He removed his trousers, and before he could make a move to remove his pants John was behind him, sliding them off of his hips and down his legs. Sighing with contentment, Sherlock eased himself into the warm caress of the water.

John kneeled next to the claw-foot tub, dipping their softest flannel into the bath before smiling and beginning to gingerly clean the blood from Sherlock's face. With a small smile playing on his plush lips Sherlock sighed again, and John chuckled softly.

Once Sherlock's face was clean of blood, John moved to his hands, gently picking up his long fingers one by one and massaging them in the cloth. Once it was clean, John brought the hand to his face and pressed his lips into the soft skin and then moved onto the other one.

"Shall we do your hair, darling?" John purred, setting aside the flannel and picking up the pitcher they kept in the cupboard for Sherlock's special baths. Sherlock nodded, and John picked up Sherlock's special shampoo and positioned himself over the younger man's head. Stooping to fill the pitcher, John caressed Sherlock's face as he tipped his head back and allowed John to pour the warm water over his dark curls. It took a couple pitchers of water to penetrate his thick mane, but when it was thoroughly dampened John emptied a considerable amount of shampoo into his hand and began to work it into the raven locks.

Sherlock moaned softly and sighed once more as John massaged his head in slow circles, humming the concerto from earlier once again. Soon Sherlock's deep baritone voice joined John's smooth tenor, creating a beautiful flowing harmony that sent chills down John's spine.

The concerto finished, and John rinsed the soap off of his hands before stealing a kiss from Sherlock, tipping his head back to rinse the soap from his hair. As John reached to get the conditioner, Sherlock's head was still tipped back and he gazed up at John longingly. He almost gave in to the pale opal eyes that peered back at him, but he decided he would make Sherlock wait, making sure he was ready for later.

Sherlock recognized the restrained look on his partner's face and rolled his eyes playfully, smirking and sitting back against the tub to allow John easier access. He lathered his hands and began running his fingers through the rippling ebony waterfall of hair that was before him. He could do this all day and wished he could, but Sherlock didn't like to care for himself during cases...or much at all, for that matter. John had no idea how Sherlock got on before he came around, but he chose not to think about it too much. The idea of Sherlock's unintended (or perhapse intended) self neglect saddened him. But he was here now, and Sherlock was in much better health than when they'd first met.

"John," Sherlock said softly, calling John back out of his own head. "I think my hair is about drowning in conditioner by now."

John chuckled. "Sorry love. Do me a favor and fill the pitcher?" he said, handing it to Sherlock who filled it without protest. It was rare that anyone, even John, could get Sherlock to do something for them, but at times like this when his guard was down he could be very cooperative. But only for John, and only when they were alone like this.

While John was lost thinking, Sherlock had washed himself nearly the rest of the way without John noticing. Although John loved doing it, bathing Sherlock was a lot of work and Sherlock tried to take off some of the load where he could get away with it.

Wordlessly, he handed the foamy flannel to John so he could wash his back. Sherlock knew that his hair and his back were John's two favorite things on him to clean, so he always made sure to save them for him. John loved smoothing the slick flannel across the milky white texture of Sherlock's skin, and feeling the elegant slope of Sherlock's back beneath his fingers. John took his time, admiring the sight of Sherlock's lean muscles flexing as he breathed slowly, relishing every stroke of the flannel across his spine.

When John was satisfied, he rinsed and wrung out the flannel as Sherlock drained the tub. He stood outside the porcelain basin and allowed John to towel him off, ruffling his hair with it affectionately. He handed Sherlock the towel, kissing him softly before moving to the door.

"Sherlock?" he said, turning to his flatteringly nude companion.

"Hmm?"

"Don't bother putting your clothes on. Just the dressing gown will be fine," John instructed, a seductive edge leaking into the caring overtone he'd been so carefully maintaining. Sherlock smiled deviously, and John winked before closing the door and retreating to the bedroom. God, will this be good.