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satrangee-ray · 2 years ago

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The beauty!! The sheer beauty!!!

You Think It Would Look Better On You?

by helloliriels - wish fulfillment for anon @ofpiratesanddragonslayers prompt: here ... not because I'm into facial hair myself, but because the members of my family cannot grow facial hair either :) haha, enjoy!

Sherlock stood staring at the mirror ... willing his facial hair to grow ...

Sure, he had never really needed to shave, and had never really thought about it before ... but ... surely he could grow a beard if he wanted to?

He puzzled over his own hairless state and determined to go to the internet for solutions.

'Shave regularly, and hair folicles will be encouraged to grow'

Was this the whole, get a haircut if you want longer hair theory? Absolute nonsense ... but, was it?

Sherlock was desperate.

He lathered up, grabbing John's razor with confidence, then with a somewhat unsteady hand ... began shaving.

"Getting rid of the peach fuzz, eh?" John jovially teased on his way past the loos.

Sherlock's hand shook, and he nicked himself. Wincing at the sharp pain. A drop of blood pressed to the surface and he spent a few minutes fighting with it to stop.

... It didn't help that John had been sporting a fantastically distracting red beard and mustache of late. Carefully grooming it each morning, until Sherlock thought he would go mad!

The only solution must be to grow one himself! Since he certainly COULD NOT reach out and start caressing John's ... !!

He sighed. Now his face was smoother ...

This voodoo better work!

"Sherlock?" John's voice puzzled from the kitchen, "what's this?"

Sherlock's heart skipped a beat, as he realised John must must've just come up from grabbing the post!

He jumped over and snatched the parcel away from John's surprised hands before the man could so much as shake it. Then raced to his room, and shutting the door behind him ... stared at the box in wonder.

At last!

Sherlock did shake it. Feeling the enormous weight of this ridiculous decision.

He would be mortified if John found out!

MANS was labeled on the plain box, but nothing else. He was grateful for the discreet packaging to hide his own venture into tinctures and potions to restore hair growth.

He rarely indulged in late-night telly, but couldn't resist when he saw the ad on during John's last Doctor Who binge ... because, what if it worked??

CONTINUED BELOW THE CUT ...

"Sherlock?" John asked casually as he was having breakfast across the table.

"Hmm?" the detective managed to mumble over checking the text on his phone from Lestrade. Geoff had no more ideas than Sherlock on how to actually get hair to grow again. He had already tried a few 'old wives' remedies, and this morning experimented on a chemical combination of his own ...

Sherlock texted him back with a sigh, to forget the whole business ... and then looked up to see John staring at him. Worried.

"Sorry," Sherlock coughed, unable to look long at John's glorious beard, for fear he would lose his resolve and just touch it ...

He tried for casual in his reply. "Did you say something, John?" he went back to attempting to eat his toast. Not looking up.

"Sherlock, look at me?" John asked, and John's hand was suddenly touching his own, pressing the toast away from his open mouth ...

Sherlock blinked.

Looking up to stare into John's deep blue eyes. Concerned.

"Is something the matter Sherlock?" John asked.

Sherlock squirmed in his seat. How had John found out? Had he said something out loud? While he was thinking? He scratched at his face.

Now John was standing up. Coming over. Sherlock blinked. John was kneeling beside him and ... getting closer ...

Sherlock closed his eyes.

John was touching his face.

Warm hands brushed along his jawline and cheek. Even touched the sensitive skin near his lips ...

"Sherlock, are you putting something topical on your face? ..." John was breathing so close to him ... eyes ... caressing him ...

Sherlock kept his own closed. Not daring to even turn and look.

"Does it hurt, Sherlock?" John asked now, the tone of his voice turning very doctor-patient, "... cause it looks, kinda red? and ... irritated?"

Sherlock's eyes flashed open. Staring at John then jumping up, brushing past him to check in the mirror. Christ! He was turning red as a beet on the lower half of his face ... almost becoming purple as he watched in horror!

"Here, wash with this - and maybe put some aloe on it?" John startled him, handing Sherlock some lotion. Carefully reaching up with a soft damp cloth to wipe at his face.

Sherlock jumped back, roughly swiping the cloth out of his hand. Barely a moment to think and to thank him, rudely - as he shoved him out of the bathroom to wipe his own face off, thank you!

The red, irritated skin mocking him as hot tears streamed from each eye. Mingling with the soap and the warm water ... stinging where the skin was tender to the touch.

Sherlock kept himself quiet as he leaned back against the sink, put his head in his hands, and cried.

Three months of self-torture. And not a single hair!

They didn't talk about it.

Sherlock had tossed out all of the pills. The potions. The lotions. The new razors. The various veggies and herbs and spices and oils that were all supposed to help encourage hair growth.

And then Sherlock sulked.

He shouldn't have hesitated a second longer with the Chinese wolfberries ... they had cost a small fortune ... but eventually those went too.

John had tossed them all.

John knew.

Sherlock made sure to keep himself occupied and inaccessible the entirety of the evening.

The violin was the last resort. Every time John had tried to speak, Sherlock had begun screeching on the instrument, until John gave it up and went to his room.

Smug in his handling of the situation, Sherlock began to play something besides wretched noises. Letting his mind wander as the music took him where it wanted ...

... he did not even realise what he was playing ...

Until he heard the upstairs door. John's door. Open. A crack.

And he slowly registered the tune he had composed after the meeting with The Woman had made him realise his feelings for John.

... Damn.

He heard a tiptoe of feet on the stairs.

Not wanting the argument of his involvement with am admitted lesbian (for the 58th time!) to resume; Sherlock opted to simply set the instrument down and take himself off to bed.

He shut the door, creeping into his covers and switching off the light.

Then felt his mind hovering on the stairs.

Listening

For the creak of steps.

Hearing.

A soft pad of stockinged feet.

Tingling.

In his spine.

As those steps made their way to his door.

Sherlock held his breath.

Held his heart from bursting and breaking, as it raced in his chest.

Held his mind from assuming or presuming anything could be possible ... but ...

John Watson was opening his door.

Was brazenly entering his room.

Was standing by his bed.

"I know you're not asleep."

Sherlock could hear John's folded arms, as if he had announced his stance in the words he chose to say ...

"And I know you've been trying to grow a beard."

Sherlock coughed and tried to not turn his head in any way as he attempted to see what John was wearing ...

"And I just want to know, why?"

This startled Sherlock, and he turned, reflexively. Before catching himself and staring at the ceiling. John was wearing nothing but his boxer briefs!

Sherlock could feel his face creeping red ... and hoped John didn't think he was having another reaction!

"Why, what? John?" Sherlock asked, nonchalantly.

"All of it. Why the song, tonight?" John huffed in exasperation, "why now? Have you been thinking about the woman, again? Was the beard an attempt to go after her? Was it a challenge? Did you think it would look better on you? I'm confused."

"Yes," Sherlock started, catching himself. Shutting up. Shutting his eyes. God, he was an idiot when it came to John Watson!

"Yes, what?" John asked. Hands on his hips.

Even with his eyes closed, he could see those hands. See those hips. Wanted to peel off that last remaining barrier between them and take the man standing in his room ...

Sherlock controlled his breathing. Controlled his racing mind. And opened his eyes.

John was still standing there. Waiting.

Looking hurt this time.

"Yes, I thought it would look better on me," Sherlock decided to go for blunt. Since John hadn't connected the dots. Obviously.

John blinked.

Sherlock put it even more bluntly:

"I wanted to grow a beard, so that I wouldn't have to keep feeling this compulsion to reach out and touch yours! To know what you would feel like beneath my hands. TO know every. Aspect. Of you! John Watson!

As if it haven't already been a publicly declared fact, that I am obsessed with you; THAT I LOVE YOU; and everything you do! That I would die for you; Over and over and over again, if asked ... and HAVE!

And yes, I like my doctors clean shaven! When their mustache signifies that they are moving on ... and no longer available to me! And YES, I like my doctors with facial hair; when that hair signifies they are comfortable in their own skin and staying right here, where I WANT THEM to be!

So, YES. In point of fact! I thought it would look better ON ME. I always think you would look better ON ME. I have tried and FAILED for seven years to not out myself. But there you have it. Now let me sleep or get in this bed. Either is fine. I won't repeat myself. But at least, I've said my peace!"

Sherlock turned away and grabbed the sheets around him like a shield. Curling up into a ball as John watched in growing amazement.

The silence ticked on.

Sherlock growled.

John was still standing there.

He heard the hesitation.

Heard something soft fall ...

Felt the bed shift.

And felt the warm sigh against his back, as his sheet was pulled away and exchanged for the hot press of skin against every inch of his backside.

Sherlock held his breath.

Turning his head just a little to make sure he wasn't dreaming?

He peeked an eye open.

John was smiling at him, gently caressing his bare shoulder as Sherlock turned further ... eyes growing wide with amazement and incredulity as he faced his best friend, his colleague, his blogger ...

"You're right," John replied. Brushing at Sherlock's lips with the pad of his thumb ... He was looking at his beloved idiot with pure adoration in his eyes ... before leaning in and kissing him on the lips. "This would look so much better on you," he said as he pulled back.

Then John peeled the sheets away, and climbed on top of Sherlock ... and proceeded to show him exactly how he could have his beard - miraculously - overnight. 🌙

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