Intrigue Me | Johnlock Teenlock

29: Releasing

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I had been idly typing up my zoology report with my notes by my side for the last hour, as I had done every night this week. The laptop screen was the only thing illuminating the piece of paper, as I preferred to gaze at the full moon out of the window instead of dulling its appearance with the  intrusive glare of the main light. Each time I submitted it there seemed to be something missing, and so I kept retracting my submission in order to work on it further and improve certain paragraphs. As much as this annoyed my teacher, I knew that it was the only way to get the grades I needed. Perhaps I needed to include some more citations.

Bang!

I slowly looked up from the sofa with an unamused pout to see Sherlock in a full fit of rage. His bag was slammed to the floor, his shoes were thrown across the room (narrowly missing the desk) and a frustrated groan was let out before he kicked the leg of the kitchen table. From there, the ranting and raving continued as he randomly opened and slammed each cupboard shut, not bothering to retrieve anything from them in the process. I worried that the cupboard doors would come off their hinges, but decided not to mention it for the sake of the greater good.

"What's up?" I questioned, trying to shout over his own inner conversations.

My voice seemed to stop him in his tracks and he walked, well, marched over. His eyes were still dark and his eyebrows were furrowed, but his fists were no longer clenched.

"Stand up."

I did as I was told without hesitation. My neck was then grabbed harshly and his lips met mine, not bothering to reduce in forcefulness. The kiss was so rough, lip bruisingly rough, enough to cause me to be pushed back to the sofa by the sheer power of the it. Once we adapted to the new-found aggression, I turned him around by his shoulders and managed to navigate back around the table, pushing him against the wall. He, however, refused to give up control, and I was quickly slammed against the cool brick. From there it was a fierce battle of tongues, fighting for dominance and battling for ownership.

Once all the anger had been poured out and every last drop of fury had been transferred from him to me, the kiss broke, but not for long. Before our lips could even separate I pressed the softest kiss I could muster, my own tight grip loosening until it could hardly be felt. Then another, than another until I could feel him going limp in my arms. My plan was working. I needed to calm him down. I smiled up at him reassuringly, feeling his fingertips releasing from my cheeks and falling to my waist. He looked unimaginably handsome with his swollen lips and half closed eyes. Unlike his firm push, I guided him over to the kitchen table gently and cleared a bit of space for him to rest his head, then turned to the freezer for something to make. Comfort food was the best option for times like this.

Not bothering to ask for permission, I sat on his lap while we waited for the oven to preheat. We said nothing and he closed his eyes when I ran my fingers carefully through his curled locks. Once the food was in, I gave him a shoulder rub while it cooked and kept kissing his hair, which seemed to work; his breathing rate had lowered significantly. Once I had dished up, I let him explain everything calmly over dinner, which he was too overtired to argue with and ate without hesitation. I transpired that a... disagreement... with a senior professor had resulted in a rather serious argument involving a lot of shouting, an explosion and a broken test tube. Before the necessary disciplinary action could be taken, he had escorted himself out of the room and rushed home before any other teachers could be notified about his behaviour.

"He was wrong, John! He didn't know what he was talking about. God, he's insufferable."

"You don't see him again until next week," I soothed, holding his hand and eating my dinner with just my fork. "Just forget it now."

"I will. Don't worry."

After a moment's pause, an idea entered my head. I immediately jumped up from the table and set the laptop down on the coffee table. I then rushed into my room and hauled the duvet over to the sofa. Taking Sherlock's hand, I helped him up from his chair and took him across the room, laying him down and placing a cushion under his head. I then left him to watch his crappy television show, and I could hear his deductions while I washed up.

"Of course he's not the boy's father! Look at the turn ups on his jeans!"

As soon as the last fork was placed neatly in the cutlery drawer, I scuttled across to my own boy, lifting up his legs and settling beside him with his feet on my lap.

Sat under the duvet with a shitty show, full stomachs and the events of earlier on finally forgotten, we drifted to sleep with our fingers loosely interlocked and my head on my his shoulder. Not a bad way to end the day.