“I am a man of science, Watson!” he exclaims when I suggest that he is more than a machine and his body not just transport.
“My dear boy, you are so much in addition to that. You have quite a philosophical mind too, in my humble opinion,” I protest.
“John,” he murmurs; always needing me to be the first to shed the formal way we address each other when we are outside of 221B.
We sit by the fireplace, glasses of excellent port at our disposal. He waves his delicate hand, indicating that I shall elaborate.
“Quite often, you are questioning almost everything. For starters, divinity, the universe, occultism, the Greek myths. And you can be overly perceptive when it comes to our more unfortunate clients.”
He scoffs and tells me to leave the work out of the equation.
“Very well. Now, do not get all snuffy by what I have to say next. Sometimes, I think of your curiosity as decidedly boyish. It is refreshing and shows how complicated your nature is. I find myself extremely fascinated by it.”
His cheeks have gone crimson now. I cannot tell if it is from annoyance, embarrassment, or delight.
“You say the most derisible things, Doctor Watson,” he replies, a bit haughtily, but I know him well enough to realise when his protective mechanisms are in place.
“I speak the truth. Honest to God,” I say.
“Oh, do leave the deity out of this!”
I chuckle, which blandishes a smile from him.
***
Later, in our bed, he is pliant; his caustic behaviour is left behind in the parlour. Only the light from the near-full moon irradiates him. His pale skin is verging on translucent.
“Oh, darling. Do you know how beautiful you are like this?” I murmur sweetly.
As predicted, perfect circles of pink adorn his cheekbones. He shifts restlessly under my loving scrutiny.
“John,” he pleads, reaching for me.
His need for my touch is ofttimes like a tangible spirit and I find no reason to deny him.
I align my body with his, placing him secure in my embrace. His content sigh and long fingers carding through my hair, leave my heart near bursting.
“How can I love you more with every second that goes by?” I ask him.
“Such divine questioning. You of all people should know that love is never logical, dearest.”
His endearment, only heard inside this room, floods my system with longing.
“I need you closer,” I whisper. “Can I, Sherlock?”
A whimper is answer enough, but he knows that I need to hear it, or I will constantly worry that I have read the signs wrong.
“Always so protective. As if I was a delicate rose petal, or a fragile china cup,” he whispers in my ear. “Kiss me first. Everywhere.”
My prick is engorged now, and I have to talk sternly to myself lest I rut against my beloved’s thigh and ejaculate all over him before a minute has passed.
“You and your ribald remarks,” I tease.
Our lips meet in an ardent fashion. We open up to let tongues dance and taste. I delve deeper; I cannot get close enough. It is frustrating, but at the same time, incredibly arousing.
I move my mouth to his neck. Normally, I would take my time, marking him, but tonight I do not possess the patience for it. Instead, I suckle at his sensitive nipples, using just a hint of teeth, which makes him writhe and keen. His sounds make me dizzy with lust for him.
“Prepare me,” he begs. “I need you too. Urgently.”
He can be so patient, but once his hunger for me overwhelms him, he does not hold back.
“See, your body is so much more than transport, I intend to say, but then his eyes open, and I am helpless. His pleading and loving look undo me.
“My only one,” is all I am capable of uttering.
A soft expression on his face and his hand on my cheek nearly breaks my heart.
“Please, my sweet.”
His quivering voice is all the incentive I need. The can with petroleum jelly is swiftly procured, and when he is sufficiently prepared, I enter him, and every query about divinity, planets, or other bothersome topics, is blissfully absent.
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[#FFF305 Divine Questioning ]
Who are the divine? Are they physical gods in court, mysterious entities in the forest, or mortal beings with powers? What are their questions? Who or what is subject to their questioning? Why? Or is it something completely different, like someone curious about how a slice of cake can taste this good! You create the meanings, you create the stories! Go get writing, go go go!!
“To hell with this…” Detective Inspector Lestrade turned to walk away.
“Detective Inspector, I’m not done! Let me say-”
“Don’t!” Lestrade spun back quickly, pulling a hand from his trench coat pocket to point a finger that vibrated with rage mere centimeters from Mycroft’s face, before he stormed away again.
He gave a slight nod to Anthea as she lowered her subtle ‘stand down’ gesture to the hidden security detail that surrounded them in the warehouse.
Luckily, the police officer would never know how close he came to being shot.
Mycroft pulled his eyes from the unseen sky, annoyed at how aggravating the man was turning out to be.
Who the bloody hell does he think he is?
------
“I’ll get the job done, regardless, but I’d be a fool not to use an available tool to get the job done faster.” Lestrade sighed.
“Though you and your ego do wish my brother were not always so much of a tool about it?” Mycroft offered.
“Fair assessment.” Lestrade gave a short huff. “Would be nice if he stopped, though.”
Because Mycroft knew his brother well, he had to ask, “And if he does not stop…?”
“Don’t worry…” Lestrade laughed depreciatively as he stepped out of the sedan in front of NSY. “I know he won’t stop. I put my ego aside for the greater good.”
Mycroft looked up at the clear London sky as the sedan pulled off.
What makes him so patient?
------
How does he find the strength?
“Thank you for bringing him in,” Mycroft spoke softly as he entered the room. “I got here as fast as I could.”
“I know.” Gregory rose quietly from his chair and offered Mycroft his seat by the hospital bed where Sherlock lay quietly sleeping. “He asked me to bring him in.”
“He did?” Mycroft sat wearily.
“Yeah, I think this time scared even him. I made Sherlock an offer, and he has accepted on my proviso.” Lestrade said supportively.
“Anthea told me. She’s made the arrangements. I appreciate that more than you could ever know,” Mycroft softly admitted. “I worry about him -constantly… What if he…”
“Like you, he’s always kept his word to me,” Lestrade assured him. “As long as he keeps clean, I’ll keep giving him cases. Don’t worry, I won’t stop…”
“You’re a good man…Gregory.” Mycroft called out of the blue.
“Ta.” Gregory smiled at what they both knew was Mycroft’s first time using his given name. “Despite your best efforts to convince me otherwise, so are you, and someday, if we’re very, very lucky, Sherlock will be, also.”
Mycroft looked beyond the door that closed behind Gregory.
“Where does he find such faith in Sherlock? In me?”
----------
“Gregory…?”
“Yes, Mycroft…?”
“We’ve been meeting…” Mycroft cleared his throat, “…for over a year now, in a way I think it is fair to state it as socially.”
“Meeting…?” Greg chuckled, “I think it is fair to state it as dating, yes?”
“It would be.” Mycroft agreed. “It would also be fair to state that after the past few months, we have gone well beyond dating, but there are things…”
“No,” Greg interrupted him.
“No?” Mycroft blinked.
Greg reached out and caressed his jaw. “I understand… don’t worry…”
“Don’t worry about what…?” Mycroft asked, caught off guard by the only man who can have him wondering if they are in the same library, let alone reading the same book, sometimes.
“Don’t worry that I’ll run. I won’t. Don’t worry that I won’t say ‘yes’ when you ask someday. I will.” Greg smiled. “But you do have to ask.”
The thrill of knowing that they were, in fact, on the same page ran through Mycroft as he rolled onto the man that he had had the honor of loving and being loved by for over a year.
“Then, will you do me the honor of becoming Gregory Lestrade-Holmes?” Mycroft returned the smile that was making his insides melt.
“I know who you are, Mycroft Holmes-Lestrade. Don’t worry, I won’t stop loving you.” Greg pulled him down for a kiss. “Yes.”
Mycroft looks at the beam of sun streaming through a gap in the drapes.
I don’t know why you’ve given me this man, but I thank you.
Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial with the prompt FFF305 - divine questioning imagining the missing scenes before Wakamiya/Nazukihiko’s return to Yamauchi and the eventual employment of Yukiya to his household, who is only mentioned but hasn’t appeared. Yet. This is an alternate universe as I only conceived an idea that Nazukihiko might have worked in a restaurant as an apprentice due to his penchant for cooking, and other things. A bunch of head canons. Chisato Abe’s original works have been the springboard.
—
Fandom: Yatagarasu: The Raven Does Not Choose Its Master
Characters: Wakamiya/Nazukihiko, Jun Tenimura (the Great Tengu), mention of Yukiya and Lord Natsuka, original character
Word count : 1019
—
Three weeks before Wakamiya’s return to Yamauchi
Amidst the turbulence happening in the kitchen, there was something peaceful in the apprentice sous chef’s heart. Soon he’d go back to his hometown. As the true Golden Raven, the purpose he was born with would begin in earnest. From his colleagues no one suspected that he was not human, but another being from another realm altogether. One could say he was something close to a deity. Despite it all he’d leave this group of people without them knowing who he really was, but an eager, beautiful young man who fell in love with cooking and creating recipes.
He was preparing his utensils and a knife that he favoured when a pair of scurrying feet approached him. It was the pastry chef.
“Nazuki-san, do you have time? There is someone who wants to see you.” Out of breath, he led the young apprentice to the office. A familiar face greeted him.
“Old friend!” It was the Great Tengu, who everybody called in the Outside World as Jun Tenimura. A businessman. A middleman.
Nazukihiko, after closing the door, received the Tengu’s warm welcome. After they hugged, they both patted each other’s backs. Junten was a few centimetres smaller, with his short hair that was dyed a hundred times before, his round-framed eyeglasses matched his amiable face.
This time, his hair was dyed blueish that became indigo when the sun rays reflected the strands from the office’s glass roof.
“Did you find anything else?” Nazukihiko asked. A letter emerged upon his desk when he went to work to the restaurant a week ago. Feigning his ignorance, he read its content. The sender warned him that his life would be in danger if he planned to return to Yamauchi.
“A friendly reminder that you aren’t safe in the court as they aim for your head.” A foreboding statement concluded the letter.
“Not so much, but it can only mean that they are serious about it, that is, they definitely are planning to assassinate you. So please watch your back.”
The Tengu’s declaration was as straightforward as an arrow pointing at Nazukihiko. As the young crown prince, he knew that his life had always been in danger ever since he was born.
“They never waste time, huh?” Nazukihiko stroked his chin.
“The letter that you received was written by a woman. That much I could infer. I have seen movements from the Southern Territory. From what I've heard from my associates, Lord Tōru has been sending delegates to the Outside World. I can tell you that they have another set of contacts. But I have an inkling that they could be the tanukis. They are known to double-deal and love to trick humans. They could be downright nasty and cruel.”
“If they were seeking help outside Yamauchi I wonder what is in it for them? More power? More money?”
“Nazukihiko, you know darn well that Yamauchi is not going to last forever. Think of it as investment for them. They are finding ways to control their future life outside of that environment.”
Leaving from Suzaku Gate, which bordered around the Southern Territory, and where the Tengu and his clan operated, a Yatagarasu could still retain their image as a human, hence losing the ability of their raven form if they would decide to cross the humongous tunnel that surrounded with rocks and boulders. Inside it was a long conveyor belt that scanned goods from both the Outside World and the country ready to be traded in Yamauchi and vice versa. On the flooring was a number of tracks for trolleys and small carriages where wheels made of iron from the interior mountain were running. Moreover, the officials from the Southern Command kept track of the comings and going-ons of every Yatagarasu who left the country with a special paperwork.
“There are sightings of shiranui in different places, yes. My brother alerted me that a whole village vanished a year ago. No one knew what happened to the inhabitants.”
“Ah! The holes are getting more difficult to maintain, huh?”
“Well, that is the first thing I have to do once I am back. Patching them.”
The Tengu gazed at his friend with compassion in his eyes. Despite holding the highest position in the land, he could never envy him due to the troubles he’d face in the future. Or the moment he returned to his country.
“For now this is the only thing I have got. But be sure I will contact you once again I get more details, Nazukihiko,” Junten touched again his friend's shoulder, squeezing it. If only a touch could take away someone's worries. But being an outsider, he wanted to maintain a more professional approach to his dealings with the Soke Family. After all, he and Wakamiya had to be careful once the Southern Family got a wind of their partnership. It would be bad for his business.
“I am indebted to you,” Nazukihiko seemed to understand what ran inside the Great Tengu’s mind. At the end of the day, it was Lord Tōru who introduced him to Lord Natsuka, who in turn asked Junten to mentor a then teenaged Nazukihiko in the Outside World. One could not simply discern to whom exactly his loyalty lay. Nazukihiko knew that he was useful to anyone as long as he was able and could benefit the other party. The one in a hundred he still had to determine by himself. It was the divine question that the mountain god could only answer if he were here to help the crown prince.
Wakamiya, sitting alone in his dormitory room, had an idea who would be the possible candidate. The question remained if his brother would be successful bringing in that person to their circle. Once he did, the next steps would be easier. Yet, somehow it gave him anxiety. He had to take it slow. He had to convince that person that he needed him. But before that he wanted to make sure that the “blockhead rumours” were not true.
Thank you for the prompt @flashfictionfridayofficial
Summary: A background guard encounters the end of a divine intervention and is less than pleased about the prospects of talking to them.
Simon sorted through the ruined supplies, trying to get a feeling of what might be salvageable. The others had succumbed to alcohol hours ago, but he couldn’t just relax after whatever the hells that had been. Mumbling to himself, he picked through a case of broken bottles until he found several that hadn’t been shattered. Lining them up carefully, he wiped the excess alcohol from his fingers and checked for any fragments that had embedded into his skin this time.
“Didn’t you have any questions for me then?”
A booming voice sounded in the back of his skull, sending shivers down his spine. He hesitated to turn, only for a large arm to pass over his shoulder and grab a bottle that he was quite sure had been shattered a moment ago.
“I wouldn’t dream of it…” He tried to force out a closing pleasantry, but it caught in throat. There wasn’t time for this. It had locked onto him, though, and there wasn’t much he could do to avoid it now. He’d just have to wade through whatever curiosity it had fixated on.
“You don’t like us very much. I wonder why?” His shoulders stiffened as Simon struggled with his tongue. This wasn’t the base or the petty supernatural squabbles he was used to. He couldn’t hope that it would just forget him long enough to slip through the cracks unnoticed for another couple of years.. Still, the mock curiocity in its tone made those very obvious and important facts almost irrelevant.
“Do you see the state of this place?” He gestured to the mess around them. Dozens of smoldering homes spread out around them in a circle around the encampment. “It was one vampire!” The thought of the paperwork that would be involved with this desister, and that wasn’t even considering the budget reallocations he’d already approved.
The Icon chuckled, swirling a bowl of wine with one hand while looking down at him with glowing eyes. “Are you questioning our motives? Do we not seem capable to you?” Simon crossed his arms and leaned back against one of the unopened boxes once more, attempting to keep himself in check only for his thoughts to claw their way out of his throat again. “Incompetent maybe.” As soon as he said it, Simon wanted to stab himself, but the creature seemed to find it amusing, pouring up another smaller goblet of wine that it offered to him.
Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial #305 prompt Divine Questioning
WC 188
Warnings: mentions childhood cancer and other tragedies.
We understand it, don't we? He needs answers. His anger. His doubt. His divine questioning.
We ask the same, don't we? When bad things happen. We can't seem to understand why, if we are good, why God, do such things happen? Why do children get cancer? Why do tornadoes wipe out towns? Why all the suffering?
It is okay to question God. He didn't scold Job, after all. But He didn't really answer him either. Where were you when I laid the foundation of the world? He questions. His own divine questioning silences Job but it also brings a deep peace.
No, He doesn't get all the answers nor will we. There is peace though in knowing the God who feeds the ravens, placed the armor on the dinosaurs, shows the waves were to stop on the shore, and calls the stars by name; He also carries us in His hands and sings songs of joy over us.
Bring Him your questions and rest in His Peace. He can handle both. Recall also, He restored all Job lost and then some. He will do the same for you.
