I think I should name this gorgeous fan art “Wow! Horse”. :)
So my darling Saint Sam decided that she had to draw some porn-ish thingy, like Naked John on a Horse And Sherlock With a Riding Crop. She’s so good at it.
[Hahaha - this is not my fault. *shifty eyes*]
Mini-fic: -Spoils of War-
He had been surprisingly honorable on the field, which was quite rare. Whatever men liked to say in the comfort and safety of their own homes, or pubs, it was fairly uncommon in reality. When your life was truly in danger, when you were under fire, concepts like honor and courage were quickly given over for survival.
Sherlock was told that when he had been captured he didn’t curse, or plead; he saw his own situation, looked at his own options, and accepted it gracefully. Had he continued to resist they would have used leverage against him, but he may still have escaped at the cost of a few of his own men; again, he took the rare path. It was fascinating.
His own men found it less so; frustrated and confused by his lack of reaction – by his choice to act so contrary to the norm. They had stripped him bare, bound and lashed him; still, no reaction- he had borne it all stoically, quietly.
When he arrives before Sherlock – mounted naked on his own horse – he is neither a broken nor beaten man; simply defeated. His head is still held high, regardless of the humiliation and rough treatment visited upon him.
It is not pride or false bravado; he appears to have simply accepted the reality of his situation for what it was – seeing no point in useless action. His breathing is even, controlled; he gives every outward appearance of calm, though there is a subtle, quiet tension to him; a certain bracing for whatever may come next.
Sherlock raises his own riding crop after a moment, and there is no flinch, no fear from the man as it nears his face; he simply closes his eyes in forbearance when the tip is placed under his chin, pushes his head up.
“Captain John Watson…” And then he was watching down the length of the crop. Not the passive look of resignation, but calculating; reading what he could of Sherlock, of this new development. Good. Good. He can feel his lips curve up just slightly, and he really means it when he adds, “A pleasure to meet you.”
John’s eyes flashed with a subtle, banked fire; not diminished in the least by his treatment or position. After a moment he speaks, voice tight, angry, but still polite. “Would you do me the kindness of getting on with it already? Just kill me and be done with it; I’ve done nothing to warrant this.”
“Wrong!” The reply is sharp, instant, and he can feel the smirk grace his own lips as the other man startles; because in his own mind, he really hadn’t- has yet to understand. “You did; you caught my attention.” At this the riding crop is lowered, trailing down the other man’s body – over neck, torso, thigh – before coming to rest at his side again. “-and you will remain in my possession as long as you continue to be interesting.”
And now – here, the control cracks just a little; barest edge of panic showing through his control, cloaked with outrage. “You can’t do that!”
“Oh, but I can.” He smirks again, shifting his hold on the reigns, “Spoils of war.”
It will be stimulating, learning what makes this man tick; and he is always looking for a new distraction…
[So, yeah… I had made an off comment last night about wanting to write something for this just so I could legitimately call it ‘Spoils of War’. …and then Random-Nexus became an enabler… *shifty eyes* What? I’m weak!]
This was a request for my friend.
Anyway,thank you so much for writing this.
Your fic is so gorgeous.