Comorbidity by merripestin

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Title: Comorbidity
Author: merripestin
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Length: 7415
Rating: Explicit
Verse: BBC
Author's summary: One night in the shower, after John found out about Sherlock's... kink, he impulsively wrenched the handle around to cold.

It was worse, when it was John.
It was better, when it was John.

Reccer's comments: A slightly dark, very interesting fic that ends on an oddly tender note (don’t let the author’s tags scare you.) John finds out that Sherlock has an unusual… fetish, something Sherlock finds deeply unsettling. What’s interesting about this fic is the exploration of John’s and Sherlock’s reactions after the revelation – the way John is initially upset, then curious and vaguely intrigued, and how Sherlock keeps feeling ashamed and guilty because of what he considers a repulsing aberration, even after John’s made clear that he’s okay with it.
It’s also a very hot fic, which doesn’t hurt.

Excerpt: Fetching Sherlock's post from the mantle, John glanced at the skull and his shoulders tensed, then rounded. In quarter profile, Sherlock could just see him close his eyes for a moment.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," Sherlock snapped at him, furious and humiliated. The idea had never occurred to him. The skull was an amusing bit of stage dressing. People tended to react viscerally to it, and their reactions were very informative. And he liked the way it put some people on edge. And he thought it was simply an aesthetically pleasing object. Besides which, it brought back memories of a very enjoyable case.

He'd never wanted to masturbate with it, for god's sake, any more than the experimental limbs and organs he brought home. That didn't make any sense. Even if he'd known and been attracted to its original owner, it was hardly a sexually appealing object now.

But how was John to know exactly how far his sickness extended, after all?

John handed him the envelopes, not looking at him. This was intolerable. He should have hidden himself better, should have lied better.

He should be better.

"It's not like that," he said, and then wished he hadn't. He'd heard that damning protest thousands of times from murderers, thieves, traitors.

"Well, good, that's a relief," John said, raising his chin, raising his eyebrows, "'cos, he was here first, and I'd hate to be the other man."