#prompts number 23 apology and 24 imperfect | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

meetinginsamarra · 4 months

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mayprompts2024, #23 and 24 apology and imperfect

Two prompts today because I could not write anything yesterday.

White Pony Tattoo - Part Four (apology and imperfect)

One and a half day later, John once again found himself in front of White Pony Tattoo. He was brimmig with anticipation.

John had been able to swap today’s shift at the clinic to follow Sherlock’s order to be here at 2 PM sharp. John had been extra careful to arrive in time, taking an early bus and then loitering the spare seventeen minutes in the vicinity, looking at shop windows that did not really interest him.

Somehow, John did not want to come across as eager as he actually was to attend his appointment with Sherlock and would not like to be seen oscillating on the pavement before the front door. Although - thinking about this - it would likely be futile anyway trying to hide something from Sherlock’s uncanny habit of x-raying people with his colour changing eyes, of seeing right into John’s brain.

John had been wondering how Sherlock had known (deduced as the mesmerizing tattooist had called it) about the cover-up he had been about to request. John also was still a bit annoyed about Sherlock calling the desired design of an army soldier in full combat gear boring. When John had served in the army, nothing had been boring and he fondly remembered his time in the RAMC whenever he looked at photographs taken at this time.

++++

“I knew you’d come back.” Sherlock stood behind the counter, waiting in a relaxed posture.

Sherlock said it in a cool voice, matter-of-factly, not in a know-it-all or haughty diction. Yet, it rankled John. Feeling transparent.

“I actually think you owe me an apology.” John blurted.

“Do you now. Interesting. What for?” Sherlock stepped around the counter.

“An army soldier in combat is not boring.” There, I’ve said it, John thought. It felt good.

Sherlock raised a quizzical eye brow that reminded John of a parent chiding their child for uttering an unreasonable wish and it irked him even more.

“I don’t deal in apologies, John. Even if there had been something I should have apologized for, I wouldn’t.”

“I don’t like unapologetic people.” Mary was anapologetic, too.

Sherlock shrugged, totally uncaring about John’s confrontational stance. “Well, it was you who returned here, apparently about to accept my offer of tattooing a rising phoenix on your arm.” Sherlock pointed his index finger at the shop’s sign where the demands no arguing and no boring designs had been written.

“You have to accept the whole package which includes me, obviously. If you can’t deal with it, you may leave any time. It’s your decision.”

Sherlock leant his back casually against the counter, crossing his arms in front of his chest which showed off today’s bespoke dress shirt he wore. Its classy dove grey colour made Sherlock’s eyes gleam like multifaceted gemstones.

Of course, John did not want to leave which Sherlock must already know and since there was no other way, John swallowed the wave of recalcitrant pride that washed over him.

“Yes, okay, I accept.” John couldn’t avoid a tiny bit of teeth-gnashing, havinf to give in like this. Fuck you he mouthed under his breath.

“No, maybe later.” Sherlock deadpanned.

John’s face turned beet-red. As so often when felt cornered and embarrassed about something avoidable he had done, John attacked.

“I didn’t say that out loud now, did I?” But I feel tempted right now, dammit, John thought, hoping that his face would not give this away, as well. If it did, Sherlock mercifully did not mention it.

“No,” Sherlock said instead, chuckling, “but I can lip-read fuck you easily enough.”

Oh great, mind-reader and lip-reader. “Is there nothing I can hide from you?”

“Little. But don’t mind, practically everybody can’t.”

“That’s not a solace at all.”

“Come on, take a seat,” Sherlock motioned to a small coffee table with two armchairs, “let’s talk about your tattoo. Can I offer you some tea?”

Sitting down with a huff, John nodded. “With pleasure.”

Sherlock vanished behind the purple curtain and returned with a tea tray, laden with an expensive-looking porcelain tea set and a small plate with fresh scones. John’s mood immediately brightened upon the delicacies.

“Oh, this looks delicious. Thank you.” John took one scone.

“You have to thank Mrs Hudson, the landlady. She prepared all of this.”

Sherlock started to pour the tea and John was struck by the realization that Sherlock had to be of upper-class origin given the way he dressed, spoke and handled the tea. Transfixed, John watched Sherlock’s hands moving, like performing a dance of their own. There was a silver ring on every finger of Sherlock’s right hand. John identified a tattoo gun, a violin and one ring was made of tiny human skulls, like beads on a string.

Odd, how such a posh boy became a tattoo artist. Even a very famous one.

Taking a bite, John stated. “You’re doing great as an artist. I saw some of your works on the internet, lots of famous people that you have inked.”

“Yes, well, I don’t care about their fame. I’m interested in creating the perfect tattoo for my clients, ones that express what they feel or care about. Who they are. An image of their inner self, captured in ink on their outer skin, forever.”

John hummed. “This is very poetic!”

“Yes, yes! Excatly, John!” Sherlock jumped up and paced the room, gesticulating wildly.

“This is what I do! My ink is art, the poetry of lines, the flowing rhymes of colour, a whole story in shades of black. Everybody who is half-way talented can learn the perfect tattooing technique. But without the right design, without the firm connection to my client’s history and personality, or if you believe in the concept of a soul, then any tattoo will always be imperfect. Do you understand?”

“Yes, indeed, I do!” John exclaimed excitedly. “When I was performing surgery, of course, it was about saving lives and limbs. But I always strived for more. I wanted them to heal perfectly. Like you said, everyone can learn to do sutures that hold the skin together. But sutures that don’t leave scars are very difficult. The desire to achieve perfection is not alien to me.”

Sherlock had calmed down enough to sit down.

“And this is why I rejected the soldier design your wanted. I never said that a soldier in army gear is boring per se, but it would be boring on your skin because you are so much more than this. You’ve fought in the army, saved lives, you’ve survived being shot and nearly dying from the infection. Therefore, the perfect design for you is the phoenix rising from the flames. You have been reborn in the blazing heat of Ahghanistan. Or was it Iraq?”

The sudden question startled John. “Aghanistan.” He answered automatically. “But please, Sherlock, allow me one thing, one question.”

“Which is?”

“How the everlasting fuck have you know, erm, deduced all of this about me?”

Sherlock laughed, full of delight.

tagging some people @totallysilvergirl @peageetibbs @lisbeth-kk @raina-at

tagging some more @ghostofnuggetspast @friday411 @bs2sjh @weeesi @br-nz

tagging some more again @keirgreeneyes @jrow @thegildedbee @thalialunacy @gaylilsherlock

#mayprompts2024 #may sherlock fanfics #white pony tattoo AU #prompts number 23 apology and 24 imperfect #no beta we die like (wo)men

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