**** John rubs his cheek against the terrycloth-covered head again. His arm tightens across the chest and his hand tucks into the armpit on the other side searching for warmth. He closes his eyes. “Don’t be dead,” he whispers and shifts a little further back on his heels. “Not now.” John slides his other hand along the towel and under the duvet, leaning slightly forward once more. “Not ever, really.” His hand curves from the top of the thigh into the groin. He leans back a bit, then forward again, shivers under the cold weight and keeps rocking.
Lestrade’s voice carries from the sitting room. “A favour, Jean-Pierre.” There is the scrape of furniture dragging over wood. “In London, yeah…glad I could help. How quickly can you get an ID on these.” A pause. “Thanks. Yeah, I’ll wait.”
“Was he the one for me?” John whispers. He moves his head, pushes the towel aside with his chin, settles his cheek against a cold ear and keeps rocking.
“What the hell is happening to the carpet? His clothes…Christ,” John can hear Lestrade asking, feet stamping. “We’re not going to have much evidence soon.” There’s a murmur from Mike. “You know what this is? How fast does it work?”
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ninetydegrees
no subject
on 2012-07-03 07:38 am (UTC)****
John rubs his cheek against the terrycloth-covered head again. His arm tightens across the chest and his hand tucks into the armpit on the other side searching for warmth. He closes his eyes. “Don’t be dead,” he whispers and shifts a little further back on his heels. “Not now.” John slides his other hand along the towel and under the duvet, leaning slightly forward once more. “Not ever, really.” His hand curves from the top of the thigh into the groin. He leans back a bit, then forward again, shivers under the cold weight and keeps rocking.
Lestrade’s voice carries from the sitting room. “A favour, Jean-Pierre.” There is the scrape of furniture dragging over wood. “In London, yeah…glad I could help. How quickly can you get an ID on these.” A pause. “Thanks. Yeah, I’ll wait.”
“Was he the one for me?” John whispers. He moves his head, pushes the towel aside with his chin, settles his cheek against a cold ear and keeps rocking.
“What the hell is happening to the carpet? His clothes…Christ,” John can hear Lestrade asking, feet stamping. “We’re not going to have much evidence soon.” There’s a murmur from Mike. “You know what this is? How fast does it work?”