John looked up from the newspaper, confused. Sherlock hadn’t been home. Yet all of the sudden his voice was as clear as a bell, ringing out across the flat. “Sherlock?”
“John, I need you to come here, right this instant!” Sherlock demanded.
John looked around again and then at the door to Sherlock’s room. He paused with his hand above the door handle. It was the only possibility. “What, exactly, is it that you need?”
“A favor! John, hurry, please.”
The sound of a low groan had him imagining Sherlock in pain and John pushed the door open. The sight in front of him made his mouth go dry. Sherlock, eyes closed, spread out on the bed, his legs wide, thighs trembling and his hand wrapped around his erection, stroking frantically. “Sher-”
Sherlock’s eyes snapped open. “John!” His hand stopped stroking and fell to his side and he left a frustrated noise escape his lips. “It’s no use. I need your assistance.”
John swallowed and stared at Sherlock, letting his eyes trail up and over that chest, all of the pale skin on display. “Sherlock, wha-” John cleared his throat. “What do you need my help with?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Sherlock growled, squirming. “I am, I find myself unable to reach a satisfactory orgasm.” He cleared his throat. “Your reputation precedes you. Now help!”
Unwillingly, a chuckle left his lips. John stepped closer. He could see the little tremors that were still running up Sherlock’s thighs and the way precome was leaking from the tip of his dick. “What do you want me to do Sherlock?”
“Help!” Sherlock snarled, throwing his head back against the pillows. “Please, John!”
“All right, all right.” John said, dropping his voice to a soothing tone. He was being permission to touch. To touch and taste and savor. “Anything you don’t want me to do?” He wrapped his hand around Sherlock’s prick, giving it a slow stroke, glad for the lube already there.
Sherlock gasped and shook, his hips rocking frantically forward. Calluses. John’s hand and palm and calluses. Rough and harsh and perfect. “John.” He groaned, rocking harder, wanting more of that simple touch. “John, yes.”
John licked his lips and knelt between Sherlock’s legs. Just this then. And he’d be able to imagine and dream of it for the rest of his life. He tightened his hand a little more and set a proper rhythm. Sherlock was already so far along, it wouldn’t take much to send him over. “That’s it Sherlock, just relax.”
“Couldn’t. Couldn’t stop thinking, couldn’t concentrate, it hurts John, it hurts.” Sherlock mumbled. “Please, it’s so good. I’m just, it’s so hard. Can’t think and it takes so long-”
“Shhh.” John coaxed, increasing the speed of his strokes. “Don’t think anymore Sherlock, just feel. Feels good, doesn’t it?”
Sherlock bit back a nod and rocked his hips into John’s hand, shivering hard. “John. It’s good. I wasn’t expecting this.”
“Can you get off like this?” John cleared his throat, licking his lips slowly. He swiped his thumb across the tip of Sherlock’s cock and watched him arch and moan.
“Yes, yes, John!” Sherlock closed his eyes and focused his senses on John. He could hear John’s breathing, fast and heavy, he could see, in his mind’s eye, John’s lips, parted and swollen, his eyes nearly black with lust. He could smell the scent of the cheap aftershave John used and his touch, his touch, it was consuming and perfect.
“Then do it.” John ordered, watching Sherlock give another whimper and thrash in the blankets. “Do it for me.”
It could have been hours, but Sherlock was certain it was only mere moments as the tight knot his stomach was twisted into started to coil tighter before finally, finally it snapped and he came, shouting John’s name as his orgasm, as bliss washed over him. “John…” Sherlock forced his eyes open as John rearranged his limbs on the bed, getting him settled. “John.”
“Shh.” John said, reaching out to grab the tissues Sherlock had by the bedside, cleaning him off carefully. “Rest.” He pulled the blankets up and over Sherlock’s nude form, tucking him in. Sherlock’s eyes had already fallen closed again and he smiled, reaching up to run his fingers through Sherlock’s hair. “Sleep well.”
He left Sherlock’s room moments later, shutting the door carefully behind him. He turned the TV off, washed his hands and put his cup on the counter by the sink. It was only later, only after that he made his way up to his own room and closed the door that he sat down on his bed and dropped his face into his hands. Things wouldn’t, couldn’t be the same after that.