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Perchance to Dream

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John slept very restlessly that night. He wasn't sure what brought it on, but he was certain that the source had something to do with the infuriating and immaculately dressed consulting detective who was draped across the sofa in front of him in his dream.

He had been an absolute menace today, playing the part of the flirtatious Lotherio at a suspect's house today with the horse groomer that came in once a week to see to the animals. Sherlock was convinced that the man had seen something important and used his creative and bodily wiles to get it out of him. John had caught Sherlock leaning against and softly laughing with the awestruck groom, a long, graceful arm propped against the wall where the stockier man had backed himself, their bodies almost, but not quite touching. The groom was definitely enjoying every moment of Sherlock's attention, John grudgingly acknowledged. It was innocent, but still overtly sexual and it had just pissed John right off. He remained in a foul mood even once they got home and retired for the evening.

Sherlock was dressed in one of his ridiculously fitted suits, sans jacket, just lounging there on the dream sofa, buttons nearly groaning in their buttonholes. The black silky fabric that was tautly pulled across his chest, rippled with every inhalation or really any movement Sherlock made at all. He was staring at John, eyes at half mast. Intense and intimate, like a great cat, feigning sleep to survey his hunting grounds before him, prey already targeted.

John halted in his tracks. He realised that he was aware that he was dreaming, but it was the most vivid dream he had had in quite some time. Everything seemed very saturated and intense and gave him the weirdest sense of foreboding.

“So. Let's discuss why you have felt the need to bring us here tonight,” Sherlock began, his baritone register sounding even more rich and enticing than per usual.

How did he DO that? Fuck. He felt his stomach flip a little involuntarily and his cock twitch ever so slightly to the Siren's call that was Sherlock's voice.

John took in a deep breath and slowly released it. It was something he employed quite frequently in Sherlock's company. It kept him from actions he might later regret against his flatmate; his messy murder or perhaps pushing him hard against one of the Victorian papered walls, crowding his body up against Sherlock's, pulling his face down to meet his, lips fleetingly touching…

“Ah. So the groom today, hmm?” Sherlock brushed a bit of imaginary fluff from his trousers idly. John's eyes couldn't help but trail down the impossibly long legs to follow the motion of those nimble fingers. Dammit. He was doing that on purpose.

Hold on. Go back. How did Sherlock know John was thinking about bodies pressing others against walls..?

Aw, shit. This was going to be one of those dreams where thoughts can be heard out loud, wasn't it?

“So glad you have caught up, John,” Sherlock gave him a scathing glace while rolling his eyes heavenward.

Sherlock shifted on the sofa onto his side, head supported by a hand in those thick, luxurious curls. He really shouldn't have. It was sort of gilding the lily in that position. John groaned quietly to himself.

Sherlock smirked in response.

John grimaced and tilted his head uncomfortably to the left. His trousers seemed a bit on the tight side.

“Alright, fine. The groom.” John walked to the table in front of the sofa and carefully sat on the flat surface. He tried to objectively view the gorgeous man all but artfully posed in front of him.

Objectively? Nope. That wasn't really working. Sherlock smiled and stretched lightly.


“You had an objection to the groom, John?” Sherlock began again carelessly.

“Not the groom, you git! You! You just THREW yourself at him, relentless and all touchy and batting your eyelashes at him. It was appalling.”

John indignantly folded his arms across his chest for emphasis.

“Who even knows if what he told you was true, he could have just said anything to have you keep plying him with your oh, so inappropriate attention!”

John stopped himself, realising that he had gone a bit shrill. He felt his face pale and he unfolded his arms nervously and looked down at them in his lap.

He could hear Sherlock shifting to an upright position. He looked up to lapis eyes almost right in his face. His breath caught.

“You didn't like my method for gaining further information from Eric?” Sherlock dangerously drawled. His eyes flicked down the John's mouth and back.

“No, I, well, NO. It was cruel of you. Really it was. Toying with him like that,” John stammered embarrassingly. He felt his tongue swipe quickly over his lower lip of its own volition. Sherlock's eyes followed it and his own cupid-bowed mouth parted like he wanted to join it.

“Is that the REAL reason, John? Somehow, I think we haven't gotten to the real heart of the matter.” Sherlock's eyes narrowed to slits as he appraised John from a few inches away.

John flailed for some sort of control of this situation. This was his dream, dammit, he should be some sort of guiding force.

“Why are you doing this? This isn't like you, Sherlock,” he leaned his head back away from the looming one in front of him. “Why would you care about my thoughts about how you manipulate people for your own gain?”

There. Moral ground found. Control regained.


Sherlock lunged forward, grabbed John by the shoulders and bodily dragged him onto the sofa, slamming his back hard into the cushions along the wall.

Sherlock's pupils had blown almost completely black. He surveyed John greedily before him then straddled his hips, effectively trapping John between powerfully long legs and very much beneath him. John was frozen in shock and gave no resistance to the new circumstances.

Sherlock maddingly kept their bodies from touching while still leaning in dangerously close.

“Maybe I'm not me,” he breathed into John neck.

John's eyes fluttered shut at the feel of the warm breath from Sherlock's mouth so close to his sensitive neck.

Wait. What?

Eyes still closed, John garbled out, “Who else would you be?”

Sherlock's lips now dragged a light trail up the side of John neck and the tip of his tongue stole a quick taste of John's heated skin. John moaned helplessly and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's back, trying to bring him closer.

Sherlock peeled himself up and planted his hands on John's shoulders. He leaned in to nip at John's earlobe and fleetingly drew it into his mouth for a quick suck. John's head thunked back against the wall bonelessly.

“Maybe I'm your cock, John,” he breathed into John's mouth, so close, their lips nearly brushed as he said it. “The part that wants this so badly.”

“You're my cock?” John's eyes flew open only to slam shut again as Sherlock ducked his head to fasten his mouth on the pulse point on John's neck. He couldn't help the moan that escaped from his lips.

“Unnng, Sherlock, yes….”

John's brain went into caveman mode.

He pulled Sherlock's face up between his hands and crushed their mouths together. Sherlock melted into his body and dropped his weight completely into John's lap.

“Oh, Christ, yes….”

Sherlock's mouth opened to John's and the slide of tongues met each other and the room was filled momentarily with the sounds of lips sliding against one another and increasingly urgent sounding keens and sighs.

John took a quick breath and slid his own mouth down that exquisitely alabaster neck, sucking and lightly biting along the way. Sherlock bucked in heady response.

“Yess, Jawwn, yessss… I'm your cock and that would make you.. ooohhh…”

John snapped back to attention.

“Make me what? What am I in this?” John demanded as soberly as he could with a lap full of writhing, aroused Sherlock.


Sherlock smirked, though the effect was slightly ruined by his kiss-swollen lips and look of lust-haze about him.

John stared, mouth agape.

“Idiot.” Sherlock leaned in and kissed him deeply again.

“You are your brain, John. And your cock just has to convince you that this will be BRILLIANT if you let it. It wants this too, just as much as I do. ”

Sherlock ground his hips into John's and rational thought was no longer possible. John kissed him back ferociously until he felt Sherlock pull on his shoulder.

John opened his eyes and was momentarily thrown.

Sherlock had his hand on his shoulder and he had been shaking John. Shaking him awake.

“Finally, John. That was rather unlike you to fall asleep on the sofa and be so difficult to rouse so early in the evening”.

Sherlock sounded vaguely concerned.

John rubbed his eyes blearily and shifted his hips uncomfortably. Sherlock had thrown a blanket on him thankfully so he wasn't COMPLETELY embarrassing himself right now. His body was still incredibly lit up from his very life-like dream.

He fixed his eyes on Sherlock, who seemed to be unsure as where to settle in the room. Knowing his flatmate, he was probably less concerned about John than aggrieved that he had fallen asleep where Sherlock wanted to stretch out and think. Nope. Not happening.

John huffed out a breath and started in.

“You know, you were kind of a shit today with that groom, you know,” John snapped.

Sherlock contemptuously plopped down beside John on the sofa. Maybe he thought he could gain back what thought if as “his territory” from John this way.

“I hardly think so,” Sherlock cooly countered. “He had important information and I relieved him of it in a way that he wouldn't realise. I simply used his attraction that he felt for my physical self to ease the way. ”

“You mean exhorted,” John turned to him in annoyance.

“Really, John. The fuss you are making,” Sherlock scoffed. “You would think that I had done it to YOU.”

John really didn't think. He just DID.

He grabbed Sherlock's shoulders and bodily slammed his back hard into the cushions along the wall. Sherlock's pupils had blown almost completely black from just that. He surveyed John greedily before him as John straddled his hips, effectively trapping Sherlock between his legs and beneath him.

“John! W-what are you do…?”

Before Sherlock could finish his stunned statement, John leaned in, their noses almost touching.

“Sherlock, you don't EVER act that way again with suspects, or anyone, actually. Do you hear me?” John’s voice shook a bit upon delivery, but the effect still seemed damned good.

Sherlock was nearly non-verbal with confusion. His mouth had dropped open and had stayed there. It was such a delicious looking mouth too, John distractedly mused.

“You are mine, dammit. I won’t have just anyone thinking they can have their way with you as easy as you please. It may have taken me awhile to see it and a small battle to admit it to myself, but I'm yours too, you know.”

“Y-yours, John?” Sherlock adorably stammered again. John rather liked him like this. He'd have to remember this tactic.

John ran his hand through Sherlock's curls and curved his hand down to lift his chin to meet his eyes.

“Yours if you want, Sherlock. I do. If that's what you wanted too, I'm right there.” John stroked the thumb at Sherlock's jawline and felt him lean into his touch.

“Yes, John. You put it that way then, yes. I'm glad you came to this conclusion, however you did,” Sherlock shyly leaned into John and they met halfway, lips pressing warmly into each other.

It wasn't a quiet night at 221B. It rarely was anymore. Mrs. Hudson had sound-dampening insulation put in as a Christmas gift to all of the Baker Street inhabitants. Sleep was had eventually and dreams were usually good ones.

John never forgot that one, though. He told Sherlock about it as they lay in bed, sweaty and panting and replete one night. Sherlock laughed uproariously.

“What?” John whined, a little embarrassed by Sherlock's reaction.

“Oh, John,” Sherlock pulled him close and wrapped his arms around his waist. “Only you would argue with your subconscious and cast me as the role of your cock. I should almost be flattered.”

John swatted at him playfully and then chuckled himself. Sherlock HAD a point he supposed…

“Regardless, you came to the correct conclusion, for both our sakes.” Sherlock kissed his forehead and hauled John across his chest to settle in.

“Sweet dreams, John,” Sherlock murmured in the dark muzzily.

“And to you, love,” whispered John back as the heavy veil of sleep took them both.