“What?” Greg asked, incredulously. “You write one of London’s most popular internet entertainment blogs and you’ve never had the curiosity to google yourself?” After a busy day, full of gore and body parts, both John and Greg decided they deserved a moment of peace in a nearby pub. The place was hardly peaceful but it was full of lively people, as opposed to the people they had had to deal with earlier in the day.
John laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of Greg’s idea and took another swig of his pint. “Why would I ‘google’ myself? I write a blog about my overly childish, yet insanely intellectual flatmate. Not a lot to be going on with there,” he smirked. He wasn’t entirely sure what the inspector was getting at. He knew that his blog was popular, but it wasn’t as if anyone cared about the goings-on at 221B after the adventures… or did they?
“Did you ever google yourself, Greg?”
“Well, yeah. And you’d be surprised by how perceptive people are. You can learn a lot about yourself from knowing how people see you. Try it.”
The doctor gave his friend a sceptical look. He’d never been fond of anyone probing into his private life - that is, until Sherlock had done so. The difference between Sherlock doing it and anyone else doing it was that when the detective did probe into John’s private life, he always deduced correctly. It was never about what he presumed John did or was, but the simple fact that he just figured out unspoken truths. Thinking on it now, John wasn’t entirely sure which of those things should worry him most.
“Hmm… so what sort of things have you learned about yourself, then?”
Greg looked down into his pint as he stifled a laugh. “Apparently the fairer sex finds me attractive,” he mumbled, blushing as his eyes focused on the beer in his glass. “And not above feigning distress to have an excuse to invite me over for a coffee…”
“Are you serious?”
“I couldn’t make that up now, could I?”
John snorted into his hand as he tried to cover the amusement spreading across his face. He could see the inspector shooting daggers at him and he tried his best to regain his composure. “Sorry… I just...” the laughter was threatening to bubble up again and he bit his lip. When he was certain he could keep a straight face, he continued. “Sorry. I’m truly sorry. I just can’t believe people actually discuss this sort of thing openly online. I mean, what satisfaction do they get from it all?”
Shrugging his shoulders, Greg took another sip, “Beats me, mate. Can’t say it doesn’t stroke the old ego though, so for that I’m truly thankful. It’s not exactly the level of fascination they have with Sherlock, but it’s enough for me.”
John’s head snapped up to look closer at the inspector’s face. “The what? What about Sherlock?” He asked, but Greg just shook his head, clearly hiding amusement behind his smile.
Oh it was on… John would definitely google himself first thing the next morning and he would definitely google Sherlock. He had to know. Soon enough, however, John realized that he wouldn’t be able to wait that long and he made some excuse Greg didn’t buy for a second to get home and do the damn Google thing.
John took the steps two at a time as he made his way up to the flat and scooped up his laptop before settling into his chair. He had been so overly curious to know what Greg had been referring to about Sherlock that, by the time he had his web browser pulled up, he wasn’t entirely sure where to start. Did he search for things on himself first? Or did he dive straight into dismantling the mysterious privacy of his slightly mad flatmate instead?
“John Watson” he muttered under his breath as he typed, using only his index fingers. He looked up from his laptop to look around the room. There was no one else around, no Sherlock lurking in the shadows. Good.
His blog was the first result of the search. No surprise there. The second thing that popped up was a photo of him at a military ceremony among his brothers-in-arms. John scrolled through some other results. There was an account on Twitter dedicated to best quotes from his blog and some other not particularly shocking results.
“Sherlock Holmes” John typed next, after erasing his own name from the search. Newspaper clippings, praise in magazines, on blogs, womens’ newspapers with lengthy articles discussing Sherlock’s physique and his bachelor status. Interviews with women who had seen him in person. A survey titled ‘Would you date Sherlock Holmes?’
“What the hell is this?” John didn’t approve of some of the things he was seeing about his flatmate. He liked even less that it was being so openly discussed online by strangers. It was ridiculous. Who does that? But more importantly, who reads that? But then, he knew what he had to type in next.
“Sherlock Holmes and John Watson” The browser window froze. John double checked to be sure he typed their names correctly before the results exploded in his face. John started reading the results, scrolling fast, going over just the headlines. “Did we do what? Oh God... What the hell is a ‘ship’?”
John swallowed hard and continued to scroll through the results. This time, he slowed down and took the time to really read what was being proposed about himself and the infamous detective. “‘Watson and Holmes: how long will they stay in the closet?’ ‘Detective Duo: Mixing Business with Pleasure? - Fans speculate more than partnership after Holmes and Watson are spotted having an intimate candlelit dinner at local restaurant’”.
John stared at the screen with an air of disbelief as he continued to scroll past the multitude of headlines and rumours that swirled through his thoughts, turning them into something almost entirely unintelligible. Phrases like “platonic or not?” and “behind closed doors” burned into his mind and he shook his head to clear the jumble of distractions that had gathered. Why was this even a thing?
He scrolled up again and clicked on the suggested ‘Images for Sherlock Holmes and John Watson’ wondering how many pictures of them on a case there could possibly be. It was forbidden to take photos on crime scenes but, then again, the press was ruthless. His thought process froze as the images loaded. They were not photographs. But drawings, paintings, and sketches of him and his flatmate. In all of the art, they were close, very close. Touching, kissing, dancing.
John stopped scrolling and focused on one image in particular that caught his attention. Unlike the drawings, this one looked so entirely realistic that he had to do a double take; it was a photograph of Sherlock and himself that had been taken from a tabloid and later manipulated. In the image, Sherlock was standing on the curb, hand outstretched to hail a cab, but his other arm was wrapped tightly around John’s waist and John appeared to be leaning into the overly tall detective’s chest with his eyes downcast and a lazy smile on his face.
The image, however fake it may have been, sparked the memory of Sherlock’s brilliance that particular evening. The whole ordeal had actually been amusing - a promising burglary case had turned out to be the result of an overgrown Great Dane with an affinity for eating his owner’s priceless jewellery. Sherlock had been increasingly stroppy after wasting his time on something so incredibly boring (“Barely a three, John! Barely a three!”) and John had found the deduction to be quite funny to say the least. In the real image, he had been standing slightly behind Sherlock, trying to hide his amusement.
John clicked on the picture to get a better look when he was redirected to a new website full of more images, video clips, and extensive articles related to the image. Another onslaught of insinuating media that pictured the two of them in rather close proximity flooded his screen. More dancing, more touching, and oh, God….
John slammed the laptop shut feeling the rush of blood in his cheeks. He placed his face in the palms of his hands, closing his eyes. All he could see were the images of himself and his flatmate naked. Together. In various positions. One particular image burned itself onto his eyelids and was front and centre in his mind. They were both mostly dressed on this one but the comic strip was so erotic it elicited stronger reaction from him than the naked depictions. It was of Sherlock kneeling in front of him, his gaze tilted upwards and his mouth full of John’s cock. Oh god, why would anyone draw that? And yet, he couldn’t resist taking a closer look.
John opened the laptop again and enlarged the image in question. He had to admit the body proportions of them both and the look on Sherlock’s face were exceptionally well drawn. He was also fairly surprised at the accuracy of his own expression on the drawing. His head was thrown back against the wall behind him and his eyes were closed, his mouth gaping open in a breathy moan. John was pretty sure that’s usually how he looked when he was on the receiving end of such pleasure. However, the idea of such pleasure coming from the smart mouth of his flatmate was not doing him any favours at the moment.
He groaned at the feel of his blood travelling downward this time. Suddenly, the door to the sitting room flew open and a dishevelled Sherlock barged in. He started saying something to John but stopped and took a closer look at him.
“What have you been doing?” the detective asked. John slammed the laptop shut again and put it squarely on his lap placing both palms flat to secure the closed device.
Sherlock stared at him in confusion and shook his head at the odd behaviour. John was sure he had rolled his eyes as well. He was holding a beaker of some sort of yellow chemical in one hand and was brandishing a pair of tongs in the other; his lab goggles resting on top of his head where he had pushed them up off of his face. “If you could spare a moment to place your own mediocre concerns aside, I think I have finally discovered exactly what caused the terrible headaches you were experiencing last week when I was conducting my latest experiment. There are a few things to take into consideration of course, but I do believe I’ve finally come the right conclusion.” The detective stated this all matter-of-factly, ignoring the fact that John had not answered his first question. John didn’t think that Sherlock actually wanted to know what John had been doing, but sometimes, it would have been nice for him to care a little bit. Just… not right at this moment.
John’s face flushed even more crimson as his thoughts drifted back to the contents of the computer screen in his lap. Sherlock hadn’t even noticed and had just continued his ramblings about finding the headache-inducing ingredient as John turned to face him.
Sherlock was pacing back and forth in front of the coffee table now, and John couldn’t help but let his mind wander even further. It was several seconds before he realized that the detective had stopped his pacing and was staring at him; his blue eyes full of concern.
“Hmm?” he snapped his attention back to the real world and shook his head to clear his thoughts. He had been imagining the man pacing in front of him lying naked on his bed, in one of the positions he glimpsed in the sketches from his new findings. “What is it, Sherlock?”
His flatmate stared at him in confusion as if John was missing something incredibly important in the conversation. “John, I asked if you had any objections to me obtaining a blood sample from you and you didn’t even react. What’s on your mind? Why are you acting so….” he gestured flippantly towards the doctor’s entire body.
“On my mind...uhh” John had to clear his throat before he continued, his voice coming out a tiny bit higher than normal. “You. I was focusing on you, that is on what you were saying ummm...” The doctor was trying and failing to sound nonchalant and undistracted.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes and left for his room. John breathed a sigh of relief, put the laptop on the table and went to make some tea. He should have known better than to leave the laptop unattended when Sherlock was around and had the uncanny ability to walk silently even on the creaking wood flooring. It seemed that he knew exactly where the creaking boards were and could avoid them easily. Over the whirring sound of the electric kettle brewing, John didn’t hear Sherlock re-entering the sitting room and opening John’s laptop. He poured the water into the teapot and left it to brew before he noticed Sherlock was back.
John leapt to snatch the device from his flatmate but it was too late. Sherlock’s face betrayed his shock at seeing what John had been looking at. And the next expression was... intrigue? He bloody well wasn’t disgusted. Oh God. John wished for a black hole to swallow him up. He wished for those black spots in the ground that appeared in cartoons so he could just leap inside one and be gone from the room. He felt his cheeks flush, his whole body flush with more than shame. Because Sherlock was still scrolling, his head cocked to the side, eyes narrowed slightly before opening wider as his brows shot up.
“These are really good.”
All coherent forms of communication vanished in John’s brain as he blinked furiously at the words. Really good? Was he even looking at the same thing? Yes, the artwork was fantastic, but shouldn’t Sherlock be slamming the screen closed and darting from the room at this point? Wasn’t he the least bit flustered? John had to slip over and look over Sherlock’s shoulder to make sure he had the same tab open.. Yup, definitely the same tab. He browsed through drawings of them holding hands, kissing in an alley, buggering in the shower...
“Look John, there’s more. There are stories. And long ones too. I know you’ve been telling me for months about people being interested in us, but this is more than I expected.”Sherlock looked up at John standing dumbfounded with mouth agape and his smirk vanished. “You don’t approve? But you were the one…”
“No, Sherlock. I just Googled myself… you… then us. Like Greg told me to and this is what popped up. I didn’t look for it on purpose, I didn’t… I don’t...oh God” John buried his flaming face in his hands.
Sherlock tilted his head, racking his brain for a moment. “Greg? Who’s Greg? Is he one of your army friends?” he asked, causing the doctor to sigh in frustration.
“Greg Lestrade, Sherlock! For God’s sake, you’ve known him for five years,” John answered, exasperated. Sometimes, he couldn’t get over just how clueless the detective could be.
“Wait, you’re telling me Lestrade knows about this?” Sherlock laughed. “Oh this is priceless! So this is where the ‘rumours’ and ‘speculations’ about us stem from?”
“I guess so,” John mumbled into his hands then risked another look at Sherlock from between his fingers. But Sherlock was not looking at John’s face but at his trousers. Namely the tent in his trousers created by John’s reaction to the racy art. Sherlock opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again as if to comment, but nothing came out. Sherlock Holmes, the great consulting detective was speechless and John’s mortification eased slightly as he enjoyed the moment.
The doctor squared his shoulders for a moment, willing himself to keep his composure. He was sure Sherlock was deducing him by now. There wasn’t any way John was going to be able to hide his innermost thoughts, and there was no chance Sherlock would keep his perceptions of the situation to himself. Though his flatmate didn’t speak, John could see the realisation dawning on him through the slight widening of his eyes. John decided that Sherlock had had long enough to study him.
He cleared his throat before he spoke, his voice coming out stronger than he thought it might, “So, you said there were stories?”. He leaned down over Sherlock’s shoulder as they both turned back to the computer screen. He watched silently as Sherlock scrolled through an endless sea of search results which detailed small snippets of fictional works written by internet fans about the speculations of their private life at 221B.
“Ok, so these are tags.” said the detective. “ ‘Bottom Sherlock’? What’s that supposed to mean?”
John made a snorting sound at the back of his throat that he couldn’t contain in time. Clearly, it was enough for Sherlock to realize the meaning of the tag and click on the story.
“It looks like most of them have the same tag anyway,” Sherlock said under his breath as they both started silently reading; the words painting a very vivid picture.
“‘John’s cock was so big.’ Who writes that?” Sherlock yelled, appalled, and nearly made John jump with the sudden outburst.
“Shhh, keep reading.” John mumbled, his eyes glued to the screen. “The sentences are flowing so nicely. This person can really write.”
However, Sherlock didn’t care about the sentences, he liked John’s writing just fine. What was flowing was his blood down to his cock as he continued reading and imagined the scenario playing out in real life.
“This person got a few things right though,” Sherlock started reading out loud, “In a voice straight from a porn movie, John answered ‘Oh God, yes!’” The last part Sherlock read imitating John’s voice.
“I don’t do that!” John gave Sherlock an incredulous stare.
“Yup, you do.” Sherlock’s lips made an exaggerated sound as he said the first word making John determined to find something on Sherlock in the story.
“Ha!” John exclaimed and started reading aloud, “‘Sherlock put his collar up and moved so that the lighting from the street lamp would illuminate the shine of his hair and the sharpness of his cheekbones.’” John snorted as he finished the sentence. “That’s all you right there, Sherlock.”
“Shut up, John.”
They both fell silent again as the story unfolded with the characters kissing passionately in an alley, their hands touching everything they could reach. Then, Fictional Sherlock was pinned against the wall and John held him there, spreading his partner’s legs with a sweep to his foot. Fictional Sherlock was moaning under the roaming kisses of his flatmate and John dove forward to back out of the chosen story as Fictional John’s hands moved to the zip on the fictional detective’s trousers.
“Uh…. Let’s choose another one, shall we?” the doctor suggested, trying to mask the arousal clear in his voice. What the hell had they discovered? More importantly, why were they combing through this together? John couldn’t help but roll his eyes at himself. This was what they were like, wasn’t it? Pushing boundaries and ignoring all aspects of normal flatmate behaviour at any given point of time and bulldozing over one another’s personal walls. He supposed that was just how life was when you lived with Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock was already scrolling through the search results again; his bottom lip drawn between his teeth in heavy concentration. The very sight of him like that made John feel a bit weak at the knees and he gripped the back of the desk chair to steady himself.
“John…?” The detective spoke with a cautious tone and directed John to look at the screen. The pointer hovered over a particularly interesting tag. ‘Soldier John’ it read and Sherlock clicked on the story. During the silent reading of the story, John couldn’t help but notice that Sherlock nodded in approval several times when Fictional John’s uniform was mentioned or fictional John was pulling rank.
Then, when the story took a racy turn, Sherlock’s hands flew into the air as he exclaimed, “Why am I always on the bottom?” John tried to contain his amusement at Sherlock’s appalled expression. “I don’t think such a position is even physically possible anyway. They got it all wrong…”
“You sure?” This time John didn’t hide the laughter bubbling up in his chest.
“No,” Sherlock’s tone was serious and dripping with unspoken need to solve a mystery presented to him in form of fanfiction. John’s laughter died instantly. Was it possible Sherlock was considering experimenting to prove a point? No, it wasn’t possible. Was it? God, who was John kidding? He knew Sherlock well enough to know that this wasn’t something he was going to just let go.
Sherlock let out another exasperated snort as he came across yet another offending statement. His voice dropped an octave in irritation as he spoke, “There is no way something of that nature is even possible! How the hell would one even begin to test such ridiculous nonsense…?”.
His rant died in his throat and John heard his sharp intake of breath before he looked down at his flatmate. Sherlock was staring up at him, his expression curious and his lips parted slightly.
A sudden sense of alarm shot through John’s entire body as he studied his partner’s face. Was he seriously suggesting they…? He couldn’t possibly think that John would… Oh God, but he was and he did!
“No… No way, Sherlock. You can’t be serious!” the doctor’s voice betrayed him as it turned into a short yelp at the end.
The detective seemed to consider his concern, but only for a fleeting moment as he shrugged his wide shoulders. “Experimentation really is the only true way to collect enough data needed to draw an accurate conclusion once a particular hypothesis has been proposed…” he finally said, his words making it all sound entirely scientific and impersonal.
John’s eyes widened and he blinked slowly, trying to process the sheer insanity of what the man before him was so blatantly suggesting. He let out a nervous chuckle, “Oh, Sherlock, how could I ever resist a proposition like that?,” he scoffed, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. “Seriously, that might be the worst way to proposition someone in the history of the entire world.” The doctor crossed his arms over his chest as a look of indignation radiated from his features.
Sherlock blinked up at him with a slight smirk, “So… is that a yes?”.
John’s face fell and he rolled his eyes; his hands coming up to wipe down his face and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh, God, what have I gotten myself into….?”
Part two of the fluffy crack fic that was supposed to be all about sex but came out sweeter than we expected. Enjoy!
Special thanks to our wonderful Beta @MsScarlet!
Had John just agreed to participate in an experiment with Sherlock that may or may not involve acts of sexual nature? Why yes… yes, he had.
Sherlock stared victoriously up at John; the expression he wore quickly replaced by a more business-like demeanour. The glint in his eyes, however, was the same one that preceded the thrill of an exciting new case and the doctor knew he had just allowed himself to become a player in a very dangerous game. No matter how unsettling that thought was, John could feel himself slowly warming up to the idea. Sherlock was purely scientific, wasn’t he? So, it wasn’t like this experience was going to be anything other than clinical. They would test whatever theories captured the detective’s imagination the most and then that would be that. The next case would come along and all would be forgotten.
“So, what should we start with first, John?” Sherlock’s voice broke through John’s thoughts and it took him a moment to realize his flatmate had already begun scrolling through the different stories looking for their starting experiment.
Sherlock clicked on a new story and quickly skimmed the contents, or rather read it that fast. He stood up, casually, and John followed Sherlock’s movements with his gaze as the taller man came to stand directly behind him. John froze; his grip on the now empty chair in front of him tightening. He felt Sherlock’s heat behind him and forced himself to look straight ahead, and not turn to his flatmate who was now so close they would end up chest to chest if he did. Sherlock exhaled, his warm breath tickling the tiny hairs on the nape of John’s neck, making his face flush. John felt as well as heard Sherlock’s next inhalation.
“You’ve changed your shampoo,” he observed.
John felt a shiver run down his spine, his breath quickened, his knuckles whitened from the force of his grip on the chair. He wasn’t prepared for this. From the drawings he had looked at, from the knowledge he had about his flatmate, he hadn’t expected anything slow and gentle. He hadn’t expected his reaction would be so intense either. John felt Sherlock’s lips on the side of his neck, then on his jaw and on his cheek, as his eyes fluttered and closed. Sherlock’s hands slid along John’s forearms to rest on the top of his palms.
The doctor sucked in air as he let his head drop back against his flatmate’s shoulder. He let the breath out in quiet, shallow tremors; his skin prickling where Sherlock’s hands were pressed down on his arms. What the hell was happening…? John was overwhelmed with sensation. He hadn’t expected to feel anything so quickly and intensely.
“Do you want me to continue, John?” Sherlock’s whispered words travelled through John’s body and down to his groin.
“Oh God, yes,” he breathed, stifling a groan.
John felt Sherlock smile against his skin and, after a moment, the detective had stepped away from him. Surprised by the sudden loss of contact, the doctor turned to see his flatmate fishing his mobile out of the pocket of his dressing gown and begin typing furiously. All confusion faded from John’s face as his partner began to speak. “Right, so that’s the first item crossed off the list.You apparently have an affinity for those three little words. Very good, John. This is going to work out quite nicely. You’re very responsive which will do wonders for our time-“ Sherlock had begun to slip gracefully into deduction mode until John cut him off.
“You cock! What do you mean, ‘That’s the first item’? If we are going to do this, you’ll need to include me in the entire process. I’m not going to be a lab rat for you, Sherlock. Not at all. You have to tell me what you’re doing and give me an idea of exactly what you have planned or I’m putting an end to this right now,” John had realized he was shouting and had tried to calm his tone by the end of his rant, but surely Sherlock understood his frustration?
Or perhaps he didn’t. Sherlock was staring at him with a blank expression, his hands frozen mid-text, and he drew in a long breath. When he finally figured out what he wanted to say, he seemed to choose his words carefully. “John… while I understand your need to be informed on the nature of our little experiments, the reality of the situation is that, if you know all of the details up front, it will undoubtedly compromise the accuracy of the results which will render them utterly useless,” he stated, matter-of-factly, and John felt himself begin to understand the point Sherlock was trying to make, as much as he didn’t want to.
The doctor nodded his head as he considered the explanation and chewed his bottom lip. “All right,” he finally said, fair enough. But, just so we are clear, this little experiment goes both ways and the only way to test things out about you will be for me to provide you with the same treatment. So, we have to have complete and total trust in one another, okay?”.
“Fine,” Sherlock agreed but his flat-lipped expression suggested he wasn’t completely satisfied with the agreement. He continued writing down the results on his phone for a moment longer before he put it in his pocket and sashayed to the kitchen. The sounds of Sherlock making tea encouraged John to take the laptop and start doing his own research.
Sherlock returned after a few minutes with two cups of tea; he placed one on the table next to John’s chair and settled into his own chair with the other. He studied John for a moment and cleared his throat lightly to get the doctor’s attention. “Since, we have come to a mutual understanding of how things should work I would like to propose a testing strategy. A mutual analysation tactic, if you will,” he began, taking a short sip of his tea to test the temperature.
“Okay, that sounds reasonable. What did you have in mind?” John replied, closing his laptop and taking his own tea from the table. “Thanks, by the way,” he said, lifting his cup in Sherlock’s direction before taking a sip.
The detective nodded slightly acknowledging the thanks, and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “If each of us is going to be testing our own findings and theories, I propose we each take the evening to do some proper research. As we find information that we would like to test, we may benefit from forming a hypothesis and creating a spreadsheet on our computers. This would give us a list to go by and boxes to check off in specific categories for further analysis, later,” Sherlock said, letting a small smile show on his features. A smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His eyes, instead, were calculating, obviously judging John’s response as each word was spoken.
John accepted the challenge with a nod. However a tingle of worry wrapped in excitement washed over him at the very thought of what lay ahead.
They drank the rest of the tea in silence and John took the laptop to start his research. Seeing that John was getting straight down to business, Sherlock went to get his own laptop.
The evening passed quietly, only the sounds of their soft tapping and scrolling filling the room as they read silently.
On his way to the loo at one point, John looked over Sherlock’s shoulder to see that his flatmate had created an Excel spreadsheet with multiple categories in a table, as well as having several other tabs open. John was unable to read the categories from afar but he was certain now that Sherlock was planning to make this ordeal into an extensive experiment. Well, the game was on, then.
As the evening wore on, Sherlock kept glancing over the top of his laptop screen at John and his double-index-finger typing and couldn’t help but wonder which theories he would want to test. He imagined John in several of the scenarios that he had picked himself and he had to force his mind to focus on the task at hand before the need to start experimenting overwhelmed his need to organise the tables into categories for drawing the conclusions faster. He wondered if John would find the same ideas as fascinating as he had. It was entirely possible he would be repulsed by some of them.
Sherlock stole another glance at John who was frowning at the screen in front of him, then turning his head sideways, squinting, then looking down his body before he continued typing. Soon after that he stood up and announced he was going to bed. John never stayed up as late as Sherlock so it was not at all surprising.
Sherlock continued his research for several more hours before he went to sleep himself.
After a much-needed cold shower and more research, this time in his own room, John was ready to start experiment number one. He tiptoed softly, down the stairs making sure not to step on the creaking boards and opened the door to Sherlock’s bedroom. It was pitch black; Sherlock’s curtains were drawn and there was no light, natural or artificial, coming through but John was familiar with the room enough to proceed. With the stealth of the soldier that he still was, he approached the bed quietly and slid under the covers. Sherlock slept in the middle of his bed, quite predictably since he was used to sleeping alone, but there was just enough space for John.
John felt Sherlock’s heat when his body was still inches away from his flatmate’s. He hesitated for a split second before he gently put his arm around Sherlock and snuggled close enough so that the front of his body was snuggled to Sherlock’s back.
John startled when Sherlock grumbled something unintelligible in his sleep but didn’t move enough to break John’s hold. John felt a peculiar twinge of realization at what he was doing but pushed it away into the back of his mind. He had never spooned someone taller than himself before, but the feeling was not entirely unpleasant. Quite to the contrary, actually.
In a matter of minutes, John felt warm and sleepy; his friend’s body a surprisingly pleasant heater during the chilly night.
John slowly came awake, feeling as if he couldn’t breathe. A heavy weight lay across his chest. He couldn’t move his legs either. ‘Don’t panic,’ he told himself and opened his eyes. Immediately, he turned his sleepy gaze to his chest where a mop of black curls was lying front and centre. The memory of where he was and that he was there of his own volition hit him and he blinked to refocus his gaze. He glanced at the clock on the bedside table and realised that he feel back to sleep for two more hours.
Looking down, he saw that the rest of his flatmate’s body wrapped around him. Sherlock’s legs were intertwined with John’s making him unable to move. Sherlock’s long arms were wrapped around the doctor’s waist in a sleepy, but remarkably strong, hold. John found himself unable to decide how to proceed.
At least that settled it: Sherlock was a snuggler. That was his first hypothesis confirmed. After reading a few different works, it occurred to John that, in each of them, Sherlock always ended up being very cuddly. He was surprised to find that the assumption was true and it was definitely something he couldn’t wait to analyze later in private.
The only problem with this experiment was that John hadn’t really thought about what he was supposed to do next. His body was relaxing into the situation and he allowed himself to release a long, contented sigh. He couldn’t deny that he was enjoying being this close to his flatmate, but, as he tilted his head down, Sherlock’s curls tickled the tip of his nose and he realised what he had to test next. He reached for his phone on the bedside table, opened his ‘Memos’ app, and typed in a check mark beside his first bullet point. He read over the next couple of options on his list as a small smile played at the edge of his lips. Putting the device into sleep mode, he placed it back on the bedside table and wrapped one of his arms around Sherlock’s waist and brought his free hand to rest in the soft curls at the nape of his partner’s neck.
John tangled his fingers into Sherlock’s thick curly hair and stroked through them slowly, letting his fingers twirl around individual spirals. Damn, they really were soft… As an affectionate smile spread across his features, John allowed himself to bury his face into his flatmate’s curls and took a deep breath, inhaling the detective’s shampoo. Although the doctor couldn’t name the scent or brand, the smell was extremely familiar and comforting. He hadn’t realized it, but the scent was one he knew by heart and the thought truly surprised him.
He let his thoughts drift to the mess of curls in his grip as he began to knead the pads of his fingers into Sherlock’s scalp. He massaged and caressed the detective’s head and tried to suppress a soft chuckle when Sherlock nuzzled deeper into his chest. A low growl rumbled up through his partner’s chest as he slept on and John felt the grip around his own waist tighten. Oh, God…
The doctor’s eyes fluttered closed and his mouth fell open in a silent groan as he tried to steady his breathing. His entire body went stiff at the sound and he could feel the blood rushing out of his brain and straight to his groin. John hadn’t expected such a reaction from his flatmate, and he certainly hadn’t expected it to have that much of an effect on him. Jesus Christ, what was happening?
His mind momentarily flicked back to the way Sherlock’s soft, warm lips had felt against his neck the previous evening and it took everything in his power to keep from imagining what they might feel like anywhere else on his body. As he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, he willed himself to remember that this was only an experiment - a game of sorts; one that John couldn’t afford to lose.
He continued his silent exploration of Sherlock’s curly hair and his eyes grew heavier by the moment. Between the warmth of the added body heat and the repetitive motion of his own fingers, the doctor could feel himself giving in to exhaustion again. He knew It wouldn’t be long before he nodded off and he was unsure of whether or not he should return to his own bedroom. However, as his body calmed and his breathing stilled, John wasn’t even aware of when he had drifted off to sleep.
Sherlock woke up with a yawn, snuggling his face into the warmth, throwing his leg further over the duvet he was cuddling. Except his duvet shouldn’t have a heartbeat. He disentangled himself from the body next to him and pushed himself away; so far so that he ended up on the edge of the bed. The moment that his sleepy eyes registered that he had been snuggling up to John, he was already falling off the bed.
In a heap of arms and legs, Sherlock lay unmoving for several moments as he was trying to deduce how he ended up in this situation to begin with. He found a faint memory of soft steps in the night, but he had thought that John was just checking up on him, as was his habit, so he drifted off to sleep. Come to think of it, his body felt well rested, bar the newly acquired set of bumps. He was unable to see what time it was on the bedside table clock but he could tell that he had had more than his usual amount of rest.
Sherlock was still lost in his musings when John’s head appeared directly above him as he leaned over the edge of the bed.
“Are you okay, Sherlock?”
Sherlock felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment, partly because of the fall and partly because he was sure John was aware of their intense snuggling session.
“Ye…” he cleared his throat. “Yes, I’m perfectly fine,” he announced as he started to get up. It was time for John to flush bright red as both of them realized then that Sherlock, as usual, slept naked.
Customarily, a healthy male specimen woke up with an erection due to morning testosterone levels after REM sleep and nightly brain relaxation, and Sherlock found himself feeling extremely healthy this morning. He looked down his body to the part pointing directly to where John was sitting. He looked at his flatmate then, who was crouched on the bed with his mouth agape and a blush not only covering his face, but also his upper torso now. Sherlock looked down John’s body and lifted an eyebrow in question.
“John? Are you embarrassed by the fact that I am perfectly capable of achieving a morning erection, or is it because you are capable of the same thing? Surely, it must happen to you in the morning quite regularly, because when you take a shower, you usually,-”
“Yes, Sherlock. It happens to me every morning,” John managed to interrupt Sherlock just in time before he heard more than he could handle. “Could you just stop talking about it like it’s some… some…”
“Scientific experiment?” Sherlock smirked as the realisation hit John like a lead weight. It had been his idea after all, he couldn’t deny it. He also couldn’t make himself stop looking at Sherlock’s cock.
Sherlock cleared his throat rather loudly in order to draw John’s attention back up to his face as he pulled part of the duvet off of his bed and wrapped it around himself. “So, would you like to begin by telling me how we ended up in this situation to start with or would you like for me to just figure it out for myself? I could probably deduce it all in a matter of seconds, but I do feel that it would at least be in good taste to offer you the chance to explain yourself first,” the detective spoke clearly and quite sharply, while his eyes seemed to be dismantling John’s thought processes already.
John let out a small involuntary cough as he edged himself back toward the middle of the bed, allowing Sherlock - now wrapped loosely in the duvet - to settle beside him in bed once again. Would Sherlock be offended that John had started his own experimentation without asking for consent or would he smirk at him like he usually did when he thought John was being ridiculous about something that he deemed trivial?
“John?” Sherlock prompted a second time, causing him to snap out of his thoughts.
“I’m sorry, but that’s what we agreed on and… Well, you took advantage of me, yesterday, when you tested your first little theory out on me and so, I decided to return the favour,” John teased, smirking at the the detective as he let out a chuckle. “The truth is the first item on my list couldn’t really be tested while you were awake and I thought if you knew about it beforehand, it might skew the results.” the doctor admitted, bringing a hand up to rub at the nape of his neck. He could still feel the heat of embarrassment stinging his cheeks as he stared down at the mattress.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes and quirked an eyebrow as he mulled the words over in his mind. He worked his bottom lip between his teeth and studied John’s face, trying his best to deduce whether or not he had told the whole truth. “And what exactly did you come to test?” he probed, his voice even and smooth.
The doctor let out a sigh and dropped his hand back onto the bed as he avoided Sherlock’s gaze. He knew his flatmate wasn’t going to let him off so easily, but it had been worth a try. He would find out sooner or later anyway, so he may as well tell the truth now.
“I - you see, in each story I read, there were a few similarities that intrigued me just a bit. One of those things being the fact that you were really into cuddling… so, you see, I couldn’t exactly test that one while you were awake, because it would mess up the legitimacy of the test if you knew what was happening… So, I slipped in, last night, to try to find out if the things I’d read were true,” John’s voice went quiet as he finished speaking and he risked a look at Sherlock’s face as his words sank in.
“Ah, well. It’s quite the revelation, isn’t it?” Sherlock said, avoiding John’s gaze. “I’m quite surprised myself. Although I can’t deny it happened, I can argue that the reaction was partially involuntary.” He glanced at John then, his eyes scanning John’s chest up to his face. “Your body was warm, welcoming, and…” Sherlock wrapped the duvet tighter around himself.
“Wait, so what you’re saying is that you didn’t know if you liked cuddling? As in, you’ve never done it before?” John’s surprise was clear as his voice came out an octave too high. He was staring at Sherlock intently, but the detective refused to meet his gaze. “Sherlock? Will you look at me?”
Sherlock blinked hard and opened his eyes to return John’s stare, his eyes narrowing slightly, “No, I haven’t.”
“So, you haven’t ever acted on your, ummm...” John pursed his lips and looked down to where Sherlock’s groin was covered with the duvet, but he could still clearly visualise what was under it, “urges?” The word came out fell awkwardly as it from his lips.
“That’s a peculiar way to ask about the history of my sexual relations, John.” Sherlock’s voice was flat; his gaze was cold and his jaw hardened, causing his lips to press into a tight line.
John wasn’t quite sure what to make of this new information and he wondered just how far Sherlock had actually taken a physical relationship with another person, which made him completely unsure of how he was supposed to proceed from here. Fortunately for the doctor, the look vanished just as quickly as it had come. Sherlock blinked hard once again and his expression settled back into its former neutral state.
“So, was that the only reason you invited yourself into my bed last night? Or did you test anything else out on me while I slept?” the detective asked, leaning back into the pillows propped against the headboard of his bed.
“Well, I wasn’t really planning to, but…” John’s tongue darted out to wet his lips as the memory of Sherlock’s reaction to the doctor massaging his curls flooded his mind. “But, I couldn’t resist trying out one more thing on my list,”.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow and studied John’s expression, watching him draw his bottom lip between his teeth before he spoke again.
“Sherlock… close your eyes for me…” the doctor requested, softly, as he returned the detective’s gaze.
As much as he wanted to protest, Sherlock trusted John enough to humour him and, after all, wasn’t this part of their agreement, anyway? He let his eyes slip closed and he felt his flatmate’s weight shift beside him. As the mattress dipped closer to his side, Sherlock knew his friend had shifted closer to him. His anticipation began to mount. Before he could think too much into the situation, though, the detective felt the light pressure of John’s fingertips at the base of his neck. The doctor’s gentle touch caressed the curls at his nape and, after a moment, John slid his hand up to cradle the back of Sherlock’s head. A quick shiver made its way down his spine and his jaw went slack, leaving his mouth hanging open. The calloused pads of his flatmate’s fingers dug into his scalp in a gentle massage, winding the loose spirals around blunt fingertips in slow repetitive motions as he worked his fingers.
John let out a shaky breath as he watched Sherlock melt into his touch. He touched a particularly sensitive spot just below the detective’s earlobe and another low, rumbling growl ripped its way out of Sherlock’s chest in response. John’s erection had been slowly receding but, at that sound, a rush of blood shot straight to his groin once more. He had to concede that he really was enjoying this little experiment himself. John’s grip on his hair tightened instinctively.
Sherlock knew it was just a touch, a caress, but something so simple had never felt this good. The sound that he had made surprised Sherlock in many ways, and he leaned into John’s hand, craving more. He was reluctant to open his eyes for fear of his flatmate’s reaction to his newly discovered peculiar need. He needed to feel John’s hands on him. They had touched before, yes - mostly in a medical capacity when Sherlock had had to be patched up after an intense physical ordeal during a case. That was a different kind of touch however; it was business-like, emotionless, and purposeful. Sherlock never expected that anyone touching him, especially his hair, could ever be anything more than a nuisance. He had to have his hair cut every so often, but he never particularly enjoyed it. The detective had never enjoyed any kind of touch, but somehow, this… This was different. Every experience with John was different.
He let the duvet fall off of his shoulders, freeing his arms, as he pushed himself to slip out of his comfort zone and reached for his flatmate. His hands slid up John’s back, noting every muscle on their way into his shorter hair as his mind began to catalogue each strand - the softness, the length, even the texture of the remaining gel John had used to keep the unruly parts in place the day before. Navigating with eyes still closed, Sherlock framed the doctor’s face with his palms, feeling the rough beginnings of stubble over his jawline. John came willingly when Sherlock pulled him closer, at the same time leaning into him, slightly, so that their lips - so close already - could finally meet.
It was chaste at first. John’s lips were soft but dry and, after the initial touch, they opened slightly in a gasp before coming back eagerly for more. Sherlock slicked his tongue over his flatmate’s lower lip and was rewarded with with a similar flick on his own as John responded patiently and reassuringly. That gave him the courage to open his eyes and look into the deep pools of blue swimming with hidden emotion.
“Sherlock…” John started saying but was promptly interrupted.
“Shut up. It’s for science,” Sherlock breathed the words before bringing their mouths close again, this time for a deeper exploration. John’s fingers twisted in Sherlock’s hair pulling him even harder into the kiss.
Chapter by CarmillaCarmine
Part three continues with John and Sherlock pushing their experiments further into sexy territory. Enjoy!
Special thanks to our wonderful Beta @MsScarlet!
Even though it was Sherlock who initiated the kiss, John was the one to take it a step further by throwing the duvet off of Sherlock, pushing him down onto the bed, and straddling him, desperately trying not to break the contact their lips craved so badly.
Sherlock’s hands moved up John’s thighs until he reached to squeeze his buttocks. John moved his hips initiating a sensual frottage that made it impossible to ignore that Sherlock was naked and John was clad only in his red boxer-briefs.
Sherlock looked at John’s pants and smirked. “They’re red. It must be Monday.”
John’s smile held a note of triumph and a promise of more surprises. Apparently, John would be checking more than one column of his research today. Sherlock couldn’t let himself stay behind on his own research.
With that thought, he moved his palm around John’s hip and slid it to cup John’s balls. The sharp intake of breath coming from the doctor told him the touch was very welcome. The detective smirked and rubbed his thumb over the fabric and curled his fingers experimentally as he worked John’s balls in his hand. Sherlock was working on instinct at this point and, when a low moan escaped his friend’s lips, he stilled his movements as he loosened his grip.
His head spinning, it took John a few moments to realise the sensation had come to halt. Had he done something wrong? Was he not supposed to enjoy the touch? He stole a glance down at Sherlock’s face.The hesitation he saw in those downcast eyes struck a chord with John. Another suspicion clarified then; another hypothesis confirmed. Without moving away from his flatmate, John cleared his throat quietly causing Sherlock to blink up at him briefly before averting his gaze again. The gesture made it clear to John that he would have to prompt the detective for further information if he wanted it.
“Is everything okay?” he asked, keeping his voice low. It wouldn’t do to make too big a deal of what he had just observed, or else Sherlock would only retreat further into himself.
Sherlock’s eyes were still downcast when he replied.
“I know the theory but I’ve never…”
“That’s okay, Sherlock. If you want, we can...oh God…” His words died in his throat replaced with a moan as Sherlock stroked John’s cock through the fabric of his pants before pulling it out. Sherlock’s lips opened as he looked up at John and gave the cock in his hand a firm stroke.
An involuntary shudder worked its way through the doctor’s entire body at the movement of Sherlock’s hand on his cock. As John blinked open his eyes, he met the detective’s gaze and his face was set in deep determination; an unspoken reassurance that he was fine with the arrangement. John smiled to himself and lifted himself to kneel as the detective pulled up into a sitting position.
Sherlock looked gorgeous with a slight blush on his cheeks, his eyes filled with yearning mixed with fascination, the need to seek answers. They both released a shuddering breath when Sherlock’s open mouth moved closer to its destination.
A piercing sound filled the air and destroyed the moment. John realised it was the alarm clock on his phone.
John cursed profusely, looked down at Sherlock and took the detective’s gorgeous face in his hands.
“I’m sorry. I have to go,” the regret was plain in his voice and John hoped it was enough to convey the depth of his regret.
“Of course,” Sherlock replied, his face changing from wanton need to business-like understanding.
John nodded as he pressed a brief kiss to the detective’s forehead and scrambled off the bed never hating his phone more in his life. He tried not to look back for fear he wouldn’t be able to leave but he risked a glance only to enjoy the piece of art that was Sherlock in all his naked glory sprawled on the bed, an image that would stay with him for the whole day.
With the coming evening in mind, he hurried out of the bedroom and rushed through his morning routine. He was fairly sure of how he could make this up to Sherlock, but he would need the extra time before leaving for work. He’d showered the night before so that would buy him a good amount of time already. After he’d brushed his teeth and got dressed, he reached to the bottom of his wardrobe to pull out his old duffel bag - checking to make sure everything he’d need was present and accounted for before throwing it over his shoulder.
As he made his way back down the stairs, John heard Sherlock typing away at his laptop in the sitting room. He wasn’t sure what the proper etiquette was for their current situation, but he was sure it would be considered rude to leave without at least saying goodbye.
He cracked open the door and leaned into the room, drawing in a silent breath as he quickly noticed his friend sitting at the desk, dressed to the nines in his usual black bespoke suit and a grey button-down shirt. John had noticed how well those clothes had suited him before, but, this morning, things felt different. He supposed waking up to a cuddly Sherlock who had later wrapped those long, violinist’s fingers around his cock would do that to a man’s perspective.
“You never carry a bag to work,” Sherlock stated into the quiet of the room, bringing John back to the present.
The doctor tensed, knowing he couldn’t lie well enough for Sherlock to see through it. He looked at his friend and smiled widely.
“Today I do,” John fought the urge to wink at Sherlock the same way the detective did the first day they met. Come to think of it, why had Sherlock winked at him?
Sherlock had already deduced that John would want to continue what was so rudely interrupted in the morning, but in order to deliver the best results he had to do extensive research. He had eight hours to prepare and decide what had the highest probability of being John’s preference. He started with reading several articles but they didn’t describe what he was looking for well enough to satisfy him.
Finally he found a site with videos. He had to tap the mute button quickly as the loud lewd noises filled the sitting room when Sherlock accidently clicked on a video upon opening the site. Maybe Mrs Hudson had been an exotic dancer back in the day, but Sherlock didn’t want to take the risk of shocking her too much. It was smart to avoid giving her gossip material as well..
The site had a range of categories and made it easy for a first-time viewer to move around and find the desired material. After familiarising himself with the site, Sherlock added several more options into the categories he already had in his Excel document. To his own surprise, he found himself adding several items to the columns that he hadn’t read about before. His body’s reaction to the videos was as he expected, but he chose to ignore it. He’d have that tended to later; he was sure of it.
The thought struck something deep inside of him and he paused to wonder when he had begun to consider his body’s needs. He was intrigued by the turn things had taken in their experiments. The nature of the experiments hadn’t surprised him as much as what seemed to be attached to them. There were a plethora of sensations and desires he hadn’t allowed himself to consider before that were suddenly staring him in the face at every turn and Sherlock found himself faced with decisions he never thought he’d have to make before.
Trying his best to remind himself that these situations were supposed to be purely scientific and research-based, he turned his attention back to the laptop and selected another video that seemed promising. If John Watson wanted to experiment in those ways then Sherlock was going to give him all the experiments that he could possibly handle.
John’s shift at the clinic was very busy that day and before he realised, it was time to go home. He made sure he was the last to leave, hoping to avoid funny looks from the staff as he marched home wearing full combat dress.
For the first time he appreciated the looks he was getting from the women he passed on the pavement but didn’t feel the need to engage in conversation. He was on a mission and he wouldn’t let anything derail him from its success.
As John reached 221B, he unlocked the door and poked his head in, looking to make sure Mrs. Hudson wasn’t around to catch him and ruin his plan. The entryway was clear, and he was sure he could hear the vacuum running in her flat. Slipping inside, he made his way up, past the closed sitting room door, to his room in order to stash the duffle and give himself a quick once-over in the mirror.
It had been ages since he had worn his fatigues; the lines on his face and creases at the corners of his eyes were a testament to a small portion of what he had gone through. However, he had to admit that he still had it. He still looked the part and he felt a sense of his old self creeping into his veins. The waistband of his khaki-camouflage trousers was a bit tighter than it had been before, but the matching shirt still fit about the same. He had rolled the sleeves up above his elbows and tucked them into cuffs that levelled out just below the medic patch on his left arm. He was pleased with the muscle-tone in his arms and he couldn’t resist the temptation to top off the look. He ran a hand through his dirty-blonde hair, pushing it back off his forehead, and let out a breath. Squaring his shoulders, he unbuttoned the front of his shirt completely to expose his dog tags and still-toned chest - bullet wound be damned - and gave himself a final nod of approval before he made his way down to the bathroom for a quick refresh and headed to the sitting room.
Sherlock didn’t even lift his gaze from the laptop when John entered the room at first. After a moment, John quietly cleared his throat. As Sherlock’s eyes rose to meet John’s, the expression on his face was priceless.
He did a double take so comical it took everything in John to keep a straight face, and his eyes became saucers of surprise mixed with...yes, it was definitely arousal.
John feigned nonchalance as he marched to the kitchen, hearing the squeak of the desk chair Sherlock sat on. Before he could flaunt his uniform even more ostentatiously, Sherlock was already in the kitchen not two feet away from him and eyeing the uniform as if it was a serial murder and he was bored.
“What…” Sherlock cleared his throat before he continued, “why are you wearing this?” He breathed the last word, his eyes still roaming over John’s body from boots to exposed chest and finally his face.
“You know why. You always know, you’re just surprised that I actually did it.” John’s smirk of satisfaction grew into a grin when he saw the lust in Sherlock’s expression.
John had planned this part of the experiment and indeed Sherlock did appear to have an affinity for his combat dress, but he hadn’t thought of the consequences of that outcome. John knew that Sherlock could read his expression like an open book and not only did John want to push the experiment further, but he also did not want to disappoint in fulfilling Sherlock’s fantasy. John straightened his stance, looked up at Sherlock and in a decisive tone uttered one word.
Sherlock dropped to his knees the moment the word left John’s mouth, the thud of his kneecaps hitting the floor echoing through the room.
“Yes, sir,” he said, gazing up towards John, waiting.
As if John had entered into an alternate universe, any hesitation, shyness, and uncertainty he ever had when it came to being physically close to his friend disappeared.
With sure movements he removed his belt and undid his trousers letting them hit the kitchen floor.
“Sherlock? I believe you have unfinished business that you need to attend to.” Sherlock’s curls bounced as he nodded, no words coming from his slightly open mouth.
John took his already half erect cock out of his boxer briefs and gave it a gentle stroke before presenting it to his friend.
“I’m clean, Sherlock so you have nothing to worry about.” John said making sure his friend understood that he would never put his health at risk.
Sherlock’s long fingers wrapped around John’s cock, making it almost impossibly hard within seconds. The other hand travelled to knead John’s sac, gently, as if testing, recording the data automatically. The detective licked his lips before he placed just the head of John’s erection in his mouth and sucked gently, sliding his mouth further.
At first John was surprised that Sherlock didn’t ask for instructions after the confused, slightly nervous look he had given John that morning, but then it dawned on him what exactly Sherlock had been doing on his laptop all day.
Sherlock’s curls brushed against John’s stomach as he sunk down further, until the head of his cock came into contact with the back of the detective’s throat, coaxing a moan from the soldier’s lips. John ran his hands up Sherlock’s shoulders and into his thick, black curls as he felt his flatmate slide back slowly, swirling his tongue around John’s length before hollowing his cheeks.
John felt his knees begin to give slightly as he glanced down at the sight before him. When he had sat down with his laptop the day before, he never imagined he would have Sherlock on his knees in their kitchen sucking him off while he wore his old uniform. As Sherlock licked and sucked his way up and down John’s length, he began to pump his hand in time with his head picking up a steady rhythm. God, he must have studied this for hours…
John let his head fall back and he tangled his fingers deeper into Sherlock’s hair, fighting the urge to thrust his hips forward into that wonderful, wet mouth. He could feel his own release building as the detective slid both of his hands over John’s hips and around to grip strong handfuls of his arse.
Without warning, Sherlock swirled his tongue back up John’s cock and sucked hard, releasing it with a sinful pop that ripped a groan straight out of the soldier’s throat.
“Christ, Sherlock… what the hell are you doing to me…?” The rhetorical question dripped with desire and longing for that perfect mouth and John was certain he had never wanted anything more in his life. He was also certain that he was eyeing Sherlock much like a hungry tiger would his prey, but he didn’t care. When Sherlock’s eyes met his gaze, a teasing smirk played at his lips - dangerous and lustful. He was going to take John apart with his tongue, then lick him back together again when he finished, and it was going to be the greatest thing he had ever experienced.
John stared with his mouth gaping open while his flatmate gazed up at him through thick lashes as he lowered his mouth back to John’s cock. He flicked his tongue across the slit and dipped into the dribbling precome - tasting, testing, documenting; his eyes never leaving John’s.
Holding his gaze, Sherlock licked a wide stripe up the underside of John’s cock before sinking down over his entire length once again, kneading his fingers into the curve of John’s arse.
“Fuck… oh, Sherlock! Fucking Hell…” John growled low in his throat as his eyes rolled back in his head.
With a satisfied smirk, the detective sucked and swirled his tongue over every last inch of John’s erection, moaning desperately around it.
The sound of Sherlock enjoying his cock was enough to drive John out of his mind and he felt himself being ripped apart with every swirl of that wonderful tongue. He was close - so very close - and, for a brief moment, he wondered if Sherlock had thought about what he would do in the end. John tightened his grip on Sherlock’s curls once again and tugged just firmly enough to catch his attention.
“Close, Sherlock…. I’ll come… oh, God, yes, I’ll come…”
Sherlock kept his pace and his lips locked firmly over John’s cock as his fingers gripped harder into his partner’s hair and tried his best to warn him once more.
John felt his cock pulse hard as he cried out, emptying his release down his best friend’s throat; Sherlock’s name on his lips as he came. His entire body shuddered and he wasn’t entirely sure how he was still standing until he realised just how tight of a hold his flatmate had on his lower body. The detective’s tongue was still working, coaxing every last drop from his body - licking him clean, piecing him back together again; drawing back just before overstimulation set in.
Giving in to the exhaustion in his knees, John sank to the floor in front of his partner as he tried to calm his ragged breaths. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Sherlock’s, bringing a hand up to rest on the side of the detective’s face. He studied the lust-blown blue eyes staring back at him; reflecting his own satisfaction.
“Feeling alright?” the soldier asked, his voice quiet as a knowing look spread over his features.
He trailed his thumb over his flatmate’s bottom lip and felt the remnants of his release still evident - lingering proudly as proof of what Sherlock had just done for him.
“Mmm,” Sherlock nodded in response, “just fine,”.
John gave a small smile and pressed his lips to the detective’s, tasting himself on Sherlock’s tongue as he pressed further into his mouth. His flatmate was kissing him back, slow and wanting; then, an idea struck John’s thoughts and he pulled back with a smirk.
“Well now… what am I going to do about you, hmm?”
Sherlock tilted his head, seeming to calculate some interesting data set in his mind before he spoke: “Oh… Well, I believe I may have a few ideas you could choose from…”
They were kneeling together in the middle of the kitchen in an embrace that was so new, yet seemed so familiar. John, satisfied with his own release, wanted badly to reciprocate.
“Well, now… What am I going to do about you, hmm?” John asked with a smirk.
The calculated look he received in response intrigued him and, when Sherlock spoke, his heavy, baritone voice was steady and suggestive. “Oh… Well, I may have a few ideas you could choose from…”
Desire replaced the calculated stare and John felt a desperate need to give Sherlock anything he wanted. “Alright… how about I start and you can tell me as I go?” he asked, trailing his fingertips up the detective’s chest.
John started slowly unbuttoning Sherlock’s shirt as he waited for his flatmate to come up with how he wanted to proceed to ease the tension in his trousers. His fingers worked the last button loose after which Sherlock lied down on the floor in front of him and graced John with a heated stare from under hooded lids.
“Touch me, John,” Sherlock’s low voice formed the plea that pushed John into action. “Kiss me and worship me,” he said as he was already sliding the belt from his trousers and unbuttoning them to entice his soldier even further.
John approached his detective on all fours, until he could lay next to Sherlock on his side. He propped his head on his left arm and traced the fingertips of the right hand along Sherlock’s chest.
“Worship you, huh?” John said with a smile.
“I know it’s what you’re doing on a daily basis, with your praise of my wit on your blog so I think you shouldn’t find it too difficult to..”
“Oh shut up,” John finally found the perfect remedy for Sherlock’s stream of consciousness dialogue as he sealed their lips together and took control over the detective’s tongue. John’s hand slid to Sherlock’s trousers to free the erection that kicked in his hand begging for attention.
Sherlock broke the kiss to inhale sharply through his teeth and let his eyes flutter closed. “Slowly,” he said in a whisper. John removed his hand and kissed Sherlock’s parted lips before he trailed kisses along his jaw and neck.
“Oh God, Sherlock...you’re gorgeous,” John breathed the praise into Sherlock’s neck causing the detective to moan with pleasure, his skin twitching beneath John’s lips.
The soldier’s expression softened as he pulled back just far enough to see Sherlock’s face and he moved his hand to tangle in his flatmate’s hair. He felt like he could play with those perfect curls for hours on end, but excitement prickled in his veins with the knowledge that he had been given the invitation to freely explore other areas of the detective’s body. With a gentle tug, he released the curls and trailed the back of his fingers down his temple to caress a cheekbone. The skin was soft beneath his fingertips and his partner turned ever so slightly into the touch; a warm feeling spread through John’s chest at the intimacy.
“Perfect… absolutely perfect, you are,” John assessed with a light smile, relishing in the way Sherlock melted into his touch as he stroked down the side of his neck. He could feel the detective’s pulse quicken as he paused there before stroking a long path down his throat to his chest, letting his eyes roam the rest of Sherlock’s torso. John wondered briefly about Sherlock’s insistence that he go slowly when something very important dawned on him. He pressed a soft, close-lipped kiss to his partner’s temple before he spoke.
John kept his voice soft and calm, letting his smile widen slightly as the detective opened his eyes to look at him.
“Sherlock, I’m going to make a deduction,” he said, his voice still soft but more matter-of-fact, causing Sherlock to raise up slightly and prop himself up on his elbows. The soldier had his full attention now.
Before his flatmate could speak, John pressed on with his realisation. “You’ve never done anything physical with another person before, have you? No one else has ever touched you like this… Nothing sexual, ever. Am I right…?”
Sherlock’s jaw tightened slightly as he dropped his gaze. He should have known John would figure it out eventually. Regardless, he found it hard not to be impressed by the deduction no matter how it affected him. He didn’t think he had given that much of himself away, though. True, he had told him that he had never performed fellatio on anyone before, but that hadn’t necessarily been a declaration of a complete lack of sexual experience.
Sherlock scooted away from John just a fraction but it was enough for John’s stomach to drop. Then he looked at John, his expression uncanny, open, so unlike his detective.
“Yes,” Sherlock responded in a steady voice. “Your deduction is correct. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He stood up, straightening his clothing back into place and left the kitchen, headed towards his bedroom. However, before he managed to close the door, he felt John’s hand wrap around his arm to tug him close.
They stood chest to chest in the narrow corridor while they looked at each other. Sherlock’s jaw was set, and he waited,saying nothing. John placed a calloused and gentle hand on his friend’s cheek before he spoke.
“That’s okay, Sherlock,” John whispered softly, but seeing the expression unchanged on Sherlock’s features he continued louder. “No, it’s more than okay. That’s good, Sherlock. That means if you still want to continue, we can make this into something beautiful.” John put the other palm on his mate’s other cheek as Sherlock’s expression became more confused than angry now. “The thing is, I want you. In any way you will have me, Sherlock Holmes.” He let his hands slide along Sherlock’s arms to link their hands together; that way he could lead his detective to the bedroom which door was already open.
John stepped around Sherlock and into the room, tugging his partner gently forward, but Sherlock’s feet seemed to be rooted to the spot. For a fleeting moment, John thought he had read the situation completely wrong. Sherlock did want him in the same way, didn’t he? Or had this truly just been about science experiments and proving theories? Surely not… not after the way the detective had gone to pieces at the sight of John in the fatigues he still wore. His shirt was still hanging open and he could feel the warm metal of the dog tags against his bare skin, reminding him of all the things he had overcome in his life and the courage it took to do so. Deep down, the soldier knew there was only one way to find out for sure how Sherlock truly felt.
As he searched his flatmate’s eyes for a hint of second thoughts, John leaned forward - the detective’s unblinking gaze locked on his - and tipped his head up to press the lightest of kisses to the corner of Sherlock’s mouth. His lips lingered for only a moment before he pulled back slowly.
Sherlock let out a quiet sigh and he blinked dazedly as if something inside his brain had rebooted and started back up again. He looked down at John’s calm features and leaned forward, attempting to capture the soldier’s lips for another kiss, but John took a step back at the same moment he tilted his lips up to barely brush against the detective’s, teasing him. He took more steps backward, staying just out of his reach with each attempt Sherlock made to kiss him. The taller man chased John’s lips, desperate to return the kisses his soldier was withholding from him. He never even realised he was being coaxed further into his own room.
The backs of John’s knees made contact with the edge of the bed and he leaned forward, dropping his partner’s hands and wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s waist instead to keep himself upright. The action pushed his lips against the detective’s with a bit more force than he had intended and a soft moan escaped the taller man’s lips.
The sound shot a thrill of desire through John and he tightened his grip around Sherlock’s waist as he turned him toward the bed, only breaking their kiss to offer himself to his detective once again.
“I meant what I said, Sherlock… I want you in anyway that you’ll have me,” John paused to square his shoulders and straighten his stance, being sure to look his partner in the eyes as he spoke his next words. “And now, I suppose the question is will you have me and may I have you in return?”
Sherlock blinked once more, licking his lips to make sure John was really there just a moment ago. For the last ten minutes his brain had been creating a compilation of memories made of longing looks, small touches and confusing sentences. That compilation was accompanied by the sum of what his body felt inside throughout those moments and comparing all that to what he was feeling when John was holding his hands and kissing his lips.
Sherlock’s conclusion came to him the moment John asked his question and he knew what he wanted, what he apparently had been wanting for a long time now but had never realised until now.
“Yes,” the word came out in a breath and Sherlock swallowed before continuing. “Yes, John. I want to have you. I want you to take…” he looked at the soldier then, to see the reaction in his eyes, “...me.”
With the enunciation of the last word Sherlock sat on the bed, his gaze not leaving John’s. The detective scooted back and propped his body on elbows admiring the half-naked soldier in front of him. John’s military stance and lustful expression suggested he was aroused and determined. The look in his eyes was similar but conveyed more than the one he graced Sherlock with after an especially brilliant deduction. John really wanted him. Sherlock’s body felt hot, he knew his pulse quickened as well, all the suggestive tell-tale signs were there. It wasn’t just that, however, the need he felt inside went beyond a physical reaction. He didn’t have a column for it in his spreadsheet but he was sure he would have to add one after this evening.
Sherlock rolled his shoulders and let his shirt fall open. His soldier smiled at him, shedding his own shirt in response.
“Are you seducing me, Sherlock Holmes?” John’s voice was low, a hint of a smile clear in the words spoken.
“Is it working?” Sherlock’s smirk accompanied a lift of one eyebrow in question.
“The most beautiful and brilliant man that I’ve ever met in my life is seducing me. I can hardly believe it.” John scanned the expanse of Sherlock’s chest, the hastily buttoned trousers riding low on his hips, the pale arms, long neck and those gorgeous lips.
“Is. It. Working?” Sherlock prompted again.
“Oh God, yes.” As the words left John’s lips, he straddled Sherlock on the bed and released his longing into the kiss. His mouth was not seeking a solution to an experiment, nor a confirmation, not anymore. It was seeking warmth and connection with his friend. As he kissed Sherlock, he realised that he had craved this for far too long now to stop at just the kiss, however good it felt.
Sherlock’s hands gripped John’s buttocks squeezing them and bringing John’s hips closer as he arched on the bed underneath the kiss and the touch of the soldier’s fingers in his hair, on his face, caressing his cheeks.
John broke away to inhale the air that they seemed not to need while in the throes of the kiss.
Sherlock licked at his now red and puffy lips before he smiled widely.
“No wonder women from three continents praise your skills, Captain Watson,” Sherlock teased with a chuckle.
The soldier’s eyes widened in disbelief as he nearly choked on the breath he’d just taken. Had Sherlock really just said what John thought he’d said? How the hell could he possibly know about that? Surely, that hadn’t made it into the media! He tried to clear his throat as an undignified squeak slipped from his lips in the process, causing the detective’s grin to widen almost impossibly. He had no idea how long he had been sitting in silent mortification, but a gentle nudge of Sherlock’s hips pulled him back to reality.
“I believe I am the one who is supposed to disappear inside of his own head, not you… do try to keep up, Captain,” the detective purred, quirking an eyebrow flirtatiously.
John shook his head to try to regain his sense of control and let out a shuddering breath. “How? Where did you hear… that?” he asked as his words betrayed the insecurity in his voice. The particularly vulgar moniker of ‘Three Continents Watson’ was something John had accepted with pride back in his army days, but he had never intended for Sherlock to know. However, the man was like a bloody hound wasn’t he? If there was anything about John out there that he didn’t already know, Sherlock Holmes would dig until he sniffed out every piece of information he could find.
Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes in mock exasperation, “Honestly, Captain, you should know by now that Mike Stamford is easily persuaded to divulge any and all information one could possibly be interested in when provided with the right motivation,”. He smiled a brilliant ‘sociopathic’ smile that he dropped into a challenging smirk as quickly as it had come.
Mike Bloody Stamford. That explained a lot! It wouldn't have taken much effort, either.
“What else did he tell you, Sherlock?” John began, curiosity getting the better of him as he felt a worrying tug in the pit of his stomach. “Stamford does have a knack for over-embellishing certain things,”.
Sherlock eyed the soldier momentarily; his eyes glinting with desire still. “Nothing I couldn’t have deduced for myself, I assure you. However, I am certain that what I have observed so far is a testament to the validity of its truthfulness,” he answered, smugly. Feeling emboldened, he quickly added, “And, I must admit that it has given me an insatiable desire to continue my investigation into the matter,”.
John barked out a short, breathy laugh and felt the rush of the challenge burning in his veins. If Sherlock only knew what he was really asking for….
“Oh? Insatiable, you say?” John teased, slipping a hand down to hook the waistband of the detective’s trousers with his index finger as he dropped his voice into a low growl. If this was really what Sherlock wanted, then John was going to give him everything he could possibly want and more. “This is only just the beginning of what ‘Three Continents Watson’ is capable of… and I can promise you this, love: Once I’m done with you, my name and the taste of my tongue will be the only two things that beautiful mind of yours will remember for a month…”
Sherlock released a groan both at the praise and the pledge coming from his Captain.
“Promises, promises,” he teased. A second later, he yelped in surprise when John tugged his trousers off, along with his underwear. “You need to deliver now, Captain,” Sherlock smiled at John, knowing that they had gone too far for either of them to back away, “in the name of science.”
A gentle touch on Sherlock’s calf surprised him, as he was expecting a more intense reaction from John to his taunting. He wasn't wrong. John’s reaction was intense, his hooded gaze conveyed just as much and Sherlock deduced that it was not the wildness that made three continents squeal but the containment of it.
Captain John Watson was a meticulous lover, Sherlock surmised as a series of open-mouth kisses landed on his inner ankle and calf. He propped himself up to watch what was happening, never having thought that such a seemingly non-erotic zone would bring him such pleasure. Sherlock’s whole body was responding as the heat of the kisses travelled from his calf and knee to his groin. He fell back on the bed and he gripped fistfulls of sheet above his head.
John’s kisses stopped mid-thigh and by that time Sherlock could hear his heartbeat racing as the anticipation was was making him crazy with need. His body was betraying him.
“John?” Sherlock moaned in protest, “why did you stop?” Sherlock looked down his body to see his Captain’s face hovering over his groin.
“I want to make sure, you’re ready. That you really…”
“Yes, I want this and yes I’m ready. I’ve waited my whole life for you,” Sherlock swallowed at hearing the words come out of his mouth. “I waited for this…” he looked at John and saw something flicker in his eyes. Sherlock reached for his flatmate, his arms outstretched and soon wrapping around John’s waist.
The soldier allowed himself to be pulled close as he nuzzled Sherlock’s temple, pressing a light kiss to the mess of curls at the side of his head. Breathing in and memorizing the way the softness of the detective’s hair tickled his nose, John felt realisation dawn on him and he smiled at the words as they had tumbled out in that wonderful baritone voice. All mine, then… The thought was possessive and thrilling as John dipped his head to nip at Sherlock’s bottom lip in response, earning a sharp intake of breath from his partner.
“You know… if I’m honest with myself, I’ve been waiting for this, too,” he answered softly, as he pressed slow, possessive kisses to his flatmate’s lips and jaw, nipping the skin teasingly to emphasise his own desire for more between them. A soft gasp from those Cupid’s-bow lips pushed John’s confidence higher. He could feel Sherlock’s insistent erection throbbing against his fatigues at his hip bone, only increasing his need to give his posh detective an earth-shattering experience.
John trailed kisses down the side of his flatmate’s neck and shoulder as he worked his way down to the pulse point of his left wrist, pausing only to lay brief claim to the sensitive skin in the crook of his elbow. He felt Sherlock shudder beneath him and the soldier grinned smugly before taking a moment to kiss each of his fingers in turn when the detective turned his palm inwards. The soldier let his lips linger for a moment against the center of his partner’s palm before he placed the other man’s hand at the nape of his neck, allowing Sherlock to pull John’s head down to his chest. Pressing his lips against the sharp ridge of the detective’s collarbone first, he leaned up to dip his tongue into the hollow at the base of Sherlock’s neck before tracing a wet stripe back down to claim the collarbone as his own once again. He nipped and kissed as he ran his tongue over the ridge and Sherlock gasped and moaned - John - above him, tightening his long fingers in the scruff of hair on the back of John’s head.
God, Sherlock’s reactions were amazing and John found himself feeling grateful that he’d already come. There was no way he would’ve been able to concentrate on pleasing his detective with the way he was responding beneath him. “Jesus, Sherlock… listen to you. The way you moan my name… That brilliant mind of yours has got nothing on that gorgeously sinful mouth,” John groaned out, as he worked his tongue up to the stretch of skin just above his flatmate’s collarbone. The soldier trailed his fingers down Sherlock’s sides, letting his hands come to rest on his partner’s angular hips. While John fixed his mouth on a particularly sensitive spot on Sherlock’s neck, he allowed himself to nip and suck desperately out of desire to mark Sherlock with his own personal brand.
“Fuck! Ah, John… please. More, please,” the detective swore loudly as he begged and pleaded with John for… what exactly? The soldier had an idea, of course, but he wanted Sherlock to ask for what he wanted. He needed his partner to learn his own body and what he liked - he’d need that information for later experiments.
“Shh, love. You’ll have to do better than that if you want something specific,” he teased, pulling back just far enough to admire his work. Yes, if Lestrade called them out within the week, there would be no denying that he’d had his mouth all over the detective’s perfect body. He looked up to meet Sherlock’s lust-filled gaze and he cupped his lover’s chin in order to brush his lips against Sherlock’s ever so slightly. “What is it that you want, love?”
Sherlock’s mouth gaped open and his eyes fluttered as John ran the tip of his tongue over the detective’s bottom lip. His mind was blank for the first time ever and he couldn’t find the words to form a complete sentence. “More… please… your mouth,” he choked out between panting breaths as he nudged his hips up into the soldier’s in a last-ditch effort get his point across. Sherlock watched his partner through heavy lids and cursed his mind and body for betraying him as an impish grin spread over John’s features.
“As you wish,” the soldier whispered with a quick wink before he slid himself down the detective’s body. John kissed and nipped his way back down Sherlock’s chest and stomach, as he let his tongue flick out to circle briefly around his navel. Sherlock’s entire body spasmed at the sensitivity of the contact and it took him by surprise when John’s amazing lips settled on his left hip. His back arched and his toes curled as the soldier sucked another deep bruise into his flesh. Strong, calloused hands pinned his hips down into the mattress as Sherlock writhed beneath his flatmate’s mouth and he found himself moaning John’s name even louder than before.
The sensations were unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. No one had ever touched him this way, no one had ever made his body burn so hotly that he was unable to control the sounds that came out of his mouth. He had a vague idea that he should probably be embarrassed but John’s touch on his body felt too good, too right for him to think of anything else than experiencing more of it.
Sherlock looked down his body, at the bruise left by his soldier’s lips and secretly hoped it would stay there forever as a mark of his surrender to carnal knowledge. It would stand as a mark of his surrender to John Watson.
The soldier looked at him then and their eyes met in an exchange of lust-filled madness.
“Please,” the word left Sherlock’s lips in a shaky whisper.
John’s tongue traced a wet path from Sherlock’s hip to his inner thigh before sliding slowly on the underside of his cock. As if an electric current traveled through his body, Sherlock spasmed and his erection twitched with anticipation.
“Why can’t you just...oh God, John…”
Sherlock moaned as his soldier’s strong hands spread his thighs wide so he could nestle between them. The talented tongue found its way to Sherlock’s balls wetting them before John’s hand took over. The very sight of John so sensually teasing him, made Sherlock want to explode but the feeling intensified even more when John wrapped his fingers around Sherlock’s cock. With the other hand he reached into the back pocket of his fatigues to pull out a condom. At Sherlock’s nod, he gave the cock in his hand a parting squeeze before ripping the small packet open.
“You’re gorgeous, Sherlock,” John’s praise washed over Sherlock and he smiled at his soldier. “So beautiful spread for me like an offering.”
Sherlock didn’t hide his surprise when John put the condom in his mouth and lowered himself to roll it on the aching cock with his lips. He used his hand to roll the condom the rest of the way down and Sherlock released a shaky breath, taking in the sight in front of him.
Soon the soldier was holding Sherlock’s erection in one hand and balls in the other as he wrapped his lips around the head of the cock while gracing Sherlock with a sultry look.
Sherlock sucked air through his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. He mustn't come, he shouldn't, but oh God he wanted to so badly.
“S - slow down,” he managed to say.
“Are you okay?” John’s worried tone made Sherlock hurry with his reply.
“Yes, your mouth feels so good, too good, I don’t want to...ahhh” he moaned as John’s hand squeezed his cock.
“I’ll go slow,” the triumphant smirk on the soldier’s face was unmistakable as he teased the head of Sherlock’s erection with his tongue.
Sherlock steadied his breath as best as he could under the circumstances and was ready for more. His flatmate was reading his body like an open book because he knew exactly when to intensify the licking that lead to his enveloping Sherlock’s cock into the wet heat on John’s mouth. This time Sherlock was ready for the sensation and he thrust slightly, wanting more, needing his cock to touch the back of John’s throat.
He was Sherlock Holmes and he knew his body, or so he thought until his flatmate made him reconsider the notion. His body was disobeying him; his hips thrusting, back arching, fists holding onto the sheets for dear life as he felt the part only his own hand had been allowed to touch until today being subjected to exquisite torture. He moaned John’s name along with a series of inarticulate sounds he had never heard himself utter before.
His eyes flew open when he felt John’s fingers pressing under his balls. It felt so good but strange.
“What are you doing? John?” Sherlock lifted himself on his elbows to look at John and convey his message loud and clear.
“Massaging your prostate,” he looked at Sherlock’s face, clearly looking for his reaction to what he did next. Sherlock felt John’s fingers press and massage the spot under his balls to which his cock twitched in approval. “Do you like it?” Sherlock nodded. “Good, lay back.”
Sherlock did as he was told, but put one hand under his head so he could have a good view of his soldier’s head bobbing as he turned the fellatio into a sensual dance. John’s massaging fingers pressed harder as the rhythm of his sucking quickened and Sherlock knew this time there was no turning back.
“I can’t take it any longer,” Sherlock whimpered. “I’ll come...John?” He reached for his soldier’s hair with both hands, unsure whether he wanted to tug him away or pull him closer. The murmured affirmation from John’s lips vibrated through Sherlock’s cock and he let himself just hold onto John’s hair as the wave of ecstasy went through his body.
“Oh please John, yes!” Sherlock felt his body tense, his thighs quiver and his throat get raw from his shouting as he let himself come by the hand and mouth of his soldier. He collapsed in a heap of boneless limbs on the bed only faintly aware that the mattress dipped next to him as John climbed up to join him after depositing the condom into the small wastebasket beside the nightstand.
The soldier reached out his hand to brush the mess of sweaty curls off of Sherlock’s forehead as he stared down at him with a lopsided grin. He was proud of what he’d been able to do for his flatmate and hoped Sherlock was just as happy with the outcome as he was. He’d poured every ounce of himself possible into the experience and it made his heart swell to see Sherlock so euphoric.
“God, you’re beautiful… you’re amazing. So wonderful for me,”. The words left John’s lips before he could even think them through, and, when Sherlock blinked open his eyes to gaze up at him, he was certain his heart had stopped. His detective didn’t speak, - since when did he call Sherlock ‘his’? - but his pale blue eyes searched the soldier’s face as a subtle look of confusion spread across his perfect features. Ever the analyser, John thought as his smile widened into a full blown grin. The man truly was perfection personified…
“John?” Sherlock’s voice was quiet and unsteady, full of questions and complicated topics that John didn’t want to broach at the moment. He cursed himself inwardly, but smiled still as he reached out his arms to pull his flatmate to his chest.
The detective was hesitant at first, but John traced his fingertips over his biceps and shoulders in light, reassuring circles, coaxing him forward and into his arms. He raised up off the bed to guide Sherlock’s arms around his waist and lay down on his side with one arm around his partner’s shoulder and the other draped over his side. He knew Sherlock would have questions; that was inevitable, but, right now, John wanted to hold him and give himself some time to come to terms with the things he had been fighting for far too long. He would have to deal with those things, eventually, but not right now.
“How did that feel…?” the soldier asked, nuzzling into Sherlock’s curls and pressing a kiss into his hair.
The detective huffed out a quiet chuckle, “You certainly live up to your moniker, Captain… I may have even deleted my own my name,”.
The idea sent John into a quiet giggling fit as he tightened his arms around his partner, feeling Sherlock’s own laughter against his throat. Christ, he could stay like this forever.
The soldier pulled back to look his friend in the eyes, lifting Sherlock’s chin with a soft touch. “Don’t worry, I’ll remind you every day that you’re the brilliant Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only consulting detective, and the sexiest man I’ve ever seen in my life,” he flashed a cheeky grin at the other man as he winked and leaned down to kiss the praises into his lips.
Chapter by CarmillaCarmine
John realises that he wants more than carnal experiments from Sherlock but is not sure how his flatmate would feel about that revelation.
Waking up next to a warm body snuggled against his back was a new feeling for Sherlock. It was a sensation he never would have thought he would enjoy as much as he did. He was reluctant to move. Upon further analysis, he deduced that it was not the feeling itself that was so blissfully calming but the fact that it was John’s body so close to his. It was not a part of an experiment this time, however, or at least he hoped as much.
Being careful not to wake his partner, Sherlock turned over onto his other side to face the sleeping man. John's arm was draped over the detective’s hip and he was lying on his side; his other hand tucked up under his head while he slept. His features were relaxed and calm; Sherlock watched his chest rise and fall with each breath. Watching John sleep so soundly, the detective found himself cataloguing every detail of the soldier’s face - the exact curve of his eyebrows, the messy disarray of fringe across his forehead, a small, thin scar in the dip just below his bottom lip. He made a mental note to someday ask John how he had gotten it.
As the morning light filtered into the room, it was hard to believe that he had been on the receiving end of the magnificent pleasure that ’Three Continents Watson’ had to offer. The events of the previous evening had been so much more than Sherlock could have ever imagined possible. Being with John was like an assault on his mind; one that he was more than willing to surrender to time and time again. The physical and mental overload of information had flooded his senses, making all coherent thoughts dissolve in an instant. Their recent activities had given him so much to analyse and process that he knew his mind palace was now an absolute mess. Multiple images, sensations, and scenarios had been thrown haphazardly into the wing he had constructed just for the phenomenon that was John Watson.
At the thought of his new discoveries, Sherlock closed his eyes and allowed himself to slip seamlessly into the new area of his mind palace while John slept on beside him. Pushing open a set of grand oak doors, he found himself standing in an incredibly large hallway lined with many new rooms to explore. He looked to his right and glanced at the plaque to the right of the first door. Ah, this was the room he had dedicated to John’s eyes - the most mind-boggling color in the world, as Sherlock had never known anyone to have navy blue eyes. For a moment, he was tempted to turn the handle and step inside, but there would be time for this room later on.
In the new wing, there were rooms dedicated to various things about John that Sherlock had deemed most important: his fascinating eyes, the sensual smile he saved just for Sherlock, the various ways his hair stuck up in places in the morning (or even the perfect way his fringe fell across his forehead when it was fixed), the way he looked dressed in Sherlock’s favorite outfits, the hard lines of his naked body that gave way to the perfect curve of his arse, even the faces he had made as Sherlock brought him to orgasm… All of these rooms and many more stretched out before him as he walked along the long corridor. At the end of the hall, he paused in front of the last door and hesitated as his hand trembled just over the handle. Yes, this had been the one he had been searching for; the room that contained all the glorious praises John had ever given him. This was the first room he had ever created for John, albeit unknowingly. The first day they had met, John had called him ”amazing”, ”extraordinary”, and even ”fantastic”... and Sherlock had stored those praises away in their very own room on that first night. Little did he know, though, that John would be the only person to ever contribute to that room. However lonely the situation seemed, Sherlock found that he was grateful that the room belonged only to John. It had been the start of everything that had made the doctor special to him and the detective had only built onto it as their time together passed.
Sherlock let himself grip the handle and push the door open and, as he stepped inside, he felt an intense rush of warmth surround his body. He took in the setting of the room and smiled to himself - the curved walls were lined with rows and rows of old-fashioned records in pristine sleeves and his favorite chair was set in the center of the circular room next to a rather large coffee table; in the center of that sat a vintage phonograph. As he crossed the room to take his seat, he noticed a small stack of records on the floor beside his chair, each tucked into a crisp paper sleeve labeled in black calligraphy.
Sherlock plucked the top record from the stack as he sank into his chair and read yesterday's date swirled in the black ink. Sliding the record from its sleeve, he placed it on the turntable and moved the needle to its edge and dropped it into place using just his fingertips. A soft crackling sound broke the silence in the beginning but it soon gave way to the soft, breathy timbre of John’s voice - “You know… if I’m honest with myself, I’ve been waiting for this, too,”.
The detective sighed contentedly as he relaxed back into his chair, stretching his legs out in front of himself and crossing his feet at the ankles. His head dropped back with his eyes closed and his arms draped lazily over the armrests of the leather chair as John’s voice filled the room.
”What is it that you want, love?”, John had said; the last word reverberating in Sherlock’s chest as the meaning of it seeped into the edges of his thoughts. John had used the word ’love’ and he had used it in direct connection to Sherlock…
As if he had plucked the word out of thin air, the detective began picking it apart and dissecting every possible meaning John could have tried to imply. Had he even been implying anything at all? Or was it simply a force of habit from all of his time with other partners? Most likely, it was the latter - they hadn’t called him ‘Three Continents Watson’ for nothing. As he continued his investigation, he felt a gentle brush of fingertips against his cheek, stroking and coaxing him back to the real world.
Sherlock blinked open his eyes and found himself looking directly into those amazing navy blue of John’s - a sleepy smile gracing the latter’s features. He would have to go back to conduct an in-depth analysis of the John Watson rooms in his mind palace but now it was time to enjoy the real man lying in front of him.
“Good morning.” The sleepy warmth emanating from John’s voice made the greeting sound like praise. Which it was, considering the words were uttered after a night spent together in bed and upon waking up next to each other.
“Indeed,” he replied, refusing to hide the smile tugging at his lips. “We need to talk about everything that happened to date.”
“Analyse the data and compare our notes. As chaotic as yours certainly are, I may still need your input to complete certain columns. As this progressed, my tables expanded and I’m fairly certain we’d need to experiment more in order to-”
“Oh, Sherlock…” John groaned flopping onto his back and covering his eyes with his forearm.
“If you don't want to talk about it, I would just need your-”
“Of course I want to talk about it,” John interrupted. “But not in a clinical way. Not anymore.” His eyes were still hidden but Sherlock could see John’s lips pressed in a straight line. “I need coffee for this.” He started to get out of the bed.
Sherlock frowned and followed John's cue to get dressed and go to the kitchen. He waited for John to be finished in the loo before he entered. There was something off in John’s behaviour but he was certain he would find out what the problem was soon enough.
Hearing John put the kettle on, he jogged downstairs to get the mail. By the time he was back, his favourite mug was waiting for him on the kitchen table. After settling himself in his chair, mug in one hand and mail in the other, he gave John a pointed look.
John sighed. He put his coffee mug on the floor and slid his palms on his thighs.
“Why are you nervous, John?” Sherlock balanced his mug on one knee, observing John’s suspicious behaviour.
“Listen, Sherlock.” He cleared his throat before he continued meeting his flatmate’s penetrating stare. “We can’t continue the experiment.”
Cold sweat broke on Sherlock’s body and he was unsure how to respond to what he had just heard. He opened his mouth but John lifted one hand to silence him.
“I know it was meant to be an experiment and collecting data but..” John swallowed and looked at his hands. “It has become something more for me.” Sherlock wanted to speak again. “No, let me finish.” His voice was steady but tinted with emotion. “I know you don’t feel that way and I know all this is not your area so I… I can’t do this anymore.” He looked up at Sherlock who was blinking fast, brows furrowed and coffee mug slowly tipping off his knee.
“Why...why not?” Sherlock’s confusion was plain and John kicked himself mentally. He had to make it clear.
“This is hard. Oh god, why do you have to make me say it?” John locked eyes with his detective. “I can’t continue because I’ll want more.”
“I need more data…”
“No, Sherlock,” John shook his head in exasperation. “I’ll want more and I don’t mean the experimenting, although yeah, that too. But more of you,” he slid to his knees to take Sherlock’s mug which was dangerously close to spilling coffee on the rug, and placed it on the floor. The detective’s now empty hand was still open and John slid his own into it. To his surprise, Sherlock's fingers closed around his. “All of you,” he took Sherlock’s other hand. “Do you understand?”
“I...I thought you had all of me,” Sherlock’s voice trailed off.
“We share a flat together, we have coffee together almost every morning, we work together, we watch your stupid shows together. You have me when you want me. The only difference now is that you take my body instead of some woman’s. I understand that you’d like to stop this and continue with your streak of girlfriends. I’ve never expected anything else, but nothing changed for me.” Sherlock took a breath after his monologue. “John?” Sherlock looked down at their hands still linked together and let John’s go as if it was on fire. “John? What’s wrong? What did I say? Why are you crying?”
John didn’t respond. Or at least not verbally. He took Sherlock’s face in his palms and blinked, letting the tears slide along his cheeks. He pulled his detective’s face closer so their foreheads touched.
“Sherlock Holmes, you’re an absolute idiot,” John stated before placing a wet kiss on his detective’s lips, tasting the tears he was shedding and the coffee in Sherlock’s mouth. Although Sherlock still seemed confused, their kiss deepened and John found himself climbing onto his flatmate’s lap. Sherlock’s hands slid to John’s neck and lower back and they felt like they belonged there.
John broke the kiss to take a breath although he would have to admit that breathing seemed boring at that moment. “I don’t want to look for anyone else. Not any more.” Saying the words out loud made him realise how they conveyed the absolute truth. “I don’t need girlfriends. I don’t want girlfriends if I can have you, Sherlock.” He inspected Sherlock’s expression to make sure he understood the enormity of this confession. “I want only you, Sherlock.”
“That’s very convenient.” Sherlock said, a side of his mouth quicking in a smile. “Because I want you too. I always have. Like I said, for me nothing has changed,” he touched his sternum to indicate his meaning, “inside. We just added more of the physical. And I can say it was a very amiable addition.” Sherlock’s smile widened into a full grin. “This came today.” He handed John the envelope which had been in his hand since he sat in the chair. “I’m certain you would like to know I’m clean in case you’d want to proceed with the experiment now that you’ve decided you want me.”
John laughed. The sound music to Sherlock’s ears even if he wasn't entirely sure of the source of the mirth. It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. He felt a new room in the mind palace being created to store this laugh. And many, many more he was determined to hear in the years to come.
John smiled down at the envelope and a curious expression formed on his lips. “Nice… very, nice. So… now, that I’m sure we are both on the same page, what would you say to continuing our experiments in a different light?”
The detective smirked at his partner’s suggestion and leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek. “Hmm… interesting proposition, Doctor,” he purred, nuzzling against John’s cheek as he continued, “ ‘The Established Relationship Experiment’?”. Sherlock pulled back just far enough to look his doctor in the eyes as an impish grin spread across his features.
The doctor narrowed his eyes in jest and tilted his head as if to consider the idea for a moment before stealing another kiss from his detective. “I believe I would have to say ‘Oh, God, yes!’ ”.