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Chapter Text

Sherlock entered the room like he always did, reminding John a little of a whirlwind. But instead of storming to his latest experiment or flinging himself on the sofa, he sat down opposite John.

’John, I might be in need of your expertise...’

John looked up, confused. ‘What?’

‘To solve the case, I need your help in an area I feel I don’t have enough experience in.’

‘Which would be?’

‘Um, it has to do with the circumstances under which the victim died.’

‘Which would be?’ If it had been anybody else, John would have thought he was out of his depth. But this was Sherlock!

‘They were rather exceptional.’

Really, this was getting ridiculous. ‘Exceptional how and why exactly do you need my help?’

‘The victim was in a situation I have never been in, but I know you have and I thought you could help me understand how he felt when he died.’

No, John still had no idea where this was going. ‘You really need to give me more than that.’

‘I’d like to recreate the crime scene here.’

Now John was close to grabbing Sherlock and shaking the answer out of him. ‘And I can help you how?’

Sherlock looked at him very matter-of-factly. ‘Well John, would it be very indecorous to ask you for a blowjob?’

Chapter Text


"Well John, would it be very indecorous to ask you for a blowjob?"

That was not what he had expected. John nearly dropped his tea cup and felt his mouth fall open.

“Wh... I... What?”

“I said: would it be very inde...”

“Yes, I heard you. Loud and clear. Jesus.”

“Then your question makes no sense and was redundant.” Sherlock raised one eyebrow.

“Let me rephrase it then: Have you lost your mind? Why would you ask something like that and WHY would you ask me?”

“As I told you before, the victim in my last case died while receiving fellatio and I need to recreate the crime scene in all details.”

“And that requires you to get a blowjob?” John closed his eyes in exasperation.

“Yes. I need to measure the...”

“Let me stop you right there. I don’t want to know what you need to measure and I am certainly NOT giving you a blowjob.”

“John. This is for purely scientifically reasons.”

“No. Just… no, Sherlock.”

“Fine. I will tell Lestrade that I could not solve the case because you refused to help me gather essential data.”

And with that Sherlock went nonchalantly back to his experiment on the kitchen table, leaving John completely speechless.

Chapter Text

"Well John, would it be very indecorous to ask you for a blowjob?"

That was not what he had expected. John nearly dropped his tea cup and felt his mouth fall open.

“Wh... I... What?”

“John, surely the question was not that difficult to understand. Even you should be able to do it.” Sherlock started to get up.

John knew exactly when Sherlock was obnoxious just to piss people off and when he was insecure and tried to hide behind it. This time it was the latter.

“Sherlock, wait. I just...”

Half a dozen possible answers were racing through his mind, amongst them 'You never got a blowjob before? How is that possible? But you had sex before, right?' - 'How the hell did that man die? Do I even want to know?' - 'You want me to? I would actually be allowed to touch you? Oh God, I think I could come just from thinking about this.'

What he said was, “I need to sit down.” The fact that he was already sitting, was clearly lost to both him and Sherlock.

“John...” If it were possible, John would say Sherlock was squirming. Maybe regretting his proposal already? Please, don't. Don't take it back.

“It’s fine, Sherlock. Really."

John's head was swimming, but he needed to find the right words and he needed them fast, before Sherlock, who astonishingly enough looked slightly nervous by now, would bolt out of the room. He could think about this later.

"Let me just get this straight. You need to know what a blowjob feels like, because it is important for your work, for solving a case. And you want me to be the one to do it. Are you sure about that?”

“I already trust you with my life, John. This shouldn’t be so different.”

“Ah... it might be slightly different.”

“How so?”

“Because, though there is of course a trust element in it, this is more about giving up control. And I think this is something that does not come easily to you. And it might destroy what we have between us. Might make living together awkward. So I need to know if you’re sure.”

“What about you? Are you saying you’ll do it? Without further thinking? It might be awkward for you afterwards as well.”

“No, it won’t. Because I –as you so charmingly stated earlier – have done this before. I know what I am getting into. You, on the other hand, don’t.”

If this was the closest he would get to Sherlock, he’d take it. Hell, he’d take everything he could.

Sherlock looked at him inquiringly. Then, obviously finding what he was looking for, he nodded and slid his hands to his fly.

"Um… Sherlock? Wait a second. We are not doing this in the middle of the day in our living room."

"Why not? This is important information that could help solve the case."

"It's just not right. We are not doing this in the middle of the day in our living room. Period."

Sherlock's sigh clearly stated that John was being unnecessarily complicated.

"When and where would you like to do it then?"

Why was he sitting in his living room, rationally debating when to give his flatmate a blowjob? Really, his life was a madhouse… And why was this question turning him on?

"How about tonight? Your bedroom. Or mine if you prefer."

"Actually, I do. See you tonight then. Have to dash, there's a corpse at Bart's with a strange infection."

John stared after Sherlock for a few minutes, and then he buried his face in his hands. What had he gotten himself into?

He was not sure if this was a good idea. He had been in love with Sherlock for a while now, but never made a move again after that first night at Angelo's. And he abandoned hope that Sherlock would change his mind pretty fast.

So this would probably be the only chance he ever got at touching Sherlock. There was no way that he was going to refuse that. But he saw the possibility that it would be worse afterwards. Seeing him and not be allowed to touch.

Another thing was the fact that Sherlock would certainly go somewhere else to get his knowledge if John refused. And John did not want to think about that. To whom would he go? Maybe pay someone to do it? No, when this was his first blowjob – and since he was married to his work possibly his last – then John wanted to show him how amazing it could be.

Evening came much too fast and too slow at the same time. Sherlock came home, smelling of formaldehyde and went straight to the shower. When he came back to the living room in his pyjamas and his dressing gown, John's hands started to shake.

Sherlock looked at him silently, turned and went up the stairs. John followed him with a dry throat.

He entered his bedroom. Sherlock stood in the middle of it, looking at a loss at what to do.

John smiled at him encouragingly.

"You should sit. Or lie down."

"But the victim was standing."

"Yes, that might be, but I fear you might lose your balance and fall if this is actually your first."

"I would not." Indignation in his voice.

"Please, Sherlock, just trust me in this and sit down."

With a huff, Sherlock shed his dressing gown and sat down on the bed. John stepped closer, between Sherlock's legs and pushed his fingers in his hair, massaging the skull under the dark curls. Sherlock relaxed visibly.

"Now, some ground rules. First, we both took the tests a few weeks back, after that blood bag fiasco, so I know we are both safe. Second, if you want me stop, I need you to say it. And third, there are a lot of different ways to give someone a blowjob. Since this is your first time, we will start simple."

Sherlock looked him into the eyes and nodded. Apparently speechless, that was a first. John smiled, pulled the shirt over Sherlock's head and pushed him onto the bed gently.

He ran his hands over Sherlock's arms, up to his shoulders and down his chest. He marvelled at the feeling of the warm skin under his hands, until he noticed Sherlock gazing at him.

"John. You don't have to do that."

"Sh, be quiet."

"No, seriously, John, this is not strictly necessary for a blowjob experience."

"Sherlock, we are doing this my way or not at all. I am not just going down on you."


"Because this is your first time and the first time should be something worth remembering. Even if it's for the sake of science."

"Really, John, you are ridiculously sentimental sometimes."

"Yes, I am. But you already knew that when you asked me to be the one to show you, didn't you?"

"Maybe." He did not see it, but he could hear the little smile in Sherlock's voice. So he was hoping for it but not daring to ask.

John smiled and then slid his hands very deliberately and slowly up Sherlock' thighs, making the other man's breath hitch.

He then turned his attention back to Sherlock's chest, caressing his nipples with his hands. Sherlock closed his eyes. John leaned down and followed his hands with his lips and tongue, licking and softly biting his way down to Sherlock's waistband.

He took his time, savouring the feeling and the smell and the taste of him, together with the sound of his breathing getting deeper and faster.

He could see the bulge of Sherlock's erection through the thin fabric of his trousers and he cupped it with his hands, causing Sherlock's hip to jerk and his mouth to hiss.

He pulled the trousers down and cast them aside, before putting his hands on Sherlock's feet and stroking his way up his legs to his hips.

Sherlock was panting by now, rolling his head from side to side. John could see his heart hammering in his chest. His own heart rate was distinctly raised as well and seeing Sherlock like this made John's own erection painfully hard. He really was beautiful from head to toe.

John bent his head and breathed across Sherlock's cock. Then he opened his mouth, licked the side of his shaft and circled his tongue around Sherlock's glans, earning him a long, shaky inhalation of breath and making Sherlock even harder.

He took Sherlock in his mouth, just enclosing him in heat and wetness, without moving, giving him time to adjust to the feeling. Sherlock shuddered, his breath stopped for a moment and then he moaned. His hand flew up and he covered his mouth as if to stop the sound from emerging.

John slowly started to move, sliding his mouth up and down smoothly. Slow and light at first, then quicker and with a little more force, until Sherlock's hand was clenching the sheets and his hips started to buck. There was another small sound, like a whimper and his breath tightened.

Sherlock began to shake and John sucked harder, tasting pre-come on his tongue. Suddenly Sherlock was falling apart, with a long, rasping gasp his body arched off the bed and he came.

John did not swallow – though he really wanted to – because he thought it might seem far too intimate and personal and might freak Sherlock out. So he just watched him come all over his stomach and it was such a beautiful sight that he nearly started to cry.

Sherlock lay flushed on his back, one hand still clenching the sheets, the other over his mouth. John swore silently and grabbed the hand from Sherlock's mouth. There were deep bite marks on it.

"Jesus, Sherlock. Did you think you could go that far without making a sound? This is nothing to be ashamed of."

Sherlock’s face was soft and vulnerable and John wanted to kiss him very badly. He knew that now would probably be the only chance of kissing Sherlock he would ever get, but he let it pass, because it could seem as if he was taking advantage.

Instead he cleaned Sherlock up, then stroked his hip with his thumb and asked softly. "Are you alright?"

He watched with horrid fascination as the rational and cold mask slipped back into place.

"Yes, of course. Fine. That was most enlightening." And with that Sherlock got up and left the room to go into the bathroom, leaving John kneeling beside his own bed, feeling suddenly very cold.

He didn’t see Sherlock again that evening.

Chapter Text

The next day everything seemed back to normal. Sherlock did not let show that anything happened the night before. John decided to act accordingly.

But he could not forget what happened, it was too incredible. He allowed himself three days in which he used the shower excessively to wank to the mental images of Sherlock experiencing his first blowjob.

After that he put everything in a neat little box in a dark corner of his mind. He knew that sooner or later the content would start to claw its way out of there, making the damn box rattle and shake like something from a horror movie until it spilled out and tortured him again.

It didn’t come to that, because four days after ‘the incident’ (as John called it in his head) Sherlock walked in the living room while John was brewing tea in the kitchen.

‘Morning. You want some breakfast?’

‘No, I need to go to the Yard.’

But instead of hearing Sherlock storm out, which would have been his usual modus operandi, John heard nothing. He turned around and Sherlock just stood in the door frame, looking at him. John made a small startled sound, because he hadn't heard him move.

Sherlock looked decidedly too good, his slender figure almost melting into the wood, his piercing gaze resting on John, making his heart stutter.

‘John. About that case?’

‘Er...’ Was all John could manage.

‘Unfortunately I still have not solved the case. Though very informative, the ... lesson, for want of a better word, did not provide me with sufficient data relating to how the murder victim might have felt.’

John was not sure how to respond to that, because his mind showed him a lot of very arousing but otherwise unhelpful scenarios which certainly would give Sherlock data on that matter. Luckily Sherlock had more to say.

‘I recall you saying that there are many ways of performing fellatio. And since the night he died was probably not the first time the victim was on the receiving end, the experience four days ago was not helpful to the case. I need more data, if you’d still be willing to help.’

Though everything in John was screaming ‘Yes, yes, God, yes! Please, can we start right now?’ he just blinked and turned back to his tea.

‘You want to make a regular... um, lesson... out of it?’

‘Only until I solve the case, of course. Would that be a problem?’

‘No, I suppose not.’ John again was amazed that these kinds of conversations seemed almost normal by now. Well, apart from the fact that he was battling an enormous erection.

There was a moment of silence. John turned back to Sherlock, who had not moved an inch. Now he slowly blinked. ‘Good.’

‘Are you free tonight?’ John managed to keep his face absolutely blank.

‘Yes.’ Sherlock’s face was equally blank. An outsider might have thought they were talking about language coaching.

‘Ok, this time I will teach you something about anticipation. Did you think about what would happen last time when you were at Barts?’

‘No, John. I was working.’ Of course he was...

‘Today I want you to think about it. Not instead of working, but every once in a while, maybe while waiting for someone or during a cab ride. Think about what I did and what it made you feel and think about what I might do tonight. Can you do that?’

Sherlock did not respond, just gave a short nod and then disappeared into the living room. Seconds later the door slammed shut.

John sank onto the nearest chair, for once not thinking about the sanitary aspect of the kitchen, and looked at his hands that still clenched his mug. They were perfectly still.

That day John was glad for the packed waiting room, because the anticipation concept of course worked both ways. So he welcomed the distraction of work and stayed a little longer than necessary.

When he came home, Sherlock was already there, pacing the floor in front of the sofa. John could spot that he was partially aroused.

‘You are late.’ Clearly the anticipation thing was working John thought, a little smug.

‘Sorry, there was a lot to do. I need tea. You want some?’

‘Is this already part of the lesson?’

‘It might be,' John said cryptically. He heard Sherlock flop down on the sofa.

After a few minutes John re-entered the living room, put their mugs on the table and shuffled Sherlock into a sitting position, before taking the place beside him.

Then he put his hand firmly on Sherlock’s leg, rubbing slow circles with his thumb. He felt a faint shiver run through Sherlock’s body, as if he had received an electric shock.

‘Tell me about the case. What do you already know?’

‘The victim clearly expected the visit of his killer; he prepared food and drinks and set the table with candles. The room was tidied, but not rid of private things, so not a first date.’

‘Was it a woman or a man?’ John moved his hand further up, stopping short of Sherlock’s groin. Sherlock took a deep breath.

‘Unclear. Could be a woman or a small man. The murderer was kneeling on the floor, but she or he wore trousers and shoes suitable for either sex. No lipstick on the glass and interestingly no fingerprints. Though the killer clearly could not have worn gloves the whole time, that would have been ridiculous.’

Sherlock’s eyes fell to John’s hand every so often.

'Well, there are certain sexual preferences where wearing gloves would not seem ridiculous.' John smiled and moved his hand slowly, sliding his fingers along the bulge in the other man’s pants until he reached the tip of the cock. He caressed it with his fingertips.

‘Can’t you tell if he was hetero- or homosexual?’

Sherlock shivered and closed his eyes.

‘There were no definite signs for either. He might be bisexual.’

‘Ask Lestrade for the autopsy report. That will help.’ John increased the pressure of his hand.

Sherlock sucked in a breath and his head fell back onto the sofa’s rest. John smiled. It was a good feeling to make someone as eloquent as Sherlock speechless. It was also really arousing. John shifted his position slightly to ease the tension that was building in his crotch.

'Now let's talk about something else.' He took his hand away.

‘John. I never figured you for a tease.' Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at him accusingly.

John laughed. 'Everything comes with a price, Sherlock. So, tell me: How come you never had a blowjob before? I mean, you had sex, right?’

'Yes John, of course I had sex before. But as I told you, relationships are not my area. I experimented with sexual practices, but for some reason or the other fellatio was never among them. And then I lost interest in the whole thing and dropped it.'

'You lost inter… How can you just drop it?'

Sherlock opened his mouth, but John suddenly decided that he did not want to know. He put his hand on Sherlock's knee and looked at the other man, whose eyes widened ever so slightly.

'You know what? Never mind. Let's get back to the case. You think it's likely that it went down like this: dinner, drinks, blowjob?'

'You don't? I thought this is why we are doing this whole anticipation thing.'

‘Well, he could have planned it that way. Or his date could just have decided to go down on him spontaneously, then of course there would have been no anticipation on his side.'

John slid his hand back up Sherlock's leg, this time caressing his balls through the fabric of his trousers.

'We need to take this into consideration as well then.' Sherlock's voice was a little breathless.

'Yeah, this will have to be something I arrange though.' John grinned.

'Why?' Starting to lose the ability to think. Very good.

'Because if it was a surprise to him, it needs to be a surprise for you as well.'

John's finger moved up again, finding the wet spot on the trousers that indicated the tip of Sherlock's oozing cock. He took his time circling it with his fingertip.

'John.' Sherlock suddenly grabbed his hand. ‘That is enough. I think I understand the anticipation part.’

John merely smiled and saw the understanding dawn in Sherlock’s eyes: he just lost the game.

‘Ok, let’s do this. But please remember: no more biting your own hand. You are allowed to make noises.’

‘John...’ Sherlock was clearly uncomfortable with this. Since he was still holding John’s hand, John squeezed Sherlock’s encouragingly.

‘I’m not asking you to add sound to a porno film. I’m just saying that you should stop trying to control yourself. It’s perfectly normal to be vocal. For most people it even heightens the experience.’

Sherlock was actively avoiding his gaze, so John dropped the matter.

‘Do you want to go upstairs and lie down or do you want to stay here?’

‘Here. Now.’ Sherlock was clenching and unclenching his hands unconsciously. ‘Please.’

‘Ok, just a second.’ John got up and turned off the lights. The moonlight was streaming into the room and bright enough for John to see Sherlock clearly. He was watching John like a cat, lips parted, breathing a little too fast.

John went back to the sofa and kneeled before Sherlock, gently parting the other man’s legs, and positioned himself between them. He stroked his hands up and down Sherlock’s legs and then lowered his head and bit softly into the left thigh, causing Sherlock to growl deep in his throat.

Sherlock’s whole body was tense and John felt that he was about to snap. So he quit the teasing and went straight for his flies, opening them and pulling trousers and pants down. Sherlock’s cock sprang free, softly bouncing, and already covered in pre-come. John took him in his hand and Sherlock’s head fell back, eyes fluttering closed.


John took the tip of Sherlock’s cock in his mouth, swirling his tongue, and started to stroke him with his hand simultaneously. Sherlock moaned loudly, then gasped as if shocked by his own sound. His hand went up to his face, but before John could act, the hand fell back. Since he did not seem to know what to do with it, John took the hand and placed it on his own head. For a moment it just lay there like a dead bird, then Sherlock weaved his fingers into John’s hair.

John started to suck and stroke with his fist until Sherlock was squirming beneath him and groaning uncontrollably. He made small thrusts with his hips, so John held him down by pressing his free arm across Sherlock’s stomach.

John was extremely turned on by the sounds Sherlock was making, but he tried to stay focused on what he was doing because he could feel Sherlock getting closer every second.

Then the hand in his hair suddenly clenched and he knew. He hollowed his cheeks and Sherlock shouted something unintelligible. For a few moments his body went rigid, then he started to shudder all over and John felt the hot fluid in his mouth. This time he swallowed and Sherlock gave a little sob that made John’s heart ache.

He kept licking and caressing until the last wave of Sherlock’s orgasm faded away. Then he pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s hip and smoothed his hands over his skin until he stopped shivering and panting.

John rested his head on Sherlock’s leg and listened to his soft breathing. He waited for Sherlock to get alert again and storm off, but after a few minutes he realized that Sherlock was asleep.

John carefully pulled a blanket over the sleeping man and staggered towards the shower and his own glorious orgasm.

Chapter Text

John woke up because someone was tickling him. No, not tickling. Kissing. Dropping feather-light kisses along his torso.

Sherlock’s warm hands were softly caressing his still sleepy body and John gave a contented sigh.

“Mmh, that feels nice.”

“You helped me to solve the case, so I thought I could at least pay you back in kind.”

John smiled. A lazy morning blowjob was exactly what he needed. When Sherlock started kissing his way further down, John’s breath hitched.

A few minutes later he was a quivering moaning mass, ready to melt away under Sherlock’s tongue.

“John,” Sherlock said with sudden urgency, somehow sounding as if he were far away. John smiled and pulled at his arm.

“Come up here.”

He did and John kissed him hungrily while wrapping his hand around both their cocks.

“John,” Sherlock said again, this time sounding a lot nearer, but more impatient and a little forceful.

“God, Sherlock, relax.” He had found a rhythm by then, tension building in his body.

Somewhere in his haze he noticed footsteps on the stairs and suddenly the door flew open. Sherlock stood there, shouting “John” for the third time.


John shot bolt upright and stared at the very real (and clothed) Sherlock in the doorway and then in confusion back to his bed, which was clearly lacking a naked moaning Sherlock.

“What?” he said again.

“John, where did you put the cheesecake? I need it for my experiment with the beetles.”

He felt the urgent need to say “What?” again, but instead settled for shouting.

“You barge in here in the middle of the night like the house is on fire to ask me about the bloody cheesecake?”

He threw his pillow at Sherlock who sidestepped it elegantly and gave him a look that said something like ‘Please John, you know that my work is far more important than your sleep and it’s hardly the middle of the night, it’s 5 in the morning. You have to get up in an hour anyway.’

John sighed and let himself fall back on the bed. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

Great. He couldn’t get off with the real Sherlock and now he couldn’t even get off with the dream version?


The day after the cheesecake incident John decided that his life could not go on like this and tried to get into an ‘I am going down on my flatmate for scientific reason only’ mood. He asked Sherlock to get him the autopsy report and his case notes.

When Sherlock came back from Barts that evening he only had a few pages covered in his own handwriting. Apparently there was a new coroner and he refused to let Sherlock have a copy of the autopsy report.

John took the notes and buried himself in them, trying desperately to ignore his longing to again taste, smell, feel and hear Sherlock come apart at something John did to him.


Two days went by where John did not see Sherlock at all. On the third morning he woke at the sound of the door. He listened to Sherlock moving around in the flat, first going to his room and then into the bathroom.

John got up, feeling a sudden urge to tell Sherlock what he had found out (and maybe give a helpful demonstration) at once.


John banged on the bathroom door and was rewarded with a crashing noise from inside. Sherlock opened the door and looked at him, partly concerned, partly angry.


John lost all train of thought, because Sherlock was only half dressed in his pyjama trousers, his upper body naked and very pale in the bathroom light. What crashed into the sink had been Sherlock’s shaving kit.

“Sherlock, you can grow a beard!” John was clearly amused.

“Of course I can. It’s my mind that is different from everybody else’s, not my body.”

“Yeah, I beg to differ.” John murmured.

“Was there anything in particular you wanted or did you just come to make fun of me while I get ready?”

“Oh, um, sorry. I’ve been reading what you copied from the autopsy report. Really, I don’t understand why you couldn’t just steal the damn thing like you always do... Just bat your eyelashes at someone.”

“I don’t bat my eyelashes. I am above such petty methods.”

“Ha! Yes you do. And no, you aren’t.”

“John, why are we having this conversation now? While I am only half-dressed and unshaven?”

“Oh, yes. Sorry. Unshaven is the right clue here, Sherlock. The victim had irritated skin on his legs. That tells me that whoever went down on him was a man who had a beard. Or at least a stubble.”

The two men gazed at each other for what felt like an eternity.

“John. You haven’t shaved for at least two days.”

“No, I haven’t.” John swallowed. His mouth had gone very dry.

“Show me!”

“Here? Now?”

“Why not? Wasn’t that why you barged in here in the first place?”


Sherlock had started to run himself a bath before John barged in and the hot water in the tub filled the room with steam, making it intimate and cosy.

John stepped closer to Sherlock, suddenly unsure how to begin. Sherlock lifted his hand as if to touch John’s face, but hesitated.

“Why would someone want that? I don’t like the feeling of stubble.”

“Have you ever tried? Or do you just not like feeling your own and are transferring that idea?”

“I... no, I have never... I prefer my sexual partners to be clean-shaven.” For some reason John could not grasp, Sherlock was stammering. Arousal? Anticipation?

“Give me your hand.”

Slowly Sherlock raised his hand again. John took it and put it gently against his cheek.

“Try it.”

Sherlock looked at him, then hesitantly stroked John’s beard. John closed his eyes to give Sherlock some kind of privacy to experience this without being watched.

After a while he opened his eyes, took Sherlock’s hand again and moved closer. He rubbed his stubble against the sensitive skin on Sherlock’s wrist, earning a soft hissing intake of breath.

He slowly worked his way up Sherlock’s arm and then turned his attention to his chest, rubbing his scratchy cheek against his nipples before taking them in his mouth and softly sucking until Sherlock was moaning.

Then he stepped back. “So, what do you think about a stubble now?”

“It’s not... entirely unpleasant.”

John grinned. “Take of your trousers and sit down on the rim.”

For once Sherlock did as he was told and just watched John kneeling down in front of him.

John raised his hand and stroked Sherlock’s erection until Sherlock’s eyes fell closed and he sighed heavily. Then he smeared his cheek along the shaft, teasing with his stubble, then licked the irritated skin and blew his breath across it. Sherlock groaned.

He repeated that in alternation with slow strokes with his hand for a while, at the same time rubbing his bearded face against the inside of Sherlock’s thighs, leaving the same marks on him as were found on the victim. It gave him time to concentrate on is own aroused cock that was pressing against his pants, screaming to be touched.

Sweat was trickling down his temples and back, the steam from the tub engulfing the two men. It felt like they were trapped in slow-motion.

John looked up and felt heat coil in his stomach at the sight of Sherlock: Head thrown back, cheeks flushed, lips parted to form a soft 'oh' sound.

For a moment he felt the urge to just get up, press himself against Sherlock and close his hands around both their cocks, rubbing them together. He was pretty sure that in his current state Sherlock would not even mind.

It would, of course, give everything away that John was trying to hide so desperately.

Sherlock was panting, his breath coming in small sobs.

"God, I need..."

"What? Tell me." Oh, this was dangerous. It felt so intimate, it was hard to remember that they were only doing this for a case.

"More... I need... please." He sounded entirely out of breath.

John smeared his cheek along the soft skin again and earned a loud moan, so unguarded and needy that it was almost enough to undo him. What he really wished for though was Sherlock saying his name. He was pretty sure that he would come right there if Sherlock just said his name in this breathless voice once.

"What?" He sounded as breathless as Sherlock.

"Your mouth. Please."

John needed a few seconds, because Sherlock begging? That was enough to make even the strongest man weak.

Then he opened his mouth and swallowed Sherlock’s cock to the root, causing Sherlock to clutch his shoulders in a iron-like grip and gasp.

John found a rhythm with his mouth and hand, moving his tongue rough and fast, until Sherlock suddenly shuddered in raw lust, made a tortured sound and John felt him explode in his mouth.


John looked up. Sherlock was still in a post-orgasm haze, his eyes half closed, and he was breathing heavily. For a moment it seemed as if he would lean down to kiss John.

Yeah, wishful thinking. Dream on, John.

This time it was John who got up first and put the distance between them in place again.

“I need to see more of the autopsy report. We need to know from which angle he was stabbed to find out if the murderer was still kneeling or if he was standing. I am going to make some tea. Don't drown.”

Chapter Text

“John, can I ask you something?”

John raised his head from the medical article he was reading in the living room. Sherlock had been working on something in the kitchen, but was now walking towards him with a determined look.

“Of course.”

“It has to do with the case. And the... um, lessons.”

John swallowed, but Sherlock had this special face that showed he was puzzled by something. So no immediate need to get excited.

“OK, I’m listening.”

Sherlock sat down on the sofa and looked at him for a few seconds before speaking.

“Why are you doing this? I mean, what is in it for you?”

John was speechless for a moment, his brain shouting ‘Danger! Danger!’

“You said you needed help.”

That sounded lame even to his own ears and Sherlock just looked at him, clearly not believing that this was the only reason. So John decided to add a little honesty.

“First: I’ve always liked to give blow jobs. It’s a very heady feeling to be able to turn someone into a speechless begging mass of want, especially someone as controlled, eloquent and rational as you.

“Second: This is only part in our relationship I have control over, well except from getting you to eat or sleep sometimes and patch you up.

“Third: I know you. You would have gone somewhere else to get your knowledge had I refused. I don’t want you to be used or exploited by anybody.”

“Plus, it arouses you.” It was not a question.

“Yes. You are very handsome and seriously sexy after all.”

Sherlock seemed stunned for a second, then he shook it off.

“But you never ask for anything in return.”

“No, and I never will.”

That was the last thing he wanted. Well, to be honest, it was pretty much all he wanted, but John knew that he would reveal himself the moment Sherlock lay a hand on him, would reveal everything: his desire, his longing, his love.

Even if he could stop himself from babbling while whatever Sherlock had in mind lasted (and he wasn’t sure he could) there was absolutely no way he could stop shouting Sherlock’s name while coming.

Which was what made him sure that this was merely for science on Sherlock’s part. He never said John’s name. He just used his mouth for his education. Oh, he enjoyed it, but there was nothing wrong in combining business with pleasure, was there?

“But what if I wanted to do it?”

Oh God, help me!


“John, why are you so difficult? You know that the body is just transport. It doesn’t have to mean anything. But I might learn something from it. And help you to get... relief.”

Sherlock rose to his feet and knelt down in front of him, putting his hands on John’s knees. John tried to move back, but the chair back stopped him.

He grabbed the armrest and tried to get a grip, while his body shouted ‘Yes, oh yes, those hands! Please, oh please, touch me.’

John took a deep breath and turned his arousal into anger.

“I said ‘No’.”


John got up, brushing off Sherlock’s hands in the process, and went towards the door.

“No ‘But’, Sherlock. Just no. Never going to happen.”

And he left without turning to look at his flatmate again. As a result, he missed the look of hurt and rejection on Sherlock’s face.

Chapter Text

A few days later John woke up after reading the autopsy report again late at night and decided to act. It was not fair that he was the only one suffering through this whole blowjob debacle, today he would show that he could be as professional and case-orientated about this as the brilliant bastard.

Today he would try to 'murder' Sherlock while bringing him off. He put a little plastic knife in his pocket. If he managed to poke Sherlock in the chest with it, the course of events might get clearer.

Sherlock had his back turned, standing at the kitchen counter in his usual state of undress. John slowly walked right up behind him, then put his hands out to grip the counter on either side, effectively capturing him.

“John, considering the fact that you’re the one always preaching about personal space, I am slightly confused by your current behaviour.“

“I just thought today might be a good day to try the spontaneity thing.“

“The... ?”

John placed a firm hand on Sherlock’s arse, making the other man actually jump before deliberately stilling himself.

“Oh. Oh! I wasn’t sure you if you were still willing to do that after last Tuesday.”

“All the reasons why I am doing this are still valid and I’m still not letting you go down on me. As long as we’re clear on that...”

“We are.”

“Ok then.”

John placed both his hands on Sherlock’s hips and closed the distance between them, pressing his whole body against Sherlock’s back. He buried his face between Sherlock’s shoulders, breathing in his scent, while he moved his hands under the other man’s shirt and slowly stroked upwards.

He caressed Sherlock’s nipples, feeling his heart beat elevate under his palms, and at the same time he monitored his own bodily reactions closely, in order to step away before his erection was hard enough to be noticed by Sherlock.

At the moment their contact was more tender than arousing though and John knew that he was on dangerous ground, because he could explain his erection as a purely physical reaction. But the sort of cuddling he was doing right now?

He moved his hands down towards the waistband and Sherlock made a deep rumbling noise in his chest, that John actually could feel in his own body. He suddenly imagined the same scenario without clothes and himself buried deep inside Sherlock and wondered where else he would be able to feel the rumbling.

At that point he had to nearly jump away from their full body contact, because his cock went from ‘possibly hard in about three minutes’ to ‘rock hard in two seconds'.

Luckily, Sherlock didn’t seem to have noticed. John moved his hand further down and cupped the other’s slowly hardening cock.


Sherlock did, leaning against the counter and grabbing the edge with both hands.
There was something in his gaze that made John’s heart stutter, but he ignored it and went to his knees to nose Sherlock’s cock, smelling musky, male and so very much like Sherlock.

He started nibbling and breathing through the fabric until the standing man’s breath turned into soft huffs, then he slid down the trousers (discovering that his flatmate once again did not bother with pants), grabbed Sherlock’s hips and licked a broad line along his shaft.

Sherlock whimpered and John looked up matter-of-factly.

“I will try to kill you this time.” He waited until Sherlock’s eyes widened and then added, “Literally. With my plastic knife.”

He showed the knife and then bowed his head to lick again and Sherlock’s eyes fell shut. This would be way too easy.

He pulled his lips over Sherlock’s glans and sucked softly, increasing the pace when Sherlock started to rock his hips to get more friction.

John looked up and tried to figure out how to create the same pattern of wounds that were described in the report. No, the angle was all wrong.

Sherlock made an impatient noise and John realised that he had stopped moving.

“Focus. Please.“

I am. I was thinking about how to murder you. That is the whole reason for this exercise after all. If you noticed that I was distracted, so would he when they were frequent lovers. Plus I would still have to get up to kill you, because from down here the angle is wrong. The only thing I can think of is that the murderer used the after glow of the orgasm. But since the victim was still erect after death that did not happen.“

“John...“ He actually sounded close to begging.

John grinned and circled his tongue around the glans before swallowing Sherlock’s cock completely. The resulting growl nearly made him lose his concentration on the case.

John gripped the base of the other man’s cock with his hand, slackened his jaw muscles and started sucking Sherlock in earnest.

The tall man was rolling his hips and moaning, gripping the edge of the counter so hard that his knuckles were completely white.

John decided to try to place himself in the role of the killer. So they were lovers and he needed to get up without arising suspicion. He could suggest moving to the bedroom or pretend to go for lube... His thoughts travelled off to an image of Sherlock, bent over the kitchen table, being thoroughly fucked by John.

“You’ve stopped – again.“ It was almost a sob.

“Yeah, sorry. Let’s try something else.“

John replaced his mouth with his hand and stood up. Sherlock was still a little way off orgasm so John again concentrated on the How, especially to distract himself from the hot, wet cock gliding through his fist and the open-mouthed moans filling the kitchen.

“This is a better angle, but you would have wondered why I got up, so I need something to distract you. I think I could kill you right know, if I were to kiss you...“

Fingernails suddenly digging into his arm and a hoarse cry made him refocus in time to guide Sherlock through his abrupt release. Hot fluid covered his hand and he watched breathless as Sherlock’s head rolled back and his whole body shook as he rode through his orgasm.

What happened? John wondered. Was it the thought of John kissing him that tipped Sherlock over the edge? No, it couldn’t be. This was for science, nothing more.

Sherlock slumped forward, almost tripping them both, but John caught him and held him close. He had to stumble a few steps back though and suddenly found himself against the fridge, his fantasy of being pressed to a wall/door/whatever by Sherlock crashing down on him.

He cursed silently, because until now he had managed to distract himself from his own arousal by concentrating on how to kill Sherlock (in a manner of speaking). That all went right to hell.

John helped Sherlock sit on a chair and got a towel to clean him up.

“That was technically not a blowjob.” Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at him accusingly.

“No, but I just proved how difficult it is to kill someone while at the same time blowing them. I also answered the question of how to not m...”

Sherlock quelled him with a glare, which shut him up very effectively, and announced that he was going to have a shower.

He got up, stripped out of his trousers and bent to pick them up, presenting John with a fine view of his very erotic backside. The fact that he was still wearing his shirt made the sight just that tiny bit hotter.

John had to grab the edge of the table for support and cursed silently because he was in actual danger – despite all his efforts – of coming in his pants. In their kitchen. Without a touch.

He also was incapable of looking away and like a hypnotised rabbit he watched Sherlock leave the room.

Bloody hell, did he actually just wiggle his arse?

Chapter Text

A few days after the surprise blowjob in the kitchen John decided to leave work early and go home. The thing with Sherlock was driving him crazy and he couldn’t concentrate. But there were no patients anyway.

Sherlock had a new case and John hadn’t seen a lot of him over the last few days. Which was ok with him, because he really needed to figure out this situation they were in.

He had been lying to himself: there was no going back from this. He wanted Sherlock so much, it was killing him. He could not go on pretending to be only a friend. He was just lucky that Sherlock had the emotional experience of a five-year-old, otherwise John would have never been able to hide his feelings for this long.

It might be easier if they were not living together. That left him with two options. Tell Sherlock, see what happened and risk losing their friendship, or move out and try to save their friendship.

The thought of walking away from Sherlock left him feeling sick and cold. He was glad that he would come home to an empty flat, because meeting Sherlock now would not end well.

John opened the door and slowly walked up the stairs. He felt tired and worn out.

He entered the flat, threw his coat over a chair and was on his way to the kitchen when he heard the sound. It made him stop dead in his tracks. Was that a moan?

So Sherlock was home. Was he in trouble? John was trying to remember the last spot where he had hidden the gun when Sherlock moaned again.

No, that was not a man in trouble. Well, at least no serious trouble.

And now John could hear the rhythmic sound accompanying the moan.

His heart started beating fast and his thoughts were racing.

Is Sherlock actually masturbating? Or is someone with him? Oh God, please no. Maybe the blowjobs made him realise that he wanted more and he thought I wasn’t willing. Or he fell in love with someone and dared to act on it, now that he learned more about his own body...

Did I lose the fight without even knowing that there was something worth fighting for?

He silently went to Sherlock’s door, but the room was empty.

And then realisation hit and John’s jaw dropped. Sherlock was in his room? What was going on here?

So, no company then. Even Sherlock, who had no concept of privacy and personal space, wouldn’t do something like that.

John went up the stairs, still hearing the soft moans, and approached his open bedroom door. His mouth had gone very dry.

And then his breathing stopped abruptly, as if someone had punched him in the gut. His heart stumbled and then hammered on.

Sherlock lay stark naked on his back on John’s bed, eyes closed, slowly stroking his cock. His cheeks were flushed and his mouth slightly open. His face was turned into John’s pillow and Sherlock rubbed his nose in it like a cat, inhaling John’s scent.

John stared at the beautiful creature on his sheets, completely lost in his own pleasure, and felt himself getting hard. That was probably the most erotic thing he had ever seen.

John slowly moved his hand on the growing bulge in his trousers and started rubbing in rhythm with Sherlock’s thrusts.

He refused to think about the reason for Sherlock being in his bed. This was probably some kind of weird experiment. Or he didn’t want his own bed to smell and get stains.

Sherlock increased the tempo of his strokes, his moans turning into groans, as he neared his release.

And then he suddenly sobbed “John, John, John!”, arched his back and screamed, as the orgasm ripped through his body.

John’s hand fell from his own erection as he understood and he was filled with a deep awe at the realisation that the man he loved had feelings for him too but could not tell him and instead tried to be close to him by masturbating in his bed.

He wanted to cross the room, take Sherlock in his arms, kiss him and tell him that they would figure this out together but wasn’t sure how to alert Sherlock to his presence.

He must have made some kind of sound, because Sherlock, who had reached for a towel to clean himself up, snapped his head around and stared at John.

After a few seconds John saw Sherlock’s eyes go cold and he knew that he would lash out, say something harsh, wounding, sharp, in order to protect himself. And with that he would destroy all the possibilities that lay between them like pearls spilled on the ground.

John shook his head fractionally and then, very deliberately and slowly, still holding Sherlock’s gaze, he reached down and opened his zip. Sherlock’s eyes widened when John took his own erection in his hand and moaned.

He did not move as John started stroking himself, but the light returned to his eyes and John had the feeling that a current of electricity was sparking between them.

“Say my name. Please.” He was still gazing into Sherlock’s eyes.

“John.” A purr deep down in the other man’s chest.

John felt his eyes fall shut as a wave of pleasure ran through him at this sound.

“John.” The voice so close this time. John’s eyes snapped open again and Sherlock was standing right in front of him.

And then Sherlock was touching him.

Hesitantly at first, but when John groaned his name he grew bolder, interlaced their fingers and took over.

The fact that Sherlock was actually there, completely naked, stroking him, setting fire to every spot where their skin touched, was driving John crazy with lust.

“This feels amazing. Oh... Sher... close, I’m so close.”

“Yes, John, now. John.” Sherlock was moaning his name and that was all it took to tip him over the edge.

His knees gave in, but Sherlock held him close, whispering his name into his hair, over and over again.

They stood there for what seemed eternity, leaning against each other, until their breath fell into the same rhythm.

Finally John planted a kiss on Sherlock’s chest, right above his heart and lifted his eyes to smile at him.

“I am sorry, Sherlock. I should have seen.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t want you to see.”

“We are both idiots.”

Sherlock raised his hand and trailed his finger over John’s lips.

“John, you touched me everywhere. Why did you never kiss me?”

“Because you kiss people you have feelings for. Not for scientific reasons. Or a case.”

“There was no case. There never was a case. I just wanted you to touch me. Surely you could see through that?”

“No, apparently I couldn’t. And you didn’t think of JUST ASKING ME? Bloody Hell. This whole exercise nearly killed me. Sometimes I couldn’t breathe because I wanted you so badly!”

And with that John pulled Sherlock’s head down and kissed him.

As much as Sherlock might have been a novice regarding blowjobs he certainly was not when it came to kissing.

What started tenderly and soft soon turned into something very heated involving a lot of tongue, and teeth now and then. After a few minutes John needed to pull back, because his knees were in danger of giving in again.

Sherlock’s fingers were digging into his skin.

“John, please let me... can I... you said you would not let me... when I wanted to reciprocate...”

Sherlock was blushing. And stammering. And now licking his lips. John’s knees actually gave in then.

“I know I have no experience. I would probably s...”

John burst out laughing, causing Sherlock to stare at him indignantly for a moment, before a grin forced its way out.

“I’m sorry. But I seriously hope you will suck on it. Not at it.”

They grinned at each other, then Sherlock’s gaze turned serious and hungry.

“You’ll let me?”

“Do you have any idea how difficult it was to refuse in the first place? I couldn’t stop thinking about it since then. So yes, of course I’ll let you.”


“Oh God, yes.”

Chapter Text

John marveled at the fact that he never thought this possible a mere hour ago when he was walking home. And now here he was, stretched out on his bed, his lips red and slightly sensitive from kissing Sherlock; Sherlock who just now was licking his way down from John’s nipples to his cock.

Being with Sherlock like this was an exciting mixture of being with someone for the first time without having to be overly careful. The first minutes where a little awkward, because although Sherlock knew exactly what he wanted to do, he wasn’t used to doing it. A little bit like watching someone walk a wire a thousand times and still falling down the first time you try it yourself.

But he was a quick learner and after John reminded him (by helplessly swatting on Sherlock’s shoulder until he looked up and then moving his hand around uncoordinated until Sherlock understood what he meant since he couldn’t talk because he was so blissed out) that he did not have to choke on John’s length if he used his hand on the lower part, it was the perfect mixture of heat and friction and all John could do was grab the sheets to stop himself from pushing Sherlock’s head down.

Then Sherlock started to lick and suck in a more experimental manner and it gave John time to calm his heart rate down a little. He opened his eyes and watched Sherlock feel the different types of skin by licking from his balls to the head of his cock. He did this a few times and then touched John’s glans with the tip of his tongue before sitting up and clearly testing the taste. He was about to lean back down when John asked him to stop.

Sherlock flinched and a wounded expression flickered over his face. To prevent him from retreating into his shell or retaliating with a snappy comment John beckoned to him and said, “Come here.”

He reached out and physically pulled Sherlock into his arms to kiss him until all the tension went away,

“I know you like to experiment, and I promise you can do every - well, every reasonable – experiment you’d like to perform on me some other time. But I’ve been waiting for this a long time and I don’t think I can’t wait any longer for you to satisfy your scientific curiosity. Right now I need you to touch me properly, please.”

“Touch? So you changed your mind? You don’t want me to…”

“Suck me? Oh yes, I do. I was just trying to phrase it nicely.”

With a grin Sherlock leaned down and engulfed him again. Then he added his hand and John lost all train of coherent thought. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty, no scientific probing; just wet heat and steady movement.

He lifted his head to watch until Sherlock suddenly swallowed around him and John slammed his head back into the pillow with a choked cry.

“God, yes. That –ah – do that again!”

He did and John felt the orgasm start to burn low in his body, tried to keep his hips still, because Sherlock was not holding him down and then suddenly he was and John could let go and he barely had time to sob out a warning before he came so hard that his muscles clenched enough to lift his back right off the bed.

Heat and pressure were gone immediately and John shoved his own hand down to grab his cock and guide himself through the aftershocks. Only then did he realise that Sherlock was coughing and spitting on the sheets.

Then he huffed and flopped down next to John with a small grimace. “The taste could be improved.”

John couldn't help a small chuckle escape his mouth before he leaned over to kiss Sherlock, then snuggled close.

“Sorry about that. I tried to warn you, but that was... amazing.”

“I’m a quick study.”

“Yeah. Lucky me. Listen, you don’t have to swallow if you don’t like it. You can just finish me off with your hand.”

“But you swallowed mine.”

“Yes. I happen to like it. But it’s ok if you don’t.”

“But you wish I would do it. You like the feeling.”

Not a question. You just couldn’t hide anything from that man.

“Yes. Yes, I would. But that still doesn’t mean that you have to do it.”

Sherlock gazed into the distance and John was fairly sure that he was coming up with a detailed list for several experiments to change the taste of semen in his head right now. He smiled and closed his eyes, allowing himself to doze off.




John woke in darkness, a little disoriented and hazy, but alert enough to notice several things.

First, someone was holding him in their arms.

Second, that someone was Sherlock.

Third, Sherlock’s breath was warm on his neck.

Fourth, there was a finger between his buttocks and the tip of said finger was pressing against his opening.

Fifth, he had a massive erection.


Then the previous night came back to him, which caused him to take a shivering breath and whisper, “Jesus.”


Just hearing his name in that deep, now a little sleep-husky voice sent another pleasant shiver down his back.

“Do you feel any pain?”

The finger was moving slowly, drawing small, soft circles on sensitive skin that sent tiny spikes of pleasure through his body.

“Pain is definitely not the right word here.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No. God, no.”

They lay there comfortably for a few minutes, well, as much as you can be comfortable while being fingered rather expertly, until Sherlock stilled his finger and asked in an untypically soft voice, “Are you all right?”

John knew immediately that Sherlock was not talking about right now, because he already had asked permission for this, he was talking about last night and the whole changed situation between them.

“Let go.”

“What? Why?”

Sherlock sounded confused and annoyed, but he withdrew both hands at once and moved away from John.

“Because I need to turn around and kiss you this instant.”

John turned around and looked at Sherlock, his hair beautifully ruffled by sleep and John’s hands before that, who looked back at him with a hint of lingering concern in his eyes.

“I’m fine. Better than fine, actually. Last night was amazing. You were amazing. You are.”

A slow smile dawned on Sherlock’s face and John reached for him, pulled him close and kissed him softly. They shared sweet, lazy kisses for a while and John tried to put all the things in his kisses that he wasn’t ready to say. You are amazing and I can’t believe you’d want me, but God help me I want you, I have wanted you for a long time and I don’t think I will ever want anyone else.

He was pretty sure Sherlock understood it nevertheless.


Then the atmosphere changed and Sherlock started sucking on his lower lip and John moved again until he could roll Sherlock on his back and move on top of him. Sherlock seemed totally aboard with that because his hands slid down John’s back, grabbed his hips and rearranged his position so that their erections were pressed together. Both men groaned and John felt hot and heavy and ready to crawl out of his skin.

Sherlock’s hands moved to stroke John’s buttocks and he sounded as if he had no clue how to breathe anymore.

“I, John, I need...”

“God, yes. Anything.”

Sherlock was momentarily distracted by need and want and rolled his hips, rubbing his cock against John’s with perfect pressure. Then he moved his right hand until his finger could reach between John’s cheeks to gently circle his opening.

John gasped. He hadn’t done this in a while and he thought he might pass out from the sudden rush of pleasure at the thought of Sherlock pushing into him.

It wouldn't happen tonight though, because they were both far too keyed up to have patience for lengthy preparations. They would have, some other time.

He raised his head, about to make a smug comment about reducing the master of words to being speechless but turned somber when he felt Sherlock react to his last words.

“Anything?” Sherlock looked at him with something akin to wonder in his eyes, as if John promising him even that wasn't what he had expected.

“Everything,” John corrected himself.