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After the moment of perfect bliss, John remained still, catching his breath enough to moan again, keeping his forehead pressed to Sherlock’s and feeling the small exhalations of his satisfied grunt hit his mouth and nose while the aftershocks coursed through his veins like a perfect kind of electricity.

He giggled a bit as he gathered enough coordination to gingerly roll off and lay right beside a still panting Sherlock. On his skin, he could feel the mixture of semen and honey starting to dry. And in his pubic hair too, he noticed. He knew it was going to feel… yucky in a little while, but he was still riding the endorphin high, and feeling too good to care too much.

His side pressed close to Sherlock’s heaving ribs, his left hand still under the nape of his neck. He had just started a lazy, scratchy caress there, when Sherlock’s phone buzzed.

“Case, John!” he exclaimed, springing up as if he hadn’t been gasping up until a second before. Still pretty lost in the afterglow, John looked at the phone screen: Lestrade. Obvious. Then the phone was snatched from his hand and, lifting his head, John saw Sherlock in the middle of the room, one hand scrolling down the screen, the other dragging his trousers halfway up his legs.

“Hey, hold that thought, Sherlock”

“What? We’ve got to move, John. Time is of the essence!” and he kept scrolling furiously.

“I’m sure, but so is a shower. No, it really is”, he repeated after  getting  an impatient eyeroll for his trouble. “Unless you want that stuff to dry there. And cake. And wax you in the most improbable and painful of places. Bar none”.

At least Sherlock had stopped getting dressed.

“Believe me”, John continued, “I’ve done that and it’s more than a bit not-good”.

Sherlock was still staring at him, with a slight smile on his face, and it took him less than two seconds to come up with: “Uni?”


“Second year?”


“Drunken dare from your mates?”

“Actually: the girlfriend”.

“Always something”, he sniffed in disappointment, not sparing another eyeroll, this time for himself.

“It was organic, you know, ‘all natural’ honey… or maybe beeswax, memories are quite hazy, but what I do remember is that it hurt ”.

Sherlock snorted. He let go of his trousers - and what was he thinking, John wondered, going commando on drying honey and spunk? sexy outline, maybe, but definitely skin suicide - and as he entered the bathroom he asked over his shoulder: “Shower with me?”

John grinned and started to get up. “Not this time, love. Time is of the essence, remember?”