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The Art Of Language

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John was exhausted.

Work had been incredibly taxing today, with a wave of influenza having come over the people of London. Already, John was incredibly tired of hearing them snivel and cough while he was writing out one prescription after another. He could only hope that he hadn't caught some virus himself. Getting sick with Sherlock around was not a pleasant thing, that much he knew from past experiences.

Scrubbing a hand over his weary face, John turned the key in the front door lock. What he needed this evening was the left-over Indian in the fridge Sherlock had better not touched, a cup of his best tea and the sofa.

Taking his time with the stairs, John perked up his ears when voices floated towards him.

"... weißt genau, dass das nicht geht."

John groaned. Mycroft's voice, undeniably so. So much for a quiet evening at home.

"Ich verstehe nicht, wieso du jetzt damit anfängst, hier Anstand und Moral zu predigen. Das wäre höchstens noch nach dem ersten Mal überzeugend gewesen."

Halting in front of the door, John hesitated. Were they - were they speaking German?

He had heard some in his life, on the telly or on the streets, and especially in Afghanistan when passing German soldiers in the streets. He didn't speak it, however, beyond the most rudimentary basics like Bitte, Danke and Hallo, schöne Frau.

"Er steht vor der Tür."

"Ich weiß."

"Willst du ihn einfach lauschen lassen?"

"Du weißt genauso gut wie ich, dass John kaum Deutsch kann, Mycroft. Oder warum hast du sonst Sprachen gewechselt als er aufgesperrt hat? Lenke hier bloß nicht vom Thema ab!"

As it seemed, they were bickering - no big surprise there. John wasn't sure if he'd live to see the day the both of them weren't in some kind of argument, most of them incredibly childish and unnecessary.

Hearing his name mentioned in between all the German, John sighed and opened the door to the flat, completely uncaring that they had caught him eavesdropping. He was greeted by the sight of Sherlock and Mycroft, sitting opposite of each other in the two armchairs, legs stretched out in a feeble attempt to mark their territory. Always the same, those two, even though Sherlock hated the predictable.

"Guten Abend," John deadpanned, probably with the most horrible English accent imaginable, and hung up his jacket.

The brothers nodded at him, two pairs of piercing eyes briefly studying his movements. By now, John was used to the scrutiny - there was just no escaping from the Holmesian determination to deduce and know everything about a person.

"Er sieht müde aus. Bekommt er genug Schlaf oder jagst du ihn wieder durch ganz London, nur weil dir langweilig ist?"

"Netter Versuch, Mycroft. Zurück zum eigentlichen Thema: brüderlicher Geschlechtsverkehr."

"Die Sache ist vom Tisch, Bruderherz. Ich denke, du bist mehr als alt genug um ein geeignetes Etablissement aufzusuchen, wenn du etwas Abwechslung brauchst."

Their voices seemed mostly calm, it seemed, but John didn't let them fool him. One look at Sherlock's narrowed eyes and Mycroft's tense shoulders told him all he needed to know. The Holmes brothers might be in total control when talking to strangers or outsiders, but they always let their guards down once they were back to nursing their little sibling rivalry.
____

M: "... know that's not possible."
S: "I don't understand why you're starting to try and be all proper and decent now. That would have only been convincing after the first time, if at all."
M: "He's standing in front of the door."
S: "I know."
M: "You want to let him eavesdrop, just like that?"
S: "You know as well as I do that John speaks hardly any German, Mycroft. Why else would you have switched languages when he unlocked the door? Don't try to change the subject!"
J: "Good evening."
M: "He looks tired. Does he get enough sleep or are you still making him run all over London, just because you're bored?"
S: "Nice try, Mycroft. Let's talk about the matter at hand: sexual intercourse between brothers."
M: "No, we're done talking about that, dearest brother. I think you're old enough to go out and find an establishment providing the kind of distraction you're looking for."

 

"Wieso Geld und Zeit verschwenden, wenn du nur eine SMS entfernt bist, hm? Zier dich nicht so. Du kannst mich nicht schwängern, wie sind beide getestet und wir wissen was der andere mag und nicht mag. Ich habe extra alle Experimente aus meinem Zimmer entfernt, nur für dich."

"Sehr zuvorkommend. Und nein, Sherlock, ich werde nicht mit dir schlafen. Genug davon!"

John heard a frustrated groan coming from Sherlock and couldn't really blame him. He was getting quite irritated himself. What in God's name could they possibly be talking about that wasn't any of John's business? It wasn't like he would go and tell anybody and honestly, there was probably nothing left that could shock him when it came to Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes.

"Are you quite done with the German?" John spoke up as he filled the kettle. "It's kind of rude to be ignored like this, to be honest."

"My apologies, Dr Watson," Mycroft told him, eyes still glued to his brother. Apparently, they were now stuck with a glaring match of insane proportions. "I'll be leaving soon. I am sorry we made you feel excluded."

"Ist es wegen John?"

"Sherlock-"

"Es ist wegen John! Ich wusste doch, dass du eine Schwäche für ihn hast."

"Sherlock, das ist kindisch."

Were they arguing about him now? Exasperated, John tried to focus on his tea making. Only that it didn't quite work out. Hearing his name growled repeatedly in between sentences of a foreign language - well. That was quite something, wasn't it? Feeling a bit warm all of a sudden, John tucked at his collar.

"Ich bin kindisch? Ich? Als ob du nicht von seiner latenten Bisexualität wüsstest, Mycroft. Du müsstest dich nur ein bisschen anstrengen und er würde dir aus der Hand fressen."

"Falls es dir noch nicht aufgefallen sein sollte: ich habe ihn deinetwegen nicht verführt. Ich dachte du liebst ihn! Und ich bin der letzte Mensch, der zwischen dir und deinem Glück stehen will, ich dachte du wüsstest das."

"Natürlich liebe ich ihn, aber deshalb muss ich doch nicht mit ihm schlafen. Sex ruiniert alles, Mycroft, und ich mag John viel zu sehr, als dass ich es für eine mittelmäßig befriedigende Nacht aus dem Fenster werfen würde."

There was a prominent pause and John found that he was holding his breath. They were talking about him, he was absolutely sure now. He only wasn't quite sure what the problem was. The argument seemed to have become more heated, definitely. Was it something he had done?

"Is there a problem?" he asked when the brothers remained silent. "I'm not deaf, you know, I do understand you're talking about me. To be honest, I don't really like being talked about in other languages when I'm in the same room and can't understand single word."

Finally, both pairs of eyes moved to look at him once more. John instantly regretted saying anything at all. For a brief moment, he felt like they were undressing him with their looks alone. Swallowing reflexively, John shifted and tried to fight the heat crawling up in his ears.

"Denkst du das selbe wie ich, Mycroft?"

"Das kann doch nicht dein Ernst sein."
_____

S: "Why waste both money and time when you're only a mere text message away? Don't play hard to get. You can't get me pregnant, we're both tested and we both know what either of us likes and dislikes. I've even gotten rid of all the experiments in my room, just for you!"
M: "Very charming. And no, Sherlock, I won't sleep with you. Enough of this."
S: "Is it because of John?"
M: "Sherlock-"
S: "It is because of John! I knew you had a thing for him."
M: "Sherlock, this is childish."
S: "I am being childish? I? As if you didn't know about his latent bisexuality, Mycroft. If only you would make an effort. He'd be all yours!"
M: "In case you didn't notice: I didn't seduce him because of you. I thought you loved him! I'm the last person who'd want to stand between you and your luck, I thought you knew that."
S: "Of course I love him, but that doesn't mean I have to sleep with him, does it? Sex ruins everything, Mycroft. I like John. I wouldn't want to mess up what we have for a night of mediocre intercourse."
S: "Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Mycroft?"
M: "You can't be serious."

 

"Wieso nicht? Schau ihn dir an, es erregt ihn, wie wir um ihn streiten. Er weiß nicht genau um was es geht, aber sein Unterbewusstsein hat die sexuellen Spannungen bemerkt und sein Körper reagiert dementsprechend. Du willst ihn, ich will dich, er will uns beide - perfekte Vorraussetzungen, oder?"

"Hast du nicht gerade gesagt, dass du eure Beziehung nicht mit Sex ruinieren willst?"

"Wenn nur ich und John miteinander schlafen gibt es ein Disaster, ja. John wird von mir erwarten, dass ich romantisch bin, ihm mehr Aufmerksamkeit schenke und so weiter. Das will ich nicht. Aber das kannst du ja übernehmen. Ihr beide geht schick essen, ins Theater, was auch immer Turteltäubchen so treiben, und ich bekomme Sex mit ihm und dir, wenn ich Lust und Zeit habe."

"Und wieso glaubst du, dass John einwilligen wird?"

"Ich denke, ein Blick auf seinen Schritt wird dir alles veraten, was du wissen musst."

Very quickly, John had become pretty uncomfortable in his trousers and pants. He didn't understand why, but it was happening and he knew that they knew the instant they both started to smirk. John was getting hard over Mycroft and Sherlock arguing over him. In German. What kind of crazy kink was that? He didn't even like men, for Christ's sake. But those looks they gave him sent shivers down his back, hot and cold waves crawling down his arms and legs.

Maybe, he had caught something at work after all.

By now, John knew he had to be blushing fiercely and he quickly turned, unable to face either of the brothers right now and attempting to hide his arousal as much as it was possible. Taking deep breaths, John's fingers were curled tightly around the edge of the kitchen counter.

"I- I think I'll go and take a shower," he said, embarrassingly high-pitched.

"Ich denke, du hast Recht."

"Ist das ein ja?"

"Ja, Sherlock, das ist ein ja."

Screwing his eyes shut, John tried to will his cock not to jump at the sound of more German, now being spoken lowly and huskily, almost predatory. This was - too much. He needed to get out of here.

Carefully, John turned around and made his way towards the side door leading back onto the landing - only to run right into Sherlock's outstretched arms. How had he moved this incredibly fast and this quietly? Was that even humanly possible?

"Hello John," he said lowly, long fingers curling around John's shoulders.

There was something entirely indecent in the way his eyebrows had risen ever so slightly and his lips were curled into the smallest of smirks.

"Don't leave us so soon, Dr Watson."

Mycroft, behind him, in the kitchen, his hands coming to rest on John's hips rather possessively. They couldn't be serious.

"What are you doing? I don't think that's a good idea," John tried to warn them both, though instead of sounding intimidating, his voice had adapted a rather husky tone as well.

This wasn't happening. Clearly, this was not actually happening. Maybe he had caught something - that nasty fever from Mrs Tibbs, maybe? Was he hallucinating? Raising a hand to his forehead, John tried to check his temperature.

_____

S: "Why not? Look at him, he's aroused by our argument. He doesn't really know what it is about, but his subconscious has picked up on the sexual tension and his body is reacting accordingly. You want him, I want you, he wants both of us - a perfect premise, wouldn't you agree?"
M: "Did you just say that you didn't want to ruin your relationship with sex?"
S: "If only John and I would sleep together it'd be a total disaster, yes. John will expect me to be romantic, will want me to give him more attention etc. I don't want that. However, you could easily provide all that. You can go out for fancy dinners, go to the theatre, whatever love bird like to do, and I get to have sex with both him and you, whenever I have the time and feel like it."
M: "And why would you think that John will agree to this?"
S: "I think one quick look at his crotch will tell you all you need to know."
M: "I think you're right."
S: "Is that a yes?"
M: "Yes, Sherlock, that is a yes."

"You're not sick, John," Sherlock told him immediately, sounding almost soothing. His fingers were squeezing John's upper arms now, his thumbs rubbing small circles through the fabric of the shirt. "It's perfectly normal to be attracted to men, as is being aroused by them speaking in another language. It's the mysterious and slightly dangerous that gets to you."

John jumped when a light kiss was placed on his neck, barely a hint of pressure against his flushed skin.

"My brother's right," Mycroft whispered, so close to John's throat that he simply had to pick up on John's quickened pulse rate. "It's perfectly fine and perfectly healthy as well. And we don't mind in the slightest."

Another kiss and John tried his hardest not to melt right into either pair of Holmesian arms. God, this felt good.

"Is- is this what you were arguing about?" he said, voice trembling a bit. "How to go about molesting me?"

Sherlock chuckled. How had John never realised how sexy Sherlock's laugh could be? As if on cue, John's cock gave another, highly interested twitch.

"We aren't molesting you, John. We're seducing you." He paused. "Verführung."

Sherlock rolled the Rs in a way that was completely salacious and should probably be forbidden, and when one of Mycroft's hands pressed probingly against John's fly, John's knees gave in. However, two strong pairs of arms immediately sneaked around his chest and stomach, holding him up.

"Didn't take you for the swooning virgin type," Sherlock teased him.

Growling, John decided that, if they were really going to do this, it would be happening on his terms. Lifting his hand, John curled his fingers around Sherlock's neck, pulling him in for what he had planned to be a heated battle of tongues.

Mostly, though, it was John surrendering in under ten seconds. Dominating a Holmes in a kiss was difficult as it was, but with another Holmes starting to nibble at your neck in all honesty, it became next to impossible. John felt like his brain was slowly turning into mush - they hadn't even shed a single layer of clothing yet. And when had thinking about shedding any clothing with those two around become an acceptable thought?

"Your bedroom, Sherlock?" Mycroft murmured in between sucking at John's throat.

"Of course," Sherlock agreed and pulled the two of them out of the kitchen.

"Is- isn't this going incredibly fast?" John spoke up as he was more or less shoved down the hallway and into Sherlock's room. "How about we talk about this?"

"We've had enough talking today," Sherlock said, letting go of John in favour of closing the door. "Let's have sex."

John bit down on his lip to suppress a little moan. Why was this so incredibly exciting and hot? True, he had had some wanking fantasies about rather androgynous women in his life, and it wasn't as if he had never thought about kissing a really handsome man before, but this? A threesome? With Sherlock and Mycroft?

No. This wasn't on.

"Oh, er ist dabei, es sich anders zu überlegen," Mycroft breathed close to John's ear.

"Was that something dirty?" he snapped, finally wiggling free of Mycroft's hold and taking a step back. "In case you didn't notice - I don't speak German!"

"Meinst du? Sein Körper sagt aber was anderes."

"Komm, Sherlock, ich hatte eigentlich vor, die ganze Sache auf gegenseitigem Einverständnis zu basieren."

"Stop with the goddamn German," John exploded. "I don't know what you're saying and frankly, I don't care, but you're driving me insane."

Suddenly, Sherlock's arms were wrapping around him once more, pulling him close to his chest. His shirtless chest. John hadn't payed much attention, but surely he would have noticed Sherlock undressing?

"I told you, it's perfectly natural that your body responds to our little language game," he was saying maybe a tad impatiently, then bit John's earlobe playfully. "Now, tell me John, just how hard are you right now?"

Swallowing, John tried to focus.

_____

S: "Seduction."
M: "Oh, he's about to think this over."
S: "Are you sure? His body is sending another message entirely."
M: "Come on, Sherlock, I wanted this to be an thoroughly consensual affair."

 

"I'm - Sherlock, I - I don't know what to do," he finally admitted.

Clearly, he was aroused by this. Obviously, both Mycroft and Sherlock were only too happy with the situation. But they were three men, two of them brothers, damn it, and John had never even touched another man's cock unless it was for medical reasons. This was overwhelming and a throbbing penis in between his legs did. not. help.

"Sit down, John, sit down."

Mycroft's calming voice wrapped around John's panicked mind like a blanket and Sherlock quickly lead him over to the bed, letting him sink down onto the mattress, before letting go of him.

"You're aroused, you're attracted to us, that's fine, more than fine actually," Mycroft continued. His suit jacket and waistcoat had magically disappeared by now, but at least, he was still wearing trousers and his shirt. "Yes, Sherlock and I are brothers, but it's not like we're going to procreate and besides, all of our attention will be focused on you tonight."

"Most of our attention," Sherlock said and John did so not watch him open his trouser button from the very corner of his eyes. Did not.

"All right. So - a threesome. With the two of you. I've... this is new to me. Men, I mean."

"We know," Mycroft assured him. "All the better you've got two highly experienced individuals right with you. We'll take it slow, I promise."

"I don't even know if I want this," John protested, deliberately ignoring the ache in between his legs. There was such a thing as not wanting something mentally while your body was saying another thing, right? "We're not - we're not dating or in a relationship or anything!"

"I'd love to take you to dinner some time, if you'd like to," Mycroft said, then shook his head as if he was annoyed with himself. "But no matter. Look, John. This will be good. We'll make it good. No commitments, no pressure, and if you feel at any point that it is becoming too much, just say stop and we will do so."

"Didn't really apply until now, did it?" John snapped.

"You never actually told us to stop," Mycroft informed him pleasantly, looking smug.

Confused, John blinked at him. He- he was right, John hadn't said stop or no at all. Really, all he had said was that he was unsure and confused and wanted to talk this over first. Which they were doing now.

Okay. What were the facts here?

John was aroused and undeniably attracted to both Mycroft and Sherlock. John hadn't been laid in a ridiculously long amount of time. In spite of their absolute madness, John knew that, when it came down to it, he could trust that the Holmes brothers wouldn't deliberately hurt him.

Manipulate, though, was a whole other matter. If he was agreeing to this, he wanted to get some things straight first.

"All right. I'm not saying no, but," and he raised a hand when Sherlock, now only dressed in a pair of dark, silken pants, grinned in triumph, "let me ask some questions first. The German was not a trick to get me into this bedroom, was it?"

"No. Merely a thing Sherlock and I have when it comes to more... personal arguments," Mycroft replied willingly.

Somewhere behind John, Sherlock had let himself fall onto the mattress with a sigh that sounded suspiciously like Dull, more talking!

"Good. Okay. Well. You are attracted to me," John continued, pointing at Mycroft.

The man smiled his small little smile.

"Yes. Very much so."

"You'd like to take me to dinner."

"If you'd like to, yes."

"Okay."

Turning, John looked at Sherlock.

"You are attracted to me as well."

"Sure," he replied, sounding almost bored. "I'm also attracted to Mycroft, though, so that isn't a very big compliment."

Ignoring Mycroft's huff of indignity, John marched right on. Quite frankly, he was losing the last bit of patience he had left and was determined to get this over with as quickly and painlessly as possible.

"Do you want to take me out to dinner?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Am I not taking you out to dinner at least twice a week?"

"Outside of a case, Sherlock," John barked.

"No, no dates, John. I like what we have now and I wouldn't have propositioned at all if Mycroft weren't such a big romantic fool. I just want non-committal sex. Mycroft, howevever, wants you, but is afraid he'll drive a wedge between the two of us."

John nodded, thinking it all over for a few moment.

"So," he finally said, "a threesome for bonding purposes, no obligations, though Mycroft would like to take it a step further with me in case I don't mind. Right?"

"Perfectly sound analysis."

Taking in a deep breath, John braced himself. He was mad for doing this, absolutely mad.

"Good. Let's do it."

As soon as the words had left his mouth, hands were seemingly everywhere. Tugging at his clothes, roaming over his stomach, rubbing his neck, opening his fly. It was overwhelming, overpowering even, but exciting all the same, very exciting.

John felt his breathing speed up as his jumper and shirt were pulled over his head and carelessly thrown into a corner and he didn't protest or struggle when Sherlock pressed his hands against John's lower back to push his hips up and help Mycroft, who had just finished with John's shoes and socks, with removing John's trousers.

They were an astonishingly efficient team when it came to undressing a sexual partner, it seemed.

Now, with John nearly fully naked and only wearing his pants (not the best pair, as he hadn't expected to get laid today), Mycroft was the only person in the room still wearing enough clothes to go outside in all decency. His hands rose to unbutton his cuffs.

"Get rid of that quickly, Mycroft, we'll do some kissing in the meanwhile."

John didn't really process that we included John himself until he was turned, thrown onto his back and pressed into the mattress. Sherlock was looming over him, all long lines and bare skin, and briefly observed John's face as if to calculate the best angle, before swooping down and claiming John's lips in another fierce kiss.

Without Mycroft and about a thousand worries distracting him, John could focus solely on Sherlock's attentions.

And oh God, Mycroft hadn't been joking. Sherlock seemed very, very experienced in the matters of groping and kissing another man. Long fingers were now brushing over John's chest, briefly tweaking the nipples, before moving lower, tracing John's navel and hips almost tenderly. Sherlock's tongue was claiming John's mouth in the process, lips hot and wet against John's.

John had thought he'd been aroused, but this - John was shifting restlessly now, searching for more friction than his pants were currently providing. His cock was aching, throbbing. He didn't think he'd ever been this needy.

"Slow down, Sherlock, I'd rather we could all enjoy this experience as long as possible," Mycroft chided form somewhere to their left.

"Not my fault John has been neglecting himself," Sherlock murmured against John's lips, briefly nuzzling John's cheek before sitting up.

He probably should be protesting and challenging that statement and what it implied, but Mycroft was joining them now and John's eyes were instantly glued to the other man. While he wasn't as skinny as Sherlock, Mycroft wasn't obese at all. If anything, a bit on the softer side, but John found that he liked it. If he had been less horny, he might have asked himself since when he was judging other man's bodies based on their level of sexual appeal.

As for now, John had caught sight of the prominent bulge in Mycroft's pants. He probably should have been at least a bit freaked, but he found that he wasn't. He was - interested, actually.

Above him, Sherlock chuckled lowly.

"Latent bisexuality. I did tell you, Mycroft, no need to be shy."

"Yes, yes, I know," he replied before placing his fingers on Sherlock's cheek, turning his brother's head and kissing him. With tongue.

John could only stare from where he was lying underneath them. Sherlock and Mycroft, brothers, kissing each other. And not just a little peck or a bit of teasing, but a deep, tender kiss that spoke of ease and lots of practice.

The mental image of Mycroft and Sherlock, much younger and less experienced, should not be arousing to him, neither should the current display, to be honest. Though John couldn't care less. Mycroft and Sherlock kissing was hot. Maybe, he had to add incest to the growing list of kinks I didn't know I had, right under the German.

Still staring at the blatant and very indecent spectacle that was incestuous kissing, John slipped his hand in between his thighs and under the fabric to provide himself with some much-needed friction.

Mycroft broke the kiss with Sherlock almost instantly.

"Oh no, we won't have any of that," he chided and caught John's wrist before had even managed a single stroke. "Let me."

With that, Mycroft's fingers curled around the fabric of John's pants and pulled them all the way down to John's ankles. With an almost wicked smirk, he then proceeded to shove Sherlock to the side a bit and kneel in between John's legs. Making a pleased little sound, Mycroft bowed his head and licked the glistening head of John's cock.

John moaned, loudly, jerking his hips ever so slightly, but mere moments later, the noise was muffled. Sherlock, seemingly bored now that Mycroft was using his mouth elsewhere, had decided to go back to ravishing John's mouth instead. The angle should have been awkward, with Sherlock sort of kneeling by John's chest, but it wasn't. Knowing Sherlock, he had probably perfected the art of kissing in every position imaginable.

And really, John was kind of too distracted to care, thinking he might go insane any minute. One pair of Holmesian lips wrapped delicately around his cock while the other was nibbling and sucking at his tongue - John felt like he was suffering from severe sensual overload.

Somehow, his hands founds their way into Mycroft's hair, helplessly brushing through the strands. He wasn't sure if it was encouragement or frenzy that was making him tug and stroke the hair, but it only seemed to make Mycroft all the more eager.

The man had a very clever tongue that was brushing over the uneven skin of John's cock in strong, determined strokes. His lips were soft, mouthing the erection carefully and without even a hint of teeth, and John moaned into Sherlock's mouth. Goodness, this felt marvellous. Best blow job of his life, really. How could he have ever doubted this to be a less than pleasant activity?

He couldn't care less that there weren't any breasts involved, not with skilled mouths like these.

John nearly didn't notice that one of the hands still driving through Mycroft's hair was taken and moved by long fingers until he felt something hard and hot against his palm. Only belatedly, John realised it had to be Sherlock's cock, flushed and firm against the skin of John's hand. Turning his head and thus breaking their kiss, John tried to get a look at what he was touching. At some point during the kissing, Sherlock must have gotten rid of his own pants as well, because all John could see now were his own fingers halfway curled around another man's cock.

And it was good.

One might have thought it wouldn't be too different from touching your own, but this was better. As he squeezed carefully, Sherlock gasped somewhere above him and John couldn't help the small rush of power he felt once he had realised that it was him who was doing that to Sherlock.

Granted, it was hard to focus on giving a proper hand job when another man's skilled lips were currently nipping and mouthing your testicles, but the small groans and sighs that escaped Sherlock's lips were definitely no complaints.

A drop of pre-cum was slowly making its way down the shaft and, remembering what he personally liked and disliked, John used his thumb to rub the glans of Sherlock's cock very, very lightly. Sherlock's response was an outright moan and John joined him when Mycroft did some wicked twist with his tongue that felt too good for words.

Then, Mycroft stopped his attentions. For a moment, he simply seemed to watch John's hand move up and down on Sherlock's cock and the way his brother's erection was red and glistening, until Sherlock carefully pulled himself away from John grip.

"You and John seem to do just fine without me. Not at all mediocre, if you ask me," Mycroft observed casually, addressing his brother, probably alluding to something John didn't know about.

"Well, as you're busy elsewhere," Sherlock replied, still sounding a tad breathless.

"Why don't you get the lubricant, Sherlock?"

That did send a nervous flutter through John's stomach. A moment later, however, Sherlock had disappeared from his sight and Mycroft was leaning over, placing tender kisses on John's jaw.

"No need to be nervous," he breathed in between the kisses. "We're going to go slow. And there's many possibilities. You may choose what sounds the least frightening right now."

Finally, the wet trail of kisses lead to John's mouth and with the smallest of chuckles, Mycroft sealed their lips together.

Mycroft was as skilled as Sherlock, undoubtedly, but his kisses seemed different somehow. Where Sherlock had been dominating and fierce, Mycroft seemed leading but lazy, taking his time to explore John's mouth.

Desperate for some kind of contact, John curled a leg around Mycroft's leg, trying to tuck him close. He succeeded briefly and Mycroft's erection brushed over John's own.

Oh. That was- that was nice, wasn't it?

Moving his hips, John tried to increase the friction but Mycroft had already pulled away again, taking away any kind of friction John had managed to find.

"Impatient, doctor?" he commented with arched eyebrows.

"Just do something!" John replied breathlessly.

Sherlock was back, in his hand a bottle of clear lubricant. Only far too late (and wasn't that embarrassing for a doctor), John realised that they hadn't taken any precautions whatsoever so far, when he noticed the lack of condoms.

"We haven't used protection," he pointed out dutifully and a fair bit embarassed.

"No worries," Mycroft told him. "I know you are tested and so are Sherlock and I. It's all taken care of, we're all as healthy as one wants to be."

Before John could comment on privacy issues and the likes, Sherlock had already placed a kiss on his brother's neck. As it seemed, teeth were involved, as Mycroft jumped, pulled away and sent a quick glare at his brother.

"Patience," he snapped, then plucked the lubricant right out of his brother's hand.

"Why are you talking?" Sherlock sighed and sat with folded legs, shamelessly presenting his still very prominent erection. "Can we just get to it? This is exactly why I prefer you over anybody else, Mycroft, we don't have to talk."

Mycroft shook his head in clear exasperation.

"Well, John needs some reassurance first."

"What is there to explain?" Sherlock complained, rolling his eyes a bit. "He's a doctor, I'm sure he knows the basics. Just make a choice, John: top, middle or bottom?"

Blinking, John tried to keep up.

"Excuse me?" he replied, thoughts still caught somewhere between When and why did Mycroft check my test results? and How often do these insane brother shag each other?

Mycroft made a disapproving sound, once more shaking his head at Sherlock's impatience, before turning his full attention on John.

"He's asking what you'd prefer. Would you like to penetrate, be penetrated or both? I think the latter might be a bit too much for the first time. If you ask me, I'd choose the second."

Thinking it over, John took a minute imaging the positions. To be honest, he'd probably be more comfortable with doing what he had some experience with. However, anal sex was a whole different thing from vaginal penetration. How was he supposed to make it pleasant for either of them when he had no idea what it even felt like?

He didn't even have to put voice to his decision. The brothers, eyes ever so observant, shared a quick, understanding smile. Then, John was being turned again until he was on his hands and knees. His pants, until now still tangled around his feet, joined the other clothes on the floor.

"You'll have to relax," Mycroft told him soothingly, brushing a warm hand over John's outer thigh, while it seemed that Sherlock had snatched the lube again and was carefully slicking up his cock.

John tried to oblige, blinking at the wall in front of him. It wasn't easy, with his mind swirling and the fact that he had been sporting an erection for an insane amount of time. With any other partner, John would have probably climaxed by now and cuddled up between the blankets.

Any thoughts and worries, however, left his mind as Mycroft's slick fingers slipped in between John's buttocks. Apparently, he had gotten a hold of the lubricant again and John gasped when the first finger entered, carefully stretching and prodding.

It felt odd, but not really uncomfortable, and it wasn't like John had never had his prostate examined before. However, this was a bit different, because his cock was hot and heavy between his legs and now, Mycroft had added another finger and curled it just right.

John gasped as small shocks of pleasure ran up his spine, making his cock jump as if it had received another skilled lick instead. God, he needed to come soon, this was torture.

Another finger and John squirmed as Mycroft managed to hit that spot over and over again, driving John absolutely insane.

"Who would you like to do you the honours?" Mycroft asked almost casually.

Why did he seem so perfectly controlled and calm when he was definitely hard and horny as well? He hadn't gotten a blow job or a hand job so far. How was he even coping? Holmesian madness, no doubt.

"I don't care, just get it to it, damn it," John hissed, highly tempted to jerk himself off right there and then, with three of Mycroft's fingers up his arse.

"I'll do it," Sherlock suddenly announced.

Turning his head, John realised that he must have prepared himself, using the lubricant not only to slick up his cock. He was impatient, sure, but John couldn't blame him. If there was going to be any more talking instead of acting, he'd go bloody insane.

In the end, it all happened rather quickly. Mycroft and Sherlock moved and shifted on the bed, Sherlock pushing John forward a bit to make space to bring himself into position. John was surprised by the almost tender and soothing kiss Sherlock placed on his shoulder blade. Then, he sank right it.

John gasped, buttocks clenching involuntarily as he was slowly but surely being filled by Sherlock. Behind him, Sherlock moaned, his cock undoubtedly further stimulated by the tightening muscles.

More movement, probably Mycroft doing the same to Sherlock, if the ecstatic sigh from Sherlock's lips was anything to go by, and John joined in with another little moan as Sherlock's cock was moved in even deeper, stretching him wider for good measure.

"Careful now," Mycroft murmured, then moved.

Oh, it was good. Good and satisfying and a tad mind-numbing, as Sherlock pulled back and pushed in again, undoubtedly being controlled by a pace that Mycroft was setting. Sherlock's hands came up to steady John's hips and himself simultaneously, stopping John from having any kind of control in this by using his own weight to ground him.

And John liked it. He was being shagged, thoroughly, without any means of slowing it down and it felt great. More than great, even. John had the feeling he might faint from the sensation of it all.

He moaned loudly and shamelessly as Sherlock's cock managed to find the perfect spot every other time and soon, Sherlock and Mycroft joined him. Sherlock's moans were incredibly low and indecent, whereas Mycroft's sighs of pleasure sounded more like he was a fair bit amused by the whole thing.

John didn't last long, which came to no surprise. Unable to touch himself, John was about to ask Sherlock for a hand, but he didn't need it. He hadn't known he could come without his cock being touched. Apparently, with Sherlock and Mycroft, he could.

With an almost broken gasp, John climaxed almost violently, feeling warm, sticky semen spurt over parts of his stomach as the wave of pleasure hit him almost unexpectedly.

His clenching muscles, tightening as he orgasmed, seemed to bring Sherlock over the edge only seconds later. Moaning once more, Sherlock came. It was an unfamiliar feeling, being filled by another man's semen, but John was far too gone to think or worry about it too much. He might have even collapsed if Sherlock hadn't curled his arms around John's chest, holding them both up and somewhat steady until Mycroft finished with a soft cry.

It took them all more than a minute to recover, a bundle of limbs and panted breaths on Sherlock's bed. Finally, they carefully untangled, pulling back.

John turned onto his back, uncaring that the bed sheets were sticky and soiled and his arse was tingling almost unpleasantly, filled with something extremely gummy.

"Hmm," he hummed, stretching a bit, ready to just fall asleep right there.

He probably would have, had he not felt the mattress dip and shake and heard the suddenly busy, bustling movements in the room. Blinking, John squinted at the other two men who were - redressing?

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, sounding tired but properly indignant.

"Shower, research," Sherlock announced shortly, grabbing some clothes from his wardrobe and almost running from the room.

Flabbergasted, John stared at his retreating back, watching a pair of pale buttocks and long legs swiftly leave the room. Next to the bed, Mycroft was cleaning himself up as far as possible before slipping into his underwear.

"And you?" John said, accusation in his voice. "Sherlock leaving, okay, but you? I thought you wanted this to be serious?"

"I do," he replied, now buttoning his trousers. "But I have work. This wasn't planned, exactly, and there's still this unfortunate situation with the Indian ambassador... but never mind. I know you're tired, I'm sure Sherlock won't mind at all if you sleep in his bed for a change." Sending John a brief but oddly tender smile, Mycroft slipped into his dress shirt. Somehow, it wasn't even wrinkled. Had he actually found the time to fold his clothes? "Lunch tomorrow?"

"Um," John replied eloquently, blinking.

"I know a place. The chef and most of the waiters are German." He bowed down, placing a kiss on John's cheek. "I could order in their mother tongue," he breathed into John's ear.

That shouldn't sound as dirty as it did.

"I'll pick you up from the surgery tomorrow," Mycroft said, not waiting for a confirmation and placing another soft kiss on John's mouth. "Gute Nacht, John."

Well, he knew what that meant, at least.

Watching Mycroft gather up his waistcoat and jacket, John tiredly grabbed for the blanket, pulling it over his shoulders. All the exhaustion he had been feeling before this unexpected turn of event combined with having to deal with the advances of two Holmesian madmen was crushing down on him now, making his eyes heavy.

He should probably think this over some more. Did he even want any kind of sexual relationship with either Holmes brother? Shouldn't he be a bit alarmed that Sherlock and Mycroft were obviously shagging on a regular basis? Why didn't it sound so unlikely and impossible to have a - well - three-way thing with the both of them?

We'll have to talk, he thought tiredly. More talking. And maybe more shagging, too. Just to make sure.