“Shut up.” Sherlock snarls through gritted teeth.
John looks up from the journal he's reading a little bemused yet irritated. Sherlock hadn’t moved from his prone position on the sofa, he hadn’t even turned his head; he was just staring at the ceiling. “I haven’t breathed a word in over an hour. Neither have you.”
“Breathing. Stop breathing then.”
John sighs and returns to the article he was reading. Sherlock’s mood had been worsening over the course of the past week due to the bandages around his hands. He’d retrieved vital evidence from the fire but at his own cost. They were minor burns which shouldn’t take more than a month to fully heal and Sherlock had enough movement in his fingers to dress himself even if John had to tie his shoes for him and do up the occasional button. It was still a torment for Sherlock.
“You’re still breathing.”
“Find an unsolved murder to amuse yourself, there’s a whole stack of them in the kitchen you’ve barely looked at.”
“I can’t- why are you so especially irritating today. Are you trying or does it just come naturally to people like you?”
John doesn’t respond, he knows better by now. Sherlock, not suitably engaged in the fight he was hoping to pick, storms off into his bedroom, slamming the door twice for good measure which surely must have hurt his hands. John sips his tea and enjoys the temporary peace.
John hadn’t seen Sherlock the rest of the night, not even to eat. He’d heard him however, throwing things around, yelling with frustration and moving his bed around. He’d considered asking if Sherlock was ok but figured that might be a risk to his health. John just hoped this storm would pass like the many others or some mutilated corpse in a suitcase would show up at Heathrow. Maybe things would be better by morning.
Morning didn’t have a chance to arrive.
John can hear Sherlock cursing and fumbling with the door before he finally makes it inside. “John, wake up.” Sherlock switches on the bedside light and begins to pace.
John groans and turns away. “If it’s anything short of a serial killer I’m not getting up. Go to bed.”
“You- you have to help me.”
John keeps his eyes shut, he doesn’t want to wake up too much or sleep would be lost for the rest of the night. "I really don’t.”
“Please John.” Sherlock climbs into the bed and under the covers. John, startled, turns around and backs up against the wall. Sherlock was only wearing pyjama bottoms and he was very, very hard. “I can’t think, I can’t concentrate, I can’t do anything. It’s getting worse. I’ve tried everything the last few days. Everything.” Sherlock’s words are coming thick and fast and more desperate by the second.
“Stop talking. What are you exactly asking me to do?” John’s eyes are still fixed on Sherlock’s erection, he can’t look away.
“I need to orgasm and, and I can’t.”
“You... want me... to...”
“Please. I’ve tried everything, I tried using pillows, sex aids, I even tried autofellatio but it’s always been difficult, I have a very specific routine and I can’t do it with my hands like this. I can’t go on like this much longer.”
John swallows hard. It certainly explained Sherlock’s deteriorating mood and resistance to look at the files. “I’m straight.”
“Of course I know that, I’m not asking for full sex I just need you to do everything I would do. You’re a doctor, help me.” Sherlock reaches out but John pulls away.
“You’re my flatmate, we’re friends, can’t you find someone else?”
“I have very specific needs and I don’t trust anyone else to touch me. I can’t climax any other way. Please John, I think I’m losing my mind.”
“From not coming?”
“Yes. It’s like a reset button and clears my head. I do it at least once a day, sometimes twice if I’ve been thinking too much. It’s been a week; I’ve never been incapacitated this long before.”
John was certainly becoming swayed by Sherlock’s desperation but then he’d always been fond of seeing his lovers desperate and needy for him, it made him feel powerful, in control, competent. Surely this scenario shouldn’t have the same effect. He’d never even touched a man sexually before. This was Sherlock though and Sherlock needed help. “I’m not saying yes,” John cautions, “but tell me what you would need me to do.”
“Combined penile and prostate stimulation.” Sherlock says pragmatically as John’s eyes widen. Sherlock carries on regardless. “I’ve brought some lubricant with me, are you happy with silicone based? I find it doesn’t dry out too quickly.” Sherlock grabs the bottle from the bedside table and gives it to John who accepts it blindly.
“I’ll give you instructions; it won’t take long as you can see.” Sherlock almost smiles. “You’ll be able to find my prostate quickly and there’s a particular massage I prefer. Here.” Sherlock raises one of his bandaged hands to John’s face and gently rubs his index finger against his cheek in a circle. John locks eyes with Sherlock’s, wild and wanting, not a sign of calculation to be seen. Sherlock’s finger traces circles on the patch of skin next to his nose where there is no stubble. Sinuous, purposeful, just the way he wanted. “Like that, soft then firmer as I get close.” Sherlock increases the pressure. He was breathing heavier through his mouth now, John had matched him, lips parted and almost gasping for breath.
“D-do you want to kiss or anything?” John’s mouth was dry, his cock a little fuller than it should be. Sherlock takes his finger away from John’s face.
“Won’t be necessary. Unless you wish to?”
“No, no I um, don’t want to do that.” He was straight after all.
“Shall we begin?”
“This will make you happy again? You’ll be able to think? No more telling me to stop breathing?”
“Yes, yes, I’ll be nice I promise.” Sherlock shucks off his pyjama bottoms and pushes back the covers. He kneels up on his knees. “It’ll be best if you’re behind me to mimic my actions.”
“Uh, ok. Light off though.” At least if John was behind him and in the dark he could hide the stiffy that was pushing out his boxer shorts. He was wearing a t-shirt but he wonders if he should put something else on. With Sherlock completely naked and his cock frighteningly hard against his stomach it feels like some sort of sexual faux pas to wear anything extra. John turns off the light, clambers behind Sherlock and sits back on his heels. He can still see him lit by the soft yellowy glow of the street light outside, all hard, long lines.
“Ok, put some of the lubricant on both hands.” Sherlock was so eager, pressing his cock against his own forearm and muffling a groan. John does as instructed, hands steady, the adrenaline has kicked in. Still he was nervous at what he was about to do. He reminds himself that he was a doctor, he was helping, it was no different than any procedure to improve someone’s health and wellbeing. In this case to stop his flatmate going on a sexually frustrated killing spree. “Ready?”
“As much as I’ll ever be.”
“Good. Hand first, wrap it around me firmly, start at the base and pull up all the way up over the tip.”
Sherlock groans loudly at the first contact. “Oh god.” John mouths to himself as his cock jerks, harder still. He can’t see what he's doing; he just feel the thick heat in his hand, almost throbbing. He holds Sherlock like he’d hold himself and slowly slides his slick hand up the long length.
“Oh god, finally, finally.” He moans and adjusts his stance. “Good, little tighter, do it again.”
John repeats the action, listening intently as Sherlock moans again, dropping his head forward and relaxing into it. John couldn’t help but enjoy the sounds he was pulling from Sherlock, it felt like a triumph.
“Good John, now roll your hand over the head, use more lubricant if needed.”
John did, he could feel hot precome against his palm. He bit his lips together and focuses as he cups his hand, paying attention to the very tip, listening to Sherlock’s reactions. Every now and then Sherlock’s cock would twitch, pushing harder into his hand followed by another lustful sound from Sherlock’s mouth.
“Fingers, fraenulum, thumb on top, massage me.”
“Oh god.” John says aloud this time. He does as instructed, massaging that sensitive spot John loved to have licked and smoothing his thumb over the soft, velvety head. It was like his own but different, so very different.
“Fist again, let me push into it.”
John makes a fist and licks his dry lips as he watches Sherlock slowly roll his hips, swinging them gently back and forth, tensing his muscular arse with each easy move. John looks away, trying to focus on something else other than the feel of Sherlock’s dick sliding in his hand. He wants to grab himself but Sherlock has other ideas.
“Touch my testicles with your other hand, hold them up.” Sherlock instructs, his words coming more raggedly.
“Fuck.” John has to move closer to Sherlock’s back to wrap his other arm around him. His own cock hovering dangerously close to Sherlock’s bare arse. His prick had almost pushed itself out through the gap of his pants. “Fuck.”
“Sorry.” John finds himself saying before realising it was absurd in context with what they were doing, some early hours assisted wank. John lifts Sherlock’s balls carefully, knowing how sensitive his own were.
“Very good John, roll them a little, mmmm, yes, you’re doing well.”
John isn’t sure why the praise makes him feel good but now he wants to do this perfectly for Sherlock.
“Pull up the foreskin over the head and stroke me John, like you would yourself. I’ll tell you if I need to alter your technique.”
John swallows back another curse as he pulls Sherlock’s foreskin over his distended head and begins to wank him slowly. “Faster?” John asks.
“That’s good for now, little tighter though.”
John firms up his grip and moves closer to Sherlock still, he needs something to brace against. Sherlock was sighing and moaning softly, John had never heard anything like it, so different to himself or a woman. Even the men trying for a sneaky wank in the barracks. It was intoxicating, fluid, unashamed.
“I need you to begin to penetrate me now.” Sherlock says gruffly as he spreads his knees a little wider. John can smell the arousal in the air now, both Sherlock’s and his own. John lets go of Sherlock’s balls.
John was at a loss at how to do this in a non-medical way, in a way that would please Sherlock. “How?”
“One finger, massage me first, you’ll feel me relax. I showered a little while ago.”
“Thanks.” John smiles at the courtesy and places one cool finger against Sherlock’s hole. He jumps at first and then eases back. It's unbelievably hot to the touch, no latex glove barrier, it hadn’t even occurred to John to put some on. He begins to circle and spread the lubricant and slowly he feels Sherlock give. “Now?”
“Yes, please John.” Sherlock’s voice breaks.
John presses in.
“Oh god.” They both say simultaneously. John stares down at the tip of his finger inside Sherlock.
“Firmer on my cock, John.”
“Yes.” John had lost focus. He keeps his steady pace, making sure Sherlock had pressure on the underside of his cock with his thumb rubbing over the ridge. “Good.” John says. It's not a question.
“More, push in more.”
John keeps up the pressure. The angle is awkward for his wrist but Sherlock wants the pad of his finger against his prostate.
“Oh, oh god!” Sherlock jerks away but relaxes again. “Yes, knew you’d find it quickly.”
“Told you I was a good doctor.” John quips, still looking at his finger disappearing inside.
“Oh, yes, just like that, bigger circles, ohhh.” Sherlock was thrusting into his hand and then back on to his finger. It's disorganised and difficult to keep a rhythm but John does his best to keep up with him. “Oh god John, oh, won’t take much longer, I needed this.”
“Good, good.” John rests his head against Sherlock’s perspiration soaked back. He needs something too, he wants to push his cock against something, into something, it aches so badly. “What else? Tell me.”
“Faster, faster on my cock.”
John ups the pace, holding tight.
“Oh god, press harder inside me.” Sherlock almost growls the instruction and John shivers.
“Yes, ohhh, so close, grrr, need...” Sherlock's clenching around John’s finger as he nears his orgasm.
“Yes. I need more. Be fast.”
John slips his finger out and then pushes in with two. Sherlock cries out so loud John almost thought he’d come.
“Ok, don’t worry. Won’t stop until you come.” Back to his prostate and Sherlock was loud again. “Shush. You wake the street.”
“Don’t care, oh my god, yes, yes, nnngh.” Sherlock's shaking, John tries to wank him faster and harder still, to push him over the edge. John’s lips rest on Sherlock’s back as he writhes. John licks his lips and accidently tastes Sherlock's salty skin. “Oh John, that’s it! Oh!”
It's like a convulsion, Sherlock tipping forwards, trembling from head to toe, inside and out. John groans as he feels Sherlock come in his hand, every jerk and spasm coating his fingers. The fingers inside Sherlock can’t move as the muscles clamp down and quiver around him. John has Sherlock’s thigh right next to him; he could rub and come in an instant. “Sherlock I need to come too.”
“Yes.” Sherlock gasps through heavy panting, still shaking a little.
John had no idea what Sherlock has said yes to but he takes his hand gently off Sherlock’s cock leaving his fingers inside. He pushes down his boxer shorts and grabs Sherlock’s hip to rut against his thigh. “Fu-” John muffles the curse that Sherlock didn’t like. “Almost.” A few more firm pushes against Sherlock’s pale thigh and John cries out, shoving his wrist in his mouth to keep from being too loud. He came on Sherlock. Now he was watching the come run down his thigh.
“Sorry.” John feels shame creeping in.
“Don’t.” Sherlock sighs. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, I guess.” John slowly eases his fingers out of Sherlock and makes an instinctual check that he was ok down there.
John lies back, exhausted and looks at the man who he’d just made come. The first man he’d ever touched like that. Sherlock sat still and calm on his knees, head hung, chest breathing heavy. Serene. “You do this every day? Sometimes twice?”
“Yes.” Sherlock lays back next to John, his eyes closed. John doesn’t mind if he falls asleep here.
“So tomorrow then?”