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Five Times Sherlock and John Are In The Closet

Chapter Text

Only John Watson could tell you how weird it was to wake up in an unfamiliar closet with Sherlock Holmes lying on top of you.

He didn't know how he got there, he didn't know why Sherlock was on top of him, and he didn't remember anything after hazily leaving the bar with Sherlock, fresh beer bottle in hand and ready for a drunken chase of a criminal. Here he was, though. In a closet. Where? He didn't know. And Sherlock was on top of him, currently nuzzled into his chest, his leg in-between John's.

Not exactly ideal when waking up with a hard-on. Nope. Attractive flatmate with his thigh right up against your erection? Not really a place you want to be in when you refused to admit your attraction – especially when it was extremely obvious that he wasn't interested.

On top of all of that, John's clothes appeared to be slightly damp. Had it been raining when he left the bar? He couldn't really remember. Sherlock shifted and sighed, his breath smelling of stale alcohol. John grimaced slightly and then jumped when Sherlock's thigh rubbed up against him when he shifted.

"Eh, Sherlock?" John whispered, not wanting to be caught in this awkward situation, but also not wanting to ruin whatever plan Sherlock must have had – how else would they have ended up in this closet? Sherlock had to have a plan that got them here. Maybe they were on the lookout. John held very still, trying not to breathe too harshly. Trying to calm himself down.

But Sherlock woke up with a bit of a loud groan, which made John's eyes close and his face grimace in a perfect painting of pain and pleasure. Sherlock blinked rather hazily and turned his head, looking up at John, his hands on John's sides, stroking absently – he clearly wasn't aware he was doing it.

"Hullo," he said rather stupidly. John snorted at him and shifted a bit against the piles of clothes they were apparently lying on. Sherlock became a bit more aware and his fingers stopped stroking John's sides.

"What are we doing?" John hissed. Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows and looked around for a second.

"It appears we're lying in a closet," he informed John teasingly in a normal volume. "Not really sure why, though."

"Keep your voice down!" John whispered, fear of being caught rising. Sherlock snorted.

"What? Why? You-" Sherlock stopped abruptly, having shifted again and becoming extremely aware of exactly what John was trying to stop. "John," Sherlock breathed out, looking confused. Far more confused than he was allowed to be. John put his hands on Sherlock's arms and tried to push him off of him carefully, but Sherlock wasn't having it. He stayed where he was, thank you very much.

"We're in here for a reason, aren't we?" John whispered. "Hiding from someone? We were on a chase when we left the bar-" Sherlock laughed bit loudly and John's hand went over his mouth. Sherlock snickered behind John's hand. "Be quiet!" John hissed, fearing Sherlock was still drunk – he was a stick and he clearly had a lot the previous night, so John really wouldn't put it past him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and licked John's hand to get him to let go. John's mouth fell open slightly and his eyelids fluttered a bit. Sherlock grew very still as John very obviously grew harder underneath him. Sherlock stared at John for a second, watching his face turn red as he opened his mouth to begin his defense, going to move his hand away from Sherlock's face. Sherlock grabbed his hand and held it in place, licking again. John nearly whimpered, but pulled himself together, glaring at Sherlock.

"Stop it, let go!" John hissed. Instead of letting go, however, Sherlock pulled away slightly and lapped at John's palm slowly. First with his whole tongue, then with the tip, trailing with his eyes latched onto John's. He pushed his thigh harder against John's erection and John's head fell back into the pile of clothes with a soft poof. "Sherlock," John panted as quietly as he could. Sherlock's tongue traced two of John's fingers.

"What do you want?" Sherlock asked, rubbing his thigh against John rhythmically. John's free arm went over his face.

"W-we're on a case," John pointed out.

"We're in my closet, you idiot," Sherlock countered. John let out a breathy laugh.

"Figures." Sherlock moved up further, leaning his chin on John's shoulder, humming in his ear as he pushed his hips forward, legs clenching around John's leg. They groaned in union – John sounding tortured, and Sherlock sounding extremely pleased.

"Tell me what you want," Sherlock whispered into John's ear, his hands trailing up his sides again.

"Th-this. This is fine," John whimpered.

"Good, because I'm tired," Sherlock replied, picking up his rhythm. John grabbed onto Sherlock's thighs and pulling them tight against each other. John groaned loudly and Sherlock laughed.

"Why the hell are you in pajama bottoms, but I'm still in my jeans?" John asked, fingers digging into Sherlock's legs as they thrust against each other.

"You- You barged in," Sherlock panted, nuzzling against the side of John's face as his face heated up. "While I was changing. I-I had already put the bottoms on and you threw my shirt at me and laughed at me. Then you f-fell on my bed, oh, John," Sherlock groaned as John hitched his leg up slightly. John chuckled a bit. "And then you started babbling some moronic nonsense about closets – I wasn't really listening, the vodka was much more interesting than you – and you dragged me in here and we just- talked until we fell as-sl-eep- Oh, god," Sherlock hissed, grabbing onto John's hips and thrusting harder as John's fingernails dug into Sherlock's legs.

"Fuck, Sherlock," John hissed, lunging his hips up and pulling Sherlock down at the same time.

"Let go," Sherlock said, his voice deep and desperate sounding.

"You let go," John heard himself whimper as their thrusting became frantic, losing rhythm.

John sucked in a sharp breath as Sherlock bit down where his neck met his shoulder. He tensed up, his mouth falling open and emitting a small, choked off sound as he grinded Sherlock against him. Sherlock followed right behind, John's expression hitting him hard and the grip on his legs becoming too much for him to fight against. He panted into John's neck, his breathing breaking off every so often, being held, but otherwise, he was silent.

Sherlock found himself panting and melted against John when he came back to his senses. The rise and fall of John's chest was comfortable and Sherlock found himself nuzzling down again. They dozed for a few minutes – maybe half an hour to an hour – before Sherlock pushed himself up slightly and looked at John. They both looked rather debauched and maybe a bit hung-over, even if they felt lovely.

Sherlock grinned and John caught the expression and began giggling. Soon, they were both laughing and Sherlock stood up, helping John to his feet.

"We should change," John grinned.

"You ruined my pajamas," Sherlock fake scoffed in reply. They both grinned and went to change.

Chapter Text

Sherlock was extremely wrapped up in this case. Really, he was. God, he was on fire, it was amazing. The case had been going on for days – every time he caught a trail, it led to yet another one. A fresh one each time, too. The villain clearly knew Sherlock was after them and they weren't making it easy – bless them.

But it was coming to a close, regretfully. It certainly left Sherlock feeling fantastic when he gave that last little nod to Lestrade to have him make one last call. There was no actual chase, unfortunately, as the criminal was well aware he was caught and Sherlock was betting his whole flat on the fact that he would give himself up if the police showed up at his doorstep.

Boring, sure, but unexpected from such a case. Sherlock gave a happy little hum as Lestrade gave commands on the phone and grinned at Lestrade when he put the phone down.

"Thanks for your help on this one, Sherlock," Lestrade sighed, going through all of the paperwork he still had left to do for the case. Sherlock flashed him anther grin.

"Oh, it was my pleasure. Feel free to call me when he breaks out of prison; that's when I know he'll be better prepared," Sherlock replied, practically bouncing around the room as he played with various objects in Lestrade's office. Lestrade laughed.

"You're so happy, this is rare! Wanna come out for drinks with us?" he grinned.

"Ugh, GOD, no," Sherlock replied, looking aghast for a moment before stopping and looking around the room. He popped his head out and looked around the room outside. He came back inside. "Where did John go?"

"Ah," Lestrade breathed out before almost biting his lips off trying not to laugh. "Remember when you were wrapped up in figuring out the man's hair colour, for whatever reason? You were so fixated on it…"

"Yes?" snapped Sherlock. "What of it?"

"Well, John fell asleep."

"Oh," Sherlock said, rocking back on his heels in boredom. "He went home, then."

"No," Lestrade said slowly. "Not exactly…" Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

"Explain."

"Well, he was just… sleeping. At my desk. And you were off doing whatever with the hair thing and you gave us nothing to work on, either, so we were all waiting on you- I decided I'd pull a prank on him."

"Did he get angry and leave..?"

"No, he's still here," Lestrade chuckled. "There's this closet in the far end of the building that no one ever uses. It's kinda big, I dono, I just – I taped him to the wall in the closet with the light on and left him there. Dono how he didn't wake up, but I was pretty careful…"

Sherlock attempted an expression of disbelief, but it was horribly warped with suppressed laughter. Lestrade laughed harder at that.

"I told you it was funny!"

"You didn't, but I get your point. Well, I'm off to collect my flatmate. Goodbye," Sherlock nodded before sweeping out of the room. He noticed how all of the noise faded the further down the building he got. Eventually, he reached a double door to a hallway. He pushed it open.

"HELLO?" he heard John yell in a slightly hoarse voice. Sherlock stifled a laugh. He closed the doors and strode over to the closet he believed Lestrade had been talking about. He knocked. "Hello?" he heard again, in a quieter voice, though a little panicked. Sherlock opened the door and – yep. John was taped to the wall. Most of the tape was around his middle – God, it was a lot of tape. His wrists were also taped and he looked very uncomfortable, considering his feet didn't really reach the ground.

"Hello," Sherlock said simply.

"Oh, God, Sherlock, help me down," John begged. Sherlock broke into a devilish grin. "No, come on, this is starting to hurt a bit."

"No, no, I want pictures," Sherlock hissed out. "You fell asleep on the job; see what happens? This is what happens, this is what you get, hm?" Sherlock began snapping pictures with his phone, grinning the whole time.

"I hate you so much right now," John groaned. "Just let me down! This isn't… Stop taking pictures of me!" John flailed his legs around a bit and Sherlock slipped his phone back into his pocket.

"Is it hard to breathe like that," Sherlock asked, poking at the tape around his stomach, feeling it, and looking at John's horribly red face. It had been like that since he showed up.

"No… Well, not awfully, no," John admitted.

"No? Then…" Sherlock looked at John's face again. "Ah."

"Oh, please don't do this here. Don't do your deductions, don't do your st-"

"You. Are aroused," Sherlock pointed out, surprise in his voice. "Honestly, John? Really? By this? You wake up, taped to a wall, and the first thought in your head is 'Damn, this is sexy'? I mean, here, I'll be fair, I suppose it's the being held down against your will? You like being controlled, I guess? Captain Watson. Captain Watson would rather be given orders than to give-"

But Sherlock was cut off very abruptly when a very red faced John (out of anger on top of arousal, now) flung his legs up onto Sherlock's shoulders and dug his heels into his back, pulling him closer rather violently. Sherlock stared up at John, his face very close to John's zipper.

"Shut the fuck up and suck," John sneered. Sherlock gaped at him for a moment.

"Controlling from the bottom? John, you never fail to sur-"

"Close the door. And suck my cock." Sherlock stared at him for a while longer, completely still and hunched over because of John's legs on his shoulder forcing him down. He managed to take a small breath under the intensity of John's gaze.

"Yes, sir," Sherlock whispered in reply, causing John to shudder, his head falling back against the wall as he continued to stare Sherlock down. Sherlock used his foot to close the door, pulling it towards them and managing it on his first try without looking. John was impressed but didn't say so, as it would probably be a really weird thing to say after "suck my cock."

Seriously. Just saying. Come on, think about it.

Okay, sorry, so

"This is going to be an awful angle for me," Sherlock commented, fingers tracing John's hips slightly.

"Ugh, Sherlock, I don't care," John replied, twisting his hips and digging his heels into Sherlock's back. Sherlock smiled slightly. He unbuttoned and unzipped John's jeans, feeling the heat.

"You owe me tea."

"I already make you tea, do as you're told, you prat."

"Right away, Captain," Sherlock replied, staring at John to see his reaction. John groaned and his eyes closed, his head falling back again and his legs pulling Sherlock closer.

"Fuck you," John said. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you very much."

"I might have to take your jeans off," Sherlock commented. John's legs immediately fell from Sherlock's shoulders.

"Do it, just get it over with!" he snapped. Sherlock bent down and untied John's shoes carefully and slowly removed them both. "You are such an asshole," John hissed, very aware that Sherlock was being slow on purpose.

"Tsk, what an awful thing to say to your lovely flatmate who is about to get you off," Sherlock shook his head in mock disappointment.

"If you don't shut up and get on with it, you're going to wake up taped to the floor tomorrow."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Sherlock said as he stood up again, quickly pulling John's jeans down and off. John rolled his eyes.

"Sherlock-" but John cut off with a sharp intake of breath as Sherlock's hand reached into John's pants to wrap around his cock and take it out through the slit in the front of the boxers. Sherlock leaned down a bit and John wrapped his arms around him with a bit of difficulty that he ignored. Sherlock opened his mouth and moved John's cock inside, but it didn't touch his mouth. He looked up at John. "Suck," John hissed out.

However, Sherlock pulled back and started licking. Heavy, hard drags of his tongue, too, no pansy licking, here. Completely up and down every bit of the shaft, around the head, over the slit - Sherlock licked until John kicked at his back. He sucked John in, his hand working at part of John's cock as the rest was bobbed in and out of Sherlock's mouth. John groaned and the fact that he was dangling off of the wall made it much easier for him not to thrust into Sherlock's mouth. He felt it probably wouldn't have been too polite if he had, no matter how much he wanted to – God, that hot, brilliant mouth working him with clear interest on John's reactions.

Sherlock was staring up at him, his expression fierce. He bobbed faster, sucked harder, and John panted, his head falling against the wall again as he looked down at Sherlock with his eyes half closed.

"God, Sherlock," John whispered. "So fucking brilliant."

Sherlock paused for a second and seemed to be having some sort of internal struggle – in fact, he was trying not to laugh.

"Suck," John whispered at him in a commanding tone, kicking at his back again. Sherlock continued; faster and harder as he groaned around John's cock, sending vibrations. John whimpered and his eyes shut tight, his hips attempting to move, but the dangling made it extremely difficult. "Harder, faster, fuck."

And he was soon coming into Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock sputtered and backed away, working John through it with his hand as John's legs fell from Sherlock's back and Sherlock's other hand grabbed a spare napkin from his pocket and viciously wiped his mouth with it.

"Stop," John whimpered. Sherlock let go and cleaned John off with the napkin before carefully putting him back into his pants and pulling his jeans back on, buttoning and zipping and buckling the belt.

"You could have warned me," Sherlock snapped without much power behind it. John looked so relaxed, taped to the wall or not.

"Sorry," John laughed a bit. "Stuck in the whole power-moment. Would normally. Don't take it personally."

"Right, then, see you when you make it back to the flat," Sherlock said, brushing himself off in a fake get-myself-together type way before opening the door.

"Don't you dare," John growled. Sherlock stopped and looked back at John with a grin.

"Fine, I'll let you down," Sherlock sighed in a pained way before going to remove the tape.

Chapter Text

Once upon a time, there was an explosion. Not just any explosion – a loud one, right outside of John's window. Quite unfortunate for him, I'm afraid, as he was just about to have kinky sex with his date. The loud explosion scared her, however, and she fled from the house, her pants on backwards and her bra hanging off of her arm as she pulled her hoodie on inside out over her shirt.

John was still for a few moments before shoving on some boxers and flinging on his robe. He made his way downstairs to see Sherlock sitting on the couch, snickering and looking at the door.

"Why are you laughing?" John sighed, knowing he probably didn't want to hear it.

"Did you see her?" Sherlock asked, his voice higher than normal with his laughter. He covered his face with his hands and laughed for a while before John was grinning a bit. There was another explosion – apparently it was coming from the kitchen.

"Sherlock, what was that?" John snapped. There were noises from downstairs – a door banging open and footsteps on the stairs. Sherlock bolted up and locked the door quietly before grabbing John's arm and dragging him upstairs. "Sherlock – Sherlock, stop, come on!" John complained.

"Stay still," Sherlock commanded before swiftly tidying up John's room and closing the door, last but not least going to make his bed. He made it and turned around – ropes in his hands. He stared at John for a split second before grabbing him and cramping them both into John's closet – which, by no coincidence, was quite a bit smaller than Sherlock's.

"Sher-"

"Shh!" Sherlock hissed, adjusting and locking the door in the darkness. They were silent for a very long time before they heard really loud bangs coming from the flat door. Sherlock turned a bit and John groaned in annoyance.

"Be still, would you?" John whispered. The banging went silent. John tried to get his eyes to adjust – looking where he hoped was Sherlock's eyes and not the back of his head. "Did they go?

"Doubtful," Sherlock answered. Sherlock moved around again and John felt the ropes brush his arm slightly as he did. He had to stifle a groan, the rope being all he could think about, causing the blood to go straight to his cock.

"Did you really have to bring that in here?" John asked. Sherlock stopped moving.

"Hm?"

"The rope." Sherlock was silent for a while and John could practically see his annoyed confused face.

"Problem?" Sherlock practically snapped, bothered that he couldn't figure out why it was being brought up at all.

"No- Yes, Sherlock, come on! Every time I remember that rope is here- every time I feel it – it just reminds me and- Just, why am I always the one stuck with the awkward boner?" John snapped, flailing his arm out and accidentally hitting the wall. Sherlock snickered, but then the banging on the flat door continued.

"Who are we hiding from?"

"Most likely Lestrade," Sherlock said, shrugging. "I don't think he'll be able to break down our door, but it's best to stay hidden." John gave a long suffering sigh.

"I just wanted a nice night – go on a date, have some sex, maybe sleep in tomorrow," he grumbled, leaning far away from Sherlock and the damn rope he was still holding.

"That girl was out of her mind, John," Sherlock said, seeming a little preoccupied by something, but humour of the subject still lining his voice. John snorted.

"Yeah, she really was." Sherlock looked over and squinted at John, grinning and trying to see him better. John started giggling a bit and Sherlock soon joined. They hushed each other while the banging continued, but were still snickering. "S-seriously, Sherlock, I'm always the one with the awkward boner," John whispered between giggles.

Sherlock giggled along with him, leaning towards him in the dark.

"Well, we could fix that." And the rope was purposely, delicately, dragged over John's throat. He stopped laughing a bit abruptly. Sherlock giggled a bit. "Wow, this really does affect you a lot, doesn't it?" Sherlock pressed it lightly against John's throat, making it only slightly harder for him to breathe in the tiny closet, and John shuddered. "It's odd; I suppose I know you better than you think, hm? One would think that you would want to be the one tying someone up – but, oh, no, you control from the bottom, and-"

"Sherlock," John hissed, his hand coming up and wrapping tight around the rope, leaning against Sherlock, shoving him against the wall. "Turn around and stop making an idiot of yourself – you're too intelligent for that."

John spun Sherlock around and skimming his hands down Sherlock's sides, pressing his fingers lightly and feeling the trace of his ribs.

"They leave bruises sometimes, you know," John commented, tracing Sherlock's spine with his finger, causing Sherlock to shiver and press his forehead against the wall. "Take off your shirt and trousers." Sherlock unbuttoned his shirt rather quickly, shoving it off, but John's fingers were already undoing his trousers and shoving them to the floor. John grabbed the rope and pulled it around Sherlock's stomach, dragging it up and tightening it before dragging it back down and stopping right at Sherlock's pants line. He took the rope away from Sherlock and pulled it over the top of the rod above them, pushing hanger out of the way. He yanked Sherlock's hands up harshly and used the rope to tie them together and to the rod.

"John," Sherlock hissed out. John smiled and let his hands skim Sherlock's back again.

"You don't like it? Aw, what a shame – that's really too bad," John said with no feeling. Sherlock laughed softly and John grinned rather evilly. John held himself against the door and pushed Sherlock to the other side of the closet, so his back was to the wall instead. John dropped to his knees and was so very glad that his eyes had finally adjusted. "Glad I'm not alone, here, anymore," John commented, palming Sherlock through his pants. Sherlock's head twisted back and forth against the wall as they heard another bang from the kitchen and shouts from outside.

"John, it would really be nice if you'd just get on with it," Sherlock commented, reminded of John in a similar situation. John stood up extremely quickly and flung Sherlock forward enough to smack him very hard on the arse. Sherlock gasped in both shock and surprised arousal. "That was… Odd," Sherlock whispered. John moved Sherlock back in place carefully and held onto his hips, leaning against him. He thrust forward, not feeling what he was doing nearly as much as Sherlock seemed to, as he was making an awful racket – groaning, twisting his arms, accidentally hitting his head on the wall a few times.

"Oh, yeah, be loud, that'll scare them off," John snorted. Sherlock whimpered, biting his lips together to try to stifle his groans.

"You're a prat."

"I would so not be talking if I were you."

"Actually, if you were me, you'd do whatever I-" John shoved his hand into Sherlock's trousers and started wanking him hard and fast. "John-" Sherlock choked out, panicked. John stopped very abruptly and Sherlock panted – thrusting his hips forward in search of some sort of friction.

"Tsk, you really should try harder to make me happy, Sherlock. It's no good for the flat, you know." John tugged on the ropes, causing Sherlock's hands to go straight onto the rod and John put his knee on the wall Sherlock was leaning on, giving Sherlock a slightly cocooned feeling. John smirked.

"Fuck," Sherlock hissed. John carefully took Sherlock's cock out of his pants and ran his thumb over it. Sherlock squirmed at the light contact. John's knee slid off of the wall and his hand let go of the ropes rather suddenly, causing Sherlock to slip down the wall slightly, as John's hand opened his robe and slipped into his pants to find his own cock.

He hesitated for a second before letting go of both and reaching up to untie Sherlock's hands. Sherlock watched curiously as John took the ropes off of one of Sherlock's wrists and tied the rope around his own waist and tying Sherlock's other wrist again. He tied it and positioned Sherlock's hand onto his cock – quite proudly smirking at Sherlock, as the rope was really only long enough for Sherlock to pleasure John.

"Come on, let's get going, then," John nearly growled, leaving Sherlock a bit struck – but his hand wrapped around John's cock just as John's wrapped around his. It was hard and fast from that point on. Sherlock was thrusting forward helplessly as John seemingly knew the perfect rhythm, and John must have been getting off mostly by Sherlock's submission, as Sherlock's hand was at an awkward angle – though, yes, still very pleasurable.

"More," Sherlock panted. John pulled faster, but Sherlock let go of John's cock and John, surprised, also let go. Sherlock's hands managed to grab John's arse and pull him forward, their cocks colliding with each other – it was hot, it was wet, it was a very tight grip and grind – both of them groaned rather loudly and began thrusting against each other frantically.

"You're fucking crazy," John panted, his fingernails digging into Sherlock's hips.

"Shh, they'll hear us," Sherlock gasped out in reply, his thrusting becoming erratic as he felt the heat build up rather suddenly. "Oh, God," Sherlock groaned, head hitting the wall again. He hissed in pain and groaned louder.

"God, you're such a fucking hypocrite," John muttered, thrusting harder for emphasis. "Just come already, you bastard."

"No- No, I won't, out of spite," Sherlock said, biting the insides of his cheek.

"If I come before you, I'm not helping you when I'm done," John informed him. Sherlock stumbled forward, shoving John against the other wall, and thrust so hard and fast that John was gasping and twisting under him, his legs spreading slightly as if he wanted to just jump up and wrap his legs around Sherlock's waist. Soon, Sherlock gave a soft gasp and put his head on John's shoulder as his thrusting calmed down and John felt their stomach get splattered with Sherlock's come.

John was breathing heavily, letting Sherlock come back down, but Sherlock dropped to his knees, his hands still tied to John's waist, and immediately sucked John's cock into his mouth. It really was all that John needed to do him in.

"Sherlock-" he gasped out, trying to warn him, but Sherlock sucked harder this time, taking spurts until he finally pulled away, coughing and finishing the job with his hands.

John was in a dream-like state for a while before he realised that Sherlock had untied himself and cleaned them both up. He was leaning against the other wall, fully dressed as he was before.

"Thanks," John sighed with a smile. Sherlock rolled his eyes and grinned back.

"You too, I suppose," Sherlock muttered.

"That doesn't even remotely sound like a thank you," John commented before they heard the flat door downstairs open. They grew very still, but soon there were footsteps everywhere – soon, they were found. The door opened and Lestrade stood there, looking bewildered and completely pissed off.

"Get in the fucking car before I cuff you both," Lestrade snarled. Sherlock stepped out of the closet quickly and haughtily walked towards the door, throwing back a comment over his shoulder.

"You can't arrest us for anything-"

"GO!"

John and Sherlock both spent the night – miserable – in a jail cell as punishment for disturbing the peace and being utter twats. Pft, it's not like Lestrade's their father… God…