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Bad day at work?

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“Look, John you don’t look so well…” Sarah muttered under her breath, facing her back to the flustered patient.  John felt the back of his neck on fire as he tried not to make eye contact with the poor man, agreeing that yes, he wasn’t so good after all.

Okay let’s take it back a bit first. John had arrived at the clinic half an hour late after oversleeping, taking a cold shower, slipping over in the bathroom and managing to expose himself to his unsuspecting flat share, and being stuck in what must have been the slowest traffic jam in London.

In John's books of “how to start the day in a positive way” that routine certainly wasn’t in there, in fact I don’t even think it was mentioned in the afterword.

So far in the day he had taken care of twenty patients, nodded himself out of twelve sleeps, drank what felt like thirty cups of coffee and dismissed ten text alerts from his devious flat mate and recent lover.

So it really wasn’t any surprise that when a young gentleman shuffled into his room John was just about as over tired and caffeine hyper as a university student studying for finals. John welcomed the man in with a smile that he hoped looked convincing as a GP- or even a human being for that matter- and adjusted his notes to his bleary eyes.

“Right, uh, so Mr Watts…” He spoke softly but reassuringly, ushering the man into a chair opposite him with a wave of his hand. Mr Watts adjusted himself in his chair, his knuckles going white as he clenched them into the material of his jeans.  He was an averagely tall man with over average looks but nothing extreme.  John steepled his fingers in his lap and swirled his chair to face him. 

“So, what seems to be the matter?” he already knew, however with patients as particularly nervous as Mr Watts then it sometimes comforted them to explain it in their own words. Mr Watts gulped audibly, his face paling a considerable amount and for a second John wondered if he would have to bring the practice nurse in to calm the poor man down.

“Well…uhm you see it started a few weeks ago now when…when I…” Mr Watts’ dull green eyes averted themselves to the clinically clean carpet as he stuttered through his sentence. It was painful to listen to.

“Look, Mr Watts, I have dealt with weirder things in my time I’m sure. We have a confidentiality code here, okay?” he declared, using a strict business drool to deliver the standard “calm the patient down” talk as he swung slightly in his chair, pushing against the floor with his foot.

The man’s face seemed to light up then and, with much more ease, he managed to say,

“I-I’ve discovered a strange…uhm…wart on my…well I’m sure you know and I was just…”

“I see, absolutely necessary that you should come to see me about this Mr Watts.” He interrupted, not standing to hear the man’s voice anymore and wanting to get this done with as soon as possible. “It’s important that you never hesitate when it comes to feeling something’s not quite right down there and you should feel no shame, this is surprisingly common.”

Mr Watts seemed to be a lot more relaxed now however his eyes shifted around the room, reflecting the panic and dread he felt for what was to come. John sighed, rising from his seat and reaching into his draw for some antiseptic hand wash and some clinical, latex gloves.

“Not to worry sir, if you’d like to just drop your underwear please and I’ll just take a look.” He smiled warmly, hardly imagining the embarrassment this man must be going through. “it’ll be over before you know it.”

Standing up from his chair wasn’t a good move. It felt as if he was drunk with stress, he hadn’t even realised he was so high strung until he had to force his jaw to relax and his vision to clear. He could feel the coffee buzzing through his blood and giving him a very distant, dreamlike feeling in the back of his mind that he recognised to be caffeine rush.

Heart battering abnormally against his breastbone, he tried to steer his focus away from all the coffee in his system and concentrate on the matter of the moment.

“Right then…” His voice sounded thick in his suddenly knackered mind as he applied the second latex glove to his hand, flexing his fingers to ensure a perfect fit. With that he spun round to face the man and looked between them to study him.

He could feel it before he could stop it, as if in a drunken daze he stared down at this rather unflattering wart and then burst into laughter. He couldn’t stop it, he didn’t realise he was doing it until it had already come out of his mouth. It was only a swift bark of laughter but it was enough to do the trick.

Mr Watts looked wounded, gasped and sat down immediately, biting his lip as if he was on the verge of tears. A cold prickling sensation covered John's skull and he felt like he was drowning.

“Oh-oh god, Mr Watts, I am so, so sorry I was just…it’s been a long day and-” his hands flew to his mouth in pure horror at the look of humiliation on the patient’s face.

“What? It’s been a long day?!” Mr Watts hissed, suddenly finding some nerve, “I trusted you Dr Watson, I thought you would be sympathetic!” John winced at the raised voice of his patient, drawing attention undoubtedly to his office.

“No sir please, I assure you that I had no intention to-” in that second the door opened to reveal Sarah peeping into the room. Her eyes widened at the sight of a half unclothed patient and an apologetic doctor. She entered the room, shutting the door behind her.

“Oh Jesus, John what happened?” she bee-lined straight to John who felt like covering his face in shame. He looked at her through weary eyes and her expression seemed to steel, immediately not wanting to ask any further into the situation.

This is where we came in, I’m sure you remember it but for those of you who don’t let me quickly recap on the events.

“Look, John you don’t look so well…” Sarah muttered under her breath, facing her back to the flustered patient.  John felt the back of his neck on fire as he tried not to make eye contact with the poor man, agreeing that yes, he wasn’t so good after all.

“Uh…yeah actually…look what happened here, it’s not wh-” he tried but Sarah gave him a fierce look and he decided the better option was to shut up.

“Go to reception and call a taxi.” She muttered in a low voice and John's stomach dropped down to his knees.

“N-no, Sarah you can’t do this to me please I need the money, you don’t-” again he was interrupted but this time with a thin smile that made him reconsider his words.

“Go call for a taxi and then I want you back here dead on time by tomorrow having had a good night’s sleep, we clear?” John nodded enthusiastically but daren’t say another word, relief flooded through his chest the way a hot bath engulfed you.

So this is how he found himself in the back of a taxi, on his way home to Baker Street and not feeling all that good about himself and his image as a ‘trusted doctor’.

Stupid! So stupid! Why on earth did you do that John? Why?’ unfortunately John had made enough awful mistakes to realise that thinking such things really made no difference. He was a dick, he behaved unprofessionally-unintentional yes, but unprofessional all the same- and that was all there was to it. No questions asked.

All too suddenly he found himself reaching over to pay the taxi driver before piling out of the cab. He looked up at 221b Baker Street’s notorious door, having only just left the flat around four hours ago he felt all but a little bit foolish.

He silently hoped that Sherlock had flounced off on some ‘investigation’ so that he didn’t have to retell his embarrassing situation to him. Knowing Sherlock-of which he did, most intimately you could say- he would tease him about it for the rest of his life.

It’ll be like the bloody chip and pin machine all over again…’ John scowled at the memory of weeks of machine related jokes as he entered 221b. He had to carefully rearrange his sentences so not to contain ‘chip’ and ‘pin’ in the same breath for months.

To his disappointment (which seemed to be becoming a reoccurring theme today) he heard the silken baritone of his lover shouting at something in the main room. John's skull went cold for a second, fearing that something dangerous might be happening up there until he heard,

“Oh for god’s sake, clearly she’s not the biological sister! God are these people insane?!” being exclaimed. John smirked at the foot of the stairs for a second before creaking onto the first step, creaking being the key word here.

Immediately all sound stopped, including the television, and John paused anxiously for a dreadful three seconds. As if it were staged, a curious Sherlock Holmes burst from the living room, dressed in his iconic camel coloured dressing gown and, from what John could see, very little else. He leant on the banister, crossing his arms over the wood and gazing at John with a devious expression playing on his angular features.

“You’re home early.” He smirked, nodding his head towards John as if it wasn’t clear who he was addressing. John, still paused with one foot on and one foot off the first step, considered the statement with just a hint of guilt, biting the inside of his cheek before simply stating,


Sherlock adjusted his weight on the banister, leaning over it like a child would whilst narrowing his eyes in suspicion. The dressing gown was tied closed but a loose triangle formed at the chest, clearly showing John that he seemed to be quite naked (that and his bare calves that were left uncovered were a big give away). The doctor briefly considered whether or not he was wearing underwear with that.

“You didn’t answer any of my texts…” the sleuth sulked, not looking at all hurt by the gesture but trying his best to at least. John suppressed a chuckle as he began to climb the stairs, Sherlock’s eyes followed him carefully.

“Were you watching crap telly?” he teased and Sherlock blushed shamelessly, letting out an exasperated sigh before padding back into the living room. John followed after him, shucking his coat off and simultaneously realising his back muscles were aching like hell; and also that Sherlock was definitely not wearing any underwear under that.

“Do you know what time it is, Sherlock?” John quizzed, scowling Sherlock up and down. Sherlock let out another dramatic sigh- bloody drama queen- before plonking himself in his armchair, scratching at the material with his nails and carefully folding his legs over each other at the knee.

“You were gone, I saw no reason to get dressed…simple.” He declared in that annoyingly arrogant tone of his. John huffed and threw his coat on the kitchen table.

“Do you mean to say that if I wasn’t here then you would just live like a broke student for the rest of your life?” he wanted to be angry with Sherlock's lack of care for himself but he just couldn’t muster the energy, instead heaving onto the two seated settee.

“Of course.” Sherlock declared in a dead serious tone but John recognised the familiar curve of his mouth that showed he was hiding a smirk. John chuckled breathily before resting his head back against the cool leather of the settee, closing his eyes briefly.

Within seconds all the cringe sodden memories of the day’s past events came flooding back into his subconscious and he gasped, his eyes flying open once more in embarrassment and horror. He could feel Sherlock watching him but he didn’t respond for fear of having to answer the dreaded question of ‘why did you get sent home’. Besides, knowing Sherlock he would have already figured it out.

So involved in his own thoughts, the doctor didn’t realise Sherlock had gotten up until he felt a warm hand brush it’s knuckles over his cheek, scratching over the poorly shaved stubble there. John angled his head up to meet the detective’s eyes and they withheld eye contact for a bit while Sherlock caressed his face in soft hands. For a second it looked as if he might ask what was wrong but, upon seeing the steeled expression of John, decided against it.

“Why are you being so affectionate?” the doctor taunted, not really complaining, affection was a rare display from Sherlock. Sherlock just rolled his eyes and planted both hands on each side of John's face. Suddenly John felt warmth flood his crotch as Sherlock sat astride him, his bare arse fitting nicely against John's body.

The sleuth’s thumbs rubbed gently against John's cheekbones, the motion somehow soothing the man and bringing his mind away from the past events. It was safe to say he certainly wasn’t tired anymore, not with his lover’s arse pressed flush against his crotch anyhow.

It was John who leant in first, unable to bear with all the fleeting touches, wanting something more solid, something he could ground himself with and lose himself in at the same time. Sherlock was happy to reciprocate the kiss with some sort of whorish eagerness that made John wonder if wearing nothing but the dressing gown had been intentional.

A strategic swipe of Sherlock's tongue on the roof of John's mouth had him moaning into the sleuth, at mercy to that oh so clever muscle of his stroking and exploring. This wasn’t so much as kissing as it was tasting and John felt a giddying thrill with every swipe, sending blood rushing to the head of his cock almost unbearably quickly.

He could feel his member thickening against the restraints of his trousers, twitching rebelliously up as if trying to break free of the suffocating fabric.

Sherlock's large hands raked through his short hair, a purr rumbling up from his chest as he felt John's cock pulse against him, causing his own member to slowly start becoming interested. John's own hands made themselves busy by rubbing Sherlock's back and neck tenderly, feeling the thin fabric slide over his spine and identifying every vertebra with keen doctor’s fingers.

Sherlock shuddered under his hands and slowly began to undulate his hips, rubbing devilishly slow against John's seemingly keener and keener cock. John gasped into his mouth, breaking the kiss to moan against his jaw, trailing clumsy kisses onto his neck.

Tipping his head back to allow better access, Sherlock barely contained a gasping moan as John shifted his hips up into him, feeling the give and pull of his balls against his crotch and practically shuddering as he felt Sherlock's erection poke into his stomach.  

Sherlock very quickly picked up the pace, grinding now with full force into John's hard yet restrained member. He dropped one hand from his short army cut to grasp his shoulder, giving him a more powerful rut onto his cock.

John's head fell back with a loud moan, running his hands down Sherlock's sides to grasp at his hips as Sherlock managed to grind like a professional lap dancer, rendering him speechless and giving his vision stars.

His cock was fully awake now, twitching into Sherlock’s every move and equally feeling Sherlock's hard cock twitch into his stomach. His clothes were giving him some wonderful friction but still added more restriction than pleasure, so much so that John was pretty desperate to take them off.

As if reading his frustrated whines, Sherlock stopped for a second and reached between them to undo John's flies and belt buckle. John audibly gasped as Sherlock reached in and pulled his cock out from its restraints, the feel of his long fingers making him jerk violently and dig his nails into Sherlock's hips. Sherlock sighed at him.

“Well with an attitude like that, you’ll never get what you want…” his voice was deep and syrupy and slightly out of breathe and dear god was that a turn on. John gazed up at him in awe, gazed up at the handsomely beautiful sight in front of him.

“Sorry.” He spluttered, wanting nothing more than for Sherlock to continue his previous activities, and that he did. Good lord it was as if he had taken some sort of aphrodisiac, it really was amazing what the removal of a few layers could do.

He could feel the hot and hard flesh of Sherlock grind and rub teasingly against his cock which was trapped in a half friction half bare flesh situation that almost made his eyes roll back into his head. John could feel his stomach muscles start to tense up with each added grind and thrust and it was now obvious that Sherlock had begun moving in a way that benefitted John more that it befitted himself.

“Oh god, Sherlock…!” John groaned, the sound rumbling low in his throat as his movements became less like well-timed manoeuvres and more like frantic thrusts into Sherlock's thigh, “…Where on earth did you learn…Jesus…to do this?”

Sherlock simply smirked smugly down at his flustered face, watching his lover fall apart beneath him. He leant close to the army doctor’s ear, pressing a kiss to the hinge of his jaw before taking the lobe in his mouth.

“If I told you that then you’d know as much as I do, and then where would we be? In dangerous ground I’ll tell you that now.” He growled, his breath ghosting across John's face. Even when he was sending him spiralling into the pits of carnal bliss he could still be a dick, unbelievable. John couldn’t help but chuckle at the statement but it was very quickly cut off with a drawn out moan as Sherlock expertly rotated his hips, clenching his buttocks around the head of John's cock.

And then he was coming.

John's whole body convulsed and he squeezed Sherlock's hips tight in his grip as he yelled the man’s name in bliss, his cock and pelvis rhythmically jerking with every hot jet of semen that shot from his member and his vision blurred around the edges with white hot light and stars.

Once John had come down from the most intense part of his orgasm he cracked open his eyes, panting hard as he looked up at his lover. Sherlock was staring, fixated on him with eyes blown close to black with arousal. He was shuddering slightly, possibly from intense lust but also because he was adjusting to having had his naked groin coated with John's hot come.  The camel coloured dressing gown had slipped over one shoulder and was now tied very loosely around his form, portraying his now almost purpling arousal prominently to John.

John felt his stomach flip at the sight of his lover’s cock, stood proud and engorged against his belly. The hot flesh was already slick with pre-come and John's ejaculate, causing it to glisten in the light. He heard Sherlock swallow hard above him.

John glanced upwards to his arousal slackened face, feeling the fuzzy effects of his orgasm wearing off now.

“Shall I…?” he barely finished his sentence when he was interrupted by an eager moan and half-hearted thrust into his stomach.

“Yes, please, something for god’s sake!” he growled impatiently, his usually so silky baritone shaking as his hands gripped John's shoulders as if he might disappear that very second. John wasn’t going to lie, an impatient and needy Sherlock was always a massive turn on for him, just the fact of someone who was so normally headstrong and determined to be reduced to such a state was delicious in itself.

Licking his lips, John tilted his hips gently up into Sherlock and felt him twitch against his flaccid cock. Still hanging onto his shoulders for dear life, John saw this as a good opportunity to press his body flush against Sherlock, using his weight to push him onto his back, lengthways on the settee.

Sherlock looked mildly shocked for a moment but then his vision clouded over with heavy arousal as he gazed at John who was bridged over him, restricting his movements in such a nonchalant way that it made Sherlock, impossibly, turned on even more.

John leant in and kissed his lips gently, ignoring Sherlock’s eager pushes against his mouth to try and deepen the kiss. The detective whined in frustration and arousal as John brushed his hand down his chest to lazily undo the rest of the dressing gown, spreading it out to reveal his previously hidden stomach.

Pulling away, John continued to litter kisses on Sherlock's jaw and neck, continuing to tease him with such chaste affections as he slowly worked his way down his body. He paused to briefly lap at a nipple (left one, Sherlock's most sensitive of the two) which caused the sleuth’s body arch up and almost break John's nose had he not pulled away quick enough.

“Be patient.” The army man purred into his stomach, nipping the skin ever so softly between his teeth and replacing what would have been a complaint from Sherlock with a moan.

It was pretty obvious where John was going with his ministrations, even an idiot could figure that out and he happened to be having sex with Sherlock-fucking-Holmes, so if anyone could figure it out it would be him.

John could feel the presence of Sherlock's thick cock bobbing just below his chin as he swirled his tongue briefly in his naval, making him jump almost comically. Sherlock's head was thrown back against the soft cushions of the settee, his white knuckles grasping into the material of his camel dressing gown, screwing it up in his fists with the mere anticipation.

John ghosted a hot breathe over his cock, causing a muttered curse from the normally so decent detective and his eyes to slam shut in frustration. John chuckled quietly and skipped his hot flesh to suck on the inside of his thigh.

Sherlock moaned pitifully, anger and frustration clawing up from his chest.

“Oh god please John, I’m too close for this just…” his sentence spluttered off course when John's hot breath returned, teasing the hypersensitive head of his cock. His eyes were still screwed shut with the painful anticipation when John swirled his hot tongue around the head of his cock, rubbing in a slow rhythm over the frenulum until all Sherlock could do was gasp over and over, barely able to move the pleasure came to him that quickly.

His toes curled into the material of the settee as John trailed a firm pattern from the head of his cock, over his hot, twitching shaft and down to his balls where he gently licked at them, not risking sucking for fear of grazing the skin with his teeth.

Garbled versions of what must have been John's name flew from Sherlock's mouth, his back arching as John followed his previous pattern up the shaft and swirling once more before taking the head into his mouth and applying merciless suction. Sherlock wailed, unable to control his frenzied emotions any longer as his hands flew to John's hair, tugging at it in ways that he knew John enjoyed.

Oh god, John I’m…Jesus Chriiist…I’m gonna…” his rich baritone stumbled in warning but it only caused John  to take more of his cock into his mouth, rubbing his tongue on the underside until he felt it pulse against the roof of his mouth and then come was covering his mouth and tongue.

Sherlock came with a gasp and a near sob but was otherwise silent, writhing against his dressing gown as the pleasure took over his body wave by wave. John pulled off Sherlock's slowly softening cock gently, the bitter taste of come making him gag slightly and so he opted to spit it onto that increasingly useful camel colour dressing gown. It would wash; hopefully.

Sherlock was panting heavily, his eyes staring unfocused at the ceiling as John approached him, plopping down next to him and draping an arm lazily over his front. Suddenly all the fatigue from the clinic came rushing back to him and he felt his eyes droop closed.

He heard Sherlock clear his throat next to him and shift into him, pulling his dressing gown out from under him and turning it around on top of them so the soiled side was facing the ceiling.

“So…” his voice was hoarse and incredibly sexy “You…laughed at a guy’s penis today?”

John felt his stomach twist at the memory soon to be replaced with the constant amazement he felt for this man.

“How…” he started, his eyes too heavy to open properly, “…The hell do you always do that?”

“So I was right then?”

“Yes you were right, bloody hell Sherlock someone would think you were stalking me!” he teased, shifting his weight to lean into his warm body, feeling his breathing become more rhythmic and deep. Silence stretched between them for a while.

“So…what was his condition?” Sherlock poked his side gently, his voice thick with sleep but obviously too engrossed with John's embarrassing tales. John sighed deeply, feeling his face flush at the thought of it.

“He had a…wart…nothing to be ashamed of really but I guess I was-” he was interrupted by a low chuckle that soon turned into a gentle laugh. John opened his eyes this time. “What? What’s so funny?!”

Sherlock continued to chuckle like the idiot he was before stating in an extremely teasing tone,

“You laughed at a man’s dick? Seriously?” John fumed silently but was trying hard not to laugh himself, Sherlock's laugh was very contagious.

“Yes I did…problem?”

“Well John, you did laugh at a man’s dick, that’s a whole new breed of problem there.” He sniggered and John closed his eyes with a sigh, his stomach sinking comically as he came to a short realisation.

“Oh god, you’re not going to let me live this down are you?”

“Not at all.”

“I hate you, Sherlock Holmes …”

“Aw,” he replied in a sarcastic tone, “I love you too, now go to sleep Dr Watson.”

And so he did, with a stupid grin on his face.