Sherlock wrinkled his nose as if John had suggested something as mundane as grocery shopping.
“In the flat?”
“No you posh git.” John rolled his eyes. “In the bedroom. Although if you want to roleplay being a responsible flatmate who cleans up after himself and doesn’t leave biohazards in the crisper by all means go right ahead.”
Sherlock sat up from the couch he had been lounging on like a boneless cat. He clasped his hand together under his chin, a calculated gleam entering his eyes.
John shuffled awkwardly. The bag full of ‘toys’ Lestrade had so helpfully supplied clutched guiltily at his side. Why buy handcuffs and a uniform when you unofficially worked for Scotland Yard?
“Er, well.” John cleared his throat. “The next ah…we…next time the mood strikes.”
“I’m ready now.” Sherlock shot up from the couch like a spring covered in blue silk, dressing gown flaring dramatically behind him as he stepped over the coffee table and stood to attention. “What is my role?”
“Hey now wait a minute.” John scratched the back of his head. This wasn’t going quite how he expected. “We should work out things first like expectations and safe words.”
“Gangrene’s my safe word.” Sherlock marched over and started pawing at the tote at John’s side. “Are you going to try and beat me? Is this part of a medical experiment? What’s in the bag?”
John flushed. This might have been a horrible idea. What had he been thinking?
Sherlock had started rambling about needing to running linear regressions on his latest experimental data sets the last time John had been giving him head, that’s what.
Or the time before that when Sherlock checked his phone and texted Lestrade about a crime scene deduction while brilliantly topping John.
Sherlock, ever the distractible child, appeared to be getting bored in bed.
“Hey, no peeking!” John cried as Sherlock pulled a police uniform out of the bag.
“Police officer.” Sherlock cocked his head, considering. “Are you going to try and beat me with a Billy club?”
“No. Beating.” John grit his teeth and scrubbed his face with his hand. “Christ nothing crazy like that, just a little role playing.”
Sherlock gave a blank stare.
Of course. Former celibate consulting detective and all. John shouldn’t be surprised there isn’t a file in Sherlock’s mindpalace on sexual tropes.
“Look,” John started towards the bed room, trying to ignore the way Sherlock had donned the police cap and was stripping behind him. “It’s like in porn, you know? Pizza guy delivers the pizza with extra sausage to lonely handsome shut in.”
Sherlock merely grunted, and dropped his trousers in the hall.
“We always order Chinese.”
John rolled his eyes and opened the door to Sherlock’s bedroom.
No porn experience.
“Nevermind.” John put the bag down next to Sherlock’s bed and closed the bedroom door before turning to look at his flatmate.
Sherlock was standing there, bathed in the late afternoon light, wearing only the police cap and smiling wickedly.
John’s mouth suddenly went dry. Sherlock was beyond alluring right now and John’s pants were suddenly unbearably tight.
“Are you going to be the body?”
“Am I going- no Sherlock I am not going to be a body.” John marched over and snatched the police cap off Sherlock’s head. “Give me that. I’ve reconsidered the wisdom of letting you restrain me for this scene.”
“Am I going to be the body than?” Sherlock frowned. “Because you are rubbish at making deductions.”
“No one will be playing a dead body in our sex scene.” John shoved the cap on his head with more force that necessary and glared at his infuriating lover.
Sherlock wasn’t exactly helping the mood.
“Oh.” Sherlock frowned. “Well than what are we play acting?”
John grabbed Sherlock’s neck and claimed his lips in a punishing kiss.
“You.” John hissed. “Are the naughty criminal that I have caught.” John started trailing kisses along Sherlock’s jaw. “And I am going to interrogate you until you tell me where you are hiding your friends.”
The detective froze.
“That-right.” Sherlock slowly smiled, his eyes crinkling with unrepressed mischief. “That I can do.”
Sherlock suddenly turned his back on John.
“Wha-” John faltered.
“Cops don’t wear oatmeal jumpers. Put on the uniform and get your gun. I won’t peek until you are done.”
John frowned. “Cops don’t normally care guns either.”
Sherlock looked over his shoulder, grinning like a maniac. “Crooked cops do. And if you are about to interrogate me you aren’t really playing by the rules.” Sherlock bounced on his toes. “And it’s more dangerous this way.”
John grinned, shucking his clothing and donning the uniform.
John reached in the bedside table and unloaded his gun for safety.
Sherlock excited in the bedroom again.
Maybe Lestrade had a few good ideas after all.
“All right freeze!” John bellowed out in his most authoritative tone. “Robbing a bank and then naked in public with a body like that, you are under arrest!”
Sherlock spun around, quickly taking a fighting stance. “You will have to catch me first!”
John grinned, lunging forwarded to put Sherlock in a headlock only to have the detective twist under and kick John’s legs out from under him. John held on, and soon they had collapsed on the bed, rolling on the sheets nipping at each others throats and scrambling for the upper hand.
John seized the moment when Sherlock flipped them, placing John on his back, Sherlock straddling his hips arms gripping on either side of his shoulders. John pivoted to the left, hooked his legs over Sherlock, grabbed the detective’s wrists and rolled them so he was on top once again. With one sharp movement John snatched the cuffs from his belt and handcuffed Sherlock’s pinned wrists to the center bar of the wrought iron headboard.
The doctor sat back, panting and staring lasciviously down at the tousled detective beneath him.
“Oh you are caught now Mr. Holmes.” John grinned, dipping his head down to whisper in Sherlock’s ear. “You’ve been a very, very bad boy. And I will make sure you tell me everything.”
“Fat chance.” Sherlock panted, rattling the cuffs. “You have no reinforcements and I have an extremely high tolerance for pain.”
John traced the shell of Sherlock’s ear with his tongue and the detective let out a slow hiss, bucking his hips up into John’s lap.
“You can struggle all you want.” John began trailing kisses down Sherlock’s neck, pausing to nip at his collarbone. “But you are mine now.”
“False.” Sherlock gasped, twisting his wrists about. “Detainment does not necessarily confer ownership.”
John frowned, hovering above Sherlock’s chest and twisting his nipples until the detective let out yelp. “You are mine. And if you continue to struggle I will put you over my shoulders and fuck you until you can’t see straight.”
“False again.” Sherlock rattled the cuffs some more, still writhing like a sea snake dropped on land. “Orgasms, however powerful, do not affect vision.”
“Shut. Up. Prisoner.” John growled, taking Sherlock’s cock in one hand. “Don’t make me gag you.”
“Criminal.” Sherlock frowned. “Not inmate. You’re breaking character.”
John gave a particularly vicious twist to one of the detective’s nipples and took Sherlock’s cock in his mouth, hoping to shut the bugger up.
This was not going according to plan.
“Ah HA!” Sherlock gave a triumphant yell as the cuffs slid off and he lunged forward, grabbing the gun from John’s belt.
“Wha-” John fell back as Sherlock leapt out of bed, cock still erect, and brandished the unloaded gun in the air. “You aren’t supposed to escape!”
“As if standard issue handcuffs could hold me!” Sherlock placed a hand on his hip and laughed. “You’re interrogation method’s are highly ineffective. You are supposed to instill psychological panic not physical pleasure officer.”
“Sherlock,” John growled. “I don’t think you are understanding the purpose of roleplaying here.”
“Of course.” Sherlock narrowed his eyes and nodded. “I’m the criminal. I should be running now.”
With that Sherlock dashed out of the bedroom, John tumbling after him.
John heard a clatter in the kitchen from Sherlock leaping over the kitchen table and kicking over the living room chair into John’s path. John rounded the corner, stumbling over the chair right as the naked detective threw on his long coat and bound down the stairs.
John stood at the top of the stairs, still dressed as a police officer, erection rapidly receeding, as Sherlock Holmes burst through the front door into the streets of London wearing nothing but a coat.
“John?” Of course Mrs. Hudson would chose that exact moment to peek her head outside of 221A. “What was all that?”
John sighed, pulling his mobile from his pocket.
“Lestrade’s problem now.” John shook his head as he thumbed through his contact’s list. “Remind me to never take his advice ever again.”