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He was so close now. John could feel the excitement coming off of the man next to him in waves. He and Sherlock had just returned from Scotland Yard and describing to Lestrade the nature of their latest case. After every closed case Sherlock assumed unusually high spirits, but it only took a few days for him to become bored. John was going to take advantage of the few days of relief that he had.

From the first time he saw Sherlock, he was attracted to him. No matter how much he tried to deny his carnal desires, he noticed every time that pale skin brushed against his own. Sherlock’s tall, thin form was athletic, but not obviously so. The button down shirts and coats that he so often favored hid his lean muscle. John assumed that he was the only one to notice it; the way his shirt stretched across his torso, each button threatening to pop off.

After the pair arrived back at 221B Baker Street, Sherlock went for a shower; leaving John and his imagination in the kitchen. Surrounded by experiments, John couldn’t help but marvel once again at the genius that was his flatmate.

The shower tap suddenly turned off and after a second Sherlock yelled something indecipherable.

“What was that?” John called back, walking towards Sherlock’s room so he could hear better.

“I said what did you do what my towels?”

“I took them to get washed. They’re sitting right here. Hang on.” John bent down towards the heap of laundry sitting on the couch, yet to be put away. He grabbed two towels and held them firmly, trying to prevent his mind from wandering to the image of Sherlock’s body, slick with water and wreathed in steam.

Shaking the image from his head, John opened the bathroom door. Heat immediately flooded his face and the overwhelming smell of Sherlock’s soap invaded his senses; clean, fresh, and entirely masculine.

“Sh-Sherlock. Here’s your towel.” The detective’s head poked around the shower curtain. John immediately held the towel in front of himself, trying desperately to hide his growing arousal. He hoped that just this once the world’s only consulting detective would miss something. 

“Thank you, John,” Sherlock said, sliding the shower curtain back. John adverted his eyes, not trusting himself to look at the naked figure before him. Sherlock the towel and wrapped it low on his hips. John turned to leave.

“Did you pick up the milk?” Sherlock asked casually, as if standing in the kitchen rather than half naked in the bathroom.

“Yeah,” John replied. His growing erection was pushing uncomfortably against his pants. He turned to leave once again, but Sherlock wasn’t finished.

“And did you get anything else to eat?”

“Yes,eggs, some tea, and a loaf of bread.”

“Good, we needed tea.” Sherlock grabbed the second towel that John had laid on the counter. He began drying his dark, curly hair with it. John found that back and forth motion oddly erotic. He was sure the tent in his pants was obvious and that Sherlock had noticed. Damn him for just being too polite to say anything.

“So um, I’ll leave you to it,” John turned, and abruptly left Sherlock in the bathroom, looking after him.

The next day, they were sitting in silence, watching Connie’s reruns on the telly. The day continued in the same manner, either one occasionally standing to grab a bite to eat or go to the bathroom. John thought the tensions between them was palpable, but he doubted that the other man felt the same. So they remained in silence until they both went to bed, alone.

RING! RING! RING! The sun was barely up and Sherlock’s cell phone was already going off. John thought he was going to break it one day. He heard the shuffle of Sherlock getting out of bed and the ringing stopped. There was the muffled sound of Sherlock speaking to the unknown caller.

“John! Lestrade has called,” Sherlock called to him.

“Just have a go without me, Sherlock,” He called, unmoving.

There was more rustling, the slam of more than one drawer, and then the slam of the door. The flat fell silent again.

It was a few hours later that John woke up for the second time. Rolling out of bed, he was surprised to hear movement from the room below.

“Sherlock? Is that you?” John called. It was met with only silence. He clambered out of bed, rubbed his eyes, and started downstairs to investigate. Walking into the room, he was surprised to see Mrs. Hudson in the kitchen holding two test tubes in her hands and the rest of Sherlock’s experiments in shambles.

“Oh! John you startled me dear,” She said, setting down the two tubes, “I was just cleaning up a few of these. Awful mess Sherlock leaves around. Thank heavens you’re so tidy.”

John was horrified. Sherlock hated people even being in the same room as his experiments. Now, they had been dismantled and cleaned up. It was all John could do to stammer out a brief thank you before going back to his room. Sherlock was going to be extremely angry when he got home. Thinking of Sherlock, John began wondering what could have been so important that Lestrade had to call him so early. John sent him a text: What did Lestrade need? Pocketing his phone, John grabbed a jacket, planning to go get a drink.

He wasn’t an alcoholic or anything like that, but he liked a pub just as much as the next guy. Stepping inside, a bell on the doorknob clanged. The bartender looked up, seemingly surprised that someone was walking into the bar in the afternoon.

“Can I get yee sumthin’?” the bartender asked in a heavy Irish accent.

“Oh, yeah. Just...anything’s fine,” John took a seat at the bar, and looked around. He was the only one in the place. The neon over the door only read O- -N rather than OPEN, the chairs were askew, the sticks for the pool table left in any corner, and the tables seemed haphazardly strewn through out the small space alotted.

“‘Ere’s yee drink,” the bartender slid a small glass with some amber liquid sliding around the bottom. John took a drink. Scotch. He sat, nursing his glass. After a while, thoughts of Sherlock invaded his head. John was not looking forward to going home and dealing with Sherlock once he found out about the multiple ruined experiments. His mind wandered on how that anger can be used. Remembering the other day. The way the water from the shower clung to his skin, droplets sliding down his skin, tracing every contour and giving his lithe form definition. Just thinking about it, John could feel himself getting excited. He quickly threw back the last of his drink, left money and the glass on the table and walked out. The bell on the door clanged and he started back to the flat.

Looking up at the windows of 221B Baker street, he was trying to determine if Sherlock had gotten home yet. None of the windows had been smashed, a good sign. He pushed open the door and walked into the flat. Switching on the telly, he went to the kitchen to make tea. The water was just beginning to boil when John heard the door close and someone start up the stairs. Sherlock was home. John gathered his tea and took a seat at the table, anticipating the long night to come.

Sherlock walked in the door, “John? I just saw your text. Lestrade didn’t want anything important. Everything is boring at Scotland Yard. Did you pour me - .” Sherlock’s question was cut short as he turned the corner and saw the empty, tidy kitchen. “What did you do to my experiments?”

John could hear the strain of keeping his voice level. “Oh, Mrs. Hudson thought it would be good to clean the place up a bit.”

“But you told her that I was running very important experiments, correct?”

“I, well, She had already completely cleaned them up by the time I saw her so I, uhm, didn’t think to mention it.”

“Didn’t think to mention it?! How could you be so thick. Of course you should have mentioned it!” Sherlock went frantically digging through the pantry and refrigerator.

“My head? The arm? Did she take the eyes?” Sherlock was going through every corner of the kitchen in a panic. Finally he was satisfied with his failure to recover any of his experiments and sat on a chair opposite John. the silence between them stretched until John couldn’t take it anymore.

“Sherlock, do you, maybe...want to go and get new parts to retry the experiment?”


“Do you want to get take away?”


“Do you want to do anything?” John said, clearly exasperated.


Relieved, John tried again. “What do you want to do?”

Sherlock stood, turned his back to John, and took a seat on the couch. Taking that as “I want to do nothing”, John followed him. Unsure whether he should take a seat beside him or in the arm chair, John opted for the chair. Sitting down and turning to Sherlock, John was surprised to find the other man staring at him.


“Did you... need something?” John asked, unsure what to do. Those gorgeous eyes felt as though they were nailing him to the chair. The intensity of Sherlock’s stare did not waver, nor did he answer John’s question. Maybe he’s waiting for me to do something, John thought. Doing the only think he could think of, John stood and walk over to Sherlock, taking the seat beside him.

“You’re interesting, John,” Sherlock said, “When most people would be put off by being started at, you simply moved closer to me. As close as possible.”

“Yes, well...I suppose that’s because...well,” John sputtered.

“Oh don’t try and justify yourself, the answer is written plainly across your face.”

“It is not!”

“Why, yes, It is, John. I can read your reactions and tell what you’re thinking almost always.”

“Really? Than what am I saying now?” John folded his hands in his lap.

“Well you see just there, that is a defensive position subconsciously done because you know that I am, in a sense, attacking you.” Sherlock said, gesturing to John’s folded hands.

Quickly crossing his arms across his chest John nodded for Sherlock to continue.

“Your dilated pupils and the slight raise in your pants tell me that you’re aroused. Considering you were not that way a few moments ago I can only assume it’s because of me. That suggests that you have at least a sexual attraction to me.” John crossed his legs and looked into his lap, but Sherlock simply continued.

“There is also the fact that you have not gone out of the apartment in sometime. Therefore you have no reason to go out. So you either broke it off with Sarah or she broke it off with you. It was probably that she broke it off with you. Maybe because you weren’t having sex with her or because she knew who you really wanted to have sex with.” John crouched, but Sherlock just kept going.

“Most recently, when I was starting at you, which is when i assume you got the slight, controlled raise in your trousers, you didn’t move away. No, your reaction was to move closer to me therefore telling me that you liked the attention that I was giving you and wanted more. Your defensive position tells me that you wished I didn’t know all of this, but you can’t think I’m so deaf as to not hear you wanking off, even though that is becoming fairly...rare. How am i doing so far?” Sherlock had been talking into his folded hands, looking over he noticed that John was staring into space, not making eye contact.

How could he know all of that about me. Am I really that obvious? Maybe he’s going to ask me to leave this flat. Married to his work, flattered but uninterested. you’re just hanging onto something that’s impossible. All these thoughts were going through John’s head as he stared at a random point on the opposite wall.

“Sherlock, I’m sorry. I....I’ll go,” John said and stood up. Sherlock remained sitting, lounging back and looking up at him.

“When ever did I say that you would no longer be welcome here?”

“Oh, I just assumed...”

“Well, you’re completely wrong. Sit, and do stay. Don’t think about moving out of this flat.” So John reclaimed his seat beside Sherlock.

“Thank you.” John still could not make any eye contact.

Sherlock moved his hand to rest it on John’s knee, another one of his experiments.

John as very aware of the sudden contact, not quite sure what to do about it. So he sat normally, as if Sherlock’s hand wasn’t making him hot. Silently cursing himself for allowing his control to slip with just a single touch, John waited for Sherlock’s next move. Sherlock could tell, though, that John was turned on so easily; of course he knew. It was like their own game of chess. The player with the ebony piece had made his first move, a pawn two spaces. Now he waited for his partner’s counter.

John, not able to think of any reaction reaction that would give away too much, placed his hand the same way on Sherlock’s knee. The ivory pawn was moved in the same place, standing, unable to move forward or back, before the it’s ebony counterpart. Sherlock was surprised that John made such a move. It felt good, finally being surprised. He wondered if he should push John a little farther, just for the satisfaction of being surprised

Sherlock’s hand snaked up to rub gently, slowly across John’s crotch. He loved this, the uncertainty of it.

John saw Sherlock’s hand gradually moving high up his thigh, knowing what was coming next. As Sherlock’s hand brushed across his crotch, John felt himself harden. The game was becoming fast in its first few moves. Containing a moan required more effort than John though. This was still a game of chess though, and John thought that one wrong move would either send Sherlock away because of a failed experiment or because of more personal reasons.

John turned to face Sherlock, not so quickly as to move his hand away, though. Reaching his hands up, John pulled apart the top two buttons of Sherlock’s shirt, exposing the pale, perfect skin beneath. Sherlock just watched him, only slightly speeding up his touch. John continued, working his way down until every button on Sherlock’s deep purple oxford was undone.

Sherlock’s chest was perfect. Muscular, but with a hidden strength. Pale skin gave way to the definition of his torso. John couldn’t help but let his eyes wander to the slight top of the V that led down to what Sherlock’s trousers hid from his gaze. Sherlock released John, moving forward to pull his shirt off. Then, leaning forward, he began doing the same to John. Unbuttoning down his shirt agonizingly slow, carefully working each plastic circle from it’s place. Leaving the two men shirtless.

Sherlock had seen John shirtless before, but not like this, aroused. His muscles, hardened and trained by war, stretched his skin taught. The few scars that littered his chest begged for Sherlock to taste. He could see every contour, the strength in his arms, gained from carrying fellow soldiers away from the fray. Sherlock traced his fingertips across every scar he could reach, able to deduce what knife and what angle but not the story of how. Was John tortured? Did he get stabbed? Did he suffer? For some reason that Sherlock could not identify, the thought of John being tortured or in pain angered him, made him want to hurt John’s imaginary attacker.

John’s nerves were on edge, feeling Sherlock’s feather light touches across the scars of his chest. Not wanting to break their contact or this moment, john mustered all the self control he had to sit still. He really wanted nothing more than to force Sherlock down and take his right then. Then, suddenly, Sherlock held his hand against the back of John’s head and pulled him in for a hard kiss. It took John only a second to register what was happening, and for his body to react accordingly. Reaching out to Sherlock, holding him close, John kissed him like he had never kissed anyone. Pressed against each other, skin to skin. John felt Sherlock’s tongue swipe across his lips and opened to let him in. Sherlock’s tongue quickly swept into his mouth, exploring. John moved his tongue along Sherlock’s, reveling in his taste; sharp, like peppermint.

John’s eager response only further confirmed Sherlock’s previous theory. That man wanted him, and now Sherlock knew he wanted John just as badly. Their tongues moved with and against each other, both fighting for their natural dominance. Sherlock reached down to cup john’s erection again. Breathing in the moan that John let out as he did. Moving his hand fast, Sherlock needed to get the unnecessary fabric out of his hungry fingers’ way. Breaking the kiss, and smirking at John’s surprise, Sherlock unfastened John’s trousers and pulled them down.

“Lift your hips, John.” John did as he was told. Sherlock pulled pants and underwear completely off in one swift motion. Shoes and socks soon followed. Leaving John’s clothing in a heap on the floor, and the man completely naked.

John could feel every movement Sherlock made, masking his surprise as he was stripped down to nothing. John quickly did the same to Sherlock, leaving his clothes pooled on the floor as well. Then, they were together again. John, leaving all reserve behind, pushed Sherlock against the arm of the couch and forced his tongue into his mouth. Once again their tongues moved with and against each other. Pausing only for breath and a few words.

“Sherlock, your bed is closer.”

Understanding immediately, Sherlock stood and pulled John after him. Opening the door, Sherlock pushed John roughly down on the bed. He could feel himself harden, could see how hard John was. John laid on his back on the bed, his cock slightly bobbing up and down. Sherlock, resisting the urge to flip John over and taking him until they were both breathing heavy and tired, moved close to the bed, his hips almost even with the mattress. John, knowing what Sherlock wanted, pulled him down to the bed, kissed him hard, then began tracing kisses down his stomach.

Reaching Sherlock’s length, John lightly blew on its head. Sherlock threw back his head, but no sound escaped his lips. Kissing and tracing his tongue around Sherlock’s inner thighs, John enjoyed his, having this brilliant man in his control. Slowly, knowing that Sherlock was loving every tortuous second, John took him in his mouth. First sucking and swirling his tongue around his head, John slowly too in another inch of him.

This time when Sherlock tossed his head back a throaty moan accompanied it. Reaching down and gripping John, Sherlock urged him to move faster, take him in deeper. Sherlock jerked and thrust himself further into John’s mouth, receiving a satisfying moan.

Sucking and working his tongue around Sherlock’s hard length, John could taste Sherlock’s pre-cum in his mouth. His own cock hard and ready, John released Sherlock. The other man groaned at the loss of contact.

Ignoring Sherlock for a moment, John went rifling through the side table, finally producing the lube he was searching for. Sherlock, seeing what John held, sat up and went to him. In one swift motion, Sherlock took the lube with one hand and pushed John down onto the bed with the other. Squeezing some onto his hand, Sherlock rubbed along his length. John lay ready and aching on the bed.

“Do you want me in you?” Sherlock growled out.

“Yes, oh god yes.

Moving closer, Sherlock continued, “How badly do you want it?”

“Need you now”

Positioning himself at John’s entrance, slowly sliding his hand from the base of John’s cock to the tip, “Beg me for it.”

“Sherlock, please” John moaned, reaching his hand down to hold Sherlock’s hand to his length.

“That is not begging, John.”

“Fuck me, now.”

That was all he needed. Sherlock thrust all the way into John in one swift motion.

As Sherlock entered him, John could only moan in satisfaction. Tightening around Sherlock’s length. John pulled Sherlock down to him and kissed him hard, invading his mouth with his tongue. Turning his head, John bit down along Sherlock’s collar, pulling out a moan each time.

Moving slower, pulling out and pushing back in, Sherlock reveled in the sensations of being so close to John. Feeling him squeeze each time Sherlock pushed in, feel his tongue lick across his skin after each little bite. Moving faster, Sherlock dug his nails into John’s back, moaning and breathy with each thrust. He reached down and held John’s legs higher so that he was hitting deeper each time.

John could feel himself being pushed closer to the edge. Sherlock was hitting him so deep, so hard. Reaching down to stroke himself, John growled before rolling them over. Sherlock, clearly surprised, rolled with him. John moved and slid Sherlock’s cock out of him. Spreading lube along his own length, John pushed hard and fast into Sherlock’s tight hole.

Not used to being on the bottom, Sherlock was surprised that he enjoyed it. John was wasting no time to go slow. Entering him all the way before pulling out only to thrust all over again. John was about to come, Sherlock could see the arousal and heat in his eyes. Close to the edge himself, Sherlock growled out, “John...harder.”

That was it, Sherlock’s words pushed him over the edge. Coming hard inside Sherlock, John rode his orgasm, quickening his pace.

Sherlock felt John spill inside him, causing him to come as well. His hot seed covered his own stomach. John was still thrusting into him, riding out his orgasm. It was beautiful, John’s face as he came. Sherlock felt the same as closing a case. Watching in triumph, feeling the result of his effect on John.

John, similarly, loved watching Sherlock come. His sharp angled features twisted into a look of pure pleasure. His pale skin, now dotted red with bites from John, shone under the sheen of sweat that covered him. Spent, John lay next to the taller man, and pushed a few curls out of his face. Silently leaning in to kiss him; not rough and needy, but deep and filled with passion.

Ignoring the sticky mess that covered his torso, Sherlock pressed himself against John, leaning in to the kiss. Then they both lay, breathless and sweaty, next to the other in Sherlock’s bed.

“We seem to have made a mess, Sherlock.”

“Yes, it seems so,” Sherlock said, wrapping John up in him arms.

“I think we may need to bathe and, um, wash your sheets again”

“Oh yes, I had forgotten that you just recently did the laundry.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere other than this bed for the rest of the night.”

“I agree”


“What John?”
“I’m sorry about your experiments. I...I can help you fix them or redo them...?”

“Yes, about those. They were useless anyway. I only started them because I was bored, but I’m sure I won’t be needing severed limbs to help me when I’m bored.”

John decided not to tell Sherlock that he should have thought about how that sentence would come off before he said it.

“Sherlock, let’s just go to sleep. We can worry about the mess and the experiments in the morning.”

Wrapping John in his arms, Sherlock only nodded. They both fell asleep intertwined with the other.