Sometimes, when Sherlock is bored (which is more than sometimes), he gets his phone out and logs on to Tumblr. Usually, there's nothing new. This is to be expected- he only follows one person, after all.
The only person he'll ever follow.
- - -
John remembers how it started. Of course, it was Harry's fault, but that's just how it goes.
He tries not to think about his sister and his Tumblr at the same time, honestly. Thank God she doesn't follow him anymore, that was... that was awkward.
Anyway, it's been a slow day, he has no patients for two hours, and there are three hours left in his shift. It's probably not the most appropriate thing to be doing at work, but as long as he doesn't use the staff computers, it should be fine.
He logs in to his new account - the old one having been hacked - and starts scrolling.
A lot of cocks on his dash today. Huh. Well, he doesn't exactly object- bisexual, after all- but he's not in the mood. Farther, farther.
There we go, he thinks, getting just a little hard from the image in front of him. He adds a little caption, as usual, and continues on his way.
- - -
Oh. He's on now, Sherlock thinks, and then he realizes- John's at work.
John's reblogging pornography at work. John's looking at pornography at work. Is he touching himself? Does he just add the caption, or does he do that with one hand, the other-
Sherlock steers himself away from that train of thought. Can't have that. Lust shuts down logic, so it isn't allowed.
Not hard, he thinks, but he presses F5 either way.
- - -
There's really not much he's wanting on Tumblr today. He reblogs a picture with hair-pulling (glorious, but not enough), a picture with a girl riding hard (wonderful, but not enough), and then he sees it, and he gets hard as a rock.
The photoset is so close to what he imagined- so close- only... it doesn't matter.
He types the caption, and maybe it's a little too personal, but nobody will ever know.
And then (because nobody will ever know), he unzips his trousers and takes himself in hand.
- - -
It's not very interesting stuff today, really. John likes pulling hair, likes the girl to ride him with abandon- nothing new.
But then the next post finally shows up, and Sherlock reads the caption, and everything is different.
"i’ve thought of this for ages, ever since i moved in with you. i’ve imagined you on your knees on the kitchen floor, my hands in your hair, your pretty pink lips stretched around me. You know exactly how i like it, as if you’re reading my thoughts- you always have been brilliant, and you’re no less brilliant sucking my cock."
Sherlock is silent for a long, long time, and he really cannot think. Eventually, he realizes that his mouth is slightly open, and he closes it.
Need more data, he thinks, but how do I get it? John will object to being asked. He'll object to me knowing about the blog.
It doesn't take long before Sherlock figures out what needs to be done.
- - -
John is nearing the point of no return when his phone buzzes. I have time, he thinks, and looks at the question he's been sent.
Is that an actual fantasy of yours? Your roommate sucking you off?
He wonders who sent it, and decides to answer truthfully.
And then, thinking about the truth of it all, he touches himself leisurely, slowly, until he comes all over his hand.
- - -
Sherlock doesn't know what to say. Not for a long, long time.