The unassuming cardboard box sat on the kitchen table and John eyed it warily. It had no marks or stamps, not even a returning address, other than John's name scribbled at the top, which made the apparent lack of tampering even more strange. Surely the great Sherlock Holmes wouldn't resist taking a peek inside, or at least messing with it for a bit and try to deduce its contents. It wasn't like it being John's post had ever stopped him, and the doctor had long ago resigned himself to the absolute lack of privacy living with a Holmes entailed. Then again, the detective's bouts of sudden interest were as unpredictable as the man itself, so maybe he had decided it wasn't worth it.
Still, it was suspicious.
John glanced at Sherlock where he sat in front of his microscope. He had learned the hard way to be careful around any and all closed containers inside 221B.
“I didn't touch it,” Sherlock huffed, not even looking up from whatever experiment he was immersed into at the moment. “You yelled at me this morning for the thing with the bathroom sink, I thought it would be best to avoid a second argument today.”
That was surprisingly considerate. In a very Sherlockian way.
Feeling a little more at ease, John turned back to his box. There was absolutely nothing that told him what was inside or who was it from. So, John did the only thing there was to do and opened it.
As soon as he saw what was inside, he dropped the package on the table as if it had burned him. After a few seconds of shocked, tense silence, John's brow furrowed and he let out an annoyed groan.
“Fucking Harry” he almost snarled.
Well. Sherlock had already been vaguely interested in the whole thing, but that reaction had just sealed the deal. He looked up from the microscope to what seemed to be a very, very annoyed John.
The doctor, of course, noticed his interest and scrambled to grab the box, but Sherlock was both quicker and closer to it, and his accompanying expression made John stop in his tracks. Fine. It wasn't like he'd be able to keep it a secret for long either way. Better to get past this as quickly as possible.
With a last look towards John, Sherlock pried the box open. Long fingers fished the item out of the box and placed it on the table.
It was... well, it was very obviously a dildo, but by no means a regular one. For starters, the top was a bright orange colour, which faded down to a deep red. The head went up in a point rather than a blunt gland, and it had an elongated S shape instead of a more traditional straight or slightly upturned one. But the most distinctive features were the three ridges that occupied the shaft and the large, bulbous end that was at least a whole inch wider than the rest.
There was also the fact that the... item in question was almost thirteen inches tall.
Sherlock looked up at John, who had managed not to ran away in embarrassment but was blushing a very bright red.
“It's uh... a bit of an inner joke, I guess” John offered as an explanation and ran a hand through his hair. “I love the book 'The Hobbit' and there's this... one of the characters is a dragon and... Harry used to”
John groaned and covered his face with both hands, more frustrated than embarrassed by now. He didn't have the words to explain, he wasn't sure there even was a proper explanation that would make sense to anyone that wasn't Harry, but Sherlock was still looking at him expectantly and he didn't know what to do.
A huff made him look up once again.
“Ridiculous. I fail to see the appeal of something so anatomically inaccurate.”
It sounded perfectly cold but, after living with the man for as long as he had, John caught the hitch on his voice easily.
John's eyes darkened, but he fought back the smirk that threatened to split his face.
“Oh, I don't know” he said, perfectly nonchalant. He sat down on a chair and reached over to the toy to drag it closer to his end of the table. “I don't think it's too bad” He pressed his middle finger to the very tip and made the toy sway lightly from side to side, just one point of contact between him and the plastic.
He didn't miss how Sherlock's eyes strayed away from the microscope's eyepiece and fixed on his hand.
“I mean” John continued. He stilled the toy and let the rest of his fingers fall to both sides of it. “It's certainly different” His thumb caressed the shaft and caught in one of the ridges. Sherlock swallowed audibly. “But that could be a good thing too, I suppose.” He lifted his hand once again, allowing his middle finger to slide a bit longer over the tip.
Sherlock's head still hadn't moved, but he was gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles had turned white. Knowing how long Sherlock could remain perfectly still, it was certainly something watching him squirm almost imperceptibly on his chair.
“It'd probably be a bit awkward.” the doctor spoke again, his tone still betraying none of the heat that was building up inside him just from seeing Sherlock's reactions. His fingers caressed the pointy glans lazily, almost as an afterthought. “It is rather-” he fisted his hand and, in one quick movement, slid it down to circle the knot at the bottom “big.” He didn't miss the low whine that escaped Sherlock's lips, distorted by how much he had tried to hold it back.
“But I'm sure I'd be able to make it fit.” John raised his hand, allowing his fingers to gently graze the shaft for a moment, and took it to his mouth. His index and middle fingers hovered over his lips for a moment. “With enough preparation” he said, and pushed both digits inside his mouth.
Sherlock's eyes, now almost entirely dark with arousal, had followed his hand until he was forced to turn his head to look at John, but he was obviously not expecting the doctor's actions. John stared at him as he sucked on his own fingers, cheeks hollowed and Sherlock could only stare back, his tongue peeking out for a moment to wet his dry lips before letting out a shuddering breath through his nose.
John opened his mouth and moved his hand back to the strange dildo, two fingers coated in saliva. A thin, transparent strand connected his index to his lips for a few moments before breaking off. John pressed both digits to the tip of the toy and slowly moved them up and down the glans, the colourful plastic glistening with spit.
Sherlock had turned his entire body towards him now and was openly looking at him. A flush had crept up from under his shirt to his neck and face, turning his whole skin a rather lovely shade of pink. His hands were trembling slightly from the effort it took not to move them and, when John looked down, the bulge inside his trousers was more than obvious. The doctor looked up and his eyes fixed on Sherlock's once again. On the other hand, Sherlock seemed not to know exactly where to look, and his gaze quickly shifted between John's darkened eyes, his mouth, and the toy.
“I imagine-” John said, and Sherlock let out another keening sound, not even bothering to repress it this time. Of course, John knew. The detective's overly-active imagination was the best way to get him, and telling him to 'imagine' something was a sure-way to have him seeing it vividly inside his own mind in a thousand different angles. “it wouldn't be too easy. Stretching myself enough to fit this... I don't know if I could do it.” His hand was fisted now, and it lazily pumped up and down the plastic toy. The shape and the ridges made the movement more than a little awkward but, going by the increasingly shallow breaths Sherlock was taking, it didn't seem to be a problem.
“But you could do it for me, couldn't you?” John dropped all pretence of nonchalance and allowed his voice to go low and rough. No point pretending it was nothing when both of them were sporting rather impressive erections. John grabbed the toy by its knot and leaned forwards, closer both to it and Sherlock. The detective tensed and John knew he was trying to keep himself from moving even closer.
“You and your ridiculously long fingers.” John licked his lower lip and didn't miss the way Sherlock's eyes followed the movement. “Pushing inside me, opening me up. It's rather thick, so I think it'd take a while. I'm not really used to anything so... large.” He kept rubbing and caressing the toy as he spoke. “But you'd be gentle with me, wouldn't you? Take it slow?” John's voice was almost a whisper now, and Sherlock found himself leaning forwards to hear better.
“You'd circle my hole with one finger first, get me nice and relaxed before pushing it inside. Just a bit, just to the first knuckle.” Sherlock's breath stuttered and John's smirk widened “You wouldn't move until you were sure I was used to it, until I could take more.” He licked his lips slowly and deliberately. “And then you'd press harder, because you're so brilliant I'm sure you have deduced I like it a little rough too, haven't you? So you wouldn't hurt me, but you'd let me feel the burn.”
Sherlock squirmed a bit and tired to rearrange himself inside his trousers as inconspicuously as possible. John's voice was like velvet, like melted chocolate and he had always had a soft spot for dirty talk, but he'd have never fathomed John had figured that out, much less that he'd do something like this. His mouth was dry and he could do nothing but look at John playing with the strange dildo, and swallow past the lump in his throat while the images John was creating danced behind his eyes.
“How far do you think you'd take me? Two, three, four fingers? More, maybe?” The words rolled smoothly from John's tongue. The dildo that had spurred the whole thing was pretty much forgotten now, the knot trapped tightly under John's fist, while they stared into each other's darkened eyes. John kept slowly inching closer, and Sherlock wasn't sure it was conscious or not. “How long until you have me writhing under you, rocking back to fuck myself in your fingers? Would you make me beg? Would you wait until I scream and ask you to fuck me, Sherlock?”
The mention of his name suddenly brought him up from his trance, the mist John's words had created dissipating. The heavy arousal remained, the desperate need, but something had shifted. Everything was suddenly very much real, and not some incredibly detailed fantasy. His shirt was too hot on his damp skin, and his trousers too tight on his engorged cock. It was too much and too little and it took all his concentration to prevent himself from closing the distance between him and John and taking him right there and now. Sherlock blinked a couple times and looked at John. From the mischievous expression on the doctor's face, Sherlock had reacted exactly the way John expected him to.
Neither of them was sure who had moaned when John moved yet a little closer and, with a grace he really shouldn't have at that moment, lowered his head and took about three quarters of the toy inside his mouth, never breaking eye contact. Everything was still for several long moments, the air hot and heavy around them. John closed his eyes, swallowed with some difficulty around it and let it go with a slurping sound that made Sherlock's cock twitch.
“Then again,” John spoke again, and he was so calm and composed Sherlock almost believed he had dreamed the whole thing. He had stepped back and he was standing completely at ease. But there was no mistaking the erection that strained against his trousers. “I suppose these kind of things are not for everyone. To each their own.” He gave a little shrug and, without another word, disappeared into Sherlock's room.
It took the detective an entire minute to realize what he was supposed to do. When he did, he scrambled to his feet with none of his usual elegance and, grabbing the toy still coated with saliva, almost ran after John.