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Blurring the Lines of Friendship

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It wasn't often that John knew something Sherlock didn't. The man might have the world’s most extensive knowledge on cigarette ash and an aptitude for molecular chemistry, but he was also completely ignorant on other topics that he deemed unimportant.

Which is how John and Greg ended up gaping at Sherlock, their mouths slack and their eyebrows almost at their hairline as they watched grainy CCTV from the house of a murder victim. The murderer was outside the living room window, his face covered with a mask whilst his trousers were pulled below his buttocks, and his hand moved frantically on his cock.

Greg had cleared his throat and attempted to fast-forward the voyeuristic images only for Sherlock to slap his hand away with a deep frown and a rumbled, “What is he doing?”

John had looked at Lestrade, huffed, and then turned back to Sherlock, “Are you serious? It's obvious what he's doing.”

“Not to me,” Sherlock had admitted with a grimace, pulling that face that showed he was genuinely frustrated at the gap in his knowledge.

Lestrade had laughed, taking a step back and holding up his hands before gesturing that it was for John to explain. John knew that he'd owe Greg a slap for this one as he moved closer to Sherlock, speaking low as he cleared his throat, “He's er...well, he's wanking, Sherlock.”

“Wan-king?” Sherlock mouthed, rummaging through his mind palace and finding nothing, although there was a scratchy sensation which usually meant the information had been deleted, “Nope,” he said with a shake of his head.

“Seriously?” John blinked, praying for deliverance before he died of shame, “Masturbating. You must know what that is?”

“Oh,” Sherlock blushed deeply and flicked his eyes from the screen in embarrassment, “of course. I am aware of that subject. I didn't understand the terminology or...actions.”

“Right...” John trailed off, watching as Sherlock coughed and then immediately went back to work with a massive torrent of deductions which made the police force dizzy.


Back at the flat, after the murderer had been caught and arrested, John made tea and handed it to Sherlock who was clicking around on his laptop, occasionally humming, frowning, or grimacing at whatever he had found.

“Anything interesting?” John asked, taking a sip of his tea, “You've just finished a case; you can't be working on another already.”

“Hmm? What? No. No not a case just...research,” Sherlock said, “regarding masturbation.”

John almost choked on his drink and then closed his eyes, his head falling back onto the headrest of his chair, “Why?” He asked in a resigned tone.

“I am aware that I have certain...gaps, if you will, in my knowledge,” Sherlock said, tilting his head and then turning his laptop around to show John a picture of a man bent over with his own penis in his mouth, “Like this. I have never seen this before. Why? Why is he doing this, John?”

Putting his cup down before he spilled it, John rubbed at his face and exhaled deeply, “It's...why are you looking at that? First of all, that's not... traditional wanking, that's advanced wanking. Only for hardened wankers,” he attempted to argue.

“Hardened. Wankers,” Sherlock repeated slowly, all while looking at John like he’s an idiot again.

John flushed with embarrassment, “Sorry if I’m not completely comfortable discussing this with you.”

“But you’re a doctor,” Sherlock stated in confusion, “Shouldn’t you be comfortable talking about the human body and its processes?”

“Yes, valid point,” John started haughtily, “but I never thought I’d have to explain wanking to a grown man! They didn’t exactly cover that topic in medical school,” he defended himself further.

“John, I think you’re becoming irrationally worked up over this whole situation,” Sherlock responded calmly.

John breathed in deeply through his nose to calm himself, “You’re right,” he admitted finally, “it’s just not a topic two friends typically have with each other.”

“Well, if you’re to be believed, most of the conversations we have could fall into that category,” Sherlock smirked in return, causing John to laugh and Sherlock to smile in relief.

They fell back into silence as John read the paper and Sherlock went back to his research, but the peace was broken merely about an hour later.

“This is pointless,” Sherlock grumbled as he pushed the lid of his laptop closed in frustration, “I’m not going to learn the intricacies of this by watching videos.”

“The intricacies of wanking?” John teased with an amused smile, “It’s not really that intricate.”

Sherlock considered his friend for a moment and the look made John worried (rightfully so, as it would turn out), “Show me.”

“I’m sorry?” John asked after he had finished choking on the air he had been breathing.

“Show me,” Sherlock repeated calmly, “those wretched videos aren’t anything like reality, and I need to understand why and how it all works.”

John closed his eyes and shook his head in disbelief at the direction that his life has gone, “No.”

“But John!” Sherlock whined.

“This isn’ can’t just…” he huffed before finally finishing a complete thought, “This isn’t something friends do, Sherlock.”

“It’s not?” He asked with honest confusion.


“But there were other people in the videos, sometimes.”

“Lovers will sometimes do these things together, but not friends.”

Sherlock looked like he was fishing some long-forgotten information from the very recesses of his mind palace, “Isn’t friends with benefits a thing? What’s that? Let’s do that.”


“What?” He asks, still honestly confused but becoming frustrated in return, “This doesn’t have to be a big sexual identity crisis because you, for some reason, still haven’t accepted your bisexuality,” John looked outraged at this, but Sherlock continued on before he could interrupt, “you’re just helping me with science.”

“Helping with science?” John laughed, lifting an eyebrow, “That is the shittest excuse I’ve ever heard.”

“Fine, medical then. Doctor me,” Sherlock gestured between them, “I have a genuine medical emergency and need you to show me how to remedy it.”

“Nope,” John shook his head, standing and walking to the hallway where he collected his coat and shoes before turning back to Sherlock, “I’m going away now. To forget this.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and huffed, throwing himself down on the sofa.

John walked around Regent’s Park for an hour before deciding he needed to return to the flat as it was starting to get cold and his shoulder ached. Walking back into the living room, he found Sherlock in the exact same position he had left him in.

“I’m for a bath,” John announced, walking into the bathroom and starting the faucet before leaving to rummage for a clean and workable towel. He had just reentered the bathroom when he noticed Sherlock sitting on the toilet seat, his long legs crossed and his hands placed demurely on his right knee.

“No. What are you doing? I’m having a bath,” John sighed, rubbing his temples.

“And will promptly masturbate,” Sherlock said without shame, “Let me watch.”

“Get out of the bathroom,” John groaned, pointing to the door, “ now .”

“No! John please…” Sherlock hummed, suddenly tilting his head softly, “I...I have no other source but you. You’re the only person I know who would, and I trust you. You won’t laugh at me and --”

“No!” John shouted, clenching his fists at his sides, “This isn’t appropriate. Can you not just let this drop?!”

Sherlock looked utterly dejected and nodded slowly before standing up, “I’m sorry to have bothered you. I’ll leave you alone,” he mumbled with a lowered gaze, moving quickly from the bathroom. John sighed, scrubbing through his hair and fighting the ball of guilt in the pit of his stomach until he heard the slam of the front door.


Lestrade didn’t indulge like this very often, mostly because he was always on call and didn’t have time to stretch out his self-indulgent wanks, but this time the most recent case was over and he wasn’t rota-ed in until the day after. He lay back on his sofa and put in his favourite Busty Asian Babe’s DVD and pumped some hand cream into his palm with an excited wiggle.

He was already halfway gone by the time he heard the rattle. It sounded like his bedroom window, but he shrugged it off - they had recently had birds nesting in the roof and that must have been the source of the sound. He closed his eyes and wrapped his hand back around his cock, stroking leisurely as he arched his back and moaned deep and low, thinking of various women (and the occasional man) he had slept with.

“Are you always this vocal?”

Greg’s eyes snapped open and he rolled from his sofa, grabbing the cushion and placing it over his crotch as he grabbed his gun from under the table. He pointed it at Sherlock, who had taken a seat in the armchair in the darkened corner, a pen and pad of paper resting on his knee.

“What in the name of Holy Frankenfuck do you think you’re doing?” Greg asked, his mouth open and his heart pounding in his ears, “How did you get in here?”

“For a police officer, you really do have terrible home security,” Sherlock scoffed, sitting back and arching an eyebrow, “I came in through the window. Obviously.”

“There is no obviously in this case!” Greg seethed, “You broke into my flat, watched me... wank and JESUS! Sherlock is that a diagram?” He demanded while gesturing towards the paper.

“John wouldn’t let me watch him. It was either you or my brother and...well...I’d rather be ignorant of what deviance my brother indulges in,” Sherlock explained cooly, “So, come on,” he gestured vaguely towards the sofa cushion still covering Lestrade’s modesty, “on with it.”

“I suggest you leave my flat right now, before I shoot you in the face,” Lestrade warned.

“You wouldn’t,” Sherlock grumbled disbelievingly, his eyebrow raised playfully, “Your meagre salary wouldn’t pay for a full crime scene cleaning…though I suppose you could ask Mrs. Hudson; she has some experience in removing blood and gunshot resi--- not that. Blood. Obviously.”

Greg laughed as he sat back on his sofa and laid his gun aside, aware of his nakedness only being covered by a stag patterned cushion, “You’re a bloody madman.”

“I have been informed,” Sherlock responded before looking away, “I realise that not having permission is ‘Not Good’, but I knew you would say no. Like John did.”

“Hmm,” Greg nodded and ran a hand through his grey hair, “So…John said no?”

“Yes,” Sherlock complained sullenly, “it’s not like I wanted to perform exploratory surgery on him; I just wanted to see him stroke himself to completion.”

“And did you talk to him first? Or just demand he whips his impressive willy out?” Lestrade asked, raising an eyebrow as though already aware of the answer.

“I showed him a picture of a man pleasuring himself with his own mouth and then asked him to show me,” Sherlock explained and then seemed to go offline for a moment, “Impressive? Why is it impressive?”

“I’ve never seen it...not properly, anyway,” Greg smirked, “but you know, two men sharing a urinal trough, you’re bound to look.”

I’ve never looked,” Sherlock frowned dramatically, lines appearing at his forehead, “why are you looking at John’s penis? You shouldn’t do that! It’s not...that’s not…no. I forbid it,” he demanded with a scowl.

Greg raised his eyebrows until they almost met his hairline and nodded, “Right. And that’s because…?”

“John wouldn’t like it,” Sherlock huffed, “being looked at that way. If not by me then not by anyone. I’m his best friend, he told me so.”

“I know that,” Greg placated the younger man softly, “I know how much he means to you and I’m not trying to...seduce him or perv over him or anything.”

“Good,” Sherlock huffed, feeling an unfamiliar twist in his stomach at the thought of someone else having access to John’s most private area. The women were bad enough, but the idea that Lestrade was having a look was almost too much to bear, “Promise you won’t do it again?”

“Definitely,” Greg nodded genuinely, “promise.”

“Right. Well. This has been a spectacular waste of my time. You are useless, Gilbert,” Sherlock sulked, placing the pad and paper off to one side and standing up.

“Sherlock?” Greg called out, stopping Sherlock in his tracks, “If you feel that way about John, you should tell him. He...there was…fuck it. It just might not be as unwelcome as you think.”

Sherlock huffed and stormed out of Greg’s front door, and letting it bounce against the wall as he stomped into the London darkness. Lestrade was left sitting naked on his sofa with the exaggerated moans of pornstars still calling out from the TV.

Reaching for his phone, he dialed a number and waited until Mycroft’s nasal voice came over the speaker, “Detective Inspector.”

“I think you need to speak to your brother. There may be friction ahead…” Greg explained, rubbing his eyes tiredly, “I think he’s starting to remember his sex drive.”

“Oh,” Mycroft obviously grimaced, “I shall look into it. Thank you, Gregory.”

“Not a problem,” Greg smiled lustily before lying back on his sofa after locking his door, “so…what are you wearing?”


John’s phone had rung not too long after Sherlock had left Greg’s place.

“I wish I knew how to ignore you,” John said in place of a greeting.

“Charming as always, Doctor Watson,” Mycroft sneered through the other end of the line.

“Not trying to be, so I’m content,” he said with a clear air of calm.

“I understand that Sherlock has been...inquiring about sexual stimulus.”

“Good God, you sure don’t beat around the bush, do you? Are you going to try to get me to agree to talk to him about this?” John asked, rubbing at his temples.

“John, you must understand: there were events in Sherlock’s past, during his less than coherent times, that went incredibly poorly for him. Haven’t you wondered why he has no recollection of masturbation?”

John closed his eyes and covered them with his unoccupied left hand as he sighed, “Yes, actually,” he admitted, because there has never been any use in lying to a Holmes.

“Sherlock has never...been able to bring himself to orgasm. He turned to the drugs, thinking that they would relax his mind enough to allow him release - and participated in any number of activities that I’d rather not remember myself - but it never worked.”

“He’s never experienced an orgasm?” is the fact that John latched onto, head rising from his hand in shock, “ is that even possible?”

“He has night emissions in which his body takes care of that need, but a purposeful orgasm? No,” Mycroft said clinically, seeming detached from the intimate nature of the discussion.

“Mycroft...I can’t can’t expect me to take the matter into my own hand, so to speak,” he said in regret. The guilt was returning to his gut, but there are lines that simply should not be crossed...some things that would go too far for John to forget and go back to normal. Because that’s what he feared the most: that Sherlock would want to go back to the way they were before and John wouldn’t be able to forget, to move on.

There was a heavy silence between them before Mycroft continued softly, admitting: “I am afraid of the lengths he will go to to rediscover the information he’s so determined to obtain.”

“You think he’ll turn back to drugs for this?” John asked with yet more guilt.

“Drugs, gloryhole, whore house,” Mycroft listed, “any of the numerous things he tried before. I’m following him on CCTV right now and so far he’s just wandering aimlessly around the park, but John…” he trailed off, clear worry evident in his voice.

“But you said he had never... finished ?” John frowned, confused, “Why did he visit brothels or glory holes?”

“I have it on good authority he requested hand relief only,” Mycroft continued in the clinical voice, “he never asked for anything else…and soon became frustrated.”

“Mycroft, you don’t understand, I can’t just…” risk everything. Fuck it all up. Lose him. He said none of these, just let the other man hear all of the options the silence offered.

“John, please,” Mycroft practically whispered, his voice finally breaking into a genuine emotion, “he needs you.”

“Goddammit,” he swore quietly in reply, somehow thinking that he’s going to actually do this. He’s going to actually let this happen.

“I’ve finally gotten him clean - to not be a danger to himself or others - and for once in his life he has a friend. You are unlike anything he’s ever had in his life before, and I hate to ask you to take this risk, but understand that I would not dare to ask this if I thought there was a chance that he would lose you.”  

John sighed, rubbed at his temples and then groaned low and loud, “Fine! Fine. Alright. Whatever you want.”

“John. This isn’t what I want…” Mycroft seemed to grimace, “In fact, I’d be happy to never discuss Sherlock’s...urges ever again.”

“Good,” John huffed, putting down the phone with a click of a button and then dropping his phone to the side, rubbing at his face tiredly.


When Sherlock returned back to the flat, he was covered in a murky brown mud which covered the bottoms of Sherlock’s trousers up to his knees.

“What on earth have you been doing?” John asked, looking up from the newspaper he had been engrossed in.

“Exploring,” Sherlock shrugged.

“Where? Tunnels?” John scoffed.

“No. Hampstead Heath. I remembered the location of a former Gloryhole site. Turns out it wasn’t as...friendly as promised,” Sherlock explained.

“Right. No. None of that,” John warned, crossing his legs and putting his paper aside, “with strangers, I mean. If you...want to do that then I’ll help. Only until you know what you’re doing.”

Sherlock frowned, narrowing his eyes and glaring at John in suspicion, “Mycroft?”

Nodding softly, John didn’t see any reason to lie as he bit his lip, “He was worried.”

“He should be more worried about his cholesterol. The fat git,” Sherlock sneered, but there was a sweet blush against his cheeks as he spoke.

“I’ve never done this before and...I’m not sure what the protocol is for helping your best friend have a wank…so we’ll have to muddle through,” John explained and cleared his throat, “Do you have any ideas on...what you want?”

“To watch,” Sherlock said without hesitation, “I want to watch.”

John gulped loudly but nodded with a tentative smile, “Right. Not sure I’ll be able to...perform on command, but I’ll try. What about for yourself?”

“Myself,” Sherlock repeated, before waving his hand, “I’ve told you. It doesn’t work.”

“You might not have found,” John blushed and then smiled, “it takes some experimentation.”

Sherlock nodded quickly and then moved his hands to his trouser buckle, seemingly happy to undress in the middle of the living room, something which made John feel scandalised.

“Sherlock!” He hissed, “Get into your room,” John rubbed his face and laughed, “Take your trousers off. Shirt too if you want. I’ll just…get some supplies and join you.”

Sherlock immediately set off into his room, rustling fabric and squeaking the bed as he jumped onto the mattress and got comfortable, “Come on, John!” He called impatiently.

“Jesus, give me strength,” John whispered to himself before marching to his room, collecting his bottle of lubricant and two clean flannels for afterwards. He went to Sherlock’s room and stood awkwardly in the doorway, looking at Sherlock lying back with his black boxer-briefs slightly tented already. John averted his gaze, despite the picture being burnt into his retinas, and then walked to the side of the bed. He pulled off his jeans until he was clad in just his boxers and a shirt before sitting tentatively on the bed.

“Right…” John cleared his throat, “So…what do you need to know?”

Sherlock looked at him in exasperation because hadn’t they been through this already? for crying out loud.

“Everything,” Sherlock stated with emphasis.

“Okay, but everything is a very broad spectrum. Care to narrow it down a little for me? You had mentioned wanting to -- erm -- watch.”

“Yes, let’s start there,” Sherlock agreed with a nod.

“Right,” John sighed, running his left hand through his hair nervously. To say that he had never thought about engaging in intimate scenarios with his best friend would be a lie, but that didn’t make this situation any less odd and a bit off-putting.

John briefly stood from the bed again to remove his boxers and shirt, then hesitated on where to settle on the bed. The sitting position he had been in wasn’t ideal for a wank, but anywhere else seemed too…

“Here,” Sherlock answered for him, scooching over to his left and leaving plenty of room for John on the right side of the bed. When John gave him an inquisitive look, Sherlock merely shrugged and explained, “It’s your prefered side of the bed.”

How Sherlock knew that, John didn’t actually want to know, but he was right; damn him. So John situated himself sitting up, back against the headboard, mirroring the other man.

“You’re not hard,” Sherlock stated, trying not to sound disappointed but failing.

John chuckled nervously, “Yeah, well, it’s not exactly a sexy situation,” he half apologised.

“Would you like me to help arouse you?” He asked innocently.

And damn if John wasn’t curious about how he planned to do that, “” he asked timidly, honestly scared of the answer.

Sherlock gave him one of his oh, please looks with a tinge of disappointment at his stupidity, “Like I don’t know what turns you on,” he scoffed.

“How the hell…” he started angrily, but was cut off by Sherlock moving closer to him and whispering in his ear.

John ,” he practically moaned in a low, sultry tone.

“Oh, fuck,” John swore quietly as his hips bucked reflexively and his cock hardened, because the lower register of Sherlock’s voice has always been a weak point for him. Of course he had known.

“I want you to get hard for me,” Sherlock continued quietly in his low timbre, breath falling hot against John’s left ear with his mouth so close, “Please, John,” he begged, “will you do that for me?”

John nodded his head while biting his bottom lip, even though an answer wasn’t exactly required considering that his cock was rushing to fulfill the request. He was fully hard in seconds, and a bit light headed for it.

“Very good,” Sherlock praised, “you’re so good to me. Now stroke yourself for me; show me how. Educate me.”

John couldn’t help the moan at the mental picture of Sherlock, one day, using the knowledge he’s about to learn on John himself. He rushed to get some of the lube onto his left hand before moving it to his cock willingly, grasping hard as his elbow lightly brushed against Sherlock’s side for a fleeting moment.

“Your…right...” John cleared his throat and attempted to focus on speaking, “Take it in your hand and just sort of…stroke it? A bit. Pull your foreskin up and down and…and…do you have a foreskin?”

Sherlock chuckled deeply, seemingly tickled by John’s question, “Yes, John. I have a foreskin.”

John smiled shyly and then closed his eyes as his thumb rubbed against his slit, smearing the precome across his tip. He bucked his hips and moaned, biting down on his lip.

“How does it feel?” Sherlock asked, his eyes wide and flicking across John’s body up and down and over his entire skin.

“Good. It’s good,” John gulped down air, eyes fluttering closed, “It’s good.”

“Be more descriptive,” Sherlock hummed, “Please?”

“Do you have any idea how difficult it is to think?” John groused.

“Not much different than usual, then?” Sherlock teased, rubbing his nose against John’s arm affectionately.

“Twat,” John grumbled and then inhaled deeply “It’s -- intense . Like a building pressure. Like…like a volcano. The pressure is under the surface and it’s pushing up and up and eventually it has nowhere else to go than to explode.”

Sherlock considered for a moment before nodding, “And how does the pleasure feel?”

John moaned and bucked harder again, “It’s…intense,” he repeated, at a loss for other descriptors, “So good. I don’t know what else to say…”

“Say my name,” Sherlock requested on a whisper, his pupils wide as he watched John’s hand moving up and down, twisting at the tip to coax out more precome, “When you ejaculate, say my name.”

“Oh god, Sherlock,” John groaned, back arching. His orgasm rushing at him rapidly as he moved his other hand down to cup at his tight testicles, it was too much and John knew he wouldn’t be able to hold on, “Oh, Sherlock…Sherlock I’m…I’m coming.”

“Yes,” Sherlock nodded eagerly, leaning further down so his head lay on John’s chest so he could watch the slit in John’s cock widen, “Yes, show me,” he breathed in excitement.

“Sherlock!” John shouted, seizing up and throwing back his head as his orgasm burst over him and left him wrung out and shaking. Semen glistened on his stomach and when Sherlock pulled back, he did so tentatively before looking at John with a grimace.

“I’m so sorry,” John spluttered before laughing, noticing the thick stripe of come across Sherlock’s cheek, “I didn’t expect it to reach that far.”

Sherlock huffed and wiped the come away before placing it in his mouth and sucking, “Not terrible. I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”

“Probably shouldn’t just eat people’s come, Sherlock,” John grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck and watching his cock slowly soften.

“Oh please, you’re clean. You’re a doctor and a regular attendee at the sexual health clinic,” Sherlock scoffed before gesturing absently.

“Still…” John trailed off and then shrugged, “So…did you learn much?”

“Yes, it was very enlightening,” Sherlock nodded, “I certainly learned more with you than I did with Lestrade.”

“I’m sorry what?” John blinked, a bit of jealousy and disappointment coiling in his gut, “You…and Lestrade ?”

“No. He kicked me out,” Sherlock sulked, looking and rubbing at the rather impressive bulge in his pants, “He was reluctant to help.”

“Yeah, you’d have to be mad to help,” John laughed and shook his head at his own madness, but was also relieved at the thought that nothing had happened between the two men.

“Hmm,” Sherlock shrugged, obviously not listening, “I was going to sneak in and steal his handcuffs but I think he was having phone sex with my brother.”

“Jesus,” John choked, “What? Sorry? Lestrade and…Mycroft?”

“Ye--ees,” Sherlock sighed, “Honestly John, it’s not exactly news.”

“It is to me!” John insisted, “When? Why? How?”

“Not sure I want to know how they have sex,” Sherlock grimaced, scooping more of John’s come up between his fingers and rubbing it together, “But they’ve been intimate for a while.”

“I didn’t know he was gay,” John said, frowning and wondering why Greg had never mentioned it on their various drinking and moaning meetings.

“He’s not,” Sherlock frowned in return, “he’s obviously bisexual. That is a real thing you know, being attracted to both.”

“Yeah, I know that,” John said before his mind whirred to a stop. Maybe that was what he was? Sherlock had mentioned it earlier - before he had stormed out of the flat to find Lestrade, apparently - but he’d never really been attracted to men before…but he couldn’t exactly deny being attracted to Sherlock.

Sherlock sighed, “John, before you begin having your tedious sexuality crisis, can you please help me with my protrusion?”

“Your what?” John grinned, almost forgetting the anxiety in the pit of his stomach.

“Erection. Stiffy. Hard-On,” Sherlock griped, “Whatever you insist on calling it. I don’t care me? I’m not sure I can do it alone…” he admitted quietly.

“You’ve watched me. what I did,” John responded nervously, unsure whether he could actually help him the way he knew Sherlock was asking. Playing dumb was a bit of a necessity at times with the younger man, now being a perfect example.

Sherlock swallowed thickly before nodding, “Alright.”

He sat back on the bed, resting against the headboard in the same position John had chosen. He hadn’t removed his pants yet because he found he enjoyed the feeling of his hand over the fabric separating his hand from his cock. He bit his bottom lip as he traced his outline, but he was only partially hard.

“John,” Sherlock whispered, eyes closed as he shook his head in embarrassment, “I’m no longer fully erect.”

John cleared his throat, “That’s alright, that’s normal,” he assured him, “does your hand feel good against your...uh…” he hesitated.

“Penis?” Sherlock finished, opening his eyes to look at John condescendingly now, covering his own nerves with the harsher emotion, “Honestly, John, you’re a doctor.”

“This isn’t exactly the surgery!” He snapped, eyes challenging him back before he realised the picture that they made at the moment: two grown, mostly-naked men talking about how to wank properly.

“It’s still a penis,” Sherlock countered haughtily.

John closed his eyes and breathed deep, concentrating on not wringing the other man’s enticing neck, “Just, try putting your hand in your pants and touching it skin to skin,” he offered as nonchalantly as he could manage.

Sherlock nodded, conceding that the thought had merit. When his hand wrapped around his cock, he hissed and his hips bucked upwards, “Oh…” he moaned quietly in wonderment.

“There you go, now just do what feels good,” John supplied, trying not to think about how his own cock wanted to stir back to life at the sight and sound.

“I don’t…” Sherlock panted, eyes closed with an almost pained look of bliss on his face. He licked his lips and swallowed before completing the statement: “I don’t know what to do.”

“Do what I did; I know you watched every moment in fine detail,” he told him, holding back a blush at the thought of how thorough his brilliant mind must have truly watched him bring himself off.

Sherlock nodded again and John watched as his brow furrowed, as though he was remembering every single detail and mimicking it perfectly. The pleasure was obviously building for the detective, but not in the same way it had for wasn’t nearly enough; his brain was clearly too involved.

After nearly five minutes of this, Sherlock huffed in annoyance before removing his hand from his pants and looking at John with a mixture of anger and defeat, “It isn’t working, John,” he said, almost as an accusation.

“How is it not working? Men were practically built to find any sexual contact directly to their cock sufficiently arousing,” John shot back.

“Well, not mine.”

John sighed and ran his left hand over his face for a moment, thinking of other ways to help him.

“John, please,” Sherlock begged quietly, changing his own tactic, “I feel the build up of pleasure you described, just like a volcano, but I can’t make myself come. How do I make myself come?”

And in that moment, Sherlock looked so incredibly like a sad, abandoned puppy that John couldn’t stay frustrated at the situation. The moment he decided to throw all caution to the wind and just do this properly, he knew that he had played right into the other man’s hand.

“Alright, Sherlock,” John easily flipped the switch to his flirtatious bedroom demeanor, “take your pants off.”

“What?” Sherlock was thrown by the sudden shift in behavior.

“Let me see your cock,” he clarified with a playful smirk, “I want to see that big hand wrapped around your cock, those elegant, thin fingers moving along it over and over and over again.”

Sherlock moaned again, a mottled pink blush creeping over his chest and neck as he scrambled to remove his tight, warm boxer-briefs.

John tried to clear his mind of all the arguments of why this was Not Good and focussed instead on the long, pale fingers which were now wrapping around Sherlock’s cock, stroking it and keeping it hard whilst Sherlock tilted his head, obviously waiting for his next prompt.

“Right,” John hesitated, losing a bit of his flirtatious confidence, “scoot forward a bit,” he said before moving to assist him. Sherlock turned his head - obviously confused - but John fixed him with a stare which kept him quiet and pliant as they jointly made space for John against the headboard behind Sherlock. Once settled, John pulled him backwards into the V of his legs so that Sherlock’s back rested against John’s naked front, “We’re going to work together on this. You’re going to deal with your...”

“Penis,” Sherlock completed the statement, a playful smile obvious in his tone.

“Yes. That,” John laughed, “and I’ll deal with...everything else.”

Sherlock considered for a moment before twisting to look at John again, “Are you going to penetrate me?”

John coughed, “Pardon?”

“I read about it. The prostate is apparently a remarkably pleasant yet intense bundle of nerves. I wondered if you were intending to penetrate me with your finger,” Sherlock said, his hand still moving on his erection, leading John to believe that maybe this was the oddest thing that had ever happened in his life to date.

“No. I’m not going that,” John sighed, exasperated, “I thought perhaps I would stroke your nipples?”

“Oh,” Sherlock said, sounding slightly disappointed.

“So yeah…no er...bum stuff tonight,” John said as he cleared his throat and then handed Sherlock the small tube of lubricant, “Add some of that. It’ll feel nicer.”

Sherlock did as he was told and hissed at the cold gel before rubbing it in and relaxing into John’s embrace, “This is rather comfortable,” Sherlock hummed, nuzzling into John’s neck and rubbing his curls against John’s chin.

John swallowed audibly but moved his fingers to Sherlock’s left nipple, circling it carefully with the pad of his finger before pinching it lightly, “Good?”

“Hnnh,” Sherlock groaned, eyes fluttering closed, “Like electricity.”

John frowned slightly at the description but huffed out a laugh and continued, moving between each nipple in turn whilst Sherlock stroked himself.

After another ten minutes of sweat-flushed movement, Sherlock growled and punched the bed angrily, “John! This isn’t working!”

John had fallen into a kind of trance, lulled into a daze by the warmth of Sherlock’s body and the endorphins of his own orgasm. He blinked and then tilted his head, “Why not?”

“I don’t bloody know!” Sherlock practically shouted, “It’s impossible.”

“Anorgasmia,” John mumbled, diagnosing Sherlock without thinking, “It’s when you can’t achieve orgasm by yourself. Usually due to personal issues or religious upbringings.”

“Yes. That,” Sherlock agreed, dropping his now throbbing, red-tipped and leaking cock against his stomach with a wet thunk, “So, you do it.”

“Pardon?” John blinked.

“You said it’s when a person cannot achieve orgasm by themselves. You’re not me, so it should work?” Sherlock asked hopefully, his testicles beginning to ache and throb.

“Sherlock…I…” John began to argue only to be cut off by Sherlock.

“I’m close, I know I am. I can feel it but I just... can’t . It wouldn’t take you much, just a quick stroke and it’d probably happen,” Sherlock explained quickly, eyes darting around John’s face as he pleaded his case.

“For god’s sake...” John moaned, letting his head fall backwards with a thump, “Right. Keep looking forward and don’t even think about mentioning this ever again.”

“Scouts honour,” Sherlock promised, smiling broadly as he handed the tube of lube to John excitedly.

“The things I do for you,” John grumbled, smearing some of the gel onto his hand and warming it before reaching down to take Sherlock’s cock in his hand.

“Oh!” Sherlock cried out, his hands moving to John’s thighs to grip them tightly, his nails causing half crescents in the skin, “Oh, John! Oh that’s...”

“Shhh,” John whispered, smiling as he pretended that Sherlock’s cock was his own and doing his own routine (two long strokes followed by a thumb across the wet slit). Sherlock’s breathing hitched, deep groans resonating from the detective’s chest which rumbled through to John’s own skin as he worked, stroking and caressing the small bundle of nerves under the head in a circular motion. Sherlock’s hips shuddered, a shiver running through his body as he let his head fall backwards onto John’s shoulder with a hum of pleasure.

“Hows that?” John whispered, his voice like honey.

“Transcendent,” Sherlock moaned, biting his lip and clenching his toes.

John smiled warmly, placing a gentle kiss to the lobe of Sherlock’s ear without thinking. Sherlock’s eyes opened and his head turned, catching John’s gaze and holding it with a shocked expression as though that small kiss was the catalyst for his undoing.

“John!” Sherlock gasped, his hand moving to grasp John’s wrist tightly, his hips bucking and his eyes rolling, “John! John, I think it’s happening!”

“Hush now, it’s alright. I’ve got you,” John soothed, “Don’t tense up, just let it happen.”

“I can’t…oh god, I can’t, it’s too much!” Sherlock was gasping, his sweat-slicked curls knocking against John’s skin as he shook his head.

“Yes you can. Show me, Sherlock. Show me,” John moaned into Sherlock’s skin, his tongue accidentally licking at Sherlock’s neck as he attempted to lick his own lips.

“John! John, I’m doing it! I’m having one!” Sherlock screamed, hands turning into talons as his hips bucked once, twice, and then John’s hand was covered in hot, wet semen as Sherlock came with a choked off scream and a huffed breath. The embers of his internal volcano sparked into a full eruption.

If John wasn’t hard before (which he was, a little) he definitely was now after listening to Sherlock’s declarations and feeling his body tense with pleasure. Stroking him through his first orgasm, John cooed and calmed the younger man softly as he coaxed the last drips out to land on Sherlock’s pubic hair and then let his hand fall to Sherlock’s thigh, “You okay?”

Sherlock sniffed, wet tracks dripping over his cheeks and nodded, “I’m not upset,” he explained, obviously bewildered.

“I know,” John smiled, “it’s probably very intense. It’s not always that way.”

“I saw stars,” Sherlock explained, “Galaxies of them, sparkling and clear.”

“Good,” John chuckled, carefully moving to take a few tissues from the bedside table to mop up his hand and Sherlock’s belly.

There was a moment of tender silence before Sherlock next spoke, his voice low and so quiet that John almost missed it.

“Thank you, John,” Sherlock whispered, “You...truly are my best friend, which I find perplexing because I never thought I would have one of those.”

John lowered his head to Sherlock’s right shoulder, lips barely brushing the taut skin as he closed his eyes, “God, Sherlock,” he whispered morosely.

“What?” Sherlock questioned, unsure why John was sad; he had meant it as a compliment. Unless… “Do you not want to be my best friend?” He asked with trepidation, subconsciously pulling away from John.

John instinctively wrapped his arms tighter around Sherlock’s torso to stop him moving further, but couldn’t help the disbelieving chuckle that escaped his throat, “In all my life, Sherlock Holmes, I never could have dreamed of being chosen as a best friend by someone like you.”

“I don’t…” Sherlock started, but trailed off in confusion, a rare occurrence of uncertainty tainting his tone.

“It’s an honour,” John started honestly, summoning his bravery, “you’re so incredibly brilliant and unique, yet you do the most disgusting experiments and never buy the milk. You say that caring isn’t an advantage, but then half-kill a man for laying a finger on Mrs. Hudson. You see worlds where others only see vague shapes, yet you don’t remember that we live in a solar system. You claim to be a high functioning sociopath when really you just don’t want people to notice that you do everything in your power to help them,” John rambled quietly into Sherlock’s shoulder, lips continuously brushing the skin as a caress that he was too afraid to freely give, “You are so much more than just my best friend; there simply aren’t enough words to describe what you are to me.”

Sherlock gasped quietly, tensing as he took in the words. They warmed his chest at the same time they froze his brain. It was countless heartbeats before he was able to process it, but John patiently waited it out, a small smile on the lips still pressed to his shoulder.

“You…” Sherlock started, then cleared his throat before continuing, “you mean…”

“Yes,” John affirmed, moving his face enough to the left that his nose rubbed softly against Sherlock’s neck as he nodded.

“You kissed me,” he reminded John, heart racing, as if he’d already forgotten the moment, “on my ear, before I…”

“Yes,” John agreed again, moving his mouth slightly higher to kiss it lightly once more.

Sherlock pulled back enough to turn his head to look at John, and the older man was struck with such a strong wave of fondness that it almost ached in his chest. Sherlock looked vulnerable and skeptical, yet a shine of guarded hope was clear there at the same time.

John was nervous, laying his feelings out like this to someone as inexperienced with a broad range of human emotions as Sherlock, but he knows people well and knows Sherlock even better than most. If the detective was completely uninterested, he would let him down gently again, just like that first night at Angelo’s.

Instead, Sherlock brought his face slowly toward John’s - deducing the entire way - and kissed him softly, tentatively, as if unsure. Sherlock being unsure about something, can you imagine?

John responded positively in kind, and when the kiss ended, it was Sherlock who spoke first.

“What about ‘boyfriend’?” He asked shyly.

“What?” John asked, not following the line of thought from before.

“You said there weren’t enough words to describe what I am to you, but do you think ‘boyfriend’ might be one of them?”

John chuckled fondly at his utter innocence, “It’s woefully inadequate,” he said, watching as Sherlock’s face turned guarded at the perceived slight, “but ‘partner’ might better describe it.”

“Business partner?” Sherlock asked with utter contempt, still not quite getting it.

John shrugged, “Business partner,” then moved his mouth back to Sherlock’s ear and added on a whisper, “life partner,” before moving down to his neck and whispering, “sex partner,” before lavishing a big, wet kiss to the side.

Sherlock couldn’t help the moan that escaped his throat as the pieces locked into place. As he squirmed back in John’s embrace, he felt John’s cock - still as hard and insistent since Sherlock’s orgasm - solid between them.

“You’re erect again,” Sherlock pointed out lustily, “that is an incredibly short refractory period, doctor,” he praised.

“Not bad for an old man,” he joked, smiling as he kissed Sherlock’s neck again, “but you have to remember that I had some help; after all, you did come in my lap and kiss me all within the last five minutes.”

“That’s true,” Sherlock smirked.

“But,” John cleared his throat, “I think I’d rather just...cuddle for now.”

“How very pedestrian,” Sherlock grumbled with a smile, allowing John to rearrange their limbs into a semblance of order so that Sherlock was finally able to rest his head against John’s chest, his fingers stroking patterns and equations onto the soft skin, “Won’t your penis get sore?”

“I’m sure you can help me with it in the morning,” John grinned, kissing Sherlock’s head.

“I think I’ll like this. Sex,” Sherlock grinned, “Sex with you. Nobody else.”

“Good,” John replied, kissing Sherlock’s head again, “I’m excited to show you everything.”

“I’m trembling with anticipation,” Sherlock groaned sensually, licking at John’s nipple with a devious smirk.

“You’ll be the death of me,” John moaned in false complaint, stroking Sherlock’s hair, “tomorrow we start lesson two.”

“Which is?” Sherlock asked.

“I haven’t decided yet. But I’m sure it will be amazing,” John grinned sexily, “Now sleep; you’ll need your strength.”

“Yes, Captain,” Sherlock laughed, nuzzling closer.

Chapter Text

The plans to introduce Sherlock to other pleasures of the flesh were derailed the next morning when Sherlock’s phone began to ring shrilly, startling both men from their post-orgasmic haze. Sherlock reached across and lifted his phone to his ear, giving an inelegant grunt in answer before humming.

“Case,” he groaned as he nudged John, “Poplar. Double murder.”

“I’ll get my pants,” John croaked, licking his dry lips.

It wasn’t until three days later that the two men returned to their flat, covered in mud and leaves from their wrestle with a murderer. John had taken first shower, scrubbing himself pink, and then collapsing onto his own bed for a much needed nap, unwilling to deal with Sherlock’s pottering around the flat whilst he was so exhausted.

He had been asleep two hours when he heard a loud bang and a groan from below. Throwing himself out of bed in just his pants, John took his stairs two at a time and threw open the door to Sherlock’s bedroom, finding the detective sprawled naked on the floor blinking in shock.

“What on earth?” John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I fell out of bed,” Sherlock blushed deeply, lying unbelievably.

“How?” John asked while raising an eyebrow as he moved to help Sherlock up off the floor, noticing that Sherlock seemed to be wincing in pain.

“I was...well...I was...” Sherlock stammered, then cleared his throat, “I thought I might try that self-fellatio technique. Since we have now mastered masturbation.”

John blinked rapidly, shaking his head and then smiling widely, “We haven’t mastered it, Sherlock; you’ve done it once. That’s not mastering it…that’s just once,” he reiterated.

“Well, you promised to help me. You said we would be boyfriends but…” he trailed off, blushing deeply as he looked over at John shyly, “You’ve not really made a move.”

“We were on a case!” John said, helping Sherlock to sit on the edge of the bed before crouching down in front of him, “I didn’t think you’d want to be distracted.”

“Normally I wouldn’t,” Sherlock admitted, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, “but you looked so devilishly handsome when you kicked the murderer in the face that I got a little...affected . And then you came in and showered and went to bed so I thought perhaps you had changed your mind.”

John felt terrible and reached to entwine their fingers, resting his other hand on Sherlock’s thigh with a soft smile, “I’m sorry I’m a terrible boyfriend.”

“You are,” Sherlock sniffed playfully, “absolutely dreadful.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” John promised, stroking a hand up and down Sherlock’s thigh until the tip of his finger stroked across Sherlock’s exposed scrotum, “if you’re still in the mood, that is.”

“Well, I am grievously injured. I’ve hurt my wrist,” Sherlock admitted with a wince as he held his left arm up to show John, “I think it’s broken.”

“It’s just a sprain, at worst,” John laughed, moving his hand to feel the area, “Probably just a bit bruised, really.”

“No, it’s definitely broken; I couldn’t possibly touch myself now, Doctor,” Sherlock smirked, lifting an eyebrow meaningfully.

“Oh, you manipulative tart,” John laughed, standing up and then crouching over Sherlock to run a hand through his curls and press a soft kiss to his lips.

Sherlock hummed as he slowly lowered himself to the bed, bringing John with him so the older man was forced to kneel on the bed to keep contact with the lips he desperately didn’t want to part with now that he had them back.

“Well,” John started with a smirk after breaking the kiss, “I can’t teach you about self-fellatio, but I can show you how to give a blow job,” he offered, tracing his mouth down the side of Sherlock’s neck.

Sherlock arched his back below him and then grunted, “If you must,” he attempted to feign indifference, but his body spoke far louder than his words.

John smirked, lifting away from him. Two could play this game, “Well, if you’re not really interested…” he trailed off as he moved to vacate the bed, leaving the other man bereft. He was unsurprised to feel Sherlock pulling him back down, but he was surprised at the force he put behind the move.

“No!” Sherlock dropped all pretense for a moment as he pulled strong enough for John to fall on top of him. As John smiled down at him affectionately, Sherlock couldn’t help but blush at his obviousness, “I mean,” he cleared his throat, loosening his hold as he nonchalantly ran his hands over John’s arms instead, “your company isn’t completely terrible; I’m sure I could tolerate it for a bit longer.”

John shook his head, still smiling, and dropped his head to kiss Sherlock again, “Alright, git,” he whispered fondly, nudging their noses together briefly before moving to support himself above his body once more.

Sherlock watched with rapt attention as John kissed his way down Sherlock’s chest, pausing just briefly at each of his nipples to kiss them before moving on. John kissed his navel before licking a stripe down to the tip of his cock and placing a soft kiss at the frenulum.

“Uuunng!” Sherlock moaned, hips rising of their own accord at the feeling, his eyes closed against the pleasure.

John smiled to himself again as he licked lightly down to Sherlock’s balls and sucking them into his mouth. Sherlock’s fingers gripped the bedding tightly as he desperately tried not to tangle them into John’s hair (something probably very ‘not good’) or thrust up into the beautifully warm, wet heat of John’s mouth.

Rolling his eyes playfully, John took Sherlock’s hands and placed them on the top of his head, showing the detective the perfect position in which to guide his movements without choking him - something which Sherlock picked up with immediate effect, rocking and gently moving John’s head up and down.

John kept his hands moving up and down Sherlock’s shaft, keeping hold of the base to ensure he wasn’t pushed too far down, but also to keep up a regular rhythm. Sherlock’s cock was twitching and throbbing with need and John hummed happily as he popped it back into his mouth and sucked around the tip.

“I...John...oh!” Sherlock shouted, ejaculating forcefully and without much warning.

John spluttered, pulling back and glaring at Sherlock as come dripped from the tip of his nose and his chin, “Seriously, Sherlock?”

“I didn’t...I didn’t recognise the signs! In my defence I have only had one orgasm in my entire life; it’s not easily recognisable to me! That pleasure before may have been a fluke,” Sherlock insisted, using his fingers to wipe away the strands before wiping the mess on the bedding, “I wasn’t aware that it would happen that quickly.”

“Yeah, me neither…” John huffed, clearing his throat with a grimace before scolding with very little malice behind it: “Git.”

“I am sorry,” Sherlock added, obviously embarrassed, “I’ll understand if you never want to do that again.”

“I think I’ll get over the trauma,” John smiled, shaking his head fondly.

Sherlock smiled demurely, turning his head away in embarrassment. The uncharacteristic shyness lasted just a brief moment before his confidence returned and he pulled John over him for another deep, passionate kiss.

John moaned and unconsciously rubbed his still-clothed erection against Sherlock’s thigh for some semblance of satisfaction.

“I can help with that,” Sherlock whispered seductively, nose bumping intimately against John’s as his thigh returned the pressure of John’s hip suggestively.

John moaned quietly as his forehead dropped against the other man’s, “God yes,” he agreed against Sherlock’s lips.

Sherlock kissed him again before asking, “How?”

“Hell, I don’t even care. Anything you’re comfortable with will probably work for me at this point, honestly.”

Sherlock huffed at the lack of specifics and pushed John off of him, “Strip,” he ordered.

John stood from the bed with one sassy eyebrow raised, “Why don’t you come do it for me?”

“Can’t,” Sherlock said with a shake of his head and a mischievous smile before lifting his left arm pointedly, “my wrist is broken, remember?”

John rolled his eyes, “Bruised at best, but you do have a point…” he trailed off whimsically, almost lazily divesting himself of his pants, his only garment of clothing.

“What does that mean?” Sherlock asked, but John refused to answer him as he finished stepping out of the cloth.

Once naked, John proceeded to take himself in hand while still standing next to the bed. He almost took more pleasure from the look of shocked indignation on Sherlock’s face as he did from the touch of his own hand on his cock. Almost.

“John,” Sherlock practically whined, “it’s not fair; I offered to help.”

John opened his eyes that he had closed for effect before replying with false sincerity, “Oh, but you’re grievously injured,” he reminded him, fighting hard against a smirk, “best not to risk any further damage.”

With a narrowing of the eyes, Sherlock reached for John with both hands and grabbed him by the upper arms to pull him to the bed, forcing him onto his back. Once he had John in position, he placed himself over the older man almost territorially, claiming him, “I said,” he growled, “that I would help you.”

John smirked triumphantly, cock growing yet harder from Sherlock’s dominant display, as he placed his hands behind his head and looked for all the world like the most relaxed man in existence, “Well, if you insist…”

The way he said it left no doubt that Sherlock had played directly into his hand. Sherlock’s brow furrowed as his bravado dropped to mild confusion, “You didn’t have to trick me; I offered,” he reminded him, like this was still some sort of trap.

John smiled genuinely, removing his hands from behind his head to reach for Sherlock’s face instead. He gently guided their mouths back together for a sweet kiss before assuring him, “I know.”

Sherlock kissed him again before moving to tease down John’s torso with a confidence he had no right to possess, “I’ve never fellated anyone before,” he admitted while nuzzling John’s belly.

John dropped his left hand down to Sherlock’s curls before offering, “Would you like me to walk you through it?”

Sherlock tutted in distaste before glaring indignantly up John’s body at him, “That won’t be necessary. Well...not words, anyway; I imagine I’ll be able to get by just fine based on your moans and reactions of your body,” he said before dropping his mouth to the dip of his hip, so close to John’s cock and yet not nearly close enough, and whispering, “let your body guide me. Let me hear you,” he practically begged.

“I don’t think that will be an issue,” John admitted, feeling the ghost of Sherlock’s breath against his cock.

Sherlock grinned and dipped his head, extending his tongue to lick across the wet slit before smacking his lips together, “Not terrible,” he mumbled to himself before holding the base of John’s cock and slowly pushing more of the shaft into his mouth. Inch by inch worked into Sherlock’s mouth before he gagged and pulled back with a deep frown.

“Don’t try to take too much. Focus on the head,” John whispered, moving his hand to curl into Sherlock’s hair, “You’re doing fine.”

Sherlock hummed and held John steady as he began to lick and caress the tip of John’s cock with his tongue, drawing shapes and symbols onto the frenulum which sent John’s body into overdrive as he arched his hips and moaned.

“Good,” Sherlock said around John’s shaft, seemingly talking to himself as he began to stroke the bottom of John’s prick in time with his mouth. He was doing well, surprisingly well actually. The bloody genius. Of course it wouldn’t take long for him to master this.

Sherlock raised his head, licking his lips and then using his other hand to dry his chin of saliva before speaking, “May I taste your scrotum? I don’t want you to kick me in the head through surprise,” he smirked.

Nodding quickly, John laughed, “Yes. Yes, please do. Help yourself.”

With a quick nod, Sherlock returned his focus lower, gathering some saliva on his tongue as he examined the dry-looking skin. He leaned forward and tentatively ran his wet tongue up one of the testicles, causing John to huff out a quiet something that sounded vaguely like an “oh”, but really, it was difficult to be sure.

Sensing the positive response, Sherlock proceeded to take the right testicle into his mouth, lavishing it with attention as he played with the weight, rolling it slightly on his tongue.

“Oh, fuck!” John moaned, sounding a bit surprised, and arched his back at the pleasure. He had rarely had a girlfriend so interested in that area, and even if they were receptive to granting attention there, it was always incredibly fleeting and awkward.

After a few moments, Sherlock switched sides to give the other testicle the same treatment, salivating further in contentment at the aroused noises falling from John’s mouth. In a none-too-rare moment of genius, Sherlock lifted his right hand back to John’s cock and began pulling it in tandem with his flicking tongue.

“Oh, God, you bloody…” John started to attempt a curse at the man, but the brilliant pleasure was simply too much for his mind to try to multitask a false insult and process the feelings washing through him at the same time.

Sherlock heard the beginning of the curse and was momentarily worried that he was doing it wrong, but every indication from John’s body was extremely positive, so he pulled off with a falsely concerned tone, “Would you like me to stop?” He asked as he stilled his hand, warm breath ghosting over the other man’s wet bollocks.

John glared down at him, unable to process the teasing, “Do, and I swear to God I will cut off your cock with a rusty spoon,” he warned.

He never would, obviously, but the sentiment carried through regardless.

“Well, that doesn’t quite equate,” Sherlock stated in confusion.

Sherlock,” John growled in warning, his own left hand itching to grab his aching cock to finish the job himself. He was too close to an orgasm for this shite.

“Just doesn’t seem to fit the transgression is all I’m trying to point out,” Sherlock muttered petulantly before returning both mouth and hand to their tasks.

It really took an embarrassingly short amount of time for John to come undone under Sherlock’s renewed efforts. He warned Sherlock of his impending release, but the younger man refused to let him go, wanting to experience John pulsing his hot come into his mouth. Sherlock surprised even himself as he hummed contently as he swallowed it down.

John mewled as his sated cock slapped against his stomach and Sherlock shuffled up the bed to peer down owlishly at John’s face. John startled, blinking and then giggling before shaking his head, “Not sure I can language.”

Sherlock grinned happily, “Did I do well?”

“Of course you did, you git,” John assured him, cupping Sherlock’s jaw in his hand, “You were perfect.”

“I could have continued the fellatio a little longer. I feel I was too assertive on the approach,” Sherlock said clinically, “but I expect we will do that again soon?”

“Oh yes,” John hummed, stretching his legs out, “Very often, but only once I’ve recovered.”

“Excellent,” Sherlock grinned again before reaching for a paper and pen from the bedside table, “I’ll make notes now.”

John should have been surprised. He should have been frustrated. He should have been anything except fondly amused, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about what the appropriate response should be. Instead, he merely shook his head while performing his high-pitched giggle, “If I didn’t love you…” he let escape without realising.

John tensed a bit in reflex of Sherlock freezing beside him. John had known for years that he loved the madman - of course he did - but he had almost loved him so long that he forgot he’d never actually told him that yet. He turned his head to the left to look at Sherlock’s face, frozen in place by confusion and doubt.

“What?” John smiled, completely unselfconscious in the face of his impromptu admission, “Like you never knew,” he challenged lightly.

Sherlock blinked rapidly and cleared his throat a bit before meeting his eyes and admitting, “Of course I knew,” with a bit of defensiveness towards his brilliance, “I just didn’t think you were ready to admit it yet.”

John’s brow creased, but his smile remained, “To myself or to you?”

“Well, both.”

John closed his eyes contentedly, smile only growing more fond, before turning his face back towards the ceiling, “You’re an idiot.”

John was almost asleep in that same position when he felt the bed shift and Sherlock grow closer.

“John?” Sherlock whispered uncertainly near his left ear.

“Mmm?” John acknowledged his request for attention without opening his eyes.

“I haven’t ever said...those words before. Except to my parents, of course, but that’s just implied because of our relationship. I think I do...that you...I mean, I do...or...I think but…”

John saved him from himself by turning onto his side to face him, soft eyes meeting the almost frantic ones of his genius, “Shhh,” he soothed, bringing his right hand up to card in his curls, “there’s no rush and there’s certainly no pressure.”

“You don’t...feel disappointed not to hear them?”

John kissed him on the lips before answering honestly, “I hope to hear them someday,” he admits, “but like I said: there’s no rush.”

And though Sherlock couldn’t put voice to the feeling yet, he felt his chest swell with love for this stoic, brave, kind man.

'Someday,' Sherlock promised them both silently.

He could give him that.

For now, they both felt completely secure sealing it all with a kiss.

Chapter Text

John was fuming; his mind whirling with thoughts and feelings and burning rage that no rational thought can douse. He had stared at Sherlock for the last twenty minutes before getting up and storming out of the living room and down to the local pub, checking his wallet and finding just enough for a pint of bitter which tasted flat and tasteless in his mouth.

Sherlock fucking Holmes was an arsehole.

Their most recent case was supposed to have been simple. Find some missing valuables and return them to a posh bloke in a big country manor who wore too much tweed and had teeth that were too large for his mouth. Simple. Easy.

Except that with Sherlock bloody Holmes, nothing was simple. The man had showed off his talents, sparkling in the summer sunshine like a dazzling peacock as he reeled off deductions that led them to an old factory on the docks. There was a quick chase which ended with a bullet flying that had narrowly missed Sherlock’s main artery in his right thigh. It had turned out to mostly be a flesh wound, but it was too close, too scary and now John was utterly terrified that after all this time, Sherlock was going to be taken away from him for good.

“I thought I’d find you here,” a familiar voice uttered as a warm hand fell on his right shoulder.

“Did Mycroft send you?” John asked, sighing into his pint, “He can fuck off as well.”

“Easy mate,” Greg’s voice was soft but forceful, “He’s -- we’re -- well, you know…it doesn’t change anything. Me and him but -- yeah,” he finished a bit awkwardly as he made a subtle hand gesture to the bartender.

“Mmm,” John agreed, hunching over, “just because you’re shagging him doesn’t make him less of a prick.”

“He was only trying to help,” Greg said gently, ordering a half pint and sitting beside John, “he didn’t mean to be abrupt.”

“Abrupt?” John practically growled, his eyebrow raised, “He was rude . Overly harsh. Does he really think that I would enjoy letting Sherlock almost die? That it’s pleasant for me?”

“He panicked,” Greg explained, rubbing a hand through his hair tiredly; it had been almost 48 hours since he had last slept and he couldn’t really be arsed fighting with his mate over Mycroft and his hostility, “Sherlock was...well...he looked so pale.”

“I know,” John hissed, “Don’t you think I know? Don’t you think I looked at his charts and saw his vitals and immediately panicked that I would lose him?”

“We weren’t suggesting you didn’t…” Greg sighed heavily, “Mycroft is...well, you know what they’re like. Mycroft feels like he needs to protect his brother.”

“Not from me,” John said sadly, tipping his head forward and sighing, “never from me.”

“Do you need somewhere to stay tonight?” Greg suggested carefully.

“No. I’m going home,” John promised, giving a weak smile, “I just needed -- to be away. For a moment.”

Greg nodded twice and sighed, “You know where I am.”

John nodded in reply and stood up, the adrenaline wearing off and leaving him bone tired and weary as he downed the last of his pint, “Night, mate.”

“Watch yourself,” Greg said in response, watching as John left the pub towards home.

“Indulging in alcohol intoxication? That’s a bit cliche,” Sherlock sighed from his chair with his right leg propped up on John’s, looking over at the older man as he walked into the living room and chucked his coat on the sofa.

“I love you,” John whispered, eyes bright with tears as he blinked towards Sherlock, tracks running down his cheeks, “I love you and I don’t ever want to feel like I’m going to lose you. Not for diamonds, not for money, not for fame. I don’t want you to leave me,” he admitted. Both men hear the ‘again’ that hangs heavy in the air between them, unspoken.

Blinking rapidly, Sherlock was obviously thrown off-balance by John’s outburst, “John...”

“Shut up,” John insisted, moving across the room to kneel at Sherlock’s side, “Without you, I have nothing; you can’t leave me. Especially not for some posh wanker named Tarquin.”

Sherlock chuckled, his eyes wet with unshed tears as he took John’s hand into his own, larger ones, “I’m sorry I scared you. That wasn’t the plan.”

“Oh, you had a plan?” John asked, eyebrow raised, “And what was that?”

“It was just the basic outline of a plan. mostly revolved around not being shot,” Sherlock admitted with an embarrassed shrug.

“Well, then you failed,” the smaller man laughed to take the bite out of the words, putting his head down to rest on Sherlock’s good leg, feeling the moment Sherlock’s fingers dug into his short hair, “I was so scared, you dick.”

“I know,” he whispered with a touch of remorse, “I apologise.”

John took a deep breath before standing again. He closed the distance to his own chair - closer than typical to Sherlock’s for easy resting access - and gently lifted the long leg to seat himself below it. Sherlock hummed in contentment as John began to massage his foot.

“You are, by far, the most frustrating person I have ever dated.”

Sherlock snorted in disbelief, “That is categorically untrue. Do try to remember that I had to meet some of the women you dated after we had met.”

“Yes, but they never frustrated me like this,” John insisted, choosing to ignore Sherlock’s indignant face at the statement, “I expected them to be a bit self-centered, unaware, and - in a few cases - uneducated. But you …” he trailed off as his eyes took in every detail of the face he almost lost. Again, “you’re supposed to be a genius.”

“Geniuses wish they were as intelligent as I am,” he smirked before turning serious, “You always did hold me in too high of a regard for either of our well beings. I’m not perfect, John.”

“No, but you’re so close to being perfect for me ,” he stressed, “if only you’d stop nearly getting yourself killed.”

“Oh, is that all?” Sherlock chuckled, “What about the body parts in the fridge?”

“Oh, we’ll still argue over that, make no mistake,” John promised, happier now, “but it’s not something that I need you to change. You’ve started to label them…so there’s less chance of me spreading human liver pate on my toast.”

Sherlock looked into John’s eyes with an emotion that very much resembled love but still remained unnamed before he spoke again, “I obviously can’t promise anything concrete since I can’t see into the future and, after all, everyone dies at some point, but,” he paused for effect, “I will endeavor to be more conscientious of your preference for my state of sentient existence henceforth.”

John rolled his eyes, fighting a bright smile at how utterly Sherlockian the response was, “You just had to show off how brilliant you are, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sherlock sniffed and turned his head towards the sofa to hide his smile.

They relaxed into silence, and eventually John’s hands stopped moving on the sole of Sherlock’s foot. Without thinking or intending, he insistently pushed his right foot into John’s hands and lap to encourage further attention. What he did not expect to encourage was a hiss of air and a raising of John’s hips towards the contact.

“Oh,” Sherlock practically breathed in understanding, his mind working to renovate John’s wing of his mind palace once more to accommodate this new information.

“I didn’t mean...of course we don’t…” John stammered past the heat rising in his cheeks at the contact. It had been almost a week since they had shared a bed with intimate intent, and his cock could only think to remind him how much he’d missed Sherlock’s touch.

“Don’t we?” Sherlock asked innocently as his foot moved firmer over the clothed cock, adoring the feeling of it hardening under his attention.

“You’re injured,” John countered. Always the good doctor.

“I was injured last time, too; didn’t stop you then,” he argued with a smirk. Truthfully, his thigh was screaming at him in protest at his use of the muscles, but it was easy enough to quiet them.

“This time you’re actually injured,” John fought back against the words, his body nearly losing its own battle, “you could cause further damage to your muscles or start bleeding again.”

“Then take me to bed, doctor,” he purred in his lowest, most tempting timbre.

“Goddammit,” John swore, his only verbal admit of defeat. John gently moving Sherlock’s leg so that he could stand and help the lankier man to the downstairs bedroom was confirmation enough that Sherlock had won.

John helped Sherlock through to the bedroom, small steps shuffled towards the bed and the promise of intimacy. Taking off the younger man’s clothing was a struggle; taking Sherlock’s weight onto himself whilst Sherlock kicked off his pants was challenging but hilarious as Sherlock wiggled and finally stripped himself bare.

“Good lord, I’ve got a sweat on,” Sherlock grumbled under his breath, watching as John looked up and down his lithe body. Sherlock’s grazed leg had been stitched tidily and John checked the area under the dressing before nodding that Sherlock could lay down - something which, judging by the heavy sigh Sherlock gave, had been too long coming.

John stripped himself down to his pants before climbing in beside Sherlock, kissing his shoulder as he turned and wrapped an arm around Sherlock’s waist, “Okay?”

“Hmm,” Sherlock nodded, “Perfect.”

“We can’t --” John gave a vague hand motion but carefully coaxed Sherlock onto his side, the side which was unaffected by the graze, “but there are other things.”

“Other things?” Sherlock grinned, turning his head to look over his shoulder seductively.

Shimmying his pants down to below his buttocks, John rubbed his erection up and down Sherlock’s buttocks, moaning and nipping at Sherlock’s ear as he dipped his hands into Sherlock’s underwear, wrapping a hand around the stiff prick inside whilst he rutted.

“Are you going to penetrate me?” Sherlock asked nervously.

“No,” John promised, kissing Sherlock’s shoulder, “but it’s the next closest thing.”

Sherlock sighed a breath of relief and nodded as John carefully slid Sherlock’s pants off and then reached to his bedside table, pulling out the small tube of lube he kept there. Uncapping the bottle, John slicked up his left hand before gently tapping Sherlock’s leg, pushing it forward so he could rub it across the hot skin of Sherlock’s upper thigh. The detective seemed intrigued by John’s movements before suddenly shouting, “Intercrural!”

“Y-yeah,” John giggled, rolling his eyes as he slicked up his cock and pushed it into place, pulling Sherlock’s leg back over to create the tunnel for him to thrust into.

“It’s often seen on Ancient Greek ceramics,” Sherlock explained breathily.

“I love having a discussion about Ancient Greece while I’m having sex,” John chuckled, nosing at Sherlock’s hairline, “really lifts the mood.”

“Oh. That’s a peculiar sensation,” Sherlock admitted, attempting to crane his neck to see if he could see John’s cock between his legs. Unfortunately for him, his scrotum was in the way.

“I’ll…do this,” John moaned, kissing Sherlock’s shoulder blade as he thrust forward gently and tentatively, actively aware of Sherlock’s sore leg and how the jostling may hurt the other man, “and then I’ll use my hand on you.”

“Yes,” Sherlock moaned, his hand apparently already agreeing to the arrangement as he stroked himself off.

John smiled, using his lubed hand to slap Sherlock’s hand away from his cock. Stroking Sherlock softly, John ran his thumb across the man’s tip, loving the groan which was ripped from Sherlock as his testicles were stimulated by John’s thrusting cock. Sherlock was swimming in sensation, drowning in the scent of John who was wrapped around him, sweating and groaning with each thrust as his other, clean hand tangled into Sherlock’s hair and pulled him back, “Next time…maybe I’ll finger you.”

“Oh God,” Sherlock groaned out, hands clamped into the bedding as he rocked his hips to fuck against John and his hand.

“Would you like that?” John asked, voice deep and velvet.

“Yes. Yes John,” Sherlock nodded, eyes fluttering, “Yes, I want that.”

“What about me inside you? Like this, but inside you,” John asked, head resting between Sherlock’s shoulders, “Would you want that?”

“Mm. Yes. John, please! I’m -- it’s close. I can feel it,” Sherlock was whining now, voice wavering as he barrelled towards his orgasm.

“I love you, Sherlock,” John grunted, hand speeding up as he stroked Sherlock, “You’re mine.”

“Yes, John. Yes…YES!” Sherlock cried, arching his back and clenching down on John’s cock as he came, his come spurting out over the covers with an audible shrick noise.

John moaned and bucked his hips once, twice, and then he was tipping over the edge with a harsh breath and a groan, his semen adding to the slick on Sherlock’s legs and dripping up his scrotum and down his thighs.

Shaking slightly, John slowed his hips, enjoying the sensation of his orgasm as it passed too quickly. He kissed Sherlock’s neck before dropping Sherlock’s prick, wiping his hand on his boxer shorts before cautiously pulling from the clench of Sherlock’s thighs, “Stay there; I need to clean you up.”

“Hnnmmm,” Sherlock smiled giddily.

“Lazy git,” John chuckled, full of adoration for the lanky sod. The all too familiar wash of love spreading through him as he ran a hand along Sherlock’s calve as he got up, pulling on his pants and pottering to the bathroom.

John used the toilet, washed his hands and his cock (too much lube and semen to ignore) before walking to the sink to wet a flannel with warm water. Bringing it back to Sherlock, he noticed the man was already dozing with a fluttering of his eyes. John walked to his side and carefully began cleaning Sherlock as best he could, ensuring that nothing got close to the dressing before he pulled up Sherlock’s pants and wiped off the semen-covered duvet.

“In you get,” John whispered, awkwardly manhandling Sherlock into the bed and covering him with the duvet, “Get some rest. I love you.”

“Wuv yew,” Sherlock grumbled sleepily before nuzzling into the pillow, reaching out for John’s hand to pull him down to cuddle into him, “Stay.”

“I was going to clean up. The flat’s a tip,” John explained half-heartedly, blinking out of the door for just a moment before rolling his eyes, “Fine, but you’re helping tomorrow,” he ordered while admitting defeat.

“No,” Sherlock responded petulantly as he smirked before nuzzling into John’s chest.

John lightly hit him on the arm before affectionately scolding him, “Brat.”

Sherlock simply hummed contently before snuggling in further with a happy sigh. John pulled him close, placing a kiss against the outrageous mop of hair he hated to admire. Just as he had closed his eyes and was about to allow himself to submit to his will to sleep, Sherlock whispered to him. John wasn’t even sure he was meant to hear it at that volume.

“I do, you know.”

“What’s that?” He asked sleepily, unwilling to open his eyes but intrigued by the increased heart rate he could feel thrumming against his side where Sherlock’s body met his own.

“Love you,” Sherlock clarified, just as quiet as the first part.

When John couldn’t process the information fast enough and didn’t supply a ready response, Sherlock became nervous and began rambling: “I mean, it’s hardly an adequate enough term; far too simplified for the subtle nuances that exist in loving you. But you said the words and you’ve been so patient with me over everything and I just felt that it was time I told you and I do, I really do…” Sherlock had no idea how he came to be looking into John’s eyes as he trailed off at the end, too caught up in his embarrassment to have registered that John had moved them, “I love you,” Sherlock finished a bit breathlessly, nervous eyes flitting between John’s solid, calming ones.

John’s smile was too much, his chest threatening to burst open with the absolute adoration he felt for the man in front of him. The Consulting Detective who could never turn his brain off without the aid of drugs had been reduced to this bumbling mess simply because of him. John couldn’t possibly have been more ecstatic by the discovery.

John leaned in to kiss Sherlock hard, affirming what they both knew to be true.

“I know,” John assured him before admitting: “but it’s amazing to hear you say it.”

“Don’t get too used to it,” Sherlock smirked, snuggling into John’s arms again, “You’ll become one of those loved-up imbeciles you see on television. I refuse to let that happen.”

“Too late, I’m already a loved-up imbecile,” John grumbled, laughing.

“If you buy me kitsch teddy bears or hearts, I’m going to murder you in your sleep,” Sherlock warned good-naturedly.


Chapter Text

John turned off the TV and scratched at his belly. Sherlock was sleeping with his face crushed into John's neck, a thin line of drool settling on his skin as Sherlock murmured occasionally. John picked up on certain words; his name, for example, followed by 'idiot' or 'fish-skin' (which boggled John's mind as to what Sherlock was dreaming). Deciding, in the end, that it was probably better not to know, John curled his arm around Sherlock and kissed the top of his head.

“Hey, wake up, sleepy-head. We need to go to bed,” John whispered, gently rousing Sherlock from his sleep.

Sherlock blinked sluggishly before wiping his mouth shyly with his hand. Stretching dramatically, Sherlock tensed his body and then looked up at John, “Hmm?”

“Bedtime. You've been asleep since the opening credits of Star Trek started,” John sighed playfully.

“Good,” Sherlock responded as though that had been the plan all along, and then ran a hand up and down John's stomach, “Can we have sexual relations now?”

John hated to admit how much Sherlock's innocent naivety in asking for sex turned him on.

“Aren't you tired?” John replied, neither confirming nor denying Sherlock's request.

“I was,” the detective hummed, taking John's hand and placing it over his impressive erection, “but now I'm not.”

“What would you like?” John asked, putting careful pressure over Sherlock's cock as he rolled his wrist, giving in to the situation maybe too easily.

“I was thinking...perhaps...if you're amenable...” Sherlock stuttered, biting his lip in pleasure, “I hoped you might penetrate me.”

“Jesus, Sherlock,” John breathed, his own cock giving a twitch of interest, something not missed by Sherlock who switched to his best and most innocent eyes.

“Please, John?” Sherlock pouted, using his bigger hand to take John's wrist and pull his hand around until it was cupping Sherlock's buttocks instead, “I want to feel you here,” he stressed with clear intent.

“You are an absolute menace,” John groaned, pupils dilated already as he pinched and pawed at Sherlock's cheeks, “Are you sure? We can wait if you're not...”

“John,” Sherlock snapped, forcing John to look at him, “have I ever hinted at doing something I don't want to do? No. I have not. I want to do this. I want to do it with you.”

“Okay, okay I'm just – I was just checking,” John replied softly, kissing Sherlock's head, “If that's what you want...”

“It is,” Sherlock promised, “so take me to bed.”

“Are you certain you wouldn’t just rather pop in the next movie?” John asked facetiously while pointing his thumb to the TV.

“Joooohn!” Sherlock whined with a pout he’d never admit to.

“It’s good; even better than the last one you slept through,” he kept insisting.

Sherlock’s face hardened into a glare before he stood from the couch, “If you are unwilling to penetrate me, I’ll just go do it myself and make lots of loud noises so you can’t concentrate on the movie,” he said before turning on his heel and heading to his bedroom with purpose.

“Oh, come on!” John shouted after him with a bit of a laugh, “It was just a bit of fun!” before he chased after Sherlock, quickly catching up with him in the hallway.

“I’ve changed my mind; maybe you don’t deserve to penetrate me,” Sherlock pouted again with arms crossed over his chest.

John attempted to kiss Sherlock’s lips, but the taller man consistently pulled his face to the other side so he was unable to land a proper kiss. John changed tactics.

“Would you like me to woo you?” He asked quietly at the corner of his jaw before placing a light kiss there.

“You may attempt it, but I doubt it will work,” Sherlock responded flippantly, even as his body tilted his head to the side to grant better access to the doctor.

“Would you like me to seduce you?” John asked against one of the overly sensitive spots on the other man’s enticing neck.

Sherlock groaned in agreement while his arms finally uncrossed, falling limply to his sides instead.

“Would you like me to earn it?” He asked his last question with a predatory growl before sucking and kissing the juncture of neck and shoulder.

“John!” Sherlock moaned aloud as his hands moved to grasp John’s biceps and their bodies moved together of their own accord, clothed erections meeting with too little friction.

“Let me, love,” John begged as he began to undo Sherlock’s infuriating buttons one at a time, kissing the skin he exposed. John pushed him up against the hallway wall, so close to the bedroom they had both been aiming for, but now too far from it to care to try to close the distance.

Sherlock moaned again as his back pressed against the wall, his hands finding John’s hair as the older man’s head grew lower with each passing button. Only when John reached the top of Sherlock’s trousers did he speak again.

“Please. Let me show you what you mean to me; how much I absolutely worship you,” he stressed before placing his hands on the flies of the trousers, his eyes pleading up into the massively dilated ones above him for permission.

“Oh, God,” Sherlock moaned instead, eyes unable to leave John’s.

John smirked a bit before pushing, “I love when I turn off that brain of yours, but I really do need to hear you say it.”

Sherlock looked incredibly confused, as though he had lost track of the conversation, “What?”

John’s smirk grew into a full, besotted grin, “May I, my brilliant detective, suck your cock and then bugger you senseless?”

Words seemed to have failed Sherlock completely as he simply nodded his head vigorously with a bit of a pleading look in his innocent eyes.

“Thank you,” John responded sincerely before moving back to his task.

Sherlock’s hands twitched in thin air as John quickly opened the flies of Sherlock’s trousers, pulling them down to his ankles before kissing the inside of Sherlock’s thighs gently. In their previous sexual escapades, John had discovered how sensitive Sherlock’s thighs really were; whenever they were touched or caressed it was an immediate switch for Sherlock’s arousal, goosebumps sparking across pale skin which seemed to lead directly to his cock. John smiled, kissing the silky soft skin and giving it a playful bite as he took Sherlock’s prick from his boxers and gave it a few warm-up strokes, thumbing across the plummy head and smearing the plentiful precome.

“John,” Sherlock gasped, his hips bucking forward in a not-very-subtle message of desperation.

Kissing Sherlock’s leg once more, John leaned forward and breathed hot air across Sherlock’s tip, moving in to messily kiss the leaking head as his eyes flicked to Sherlock’s face. Sensing Sherlock’s impatience (well, not so much sensing as seeing the utter need radiating from Sherlock), John opened his mouth wider and pushed more of his lover inside, controlling his breathing to ensure he didn’t choke or gag (impossible with Sherlock’s needy little thrusts forward) as he began to lick and suck at the shaft.

“Ooooh,” Sherlock whined, his legs going slightly weak, which sent his fingers grappling at the hallway wall, “John -- John should we not…take this to the bedroom?”

“Why?” John smirked, looking up innocently and using his tongue to trace the long vein along Sherlock’s impressive cock. He pulled back, sitting on his feet as he tilted his head, “We’re home alone. Nobody to interrupt.”

“Ye-yes, I am aware of that,” Sherlock gulped, attempting to clear the fog in his mind, “I just -- I’m not sure that doing it in a hallway is appropriate. Anyone could walk in.”

“Expecting someone, are we?” John teased, hand moving to cup Sherlock’s scrotum.

“No. God no. I just -- John! Desist! I cannot think!” Sherlock stressed in a muddle before exhaling, “I don’t want my first time to be -- in a hallway.”

John blinked and carefully stood, stamping the life back into his cramped up legs as he stroked Sherlock’s face gently, “I wasn’t going to do that here,” John promised, kissing the corner of Sherlock’s mouth softly, “this was just a warm up. I was going to take you to bed and ravish you properly. Like you deserve.”

“I’m not a blushing virgin, John!” Sherlock argued, despite the flush which covered his cheeks.

“You’ve been misinformed,” John smiled, stroking a hand through Sherlock’s curls before stretching up to kiss him again, “and wanting it properly doesn’t make you a needy princess. I want to show you, I want to -- I want it to be good for you. To be special.”

“It’s with you,” Sherlock said in a moment of candid honesty before he looked down at his feet in embarrassment, “it’s going to be special.”

John took Sherlock’s hand and pressed a kiss to the palm before beginning a walk to the bedroom, leading Sherlock behind him. There was a moment of hesitation before Sherlock cleared his throat and let go of John’s hand. Turning around sharply, John expected to find Sherlock saying he had changed his mind or he wasn’t ready, but what he found was a lanky detective bent in half, naked from the waist down and showing off his perfect arse and winking arsehole to the doctor.

“Sherlock?” John inhaled sharply, his heart rate skipping up twenty beats, “What are you doing?”

“Pulling up my trousers,” Sherlock explained, “I didn’t want to trip; I’d likely land on my penis.”

John laughed and shook his head, “Arrogant. It’s not that big,” he chuckled.

“You were gagging on it, so it’s big enough,” Sherlock responded with a filthy grin, “Bedroom?”

“God yes.”

John followed Sherlock the short distance into the room where they wordlessly paused next to the bed. John’s hands raised up to slowly, almost reverently, trace along the edges of the already-unbuttoned shirt and then down his cloth-covered arms, never once touching the skin directly. As he unhooked each of the cuffs, he took a moment to play lightly with the digits of Sherlock’s hands.

Once he had the last buttons undone, he finally moved his hands to Sherlock’s stomach, lightly and slowly tracing them up the soft skin and light hair - aching to pause and play with his nipples, but he refrained - until he reached the broad, bony shoulders. Instead of merely pushing the fabric from the other man, allowing it to flutter down of its own accord, he chose to follow its path with his own hands. Sherlock couldn’t say which touch was lighter: that of the shirt, or John’s.

As soon as John’s hands trailed away from his own again, Sherlock let out a deep breath through his nose and raised his hands to cup John’s face so he could kiss him hard. John moaned deep in his throat at the contact, raising his hands again to grab at the lankier man’s sides without thought.

With a few playful nips at John’s lips, Sherlock shifted to remove John’s vest and sweater. The younger man, however, possesses nowhere near the amount of patience the doctor has at the best of times, much less in a moment such as this. Compared to John’s gentle, slow movements, Sherlock was downright chaotic and rushed. John smiled affectionately at his enthusiasm.

When Sherlock’s anxious hands moved directly to John’s flies, the older man covered them and gently guided them to his lips, kissing the knuckles lightly instead. The look of hurt confusion in the genius’ eyes forced John to finally break the silence.

“There’s no rush; there’s all the time in the world,” John assured him.

“But I want…” Sherlock trailed off all on his own, still a bit shy in expressing his direct wants at times.

John smiled warmly again, “I know, and I very much plan to bugger you senseless,” his smile turned into more of a leer, “but it’s not all about hard and fast.”

“But what if I want it hard and fast?” He challenged, cheeks going a bit pink at the wording.

“Oh, there’s plenty of time for that, too, trust me,” John chuckled, “but our first time like this, I want to take it slow; show you how much I love you.”

“I already know you love me,” he delivered with a quizzical tilting of the head.

“Without words.”

“That hardly seems necessary,” Sherlock tried to insist, but John kissing him to shut him up before he could finish was quite effective. It’s when all of the talking ceased again.

John moved his mouth slowly down Sherlock’s body, pausing briefly to play with his nipples this time, only pausing when he had reached the top of his trousers again. Undoing the flies for the second time that evening, he lowered pants and trousers down at the same time, aiding Sherlock in lifting one foot and then the other to free himself of the cloth.

He then kissed his way slowly up Sherlock’s left leg while allowing his own left hand to trail up the other leg. When he reached the thighs, he softly kissed all around both of them before jumping to his right hip bone. Sherlock whined to have his cock neglected, but it only caused John to smile in triumph.

In this same fashion, kissing every inch he could on his way back up, John finally stood and kissed Sherlock’s lips again. Taking a few steps back and placing space between their bodies, John lowered his steady hands to his own flies, removing the rest of his clothing as Sherlock watch with rapt attention to each bit of skin as it became exposed.

“John,” Sherlock whispered reverently as the shorter man extended his hand in invitation.

John led them to the bed where he laid down on his back, staring unashamedly up at Sherlock, who was standing rather awkwardly next to the bed.

“I don’t know what to do,” Sherlock reluctantly admitted.

“Whatever you want to do,” John offered honestly, “touch anywhere; taste everything. You can explore or you can catalogue, or you can simply come in for a nice snog and a cuddle before I take you; it is completely up to you.” 

Sherlock clenched his hands before tentatively climbing onto the bed, head on the pillows as he rested against John’s warm side, turning to kiss him gently. He noticed that his hands were shaking, his heart pounding in his ears, and he momentarily thought he might faint or throw up. Neither of which would be conductive to a good first time.

“Calm,” John whispered, deepening the kiss and rubbing a hand up and down Sherlock’s stomach and chest, “I’m going to touch you now…”

Sherlock nodded in understanding, only jumping slightly when John’s hand wrapped around his cock and began to stroke. The friction was glorious, but not enough and it had Sherlock thrusting his hips into John’s hand within sweet seconds, something John enjoyed as his other hand moved to the bedside table to pull out the pump bottle of lubricant they had bought for their heavy frottage and intercrural sessions.

“I’m going to go to the bottom of the bed,” John whispered, kissing Sherlock’s nose in an intimate gesture, “and we’re going to get started.”

Sherlock bit his bottom lip but nodded in understanding as he fell to his back, widening the space between his legs and taking a deep breath as John got into position. John smiled, stroking up and down Sherlock’s inner thigh before running his fingers up and down the crease of Sherlock’s buttocks, using his thumb and finger to spread the cheeks, looking at the small puckered hole beneath. John moaned, eyes closing as he bit his lip and chuckled darkly, “I don’t think this is going to last long.”

“Then hurry up!” Sherlock hissed, covering his face with his hands, “The anticipation is killing me.”

John shook his head playfully, hyper focussed on Sherlock’s arse as he spread the cheeks wide and used his dry thumb to stroke around the opening softly, keeping it gentle in order to sensitize Sherlock to the feeling. Sherlock jumped, whining low in his throat as a mottled blush began at his cheeks and worked its way down to his chest. His legs kicked out and he inhaled deeply, attempting to calm himself as John prodded and circled the area, never pushing in, but just getting Sherlock used to his touch.

“In. John, put it in!” Sherlock groaned, wiggling his hips.

“You’re so bloody impatient!” John grumbled in response, but quickly slicked his hands with lube and began to carefully - and softly - press his index finger into Sherlock’s body. The detective’s breathing hitched and he winced, dropping his hands to the bed in order to watch John work.

“Okay?” John asked, stilling his hand whilst using the other one to caress up and down Sherlock’s thigh.

“Mmm,” Sherlock said, but he was frowning with concentration, “Odd. Not unpleasant, but not exactly comfortable, either.”

“Yeah, it’s a strange sensation,” John agreed, kissing the sensitive skin at the join of hip and thigh, “Just tell me if you need a moment.”

“No. Continue,” Sherlock said, although his voice was much more breathy and needy now, his eyes flickering constantly over John as he watched.

John shuffled closer to Sherlock and used his other hand to stroke Sherlock’s prick, keeping it hard whilst he circled, rotated, and thrust his finger in and out of Sherlock’s body. Once the younger man was relaxed enough, John added a second.

“Oh,” Sherlock said softly.

“Still okay?” John quizzed, keeping his finger still.

“John Watson, I swear to all that I hold holy that if you keep stopping and asking me if I’m okay, I’m going to get up and hit you,” Sherlock sighed, dropping his head back to the bed, “I’m not made of porcelain. I am bloody fine!”

“Alright, you miserable arse,” John huffed, twirling his finger and smirking as he came upon Sherlock’s prostate. John flicked his eyes up to watch Sherlock’s reaction as he stroked his finger over the sensitive nerves surrounding the prostate, not pushing on it directly but certainly enough to stimulate it and cause pleasure, not pain.

“Oh!” Sherlock shouted, eyes opening wide, “That - do that. Keep doing it.”

“No, then you’ll come and be more annoyed with me,” John chuckled, although he did roll his fingers over the gland again, “One more finger.”

Sherlock sighed, nodding and clenching his toes in the bedding as John removed his fingers, then pushed them back inside, this time with three.

“Ouch,” Sherlock winced. Obviously he hadn’t intended on speaking as he froze and looked at John nervously.

“I know, it’s a bit tight,” John said breathily, his cock fit to burst, “just need you to relax for me. Bear down…like you’re using the loo. It’ll help.”

“Oh yes, because that’s what I want to do whilst having first time penetrative sex: imagine myself defecating.”

John laughed, great belly laughs that shook them both, “Jesus Christ, Sherlock, do you think that’s what I want to imagine, too? You shitting on my knob? No! But it’s easier to push down rather than tense up. That’s a fact. Now…push down and it’ll help.”

“Fine,” Sherlock pouted with a grimace of distaste, “but I hate you.”

“Likewise,” John teased, but lifted Sherlock’s leg to put a kiss on his bony knee cap to counter the words, “but you won’t once I’m inside. 

Sherock’s eyes fluttered closed at the prospect and John felt the sudden change in atmosphere, from playful banter to something utterly intimate and beautiful as he worked his fingers in and out of Sherlock, giving a subtle twist occasionally followed by a brush to Sherlock’s prostate. Sherlock, meanwhile, was clutching at the bed, head moving from side to side and his hair wild as he breathed heavily and looked up at John with adoration.

“Are you ready?” John asked, cautiously pulling his hand away from Sherlock’s bum and wiping the lube onto the bedding as he stroked up and down Sherlock’s thighs, “You’re in charge; whatever you need.”

“I need you. Just you,” Sherlock said, reaching up to touch John’s face with a smile before lifting his hips and thighs into a better position so John could shuffle up the bed.

John boxed Sherlock in with his arms on either side of his shoulders, their faces only inches apart as he carefully attempted to find Sherlock’s entrance. Noticing that John was struggling without his hands, Sherlock used his own hand to position John against his hole, feeling the odd, blunt sensation against his most intimate part as John bent to kiss his lips.

The next few seconds stretched out in a slow dance of tongues and kisses, the only sound in the room being their breathing and the soft click of their kiss before John slowly began to push inside, inch by inch, as slowly as he could, only stopping when he was halfway inside.

“Is that okay?” John asked, looking down reverently at Sherlock as though he was the most beautiful thing in the world. For that moment, Sherlock truly did feel beautiful.

“Perfect,” Sherlock insisted, although he couldn’t stop the wince of pain at the stretch.

John kissed Sherlock again, moving to trail kisses down Sherlock’s jaw line and then his neck as he worked his way inside Sherlock with tenderness and care, checking with Sherlock each time he winced or hissed at the pain.

It only took a few gentle, shallow thrusts for Sherlock to adjust to the intrusion, but it wasn’t until the doctor found his prostate again that he truly began to enjoy the sensation.

“Oh my God,” Sherlock sighed in reverence as waves of varied emotions washed through his body. Never could he have expected such an experience to be so incredibly pleasurable.

“God I love you,” John whispered, staring into Sherlock’s eyes.

Sherlock reached up with his right hand to clasp the back of John’s neck in response, bringing his mouth down to meet his own with a greedy whine.

When John reached down between their bodies to grasp Sherlock’s cock, the younger man’s eyes shot open in alarm.

“John, no! Stop stop stop,” he rambled frantically.

Completely shocked by the abrupt change, John removed his hand as though burnt at the same time he paused his hips.

“What is it, love?” He asked with concern.

“No, I didn’t mean stop,” Sherlock stressed in annoyance, like John was supposed to understand this.

John tilted his head and scrunched up his brow in confusion, “You said it three times.”

Sherlock sighed heavily, as though he were the most put-upon human on the entire planet, “I simply meant your hand on my penis. It was far too much stimulation this early on in our love making.”

John smiled warmly, head falling to Sherlock’s neck where he couldn’t help but chuckle lightly.

“What?” Sherlock asked, confused, but desperately wanting John to resume fucking him instead of dealing with all this talking.

“You called it ‘love making’,” John said through a clear smile, judging by his tone, before softly kissing Sherlock’s neck affectionately.

“I...well, yes...I just thought…” he stammered ineloquently through his embarrassment.

John took pity on him and raised his head to smile lovingly down at Sherlock’s face so he could see that he wasn’t being mocked, “I think you misunderstand me,” John started before leaning down to kiss Sherlock with clear intent, his hips moving in small circles and causing them both to shudder. He pulled back to finish the statement, “I love that you think of it that way.”

Sherlock pulled John’s head back down again, but aimed his lips towards John’s right ear, “Then get on with it,” he whispered before gently biting the earlobe.

John moaned deeply, his hips thrusting forward of their own accord as desire rushed through his body and straight to his cock.

“You bloody madman,” John cursed, pulling his head up and away again, “of course you already know my erogenous zones.”

Sherlock locked his ankles and pulled John deeper into himself, moaning wantonly at the feeling before panting, “You’re incredibly easy to read.”

John began thrusting again, but he was definitely curious, “Oh yeah? Tell me another one,” he challenged.

Sherlock smirked mischievously before moving his right hand to John’s stomach, “If I touch right about here,” he muttered while lightly dragging his fingertips down about two inches of skin, near his navel, causing John’s hips to thrust forward sharply again, the older man hissing at the feeling, “Oh, John!” Sherlock moaned at the harsher thrust, eyes closing in pleasure.

“Dammit, enough of that now,” John ordered, his thrusts taking a decidedly more deliberate rhythm.

“Agreed,” Sherlock mumbled, left hand moving to play with the hair at the base of John’s skull, his right grasping John’s muscled forearm, still caging him in.

They fell into silence as John’s hips moved, the only noises in the room being the wet slap of skin against skin and heavy breathing as they drowned in sensation. Sherlock arched his back, moaning, his eyes fluttering closed as he ran his hands up and down John’s back, scratching him slightly in the process as his cock was rubbed by John’s stomach, smearing them both with the plentiful precome which was flowing from him.

“Sherlock,” John moaned, dropping his head to Sherlock’s clavicle, “I don’t know how much longer I can last. 

“It’s okay,” Sherlock soothed, cupping John’s cheeks and pulling him down for a kiss, “just stay with me; stay right here.”

“Where would I go?” John asked in confusion before realising that Sherlock meant the eye contact that they were making. John made a concentrated effort to keep his eyes on Sherlock alone, opening his expression so that Sherlock could see his true feelings.

It seemed to work because Sherlock’s breathing hitched and he was clenching around John’s cock, his inner muscles fluttering around John whilst his left hand moved from John’s cheek to wrap around his own cock, stroking rapidly in order to meet John and his orgasm.

“All I ever wanted was you,” Sherlock whispered, keeping his eyes fixed on John.

“Oh god,” John moaned, knowing there was no escape from his orgasm as Sherlock climaxed intensely, spilling between their bodies in thick pulses whilst his insides clenched and throbbed around him. John kept his eyes open as best he could as he reached orgasm, coming with a harsh cry of Sherlock’s name as he came hard, filling Sherlock with his come and shivering with the sensation.

Once the aftershocks subsided, John gracelessly collapsed the short distance onto Sherlock’s body.

“Oof!” Sherlock grumbled, nudging John’s side roughly.

With a heavy groan and a herculean effort, John was able to gently remove himself from inside and on top of Sherlock before settling onto his side and dragging the lanky man close again.

“You’re amazing,” John praised with a content, sleepy smile.

Sherlock shook his head, nose barely brushing the other man’s, before surging forward to close all of the space between them. John chuckled as Sherlock’s nose came to rest against his neck, his arms wrapping tightly around his body to hug him yet closer.

“Yes you are,” John countered the wordless argument quietly, running his right hand through those consistently-riotous curls.

“Not compared to you,” he mumbled, already losing the fight to stay conscious.

“A perfect match, we are,” John agreed with a soft kiss to the top of his lover’s head, “but we need to wash up before you fall asleep.”

“Hhmm-uh,” Sherlock grumbled in annoyed dissent. He was not going to be moving from this spot for at least one hundred years.

“You’re going to regret this,” John sing-songed, trying to muster up the energy to pull them both to the bathroom, because that was assuredly the only way he was getting this younger lump out of the bed.

“Would never regret you,” Sherlock responded so quietly and sleepily that it was almost an unwitting confession.

John smiled, “That’s very sweet of you, but I meant the semen drying all over you.”

Sherlock peeked one eye open and pulled back just enough to see a bit of John’s eyes in return.

“I know,” John assured him, still smiling, “you hate it when I’m right.”

“You’ll need to carry me. I can’t possibly move.”

“Oh no, princess,” John teased and Sherlock awoke more fully to become properly offended, “you’ll need to walk. But I’ll help support you.”

Sherlock sat up and pushed John towards the edge of the bed, since he was on the side closest to the door. He may need to walk himself to the other room, but he sure as hell wouldn’t be doing more walking than absolutely necessary. 

As Sherlock stood from the bed, he grumbled a facetious, “Chivalry really is dead.”

To which John simply interlaced their fingers to lead them along, “I assure you it is not.”

Once inside the bathroom, Sherlock pulled John close to him for a tender kiss before stepping away and teasingly demanding, “Prove it.”

And John - never very adept at refusing this man a single thing - did.