John’s first thought when he walked into the sitting room was that Sherlock was having a fit. The second was that someone – possibly Mycroft – had put itching powder in his clothes. The third was that throwing himself into weird, contorted positions while making frustrated grunting noises had to be some kind of tease. But then, it seemed that rather a lot of what Sherlock did, day-to-day, came across as a tease to John.
“What are you doing?” he settled on.
Sherlock paused, one arm bent backwards over his shoulder in an attempt to reach the middle of his back while the other stretched up for the same point from underneath.
“I’m disproving an alibi,” he said. “Hannah Fairfield claims that although her bra was found in Geoffrey Burton’s car, they weren’t having an affair. She says the thing was so uncomfortable that on the drive home from work she removed it. However, I am positive that there is no way for a woman to take off her bra without also taking off her clothes, and so-”
“Yes, there is,” interrupted John.
Sherlock scowled at him. “Nonsense, I’ve just spent eight minutes attempting to remove this one, and it is quite impossible”
John’s eyes riveted to Sherlock’s chest and he realised that he could see the faint outline of a bra underneath Sherlock’s shirt. Oh God.
“Well, you’re clearly not very good with bras,” he said, and then cleared his throat to get rid of the rough edge that had come into his voice. “It’s easy enough – I’ve seen women do it before.”
Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not possible.”
Of course, if Sherlock Holmes couldn’t manage something, then there was no way anyway else could do it. “It is,” insisted John.
“Fine then,” said Sherlock. He gestured at the sofa, where another bra was lying on the seat. “Show me.”
John eyed it and then looked back at Sherlock, who was staring at him with an air of challenge and satisfaction. He doesn’t think I’ll even try, he thought. Well, bugger that. John was perfectly prepared to put his money where his mouth was, so to speak.
He stripped off his shirt and t-shirt, and then put the bra on. It was slightly trickier than he’d thought, but he wasn’t about to let Sherlock know that. Sherlock watched with an intense look as John put his t-shirt and shirt back on, and then gave a nod.
“Go on, then,” he said.
John wriggled his shoulders for a moment to relax, then reached back and unsnapped the catch, pulled one arm out of the strap and then the other, and finally pulled the bra out through the neck of his shirt and threw it at Sherlock.
“Easy,” he said.
Sherlock gaped. “You’ve done that before,” he accused, once he’d found his voice.
“Nope,” said John. “Just had a lot of experience with getting bras off other people.”
A shadow fell across Sherlock’s face. “Oh, of course,” he said. “Women.” As always, he said the word as if he was talking about some kind of vermin.
“Yeah,” agreed John. “And a couple of men.”
The look on Sherlock’s face was perfect. John wondered if there was some way he could get a photo of it.
“Not that I should really talk about that. Cross-dressing’s a bit frowned on in an active warzone, you know.”
Sherlock continued to just stare at him, clearly hoping that this time would be the one where he managed to see through into John’s brain so that he could read all his secrets.
John cleared his throat, and then nodded at the bra Sherlock was still wearing. “So, yeah, your suspect’s alibi holds true.”
Sherlock broke out of his trance and glanced back down at himself. “Right,” he said with conviction, and set about taking the bra off again.
This time, he managed to get the catch undone and then started on taking his arms out of the straps, both at once as if to prove he could do it faster than John. However, he clearly hadn’t taken into consideration just how tight his shirt was. Both arms got stuck with the straps wrapped around his elbows, his sleeves bunched up and keeping him captive. He started to struggle, becoming increasingly violent as he couldn’t get free, and then abruptly stopped and looked at John, who was doing his best not to laugh.
“Get me free,” he commanded. There was a note of panic in his voice that killed John’s amusement.
“Just a minute,” said John, stepping closer. He started to undo Sherlock’s shirt buttons, thinking to himself that these really weren’t the circumstances he’d been hoping to do that under.
Sherlock twitched a bit, but mostly held still as John pushed his shirt off his shoulders and untangled his arms and the bra, trying to ignore the fact that he was, essentially, undressing Sherlock.
Once it was off, Sherlock shook out both his arms as if to make certain that he was free, and then gave a little nod. “Thank you,” he said in a tight voice.
“Not a problem,” said John, stepping away again and trying to shut down the part of him that was assuming he’d now take off Sherlock’s trousers. “Any time you’re held captive by a piece of women’s clothing, I’m there for you, mate.”
Sherlock made a face. “It’s not clothing, it’s a torture device,” he said in dark tones that made John think that there was likely to be an experiment that ended with the complete destruction of both bras. He glanced down at where they were both lying on the floor, but his eyes were arrested by another sight before they got that far.
“Don’t pay any attention to that,” said Sherlock.
“Was it the cross-dressing or the bondage?” asked John, doing his best to tear his eyes away from Sherlock’s erection and focus back on his face. He did his best to hit ‘blokey teasing’, but it came out as a genuine question.
“Neither,” said Sherlock, turning away to pick up the bras. “Staring at it isn’t helping,” he added as he straightened up.
John realised his eyes were back on Sherlock’s crotch, and pulled them away again. “Sorry,” he said. “Just- unexpected.” He took a deep breath and tried to get back on track. “So, if Hannah wasn’t having an affair with what’s-his-name, what does that mean?”
Sherlock frowned. “I don’t-” He paused, and then his eyes lit up. “Oh! Of course! The gloves! Her husband!” He spun around, grabbed his phone and started texting furiously.
“You’re still staring,” he said a minute later without looking up from his phone.
John started and realised that his eyes had dipped back down again. “Christ,” he said, turning away. “Sorry.”
Sherlock was silent for a moment or two, and then said, “No need to apologise, unless you don’t intend to assist me with it.”
John froze. “What?”
“You heard me,” said Sherlock tersely, and John realised he was now clutching at his phone with white knuckles.
John flicked his tongue out to wet his lips. “What kind of assistance did you have in mind?” he asked, feeling as if he was walking a tightrope.
“Well, you seemed eager enough to get me out of the top half of my clothes,” said Sherlock, and then he finally glanced up from his mobile. He looked as terrified by this conversation as John felt, as if he knew just how closely they were dancing with danger.
We both like danger, thought John, and he straightened his back, ready to take the plunge. “If you need any help with the others, I’m more than happy to help,” he said.
A blinding smile flicked over Sherlock’s face. “It is essential that I send this text,” he said. “A bit difficult to take your trousers off with a phone in your hands.”
John nodded his agreement at that, anticipation bubbling through him. “I’ll take care of it,” he said, and stepped forward, dropping to his knees at Sherlock’s feet so that he could reach his flies easily.
Sherlock made an odd, breathy noise, and then cleared his throat and reapplied himself to tapping keys, although John was pretty certain that he had already sent the text to Lestrade.
John started with his belt, undoing it with hands that he hoped Sherlock couldn’t tell were trembling. He was hard too now, although hopefully his position and his jeans concealed that from Sherlock. He pulled Sherlock’s out of its loops, drawing it out as long as he could. He couldn’t imagine this ever happening again – it seemed unlikely enough that it was happening this once – and he wanted to make every moment last.
“Was it the cross-dressing for you?” asked Sherlock. “Or-” His voice faltered.
John licked his lips again, and then took his courage in both hands and told the truth. “No. It’s you.”
“Ah,” exhaled Sherlock, and John glanced up to see that his eyes were wide with excitement. “Then you won’t be disappointed to find I’m not wearing knickers.”
John set his fingers on Sherlock’s flies and a shiver went through him at the way Sherlock’s erection twitched at the touch. “I can’t imagine being disappointed by anything I’d find under here.”
“Well,” said Sherlock, and for all he was trying to keep his voice steady, John could hear that he was just as shaken by the situation as John was. “There’s only one way to test that hypothesis.”
“Yeah,” agreed John, and he finally undid the button on Sherlock’s trousers and dragged the zip down. It didn’t take more than a tug to make them fall to Sherlock’s bare feet, where he stepped out of them, leaving John staring at the frankly magnificent sight of Sherlock standing over him, wearing nothing but a well-fitted pair of black briefs and still clutching at his mobile.
“Jesus fuck,” he swore to himself, and he gave up all pretence that he wasn’t as hard as nails, reaching down to adjust himself.
Sherlock let out an incomprehensible noise and threw his mobile in the direction of the sofa, sank to his knees, and engulfed John in a passionate but clumsy kiss. John returned it with all the desperation he had kept locked away since he’d first realised how he felt about Sherlock, months and months ago.
“I though you weren’t interest in-” he started to say, but Sherlock cut him off.
“Don’t bother thinking,” he said. “Not while you’re wearing far too many clothes.” His fingers were already scrabbling at John’s shirt, so John gave up on conversation in favour of helping Sherlock get his shirt off and pull his t-shirt over his head.
“Yes,” hissed Sherlock once John was bare-chested. His attention immediately dropped to John’s scar, which John probably could have predicted, but he didn’t expect Sherlock’s mouth to drop there as well, his tongue tracing over the edges of it before Sherlock fastened his lips to John’s collarbone and sucked.
“Oh god,” exclaimed John, gripping at Sherlock’s shoulders.
Sherlock just hummed as if in agreement, then continued his investigation along to the base of John’s neck. John tipped his head back to give him access, and let his hands run over the skin of Sherlock’s back, tracing his shoulder blades and running down his spine to the waistband of his underwear.
Sherlock stiffened and pulled away from John’s neck. “John,” he said in a hoarse, breathless voice. “John, this is- We need-”
He seemed incapable of getting out a coherent sentence, so John took pity on him. “We need a bed,” he said.
Sherlock’s face lit up. “Yes!” He sprang up, dragging John with him, and pulled him towards his bedroom.
They fell on the bed together, limbs tangling as they both tried to touch the other as much as possible. John couldn’t stop kissing Sherlock, couldn’t resist finally tasting that mouth, the one he’d spent so long staring at while it spouted out deductions and insults and everything in between. God, how was it that they were actually doing this?
“How are you still wearing your jeans?” asked Sherlock when his hands swept down low enough to encounter them.
“Still wearing shoes as well,” John pointed out. “No idea why.”
Sherlock sat up suddenly, pulling away with a look of outrage. “Shoes? On my bed?”
John leant up on his elbows. “Uh, sorry?” he offered. “Didn’t have a lot of time to take them off once we decided we were coming here.”
Sherlock gave him a furious look that said he wasn’t forgiven and moved to take them off for John, muttering to himself as he pulled at the laces. John just lay back and enjoyed the sight of Sherlock wearing next to nothing, bent over John’s feet and pulling off his shoes and socks.
“I could get used to this,” he remarked.
Sherlock threw a disgusted look over his shoulder. “I am not, nor will I ever be, your valet,” he said. “Undo your flies.”
The tone of command in his voice was such that John’s hands moved to his flies without waiting for the instruction from his brain. As soon as they were undone, Sherlock tugged his jeans off and dropped them to the floor.
“Much better,” he muttered, crawling back up to lie on top of John, nestling one leg between John’s. “Oh. Much, much better.”
“Yeah,” agreed John, lifting his hips to press his erection into the crease of Sherlock’s leg as he wrapped his arms around Sherlock.
“John,” said Sherlock as if it was a swear word, pressing back down against John and then kissing him again, rocking their cocks together.
“Should have taken our pants off as well,” said John in a series of gasps. He slipped his fingers down the back of Sherlock’s pants, clutching at his arse as they moved together.
“Well observed,” muttered Sherlock, breaking away from John’s mouth to rest his forehead against his shoulder. “Go on then.”
There was a flurry of movement at they both wriggled out of their pants and kicked them aside, then came back together. John couldn’t help letting out a moan at the feel of Sherlock’s cock sliding against his, nothing between them but skin and sweat.
“Bloody fucking hell,” he said, clutching at Sherlock’s hips.
“Yeah,” agreed Sherlock. “I need- John, I need-”
“I know,” said John, and he slid his hand between them to grasp Sherlock’s erection. “Like that?”
“Yes,” said Sherlock. “God, yes.” He screwed his eyes shut and let out a ragged breath that was almost a groan as John moved his hand faster, his gaze fixed on the expression on Sherlock’s face.
This is mine, he thought as Sherlock’s head fell again, and he started to groan his pleasure into John’s neck. This moment, with Sherlock like this, it’s all mine.
“You as well,” said Sherlock, and his hand moved down to take John in his grip, matching the rhythm of John’s hand on his cock so perfectly that John lost track for a moment in the flood of pleasure.
“Fuck!” he said, feeling his toes curl.
“Don’t stop,” insisted Sherlock.
It didn’t take long after that. Sherlock came first, gasping out John’s name, and then sped up the pace of his own hand on John’s dick, until John felt his eyes squeeze tight and he came with a shudder of sensation.
“Oh yes,” said Sherlock, collapsing onto John’s chest. “That was good.”
John let out a snort of laughter. “Yeah,” he agreed. It was about all he had the energy to say.
A few minutes passed, during which it seemed they were both content to just lie there, cuddled together. After more time had passed than John would have guessed Sherlock could stay still, even post-coitally, Sherlock cleared his throat.
“I really was not expecting your skill at removing a bra to be so arousing.”
“You should see me take stockings off,” said John.
There was a short, interested noise from Sherlock. “I believe that would be an interesting experience.”
John smiled at Sherlock’s ceiling, and wondered where he could get a suspender belt in Sherlock’s size by tomorrow evening.