My Dick and Me [1/1]
Done for the sherlockbbc kink meme community prompt: John has problems finding 'alone time'.
This is a departure from my usual crossover!fic. Hope you enjoy!
******
John doesn't ask for much. He really really doesn't. He's always been a sensible bloke, quiet but not a pushover, authoritative without being bossy. All he wants is a place to sleep, eat and maybe watch a bit of bad telly when he comes home from work. Instead, he got a narcissistic and mercurial flatmate who doesn't let him do any of the above without throwing a sulk.
Yes, Sherlock takes him on adventures, and yes, it's like crack for the adrenaline junkie that John is, but there are times when John would just like time to himself. To relax. Or maybe even wank.
So it is with a little bit of relief that John finds his flat completely unoccupied after he gets home from the grocery. He places the plastic bags in the part of the kitchen he has declared off limits to experiments (Sherlock having responded by placing petri dishes of some unidentifiable fungi with the rationale of 'it's not poisonous, John, and why are you glowering like that?').
He then proceeds upstairs to his bedroom to take care of a need that has been pressing uncomfortably on his mind the entire day.
John's not comfortable enough with Sherlock to do it when the other man is in the flat, mostly because Sherlock is bound to point it out with absolutely no shame. And there is bound to be some sort of comment about his sex drive or Sarah, and John is no mood to deal with that kind of encounter.
He lies down on top of his bed and pulls out an old magazine from between the covers. He had thought that this kind of behaviour would have stopped after he was no longer living with his parents, but Sherlock's disregard of boundaries meant that John continued to hide his porn. He suspects that Sherlock knows quite well about the stash, but implicit knowledge is very different than explicit.
John undoes his zip and lets his mind relax, slip away from eccentric flatmates and into the Carribean. He's never been, but his imagination is broad and his perusal of travel magazines extensive.
White sand beaches. Rum. Sarah in a sarong. Sarah taking off her sarong. Sarah in nothing at all…
The door bursts open, and John's eyes fly open.
He feels extraordinarily like throwing a full blown tantrum. But since there's already one prima donna living in the flat, it's up to him to be the adult. But he has to let Sherlock know that this particular invasion is Very Not Good.
'What is it?' John grounds out.
He doesn't bother to hide the magazines at his side or the fact that his zip is undone, because Sherlock is bound to suss it out anyway. He's too defiantly angry to be at all embarrassed, and it's not like Sherlock really cares what he's walked in on. Sherlock's disregard for social norms extends to sex as well, and John has walked in on Sherlock wanking on the couch more times than he cares to count.
It turns out that Sherlock, for all his claims about the body just being for "transport", is a shockingly horny bastard.
('Arousal clouds the mind, John', he said as John looked away in despair. 'Despite my disinterest in pursuing messy romantic entanglements, my body continues to require certain maintenance of a sexual nature.' He had come, then, with barely audible panting. John had made a point of scrubbing the couch thoroughly after Sherlock had left. )
Sherlock's eyes flicker down and back to John's face so fast that John thinks he's imagined it.
'Thomas has red hair,' he says in that imperious tone of his.
'And I suppose that was important enough to barge in on me!' John snaps back.
'You can resume your activity,' Sherlock says, bored. He waves his hand idly. 'Or you can accompany me to Thomas' place of employment to apprehend him before he flees the country with €1.5 million worth of diamonds.'
John sits up at this and zips up his jeans. 'Have you told Lestrade?'
Sherlock's lips curl into a brief smile.
'That's a no, then,' replies John. 'Where did you leave him?'
'He'll figure it out soon enough.'
John snorts. 'Yes, and you'll catch hell for when he does for going in without back up. I'll bring my gun?'
'Yes, Thomas has every reason to leave London by any means possible. If he feels cornered, he'll not hesitate to attempt to shoot his way out.'
John gives a feral grin and follows Sherlock out of his room.
It's not until he's in a cab that John realises that he has an even bigger erection than when he was picturing Sarah naked.
Adrenaline, he tells himself firmly. You get off on that, not…
Sherlock gives him a sideways smile, grinning a catlike grin that is completely infectious. John can't help but smile back.
Maybe next time he'll pull a Sherlock and wank on the couch. Now that was something to think about.
This is a departure from my usual crossover!fic. Hope you enjoy!
******
John doesn't ask for much. He really really doesn't. He's always been a sensible bloke, quiet but not a pushover, authoritative without being bossy. All he wants is a place to sleep, eat and maybe watch a bit of bad telly when he comes home from work. Instead, he got a narcissistic and mercurial flatmate who doesn't let him do any of the above without throwing a sulk.
Yes, Sherlock takes him on adventures, and yes, it's like crack for the adrenaline junkie that John is, but there are times when John would just like time to himself. To relax. Or maybe even wank.
So it is with a little bit of relief that John finds his flat completely unoccupied after he gets home from the grocery. He places the plastic bags in the part of the kitchen he has declared off limits to experiments (Sherlock having responded by placing petri dishes of some unidentifiable fungi with the rationale of 'it's not poisonous, John, and why are you glowering like that?').
He then proceeds upstairs to his bedroom to take care of a need that has been pressing uncomfortably on his mind the entire day.
John's not comfortable enough with Sherlock to do it when the other man is in the flat, mostly because Sherlock is bound to point it out with absolutely no shame. And there is bound to be some sort of comment about his sex drive or Sarah, and John is no mood to deal with that kind of encounter.
He lies down on top of his bed and pulls out an old magazine from between the covers. He had thought that this kind of behaviour would have stopped after he was no longer living with his parents, but Sherlock's disregard of boundaries meant that John continued to hide his porn. He suspects that Sherlock knows quite well about the stash, but implicit knowledge is very different than explicit.
John undoes his zip and lets his mind relax, slip away from eccentric flatmates and into the Carribean. He's never been, but his imagination is broad and his perusal of travel magazines extensive.
White sand beaches. Rum. Sarah in a sarong. Sarah taking off her sarong. Sarah in nothing at all…
The door bursts open, and John's eyes fly open.
He feels extraordinarily like throwing a full blown tantrum. But since there's already one prima donna living in the flat, it's up to him to be the adult. But he has to let Sherlock know that this particular invasion is Very Not Good.
'What is it?' John grounds out.
He doesn't bother to hide the magazines at his side or the fact that his zip is undone, because Sherlock is bound to suss it out anyway. He's too defiantly angry to be at all embarrassed, and it's not like Sherlock really cares what he's walked in on. Sherlock's disregard for social norms extends to sex as well, and John has walked in on Sherlock wanking on the couch more times than he cares to count.
It turns out that Sherlock, for all his claims about the body just being for "transport", is a shockingly horny bastard.
('Arousal clouds the mind, John', he said as John looked away in despair. 'Despite my disinterest in pursuing messy romantic entanglements, my body continues to require certain maintenance of a sexual nature.' He had come, then, with barely audible panting. John had made a point of scrubbing the couch thoroughly after Sherlock had left. )
Sherlock's eyes flicker down and back to John's face so fast that John thinks he's imagined it.
'Thomas has red hair,' he says in that imperious tone of his.
'And I suppose that was important enough to barge in on me!' John snaps back.
'You can resume your activity,' Sherlock says, bored. He waves his hand idly. 'Or you can accompany me to Thomas' place of employment to apprehend him before he flees the country with €1.5 million worth of diamonds.'
John sits up at this and zips up his jeans. 'Have you told Lestrade?'
Sherlock's lips curl into a brief smile.
'That's a no, then,' replies John. 'Where did you leave him?'
'He'll figure it out soon enough.'
John snorts. 'Yes, and you'll catch hell for when he does for going in without back up. I'll bring my gun?'
'Yes, Thomas has every reason to leave London by any means possible. If he feels cornered, he'll not hesitate to attempt to shoot his way out.'
John gives a feral grin and follows Sherlock out of his room.
It's not until he's in a cab that John realises that he has an even bigger erection than when he was picturing Sarah naked.
Adrenaline, he tells himself firmly. You get off on that, not…
Sherlock gives him a sideways smile, grinning a catlike grin that is completely infectious. John can't help but smile back.
Maybe next time he'll pull a Sherlock and wank on the couch. Now that was something to think about.