Contest of Wills - Part 1
Title: Contest of Wills
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Rating: T
Originally titled Noisy Neighbors.
Prompt: http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/19351.html?thread=114512023#t114512023
John was usually a very polite man. Before the war, when the kids next door got a little too rambunctious, he'd save everyone from embarrassment and just let them have their fun while he buried his head under a pillow. After the war, he was the one who got a little loud (with nightmares though, not enthusiastic sex) and he always appreciated his neighbors kindness at not mentioning it. After moving into 221B Baker Street, John shared a wall with Mrs. Turner's married ones.
This was not a problem until they decided to renew their wedding vows and have a second honeymoon… In the room John shared a wall with.
If he hadn’t been so annoyed (sleep-deprived, and in serious need of getting laid) he probably would have been impressed with their... enthusiasm.
But, as it was, he was annoyed, sleep-deprived, and in serious need of getting laid. And amazingly (at that point at least), Sherlock wasn’t the biggest one to blame for once.
Four days after the married-ones-next-door’s honeymoon started, however, it would be a close contest.
x-x-x-x-x
"Yes! Yes! Yes!"
John would have almost though Sherlock was in his (John's) bedroom having sex (or a really fantastic wank) if this wasn't... you know, Sherlock.
But there was the familiar squeaking of the spring in his own mattress, the one he heard every time he tossed and turned in the night. Unable to stand the curiosity, he quietly climbed the second flight of stairs to hid bedroom (carefully avoiding the squeaky third, seventh, and twelfth steps) to find that Sherlock was in fact in his bedroom.
Moaning in a half-bored, half-pained sounding way while he read a book. And bounced his bottom up and down on John's mattress.
Well, that explained the rather awkward looks and advice he'd been getting lately.
"Hnnguh! Yes. Right there."
If anything Sherlock was just starting to sound more bored. "Sherlock?"
"Yes! John!"
If John hadn't seen the slow way Sherlock dragged his eyes from the book, he almost would have thought he'd actually managed to startle the detective. At least his voice sounded a bit more pleased.
"What are you doing?" John asked, not really liking the sudden pleased expression that covered the detectives face.
"Experiment," Sherlock answered smoothly, quietly, then added in a louder voice, "Right th- Oh!"
"And what experiment would that be?" John wondered. "See how much you can annoy the neighbors?"
Sherlock frowned, John recognised the signs of an oncoming sulk. "They've been 'annoying' you for four days now. You've gotten approximately forty-two percent less sleep and have been particularly snippish because of it. I have received twenty percent fewer cups of tea but your tea and coffee intake has increased by thirty-one percent. You are a god!"
"They're not making any noise right now, Sherlock."
"They finished intercourse approximately ten minutes ago. On average they take about fifteen to fall asleep after basking in 'post-coital bliss'. Hnng!" The venomous tone of post coital bliss followed by the poor imitation of a pleasures moan made John's head spin.
"Sherlock, stop."
"Why? I have made sure to be nothing but complimentary to your skills. Harder! Oh god, harder!" This was followed by Sherlock bouncing on John's mattress just a bit harder as his eyes returned to his book. "I am improving your reputation."
"At best you sound like you're getting a rather uncomfortable prostate exam by a strange and inexperienced doctor. if you're doing anything to my reputation, it's ruining it."
"Then you moan for me."
John crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjam, "I'm not going to moan while pretending to have sex just so you can irritate the neighbors."
"Oh, Jerry..."
John sighed. That had come from the other side of the wall. Since they couldn't sleep, apparently they'd decided to use the bed for other activities. Just great.
John couldn't stop the groan that erupted from his throat bit because he had his hand over his eyes, he didn't notice the way Sherlock perked up at the sound.
"Ah, I see. It's further back in the throat," he observed. "Oh, John..."
God help him, but that sound sent a rush of blood through John's body. The good doctor swallowed thickly.
"Come, John," John had to close his eyes at those words because it hadn't been said in Sherlock's breathy-moan which meant Sherlock probably didn't understand the implication of what he was saying in this context. "Join me."
And that was all the encouragement John needed (because this was Sherlock and John usually did whatever the mad detective asked of him).
The good doctor sat on the bed and, timing his bounces with Sherlock's in order to duplicate the best approximation of sex he could manage, let off a breathy moan that dripped with want.
Over the next two days, when he wasn't kept awake by listening to the neighbors sex or by having fake sex with Sherlock, it was the echo of that deep baritone that kept him from the land of dreams.
At least he got a couple of good wanks in.
And if he happened to moan Sherlock's name, well that's just because he was playing along.
Part 2
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Rating: T
Originally titled Noisy Neighbors.
Prompt: http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/19351.html?thread=114512023#t114512023
John was usually a very polite man. Before the war, when the kids next door got a little too rambunctious, he'd save everyone from embarrassment and just let them have their fun while he buried his head under a pillow. After the war, he was the one who got a little loud (with nightmares though, not enthusiastic sex) and he always appreciated his neighbors kindness at not mentioning it. After moving into 221B Baker Street, John shared a wall with Mrs. Turner's married ones.
This was not a problem until they decided to renew their wedding vows and have a second honeymoon… In the room John shared a wall with.
If he hadn’t been so annoyed (sleep-deprived, and in serious need of getting laid) he probably would have been impressed with their... enthusiasm.
But, as it was, he was annoyed, sleep-deprived, and in serious need of getting laid. And amazingly (at that point at least), Sherlock wasn’t the biggest one to blame for once.
Four days after the married-ones-next-door’s honeymoon started, however, it would be a close contest.
x-x-x-x-x
"Yes! Yes! Yes!"
John would have almost though Sherlock was in his (John's) bedroom having sex (or a really fantastic wank) if this wasn't... you know, Sherlock.
But there was the familiar squeaking of the spring in his own mattress, the one he heard every time he tossed and turned in the night. Unable to stand the curiosity, he quietly climbed the second flight of stairs to hid bedroom (carefully avoiding the squeaky third, seventh, and twelfth steps) to find that Sherlock was in fact in his bedroom.
Moaning in a half-bored, half-pained sounding way while he read a book. And bounced his bottom up and down on John's mattress.
Well, that explained the rather awkward looks and advice he'd been getting lately.
"Hnnguh! Yes. Right there."
If anything Sherlock was just starting to sound more bored. "Sherlock?"
"Yes! John!"
If John hadn't seen the slow way Sherlock dragged his eyes from the book, he almost would have thought he'd actually managed to startle the detective. At least his voice sounded a bit more pleased.
"What are you doing?" John asked, not really liking the sudden pleased expression that covered the detectives face.
"Experiment," Sherlock answered smoothly, quietly, then added in a louder voice, "Right th- Oh!"
"And what experiment would that be?" John wondered. "See how much you can annoy the neighbors?"
Sherlock frowned, John recognised the signs of an oncoming sulk. "They've been 'annoying' you for four days now. You've gotten approximately forty-two percent less sleep and have been particularly snippish because of it. I have received twenty percent fewer cups of tea but your tea and coffee intake has increased by thirty-one percent. You are a god!"
"They're not making any noise right now, Sherlock."
"They finished intercourse approximately ten minutes ago. On average they take about fifteen to fall asleep after basking in 'post-coital bliss'. Hnng!" The venomous tone of post coital bliss followed by the poor imitation of a pleasures moan made John's head spin.
"Sherlock, stop."
"Why? I have made sure to be nothing but complimentary to your skills. Harder! Oh god, harder!" This was followed by Sherlock bouncing on John's mattress just a bit harder as his eyes returned to his book. "I am improving your reputation."
"At best you sound like you're getting a rather uncomfortable prostate exam by a strange and inexperienced doctor. if you're doing anything to my reputation, it's ruining it."
"Then you moan for me."
John crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjam, "I'm not going to moan while pretending to have sex just so you can irritate the neighbors."
"Oh, Jerry..."
John sighed. That had come from the other side of the wall. Since they couldn't sleep, apparently they'd decided to use the bed for other activities. Just great.
John couldn't stop the groan that erupted from his throat bit because he had his hand over his eyes, he didn't notice the way Sherlock perked up at the sound.
"Ah, I see. It's further back in the throat," he observed. "Oh, John..."
God help him, but that sound sent a rush of blood through John's body. The good doctor swallowed thickly.
"Come, John," John had to close his eyes at those words because it hadn't been said in Sherlock's breathy-moan which meant Sherlock probably didn't understand the implication of what he was saying in this context. "Join me."
And that was all the encouragement John needed (because this was Sherlock and John usually did whatever the mad detective asked of him).
The good doctor sat on the bed and, timing his bounces with Sherlock's in order to duplicate the best approximation of sex he could manage, let off a breathy moan that dripped with want.
Over the next two days, when he wasn't kept awake by listening to the neighbors sex or by having fake sex with Sherlock, it was the echo of that deep baritone that kept him from the land of dreams.
At least he got a couple of good wanks in.
And if he happened to moan Sherlock's name, well that's just because he was playing along.
Part 2