Contest of Wills - Part 3
Title: Contest of Wills
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Rating: T
Originally titled Noisy Neighbors.
Alarmingly, the first time they really snogged was Mycroft's fault.
“Sherlock-”
“We’re busy,” John interrupted. Mycroft didn’t look particularly pleased with the answer but really, he should know better than to bother John after a call from Harry (and the fact that the call ended ten minutes before Mycroft arrived is no excuse... Not for a Holmes).
“John...” the elder Holmes allowed a bit of pleading to enter his tone. I know you’re the reasonable one and You don’t have a case on right now and For Queen and country.
“We’re busy,” John just repeats. And, really, it isn’t a lie so it’s not like any of the tells he know he has are going to reveal him. Right at that moment Sherlock and John are both very busy. John is busy glaring at his computer screen and Sherlock is busy ignoring his brother. Their schedules are completely full.
Mycroft should have know... he should have known... better than to push right then but he pushed anyway. He pushed and he picked and he just had to bring up all the fake sex and John really wasn’t willing to admit that he wished was real...
He told himself he wasn’t thinking about it when he stormed over to where Sherlock was laying in his ever-familiar thinking pose. His eyes are closed but his John’s about to do something to annoy Mycroft smirk is on his face so John doesn’t even hesitate before he slips a hand beneath his flatmate's neck and mashes their lips together.
Sherlock had to have know it was coming, he had to, because his reaction isn’t to startle at the contact but instead to bring his hands up and pull John closer. And it was only meant to prove a point, to make Mycroft leave them alone, but suddenly (with Sherlock’s lips pliant under his own) it’s so much more than that and the rest of the world can really just go take a hike because Sherlock’s lips are pliant under his own.
At some point, John drops to his knees next to the sofa because bending over like that is just doing nothing for his back and Sherlock turns so he’s laying on his side instead because that’s just more pleasant for this particular activity. Someone's mouth opens and the other’s follows and then their tongues are battling for dominance.
Somehow they migrate from the couch to Sherlock straddling John on the floor (Sherlock’s shoulder was beginning to fall asleep and John’s knees were beginning to hurt). And, really, they’re too old to be macking out on the carpet like teenagers but that doesn’t even occur to either of them until Sherlock’s phone chimes a text message and they break apart to stare at it (Well, John stares at it... Sherlock is really more of glaring).
“That was Lestrade’s sound,” John points out when Sherlock doesn’t rush to check the text.
“Yes, John.”
“Aren’t you going to check it?” John wonders. “It could be a case.”
For the first time, Sherlock looks torn as his eyes glide to the phone. “I’ve read it’s bad form to check your phone while being intimate with someone. Have I been misinformed?” Only John would have picked up the slight hesitance to that question but anyone could see, clear as day, that Sherlock wanted to check his phone.
“It’s also considered bad form to expect your boyfriend to change too much simply because he’s dating you,” John told him but the words made Sherlock sit back on his heels and study the doctor beneath him.
“Is that what we are now? Boyfriends?” he said the word slowly, seemingly rolling it about on his tongue as though this were the first time he’d ever said it.
“A bit juvenile for my tastes but its the best my brain is capable of coming up with at the mo,” John answered tiredly, closing his eyes. There was a quite thud as his head fell against the floor as though his neck was suddenly incapable of supporting it. He glances around and belatedly (gratefully) realizes Mycroft left at some point.
“Perhaps ‘partner’ instead?” Sherlock offered.
John giggled, not quite able to believe he was actually having this conversation. “Partners it is. Now check your phone, you git. I know you want to.”
x-x-x-x-x
It is a case, as it turns out, one that sends the detective and his doctor running about London like men even half their age can’t manage. It’s a serial killer case, one that’s been happening for decades but no one actually made the connection between the murders before now and suddenly it’s Christmas and Birthdays and several holiday’s all rolled into one because on top of all that it’s an interesting one too. There’s a chase (of course there’s a chase) and John ends up with some bruises in rather creative places and Sherlock has a nice new concussion (mild, barely there, concussion Sherlock is quick to point out later) but they’ll both live.
All in all, the case only takes three days but it puts them firmly past the two weeks the Married Ones had taken off work for their honeymoon. But two weeks straight of pure sex seems to have done nothing to discourage their libidos and they are more than happy to continue in their spare time.
It’s been nearly two weeks since John’s had a proper sleep but he brooks no argument when Sherlock pins him to the wall in the entryway and seems determined to map every centimeter of John’s mouth that he can reach with his tongue.
Technically Sherlock’s room is closer and his bed is the bigger of the two but (after they finally pull themselves away from each other long enough to make it up to the second floor) John is surprised when Sherlock forcibly drags him up one more flight of stairs to John’s own room.
It’s not until Sherlock’s straddling his hips on the bed and he hears Jerry’s moan next door that he understands.
If there was a single person on the face of the earth that was the epitome of the phrase Anything you can do, I can do better, it’s Sherlock.
He chuckles and Sherlock pulls back slightly. His eyes are heated as he examines the doctor laying beneath him, but scoffs at whatever he sees and claims John’s lips in another searing kiss.
Of course, now that John’s aware of Sherlock’s plan, he tries to take control of the kiss. John grew up in homes with thin walls, then went off to uni where he shared a dorm with thin walls, then was in the army where he shared a room full of bunks with other men. Loud and Sex just don’t really factor into any equations when it comes to John. That’s not to say that the good doctor isn’t skilled at pulling those noises out of other people (he’s quite skilled at that, just ask any number of people on three separate continents), but John himself is usually fairly quiet and that is not what Sherlock is looking for at the moment.
And it isn’t exactly like it would be any sort of hardship on him to attempt to pull those noises out of Sherlock. That is something John is quite looking forward to.
But there’s hidden strength in that lanky form and Sherlock is surprisingly skilled at finding those places that make John’s brain stutter and stop just long enough for his train of thought to be completely derailed.
Despite the way he’d basically dragged John up the stairs only moments ago, Sherlock slows once he gets John’s shirt off. The tiny, blond hairs (so thin, so fine, Sherlock notes, that they are barely visible even up close as he is now) on John’s chest stand on end as his fingers ghost of the newly revealed flesh beneath him. And he is delighted that John is shivering (no, not shivering... practically vibrating) beneath his fingers.
E-E-Eli-Oh God- Elliot! drifts from the other side of the wall but Sherlock ignores it (for now). John is not a man to be rushed and, judging by the surprised look on his face at the low moan the not-quite-touching pads of Sherlock’s fingers draw from him, the good doctor is not accustomed to making noise at all.
It is a point of pride for Sherlock that he is the first of John’s partners to do so.
.oO*Oo.
Jerry stepped away from the wall and covered his mouth to hold back an excited giggle.
"That was real, that time," Elliot muttered. His usually grim-set mouth quirked up at the corners.
"We actually did it!" Jerry shrieked quietly before grabbing his husband's hand. "Oh, we have to tell Mrs. Turner. I can’t believe this actually worked.”
“It took long enough,” Elliot answered, “You know I love you, but this much sex.... Well, it was starting to chafe a bit.”
~End~
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Rating: T
Originally titled Noisy Neighbors.
Alarmingly, the first time they really snogged was Mycroft's fault.
“Sherlock-”
“We’re busy,” John interrupted. Mycroft didn’t look particularly pleased with the answer but really, he should know better than to bother John after a call from Harry (and the fact that the call ended ten minutes before Mycroft arrived is no excuse... Not for a Holmes).
“John...” the elder Holmes allowed a bit of pleading to enter his tone. I know you’re the reasonable one and You don’t have a case on right now and For Queen and country.
“We’re busy,” John just repeats. And, really, it isn’t a lie so it’s not like any of the tells he know he has are going to reveal him. Right at that moment Sherlock and John are both very busy. John is busy glaring at his computer screen and Sherlock is busy ignoring his brother. Their schedules are completely full.
Mycroft should have know... he should have known... better than to push right then but he pushed anyway. He pushed and he picked and he just had to bring up all the fake sex and John really wasn’t willing to admit that he wished was real...
He told himself he wasn’t thinking about it when he stormed over to where Sherlock was laying in his ever-familiar thinking pose. His eyes are closed but his John’s about to do something to annoy Mycroft smirk is on his face so John doesn’t even hesitate before he slips a hand beneath his flatmate's neck and mashes their lips together.
Sherlock had to have know it was coming, he had to, because his reaction isn’t to startle at the contact but instead to bring his hands up and pull John closer. And it was only meant to prove a point, to make Mycroft leave them alone, but suddenly (with Sherlock’s lips pliant under his own) it’s so much more than that and the rest of the world can really just go take a hike because Sherlock’s lips are pliant under his own.
At some point, John drops to his knees next to the sofa because bending over like that is just doing nothing for his back and Sherlock turns so he’s laying on his side instead because that’s just more pleasant for this particular activity. Someone's mouth opens and the other’s follows and then their tongues are battling for dominance.
Somehow they migrate from the couch to Sherlock straddling John on the floor (Sherlock’s shoulder was beginning to fall asleep and John’s knees were beginning to hurt). And, really, they’re too old to be macking out on the carpet like teenagers but that doesn’t even occur to either of them until Sherlock’s phone chimes a text message and they break apart to stare at it (Well, John stares at it... Sherlock is really more of glaring).
“That was Lestrade’s sound,” John points out when Sherlock doesn’t rush to check the text.
“Yes, John.”
“Aren’t you going to check it?” John wonders. “It could be a case.”
For the first time, Sherlock looks torn as his eyes glide to the phone. “I’ve read it’s bad form to check your phone while being intimate with someone. Have I been misinformed?” Only John would have picked up the slight hesitance to that question but anyone could see, clear as day, that Sherlock wanted to check his phone.
“It’s also considered bad form to expect your boyfriend to change too much simply because he’s dating you,” John told him but the words made Sherlock sit back on his heels and study the doctor beneath him.
“Is that what we are now? Boyfriends?” he said the word slowly, seemingly rolling it about on his tongue as though this were the first time he’d ever said it.
“A bit juvenile for my tastes but its the best my brain is capable of coming up with at the mo,” John answered tiredly, closing his eyes. There was a quite thud as his head fell against the floor as though his neck was suddenly incapable of supporting it. He glances around and belatedly (gratefully) realizes Mycroft left at some point.
“Perhaps ‘partner’ instead?” Sherlock offered.
John giggled, not quite able to believe he was actually having this conversation. “Partners it is. Now check your phone, you git. I know you want to.”
x-x-x-x-x
It is a case, as it turns out, one that sends the detective and his doctor running about London like men even half their age can’t manage. It’s a serial killer case, one that’s been happening for decades but no one actually made the connection between the murders before now and suddenly it’s Christmas and Birthdays and several holiday’s all rolled into one because on top of all that it’s an interesting one too. There’s a chase (of course there’s a chase) and John ends up with some bruises in rather creative places and Sherlock has a nice new concussion (mild, barely there, concussion Sherlock is quick to point out later) but they’ll both live.
All in all, the case only takes three days but it puts them firmly past the two weeks the Married Ones had taken off work for their honeymoon. But two weeks straight of pure sex seems to have done nothing to discourage their libidos and they are more than happy to continue in their spare time.
It’s been nearly two weeks since John’s had a proper sleep but he brooks no argument when Sherlock pins him to the wall in the entryway and seems determined to map every centimeter of John’s mouth that he can reach with his tongue.
Technically Sherlock’s room is closer and his bed is the bigger of the two but (after they finally pull themselves away from each other long enough to make it up to the second floor) John is surprised when Sherlock forcibly drags him up one more flight of stairs to John’s own room.
It’s not until Sherlock’s straddling his hips on the bed and he hears Jerry’s moan next door that he understands.
If there was a single person on the face of the earth that was the epitome of the phrase Anything you can do, I can do better, it’s Sherlock.
He chuckles and Sherlock pulls back slightly. His eyes are heated as he examines the doctor laying beneath him, but scoffs at whatever he sees and claims John’s lips in another searing kiss.
Of course, now that John’s aware of Sherlock’s plan, he tries to take control of the kiss. John grew up in homes with thin walls, then went off to uni where he shared a dorm with thin walls, then was in the army where he shared a room full of bunks with other men. Loud and Sex just don’t really factor into any equations when it comes to John. That’s not to say that the good doctor isn’t skilled at pulling those noises out of other people (he’s quite skilled at that, just ask any number of people on three separate continents), but John himself is usually fairly quiet and that is not what Sherlock is looking for at the moment.
And it isn’t exactly like it would be any sort of hardship on him to attempt to pull those noises out of Sherlock. That is something John is quite looking forward to.
But there’s hidden strength in that lanky form and Sherlock is surprisingly skilled at finding those places that make John’s brain stutter and stop just long enough for his train of thought to be completely derailed.
Despite the way he’d basically dragged John up the stairs only moments ago, Sherlock slows once he gets John’s shirt off. The tiny, blond hairs (so thin, so fine, Sherlock notes, that they are barely visible even up close as he is now) on John’s chest stand on end as his fingers ghost of the newly revealed flesh beneath him. And he is delighted that John is shivering (no, not shivering... practically vibrating) beneath his fingers.
E-E-Eli-Oh God- Elliot! drifts from the other side of the wall but Sherlock ignores it (for now). John is not a man to be rushed and, judging by the surprised look on his face at the low moan the not-quite-touching pads of Sherlock’s fingers draw from him, the good doctor is not accustomed to making noise at all.
It is a point of pride for Sherlock that he is the first of John’s partners to do so.
.oO*Oo.
Jerry stepped away from the wall and covered his mouth to hold back an excited giggle.
"That was real, that time," Elliot muttered. His usually grim-set mouth quirked up at the corners.
"We actually did it!" Jerry shrieked quietly before grabbing his husband's hand. "Oh, we have to tell Mrs. Turner. I can’t believe this actually worked.”
“It took long enough,” Elliot answered, “You know I love you, but this much sex.... Well, it was starting to chafe a bit.”
~End~