Fic: Uniform
Title: Uniform
Fandom: Sherlock
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 930
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: In which Sherlock plays dress-up and John gets distracted.
AN: Commentfic written for miya_tenaka who shamelessly prompted me for dress-up shenanigans.
Sherlock shows up at the front door, four hours after he left, wearing a police uniform.
John blinks at him.
"I'm fairly sure you didn't have time to join the Metropolitan police force while you were gone."
John assumes there's some sort of sensible explanation for this, but Sherlock doesn't seem to want to give it to him. Because he pushes him against the back of the door, crushes his police issue body armour into John's chest and kisses him.
John refuses to admit how quickly all the blood drains away from every part of his body which isn't his dick.
The strange novelty of it distracts him long enough for Sherlock to get his shirt untucked and to leave his mouth warm and numb under the bite of his teeth.
It takes him another half a minute after that to turn his head away.
"Sherlock, not that I don't appreciate enthusiasm, because I do. But what are you doing?"
"That's Officer Holmes," Sherlock says pointedly and John nearly chokes on his own tongue. Because apparently Sherlock is going to stay in character and he's never done that, they've never done that. John knows Sherlock can fake pretty much any personality he wants but he's never used that with him before.
"Sherlock -"
"Don't make me handcuff you, sir," Sherlock says, voice low with warning. "Because I will if you resist."
All the air rushes into John's throat and lodges there.
His mouth is open more than long enough for Sherlock to decide he's free to abuse it again.
John hasn't yet worked out how to resist the clever persistence of Sherlock's kisses. They always feel a little like an invasion - a lot like an invasion. The easiest option is usually surrender. Which probably goes some way to explaining why he doesn't protest when Sherlock walks him back towards the stairs.
"Sherlock -"
"Upstairs, sir." Sherlock says and John's immediately completely lost for any reason why he shouldn't do what Sherlock tells him to do.
John lets him push him all the way to his room. He knows without having to be told that Sherlock fully intends to keep the uniform on. Which is impractical and will probably be horribly uncomfortable, and yet John's making some sort of strangled noise which makes no sense at all.
His bed makes a protesting noise under the weight of both of them, and there's going to be a police issue boot print on his sheets, John realises, in a distracted and half amused sort of way. Oh god, there's going to be police boot prints wherever Sherlock wants them to be.
The cap digs into his forehead in one hard line and he tilts his head to the side until Sherlock can kiss him properly.
He's now far too close to both the radio and the ear piece and John hopes like hell that there's no one on the end of either because the noises he's making are shameless and vaguely obscene.
His jeans come down in one sharp tug, boxers quickly following them and he ends up with his legs round Sherlock’s waist, knee tucked uncomfortably under the thick material of what he suspects is a stab vest.
This is almost certainly misuse of police property.
"Sherlock," he says roughly - impatience maybe, or just an accusation of madness.
Sherlock rips open one his Velcro pockets - which is in no way hot because it's Velcro for god's sake. And John's not sure when condoms and lube became part of the standard police uniform, possibly it's a new thing, or just more proof that Sherlock is very, very good at planning ahead.
It's a slippery, half awkward struggle with them both still wearing most of their clothes
But then John has one hand spread on the wall, the other dug into the strap holding Sherlock's vest on and Sherlock is all the way inside him, sturdy police boot braced on the end of the bed.
It's just a little too hard and too quick to be comfortable but that's exactly the way John wants it. There's nothing but the hard crack of the bed into the wall and the sound of air whistling out of John's throat whenever he doesn't have enough of it to make noise and Mrs Hudson is probably going to complain about this and his leg is going to fucking hurt later.
He'll probably care about both of those things when he can think again. But right now everything is sharp and slippery and hard and so fucking good.
There's nothing in his head but white noise and his fingers have gone numb where they're digging into Velcro and stiff material and he's murmuring desperate nonsense against the open warmth of Sherlock's mouth.
And then he's coming, shaking and gasping and loud and slipping towards completely useless.
Sherlock follows him over.
When John gets his breath back he finds Sherlock lying next to him, spinning the police cap on two fingers. He's perfectly Sherlock again, all piercing eyes and composure and sharpness.
John thinks he should probably say something.
"Fnh."
That didn't come out quite as coherent as he'd been hoping.
"You're welcome," Sherlock says, because apparently he speaks incoherent.
"Did you steal a police uniform just so you could have sex with me wearing it?" John asks, because Sherlock's has done weirder things for less.
"No, I did actually make use of the uniform. The sex was simply a pleasant distraction."
"Well, good, that's - that's good." Because at least he was a pleasant distraction.
"Really?"
"Yes," John tells him.
It takes another second for something to occur to him.
"Sherlock, did you steal a police car?"
Fandom: Sherlock
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 930
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: In which Sherlock plays dress-up and John gets distracted.
AN: Commentfic written for miya_tenaka who shamelessly prompted me for dress-up shenanigans.
Sherlock shows up at the front door, four hours after he left, wearing a police uniform.
John blinks at him.
"I'm fairly sure you didn't have time to join the Metropolitan police force while you were gone."
John assumes there's some sort of sensible explanation for this, but Sherlock doesn't seem to want to give it to him. Because he pushes him against the back of the door, crushes his police issue body armour into John's chest and kisses him.
John refuses to admit how quickly all the blood drains away from every part of his body which isn't his dick.
The strange novelty of it distracts him long enough for Sherlock to get his shirt untucked and to leave his mouth warm and numb under the bite of his teeth.
It takes him another half a minute after that to turn his head away.
"Sherlock, not that I don't appreciate enthusiasm, because I do. But what are you doing?"
"That's Officer Holmes," Sherlock says pointedly and John nearly chokes on his own tongue. Because apparently Sherlock is going to stay in character and he's never done that, they've never done that. John knows Sherlock can fake pretty much any personality he wants but he's never used that with him before.
"Sherlock -"
"Don't make me handcuff you, sir," Sherlock says, voice low with warning. "Because I will if you resist."
All the air rushes into John's throat and lodges there.
His mouth is open more than long enough for Sherlock to decide he's free to abuse it again.
John hasn't yet worked out how to resist the clever persistence of Sherlock's kisses. They always feel a little like an invasion - a lot like an invasion. The easiest option is usually surrender. Which probably goes some way to explaining why he doesn't protest when Sherlock walks him back towards the stairs.
"Sherlock -"
"Upstairs, sir." Sherlock says and John's immediately completely lost for any reason why he shouldn't do what Sherlock tells him to do.
John lets him push him all the way to his room. He knows without having to be told that Sherlock fully intends to keep the uniform on. Which is impractical and will probably be horribly uncomfortable, and yet John's making some sort of strangled noise which makes no sense at all.
His bed makes a protesting noise under the weight of both of them, and there's going to be a police issue boot print on his sheets, John realises, in a distracted and half amused sort of way. Oh god, there's going to be police boot prints wherever Sherlock wants them to be.
The cap digs into his forehead in one hard line and he tilts his head to the side until Sherlock can kiss him properly.
He's now far too close to both the radio and the ear piece and John hopes like hell that there's no one on the end of either because the noises he's making are shameless and vaguely obscene.
His jeans come down in one sharp tug, boxers quickly following them and he ends up with his legs round Sherlock’s waist, knee tucked uncomfortably under the thick material of what he suspects is a stab vest.
This is almost certainly misuse of police property.
"Sherlock," he says roughly - impatience maybe, or just an accusation of madness.
Sherlock rips open one his Velcro pockets - which is in no way hot because it's Velcro for god's sake. And John's not sure when condoms and lube became part of the standard police uniform, possibly it's a new thing, or just more proof that Sherlock is very, very good at planning ahead.
It's a slippery, half awkward struggle with them both still wearing most of their clothes
But then John has one hand spread on the wall, the other dug into the strap holding Sherlock's vest on and Sherlock is all the way inside him, sturdy police boot braced on the end of the bed.
It's just a little too hard and too quick to be comfortable but that's exactly the way John wants it. There's nothing but the hard crack of the bed into the wall and the sound of air whistling out of John's throat whenever he doesn't have enough of it to make noise and Mrs Hudson is probably going to complain about this and his leg is going to fucking hurt later.
He'll probably care about both of those things when he can think again. But right now everything is sharp and slippery and hard and so fucking good.
There's nothing in his head but white noise and his fingers have gone numb where they're digging into Velcro and stiff material and he's murmuring desperate nonsense against the open warmth of Sherlock's mouth.
And then he's coming, shaking and gasping and loud and slipping towards completely useless.
Sherlock follows him over.
When John gets his breath back he finds Sherlock lying next to him, spinning the police cap on two fingers. He's perfectly Sherlock again, all piercing eyes and composure and sharpness.
John thinks he should probably say something.
"Fnh."
That didn't come out quite as coherent as he'd been hoping.
"You're welcome," Sherlock says, because apparently he speaks incoherent.
"Did you steal a police uniform just so you could have sex with me wearing it?" John asks, because Sherlock's has done weirder things for less.
"No, I did actually make use of the uniform. The sex was simply a pleasant distraction."
"Well, good, that's - that's good." Because at least he was a pleasant distraction.
"Really?"
"Yes," John tells him.
It takes another second for something to occur to him.
"Sherlock, did you steal a police car?"