FIC: Erotic Readings from the Journal of Organic Chemistry (John/Sherlock)
Title: Erotic Readings from the Journal of Organic Chemistry
Pairing/Characters: John/Sherlock
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Spoilers: Consensual light D/S
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Summary: Sherlock wants John to read from the Journal of Organic Chemistry to him--with the stipulation that he will get more aroused as the reading progress. There is a decent chance this is the sexiest story featuring enaminones and benzimidazoles you will read this month.
Word Count: 2600
"What exactly is the point of this again?" John opened up the most recent Journal of Organic Chemistry and cast his flatmate a dubious look.
"I told you." Sherlock cast himself into his chair, dressing-gown fluttering. "You're going to read it aloud to me. And every time you reach the end of a sentence you're going to get more aroused."
"Really. And why exactly would I find reading from the Journal of Organic Chemistry arousing?"
"Because I told you to," Sherlock said.
"Right." A beat of silence. "And the point? Correct me if I'm wrong--not that you would fail to--but I don't think you've explained the point of this quite yet."
Sherlock pulled a sulky, thoughtful face. "Perhaps it's an experiment to find out the effects of levels of sexual arousal on articulation of polysyllabic words." He drummed his fingers briefly on the arm of his chair. "Or perhaps I just like the way your voice gets blurry when you're turned on and I want to maximize my chances of hearing you stumble charmingly over words as you gamely struggle to complete my task. Perhaps I find it intoxicating to think that I have the power to--simply by fiat--turn something that is not intrinsically erotic into an erotic experience." Putting his elbows on his knees, he steepled his fingers and set his chin on his fingertips. "Humor me, John," he said, and smiled.
John cleared his throat and lifted the journal--in order to see more clearly, and not to block out the distracting sight of Sherlock Holmes smiling whimsically at him. "The title is Alkylative Coupling of Enaminones and Benzimidazole."
There was a pause, and John lowered the journal to glare at Sherlock. "What, did you think I couldn't even get through the title? I did go to medical school, you know. I do know what enaminones are."
Sherlock blinked raptly at him. "Of course, John. It wouldn't be a useful experiment--or much fun--if it was beyond you right from the beginning. The point is to watch your reading skills disintegrate as you get more aroused, so it is of course imperative you start off being able to read eloquently." He waved a hand. "Do begin."
John rolled his eyes slightly, but took a breath and rattled off the first sentence: "The α-amidoalkylation of carbon nucleophiles with N-acyliminium compounds is a long-established method for C-C bond formation. " He felt the tiniest hitch in his breathing as he reached the end of the sentence and shook his head in annoyance: damn Sherlock and his stupid suggestive voice, anyway. He was not going to get turned on from reading about nucleophiles. He gritted his teeth and forged onward: "This reaction can be used for the synthesis of various heterocyclic derivatives."
"Oh," said Sherlock with a note of glee in his voice, "That was a short sentence. I hope there aren't too many of those in a row, it wouldn 't do to ratchet up the arousal too abruptly, don't you think?"
John cleared his throat and ignored the interruption. "Benzimidazole ring is an important heterocyclic pharmacophore in drug discovery." Another short sentence; he had thought those would be less common in an article like this. It was rather satisfying to reach that tiny dot at the end so quickly and effortlessly. It felt good, actually.
He glanced at the next sentence and blinked, then gritted his teeth and plunged forward. "Benzimidazoles are regarded as a promising class of bioactive heterocyclic compounds that exhibit a range of biological activities - antiviral, antitumor, anticancer, antimicrobial activity against Staphylococcus aureus, Bacillus subtilis, Escherichia coli and Candida albicans, antibacterial activity against--" He had to stop and take a breath; was this sentence ever going to end? For a second the next word looked like gibberish, which was especially annoying because he knew he'd just said it. He shook his head and kept going: "--against Staphylococcus aureus, Escherichia coli, Enterococcus faecalis and fungicidal activity against Candida albicans and Asperigillus." He reached the maddeningly elusive period at last, and this time there was no pretending the pleasure he felt didn't have a sensual frisson to it. "Mm," he said without thinking, then hurriedly added, "Yeast infections aren't the sexiest of topics, Sherlock."
There was a rustle, and Sherlock swooped forward to settle on the floor between his legs. His face appeared below the journal, gazing upward, framed by John's knees. "I believe we've established quite convincingly that anything can be sexy if only I say so," Sherlock said. "And there's something rather distinctly erotic about the build of it, don't you think? All those lovely long hard words rushing forward to their apotheosis, the long-awaited lingual climax that comes with that tiny little dot." At the last word he poked John's inner thigh for emphasis and John swallowed. "Do continue," Sherlock murmured. "I yearn to hear you speak further of benzimidazoles."
John searched for his place. It was difficult to focus on organic chemistry when Sherlock was curled up on the floor at his feet, his hand still resting on John's denim-clad thigh with the sort of casual possessiveness that John never seemed to tire of. "Right. Benzimidazoles are potential enterovirus inhibitors." Easy. Delightfully easy.
Sherlock blew a disappointed raspberry. "You're hardly even having to work for your arousal, John. I might have as well have given you a children's primer. See John," he recited mockingly. "See John read. Read, John, read. See John come."
"Sounds good to me."
"Sounds boring."
"Well, the next one is a bit more of a challenge, so hold your damn horses. We have previously used adducts of cyclic imines and acyl chlorides as electrophilic reagents in an intermolecular α-amidoalkylation reaction toward aromatics and methylene active carbonyl compounds." He reached the end of the sentence and--oh. Yes, that was quite nice indeed, that ripple of accomplished pleasure. Psychosomatic as all hell, but still undeniably good. Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but John rode over his voice; he wanted to get to the end of the next sentence and see if that could continue. "Now the same strategy has been successfully applied for coupling--" The word seemed oddly, frankly sexual there in the middle of the dry scientific phrases, and John broke off in confusion before reminding himself it had nothing to do with sex, it was just that Sherlock had him thinking about sex, about coupling, lovely term, really, making a couple, doubled pleasure, doubled…
"John?"
"Right, sorry. --coupling of benzimidazole and cyclic enaminones." Dot. This time the sensuous rush seemed to start somewhere around his tailbone and radiate through his torso, a slow, throbbing wave that made him catch his breath.
"You seem to be having some problems concentrating," Sherlock noted.
"I'm fine," John said.
"We can stop."
"No. You told me to read and I'm going to read. I can do this." He blinked at the page, bringing the words back into focus. Enaminones, as defined by Greenhill, are--are mononemenimi--" The word trailed off into a mush of M's and N's, and wait, that couldn't be right. He squinted at the word, frustrated--it was keeping him from reaching the end of the sentence, where Sherlock wanted him to be. Where Sherlock was waiting for him. "Monomnomnom--"
"Monoenamines?"
"Yes, those," he said with relief. "--Monoenamines of 1,3-dicarbonyl compounds which combine the ambident electrophilicity of enones and the ambident nucleophilicity--" He stumbled again at the soundalike of "felicity," of happiness, he could spend an hour thinking about his felicitous flatmate, but he jolted onward, "--of enamines. Ah. Oh God, that's good."
Sherlock's hands slid from John's knees up the inside of his thighs, his thumbs coming to rest firmly on John's fly, adding physical pressure to the sparks stuttering along John's spine. "It's getting rather difficult, isn't it?"
John groaned something approximately affirmative.
"But you really need to get through the next sentence, John," Sherlock's voice managed to be coaxing and commanding at the same time. "Come now, I know you can do it." And John wanted to, he really did, but as he tried to focus on the jangling jumble of letters on the page he heard the whisper of his fly coming open and looked down to see Sherlock licking his lips and leaning forward and--
"No, no," he stammered, squirming away from the tempting sweet curve of Sherlock's rapacious upper lip. "You can't--you can't talk," he said as Sherlock looked slightly hurt. "I can't hear your voice when you do that."
"Oh," said Sherlock, and the hurt was wiped away as if it had never been, replaced by a dazzlingly smug smile. "Well then, once you finish the next sentence, I'll apply some...manual stimulation." He ran one finger very lightly along the length of John's erection. "But you'll have to get to the end of the sentence first, my dearest of doctors."
"All right then," John said, bracing himself. The next sentence wasn't so long. "The N-acyliminium--" He stumbled twice on the word and had to stop for a moment as a fit of giggles threatened to render him incapable of reading. "The N-acyliminium reagents were obtained after initial N-acylation of benzimidazole--"
"Quite nice," murmured Sherlock. "I thought you might have a problem with that one by this point."
John glared down at him. "--benzimidazole with alkyl chloroformates--"
"Mmm. I do like that growly annoyed tone in your voice."
"--the presence of Et3N--"
"And I like even better when the growl gets all breathy and you can't stay annoyed any longer because everything feels so...very...good." Sherlock's voice was a satisfied purr that pursued John as he stumbled through the sentence and finally concluded:
"--and various primary amines." This time the little tiny period was like a spike of pure bliss; John closed his eyes and lost himself in it until he felt a warm hand wrap around his cock and his eyes flew open once more. "Uh."
"I know," said Sherlock. "You're not sure you can get to the end without coming if I do this." The man always knew precisely how much pressure needed to be applied, and where, and when, damn him. "I assure you that you will not climax until the last sentence is done, though."
"Because you say so." John was fairly certain he had been aiming for "wry" rather than "ecstatic" there.
"Because I say so. Now please--" The pressure adjusted just enough to push him about halfway to heaven, and then halfway again, and then again, and he was never going to get there at this rate, it was the Zeno's Paradox of handjobs. "--Do continue."
John wriggled in his chair, wrapping his legs around Sherlock's torso and tugging him closer, but it was no good, nothing was going to get him there but finishing the article about benzi-sodding-midazoles. Because Sherlock had said so, in that ridiculous velvet-and-whiskey voice of his, and that made it true. He always made everything true, and real, including and especially John himself. John sighed and felt himself accepting it, felt his body relaxing into the knowledge, the deep and blissful surety of being wrapped in Sherlock's voice, and focused once more on the journal. The sentences writhed and dodged him, but he pursued them doggedly, letting the completion of every sentence spike him into new heights of pleasure, letting Sherlock's wicked hands coax him to the very edge, until "In conclusion," oh beautiful phrase, oh welcome phrase, "the scope of application of the inter--the intermolecular reaction of α-amidoalkylation has been studied and series of cyclic--God, Sherlock, yes--enamino ketones were selectively amidoalkylated at the α-carbon atom in reactions with--"
The next word was simply too much, a jumble of letters only five words from the end, but it was impossible. "Acy--Acyl--" He closed his eyes and let the word trail into gibberish, shuddering; he would just stay here forever, then, poised on the edge of climax, forever in Sherlock's hands. There were worse fates.
"Acy…" Sherlock's voice prompted him.
"Acy," John echoed helplessly.
"...limi…"
"Limi."
"...nium."
"Nium. Ashyliminimum."
"Good enough," said Sherlock with a chuckle. "Four words left."
"--reagentsderivedfrombenzimidazole," John said in one long rush, and collapsed backwards as everything seemed to ignite, both his mind and his body, and for a shockingly long while there was nothing in the world but Sherlock's hands and the steady pulse of his orgasm shaking him into fragments.
"I think we've rather improved your jumper," Sherlock observed after a time. John raised a wobbly head to peer down at himself, let it drop back with a groan. Gazing through heavy-lidded eyes, he watched Sherlock run his tongue along one of his slippery fingers, then slip it into his mouth, his eyes drifting closed. "Mm," he said, and John felt his balls tighten exquisitely.
Sherlock tried another finger as if the flavor might be different, then his thumb. "You had Thai for lunch with Lestrade," he observed with his eyes closed. "You went shopping for cologne after lunch; you almost got hit by a car crossing the street on the way home; and this is your fourth very satisfying orgasm in twenty-four hours."
Startled, John sat upright. "You could--you got all that from--that's incredible! I'd heard that food could--but--maybe the rush of adrenaline--"
He broke off at Sherlock's amused look.
"You always get either curry or Thai with Lestrade, and there's a bit of soy sauce on your collar; you always have a hard time opening those little packets," Sherlock said. "The cologne is still on your wrist cuffs: each cuff is different, so you were comparing. If it's a gift for me, go with the vetiver, as the oud on the left is appalling." He looked at John's expression and that awkward wrinkle appeared between his nose. "You already--" He broke off and cleared his throat. "I got it backwards, the oud is quite nice, thank you."
"You're welcome," John said dryly.
"There are small splashes of mud on your trouser legs from a car traveling at some velocity at a near distance--you really should be more careful, John, if you get hit by a car I'll have to go back to talking to the skull--and as for the four orgasms, well--" A dazzling smile, "--I can count."
"Maybe I got in a bit of a wank, huh?" John nudged Sherlock with a foot. "How about that?"
"I said very satisfying orgasms," Sherlock sniffed, and lapped his palm briefly like a cat.
"So you didn't get all that from…"
Sherlock put his pinky into his mouth and shook his head, sucking thoughtfully.
"So then, um, why--"
"Oh, this?"
Sherlock held up his hand with the fingers splayed between them; John could see his smile flicker behind it. A pink tongue caressed the gap between two fingers, and John felt the world go pale with a fresh surge of lust.
"I just like the taste of you," Sherlock said.
---
The article cited is a real one, but I'm not going to link or name the authors because I don't want the good scientists to ever Google themselves and die of horror!
Pairing/Characters: John/Sherlock
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Spoilers: Consensual light D/S
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Summary: Sherlock wants John to read from the Journal of Organic Chemistry to him--with the stipulation that he will get more aroused as the reading progress. There is a decent chance this is the sexiest story featuring enaminones and benzimidazoles you will read this month.
Word Count: 2600
"What exactly is the point of this again?" John opened up the most recent Journal of Organic Chemistry and cast his flatmate a dubious look.
"I told you." Sherlock cast himself into his chair, dressing-gown fluttering. "You're going to read it aloud to me. And every time you reach the end of a sentence you're going to get more aroused."
"Really. And why exactly would I find reading from the Journal of Organic Chemistry arousing?"
"Because I told you to," Sherlock said.
"Right." A beat of silence. "And the point? Correct me if I'm wrong--not that you would fail to--but I don't think you've explained the point of this quite yet."
Sherlock pulled a sulky, thoughtful face. "Perhaps it's an experiment to find out the effects of levels of sexual arousal on articulation of polysyllabic words." He drummed his fingers briefly on the arm of his chair. "Or perhaps I just like the way your voice gets blurry when you're turned on and I want to maximize my chances of hearing you stumble charmingly over words as you gamely struggle to complete my task. Perhaps I find it intoxicating to think that I have the power to--simply by fiat--turn something that is not intrinsically erotic into an erotic experience." Putting his elbows on his knees, he steepled his fingers and set his chin on his fingertips. "Humor me, John," he said, and smiled.
John cleared his throat and lifted the journal--in order to see more clearly, and not to block out the distracting sight of Sherlock Holmes smiling whimsically at him. "The title is Alkylative Coupling of Enaminones and Benzimidazole."
There was a pause, and John lowered the journal to glare at Sherlock. "What, did you think I couldn't even get through the title? I did go to medical school, you know. I do know what enaminones are."
Sherlock blinked raptly at him. "Of course, John. It wouldn't be a useful experiment--or much fun--if it was beyond you right from the beginning. The point is to watch your reading skills disintegrate as you get more aroused, so it is of course imperative you start off being able to read eloquently." He waved a hand. "Do begin."
John rolled his eyes slightly, but took a breath and rattled off the first sentence: "The α-amidoalkylation of carbon nucleophiles with N-acyliminium compounds is a long-established method for C-C bond formation. " He felt the tiniest hitch in his breathing as he reached the end of the sentence and shook his head in annoyance: damn Sherlock and his stupid suggestive voice, anyway. He was not going to get turned on from reading about nucleophiles. He gritted his teeth and forged onward: "This reaction can be used for the synthesis of various heterocyclic derivatives."
"Oh," said Sherlock with a note of glee in his voice, "That was a short sentence. I hope there aren't too many of those in a row, it wouldn 't do to ratchet up the arousal too abruptly, don't you think?"
John cleared his throat and ignored the interruption. "Benzimidazole ring is an important heterocyclic pharmacophore in drug discovery." Another short sentence; he had thought those would be less common in an article like this. It was rather satisfying to reach that tiny dot at the end so quickly and effortlessly. It felt good, actually.
He glanced at the next sentence and blinked, then gritted his teeth and plunged forward. "Benzimidazoles are regarded as a promising class of bioactive heterocyclic compounds that exhibit a range of biological activities - antiviral, antitumor, anticancer, antimicrobial activity against Staphylococcus aureus, Bacillus subtilis, Escherichia coli and Candida albicans, antibacterial activity against--" He had to stop and take a breath; was this sentence ever going to end? For a second the next word looked like gibberish, which was especially annoying because he knew he'd just said it. He shook his head and kept going: "--against Staphylococcus aureus, Escherichia coli, Enterococcus faecalis and fungicidal activity against Candida albicans and Asperigillus." He reached the maddeningly elusive period at last, and this time there was no pretending the pleasure he felt didn't have a sensual frisson to it. "Mm," he said without thinking, then hurriedly added, "Yeast infections aren't the sexiest of topics, Sherlock."
There was a rustle, and Sherlock swooped forward to settle on the floor between his legs. His face appeared below the journal, gazing upward, framed by John's knees. "I believe we've established quite convincingly that anything can be sexy if only I say so," Sherlock said. "And there's something rather distinctly erotic about the build of it, don't you think? All those lovely long hard words rushing forward to their apotheosis, the long-awaited lingual climax that comes with that tiny little dot." At the last word he poked John's inner thigh for emphasis and John swallowed. "Do continue," Sherlock murmured. "I yearn to hear you speak further of benzimidazoles."
John searched for his place. It was difficult to focus on organic chemistry when Sherlock was curled up on the floor at his feet, his hand still resting on John's denim-clad thigh with the sort of casual possessiveness that John never seemed to tire of. "Right. Benzimidazoles are potential enterovirus inhibitors." Easy. Delightfully easy.
Sherlock blew a disappointed raspberry. "You're hardly even having to work for your arousal, John. I might have as well have given you a children's primer. See John," he recited mockingly. "See John read. Read, John, read. See John come."
"Sounds good to me."
"Sounds boring."
"Well, the next one is a bit more of a challenge, so hold your damn horses. We have previously used adducts of cyclic imines and acyl chlorides as electrophilic reagents in an intermolecular α-amidoalkylation reaction toward aromatics and methylene active carbonyl compounds." He reached the end of the sentence and--oh. Yes, that was quite nice indeed, that ripple of accomplished pleasure. Psychosomatic as all hell, but still undeniably good. Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but John rode over his voice; he wanted to get to the end of the next sentence and see if that could continue. "Now the same strategy has been successfully applied for coupling--" The word seemed oddly, frankly sexual there in the middle of the dry scientific phrases, and John broke off in confusion before reminding himself it had nothing to do with sex, it was just that Sherlock had him thinking about sex, about coupling, lovely term, really, making a couple, doubled pleasure, doubled…
"John?"
"Right, sorry. --coupling of benzimidazole and cyclic enaminones." Dot. This time the sensuous rush seemed to start somewhere around his tailbone and radiate through his torso, a slow, throbbing wave that made him catch his breath.
"You seem to be having some problems concentrating," Sherlock noted.
"I'm fine," John said.
"We can stop."
"No. You told me to read and I'm going to read. I can do this." He blinked at the page, bringing the words back into focus. Enaminones, as defined by Greenhill, are--are mononemenimi--" The word trailed off into a mush of M's and N's, and wait, that couldn't be right. He squinted at the word, frustrated--it was keeping him from reaching the end of the sentence, where Sherlock wanted him to be. Where Sherlock was waiting for him. "Monomnomnom--"
"Monoenamines?"
"Yes, those," he said with relief. "--Monoenamines of 1,3-dicarbonyl compounds which combine the ambident electrophilicity of enones and the ambident nucleophilicity--" He stumbled again at the soundalike of "felicity," of happiness, he could spend an hour thinking about his felicitous flatmate, but he jolted onward, "--of enamines. Ah. Oh God, that's good."
Sherlock's hands slid from John's knees up the inside of his thighs, his thumbs coming to rest firmly on John's fly, adding physical pressure to the sparks stuttering along John's spine. "It's getting rather difficult, isn't it?"
John groaned something approximately affirmative.
"But you really need to get through the next sentence, John," Sherlock's voice managed to be coaxing and commanding at the same time. "Come now, I know you can do it." And John wanted to, he really did, but as he tried to focus on the jangling jumble of letters on the page he heard the whisper of his fly coming open and looked down to see Sherlock licking his lips and leaning forward and--
"No, no," he stammered, squirming away from the tempting sweet curve of Sherlock's rapacious upper lip. "You can't--you can't talk," he said as Sherlock looked slightly hurt. "I can't hear your voice when you do that."
"Oh," said Sherlock, and the hurt was wiped away as if it had never been, replaced by a dazzlingly smug smile. "Well then, once you finish the next sentence, I'll apply some...manual stimulation." He ran one finger very lightly along the length of John's erection. "But you'll have to get to the end of the sentence first, my dearest of doctors."
"All right then," John said, bracing himself. The next sentence wasn't so long. "The N-acyliminium--" He stumbled twice on the word and had to stop for a moment as a fit of giggles threatened to render him incapable of reading. "The N-acyliminium reagents were obtained after initial N-acylation of benzimidazole--"
"Quite nice," murmured Sherlock. "I thought you might have a problem with that one by this point."
John glared down at him. "--benzimidazole with alkyl chloroformates--"
"Mmm. I do like that growly annoyed tone in your voice."
"--the presence of Et3N--"
"And I like even better when the growl gets all breathy and you can't stay annoyed any longer because everything feels so...very...good." Sherlock's voice was a satisfied purr that pursued John as he stumbled through the sentence and finally concluded:
"--and various primary amines." This time the little tiny period was like a spike of pure bliss; John closed his eyes and lost himself in it until he felt a warm hand wrap around his cock and his eyes flew open once more. "Uh."
"I know," said Sherlock. "You're not sure you can get to the end without coming if I do this." The man always knew precisely how much pressure needed to be applied, and where, and when, damn him. "I assure you that you will not climax until the last sentence is done, though."
"Because you say so." John was fairly certain he had been aiming for "wry" rather than "ecstatic" there.
"Because I say so. Now please--" The pressure adjusted just enough to push him about halfway to heaven, and then halfway again, and then again, and he was never going to get there at this rate, it was the Zeno's Paradox of handjobs. "--Do continue."
John wriggled in his chair, wrapping his legs around Sherlock's torso and tugging him closer, but it was no good, nothing was going to get him there but finishing the article about benzi-sodding-midazoles. Because Sherlock had said so, in that ridiculous velvet-and-whiskey voice of his, and that made it true. He always made everything true, and real, including and especially John himself. John sighed and felt himself accepting it, felt his body relaxing into the knowledge, the deep and blissful surety of being wrapped in Sherlock's voice, and focused once more on the journal. The sentences writhed and dodged him, but he pursued them doggedly, letting the completion of every sentence spike him into new heights of pleasure, letting Sherlock's wicked hands coax him to the very edge, until "In conclusion," oh beautiful phrase, oh welcome phrase, "the scope of application of the inter--the intermolecular reaction of α-amidoalkylation has been studied and series of cyclic--God, Sherlock, yes--enamino ketones were selectively amidoalkylated at the α-carbon atom in reactions with--"
The next word was simply too much, a jumble of letters only five words from the end, but it was impossible. "Acy--Acyl--" He closed his eyes and let the word trail into gibberish, shuddering; he would just stay here forever, then, poised on the edge of climax, forever in Sherlock's hands. There were worse fates.
"Acy…" Sherlock's voice prompted him.
"Acy," John echoed helplessly.
"...limi…"
"Limi."
"...nium."
"Nium. Ashyliminimum."
"Good enough," said Sherlock with a chuckle. "Four words left."
"--reagentsderivedfrombenzimidazole," John said in one long rush, and collapsed backwards as everything seemed to ignite, both his mind and his body, and for a shockingly long while there was nothing in the world but Sherlock's hands and the steady pulse of his orgasm shaking him into fragments.
"I think we've rather improved your jumper," Sherlock observed after a time. John raised a wobbly head to peer down at himself, let it drop back with a groan. Gazing through heavy-lidded eyes, he watched Sherlock run his tongue along one of his slippery fingers, then slip it into his mouth, his eyes drifting closed. "Mm," he said, and John felt his balls tighten exquisitely.
Sherlock tried another finger as if the flavor might be different, then his thumb. "You had Thai for lunch with Lestrade," he observed with his eyes closed. "You went shopping for cologne after lunch; you almost got hit by a car crossing the street on the way home; and this is your fourth very satisfying orgasm in twenty-four hours."
Startled, John sat upright. "You could--you got all that from--that's incredible! I'd heard that food could--but--maybe the rush of adrenaline--"
He broke off at Sherlock's amused look.
"You always get either curry or Thai with Lestrade, and there's a bit of soy sauce on your collar; you always have a hard time opening those little packets," Sherlock said. "The cologne is still on your wrist cuffs: each cuff is different, so you were comparing. If it's a gift for me, go with the vetiver, as the oud on the left is appalling." He looked at John's expression and that awkward wrinkle appeared between his nose. "You already--" He broke off and cleared his throat. "I got it backwards, the oud is quite nice, thank you."
"You're welcome," John said dryly.
"There are small splashes of mud on your trouser legs from a car traveling at some velocity at a near distance--you really should be more careful, John, if you get hit by a car I'll have to go back to talking to the skull--and as for the four orgasms, well--" A dazzling smile, "--I can count."
"Maybe I got in a bit of a wank, huh?" John nudged Sherlock with a foot. "How about that?"
"I said very satisfying orgasms," Sherlock sniffed, and lapped his palm briefly like a cat.
"So you didn't get all that from…"
Sherlock put his pinky into his mouth and shook his head, sucking thoughtfully.
"So then, um, why--"
"Oh, this?"
Sherlock held up his hand with the fingers splayed between them; John could see his smile flicker behind it. A pink tongue caressed the gap between two fingers, and John felt the world go pale with a fresh surge of lust.
"I just like the taste of you," Sherlock said.
---
The article cited is a real one, but I'm not going to link or name the authors because I don't want the good scientists to ever Google themselves and die of horror!