Sherlock: Fan Fic
A/N: My first fan fic in the Sherlock universe - and first published smut ever! Just something about these boys inspired me. I appreciate you taking the time to read this, and I would love the feedback so I can improve! Thanks!
Set pre-Reichenbach. This is a first-time fic. Warnings for dirty talk, swearing, and full doctor-on-detective sexy times. If that bothers you, stop reading now.
Still with us? Excellent. *rubs palms* Then let’s start the show!
Just Getting Warmed Up
John couldn’t remember ever being this cold before. Even those long nights in Afghanistan, lying in a fox hole, he didn’t recall having this feeling of bone-chilling frigidness. But, back then he had been alert on adrenaline most nights, in an effort of self-preservation, and the thought of cold had never really seemed to bother him. Tonight was a different matter. There hadn’t been any fox holes or army night raids to put himself in jeopardy. No, tonight he had simply been doing what seemed to get him into the most trouble these days - being the blogger to the World’s Only Consulting Detective. He had been standing on the banks of the Thames for over three hours helping Sherlock investigate a murder. It was late February in London which meant it was cold and drizzling rain. He hadn’t thought to wear much besides his normal jacket, because Sherlock said it would take only five minutes to sort out what Scotland Yard had overlooked. John believed him, he trusted him. But when dusk began to creep in, he was starting to doubt his own sanity. One of the officers on duty had a spare pair of gloves they had let John borrow out of pity. John hadn’t wanted to leave Sherlock’s side and appear to be giving up on the detective. Or, if he was honest with himself, he didn’t want to show signs of weakness since Sherlock had only been in his usual coat & scarf combo and hadn’t complained one iota.
Sherlock usually didn’t take so long at the crime scene, but this time they had to scour the banks looking for a cufflink. Sherlock said it was a vital clue to the mystery. John, along with Sherlock and the police officers on duty had searched the rocks among the edge of the water, in the setting sun, until finally a constable had found it. The search had been called off, and they all got to return home, but John was quite sure he’d never be able to feel his toes again. When they got back to the flat he had hurriedly changed into dryer clothes. He now sat in his oversized armchair at 221B, with a mug of tea in his hands, and a fire crackling in the hearth. He was beginning to feel some warmth in his fingers and toes once more.
As John sat there trying to remember his medical school training in regards to frost bite and various appendages, Sherlock came over to the armchair holding an oversized blanket. He looked down at John, and said, “Shift.”
John looked up at him like he wasn’t talking English anymore. He just waited for Sherlock to give him an answer, which he did.
“Drinking that tea will do little to help re-heat your body internally. To metabolize the liquids your body will have to expend energy, and so your core temperature will actually drop. The only scientific way to increase body temperature at a proper rate is by sharing the body heat of another person. So, shift.” Sherlock offered as explanation.
John looked at him for a moment longer, before acquiescing and sliding over without commenting on the situation. He knew better than to argue with Sherlock when he was in his scientific mood. There was more than enough room in the oversized chair for both of them with Sherlock being as skinny as he was. He set his tea on the side table and turned so he was more on his side to make extra room for Sherlock’s lean frame. Sherlock sat behind him, spooning his back, and covered them both with the blanket. He wrapped one arm around John’s shoulder so it hung down and across his chest, and the other around his waist. In this position, it was most comfortable for John to lay his head on Sherlock’s shoulder, so he did. He was somewhat tense being in a cuddling position with his flat mate, but he knew he couldn’t say anything without Sherlock giving him another scientific speech about the matter. John decided he would just try to bear it until Sherlock got bored, which would probably be about two minutes into this exercise.
Then John received another surprise. He felt Sherlock’s hands cover his own and start to massage them to increase the circulation. The human contact felt very nice. John hadn’t had a date in ages, and he was beginning to realize how much he missed cuddling and touching another person. If this is how Sherlock was going to re-pay him for nearly freezing to death, he would accept it. It wasn’t very often that the detective did something nice for him anyways. John started to relax from the attention to his hands, and his eyes drifted shut.
John might have lain there for hours. In fact, he might have even fallen asleep, were it not for what happened next. With his head on Sherlock’s shoulder, his ear was quite close to Sherlock’s mouth. And it was at this point that Sherlock started ghosting warm puffs of air on John’s ear in order to warm it up. Involuntarily, John let out a soft sigh when the breath hit his ear. Sherlock instantly stilled, and John felt himself tense, waiting for Sherlock to leap from the chair before bounding off to conduct experiments. But, what happened next was beyond anything John could imagine, and it would be the factor that sealed his fate that night.
Sherlock didn’t run away. He didn’t start listing off the 243 kinds of tobacco ash. Instead, after a few moments of quiet breathing between the two men, Sherlock opened his mouth, and started to nibble on John’s ear. Sherlock’s soft warm lips started at the top of John’s ear and were slowly (oh, so achingly slowly) working their way towards his ear lobe - the heat of Sherlock’s mouth in sharp contrast to the cold of John’s ear.
The sensation was like a shot of electricity that started in John’s brain, went clear down to his toes, and back up again. He had to bite his lip to keep from moaning. John’s brain was suddenly at war with itself. The logical part was saying he should run away or protest, but the primal (and much more over-powering) part told him it felt too good to be stopping. And when Sherlock got down to his earlobe, and sucked with earnest, John couldn’t help the breathy sigh that escaped his lips.
Sherlock let his earlobe go with a small pop, and whispered in John’s ear, with his baritone voice at a much lower pitch than normal. That wasn’t playing fair, was it?
“You know, the most scientific way to reheat another person’s body requires skin on skin contact.”
John felt himself shiver those words. Sherlock unwrapped himself from John and stood. He looked down at John, as if trying to read his mind. John knew that Sherlock could deduce a great deal from complete strangers, so when it came to John - a man he spent most of his waking hours with - he was practically an open book. John fought to keep his facial expression neutral and not give too much away. He wanted to see where Sherlock was headed with this. He still wanted to give his friend an out if he wanted one.
Then Sherlock’s long, slender fingers started undoing the buttons on his cuffs. They moved onto the top button of his deep purple shirt. John felt his breath catch again. How many times had he observed the straining buttons on that shirt and wished to rip it off its owner? John watched - his gaze locked onto this enigma of a man in front of him. John suddenly found himself wanting to know what it would feel like to run his hands all over his friend’s chest, explore down his abdomen, and around his lean back and shoulder muscles. What would it feel like to have their arms wrapped around each other, bare chests pressing together? He could feel a tingling in his fingers and toes that he knew had nothing to do with the time he had spent outside in the cold. Sherlock finished the buttons on his shirt, and slid the garment off his back, letting it land on the floor with a dull thud. John swallowed a small lump in his throat, a miniscule gesture to most, but it did not go unnoticed by Sherlock’s intense gaze. Sherlock raised his eyebrow the smallest fraction of an inch and let a tiny smirk adorn those beautiful lips of his. Only John, who knew him so well, could see how pleased he was with himself.
I wonder what he’d say if I asked him to shower with me to help warm me up, John thought to himself.
Sherlock laughed the smallest amount, as if he had read John’s mind. He reached down and pulled the man to his feet. With one hand cupping his face, he leaned down and brought their lips within inches of touching and stopped.
“Dr. Watson,” he whispered against John’s lips, “would you like to give me your medical recommendation on the best course of treatment for tonight?”
John’s reply was to bring his hands around Sherlock’s shoulders and press their bodies together a breath-stealing kiss. Their lips smashed together with force, and passion, both of them fighting for dominance over the kiss. Lips quickly opened to allow tongues to become acquainted, which didn’t take long. The pace of the kiss slowed somewhat as they lost each other to that first moment. When they finally had to stop for air, they were both breathing heavily, foreheads pressed together. They looked at each other, and smiled.
“Well then Doctor?”
“Best to get all of these clothes off to ensure as much skin contact as possible” John’s voice rumbled in his chest. My, when did it start sounding all rough like that?
“Couldn’t agree more,” Sherlock said with a smirk.
He leaned in for another kiss, this one less frantic than the last. John let him take the lead and decide when to deepen the kiss. Sherlock took his time, opening his mouth to explore John’s, which John let him. Sherlock ran his tongue over John’s, and traced the outline of his lips before gently nibbling on his bottom lip. At the same time his curious fingers were caressing the patch of skin that had appeared between John’s slacks and jumper. Sherlock’s hands moulded themselves to John’s hip bones, and he pulled him flush with is body and took possession of his mouth. John couldn’t help the surprised growl that escaped his mouth and became a breathy moan. Sherlock broke the kiss long enough to pull John’s jumper over his head.
They stood, about a foot apart, and John wondered if he should stop this before it got out of hand, and then Sherlock’s hand drifted to his own button on his slacks. John’s mind pretty much stopped working at that point, his heart rate increased, and his own pants started to feel a little bit tighter. He knew he wanted this and so did Sherlock.
John reached out a hand and stopped Sherlock from what he was doing. Sherlock gave him a slightly puzzled look, but didn’t say anything. John wanted to be the one to undress him the first time he saw Sherlock naked. This was something his fantasies had always been clear about. He wanted to show Sherlock he was eager to participate too. He made eye contact with Sherlock as he undid the taller man’s slacks, eyes full of passion and promise. He broke eye contact only to kneel and help Sherlock step out of his garments. John knelt there looking at Sherlock’s half-hard cock appreciatively. It was long and thick and bobbed in front of John’s face. He found himself wondering what it would taste like and licked his lips at the thought.
He must have been staring for slightly longer than he thought because a voice above him pulled him out of his thoughts.
“You know, it’s impolite to stare.”
John looked up at Sherlock, making eye contact. His pupils were blown, and there was a flush in his cheeks, but it wasn’t from embarrassment. John knew his flatmate better than anyone else. He was in a state that John had only dreamed of, but never believed he would see. Sherlock was aroused.
“And since when would you be teaching me manners?” John quipped flirtatiously, with a raise of his eyebrow. “Besides, when something is this beautiful, you can’t rush it.”
Without breaking eye contact, John placed his hands on the back of Sherlock’s calves, and ran his hands up the back of his legs, gently stroking the skin. He brought his hands up over the swell of Sherlock’s hip bones, and down the front of his legs. Then John leaned in and placed an open mouth kiss on one of Sherlock’s hips, still maintaining eye contact, watching for this beautiful man to react. John started trailing kisses along his waistline, below his navel, until he reached Sherlock’s groin. John very gently placed a kiss on his cock and Sherlock’s eyes fluttered shut and he let out a moan. Encouraged by this, John continued to place soft kisses from the tip of his cock down to the base, one hand coming to support Sherlock’s cock, as the other was stroking the back of his thigh. John finally broke eye contact as his own eyes shut so he could enjoy the sensation of skin against sensitive skin. Sherlock felt amazing. Soft and warm, growing harder by the second. John felt his jeans getting tighter and suddenly saw his own folly at not taking off his clothes before getting into this position. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself now that he started, afraid that if he did he would wake up and find it was all a dream. Then he felt long fingers curl in his hair and looked up to see Sherlock gazing down at him. He withdrew his mouth and waited.
“I believe, John, that we might find the bed more comfortable for our evening’s activities.”
John couldn’t find a reason to argue. In fact, his smile moved into a smile of its own accord, his mind quickly running through several of the other fantasies he’s had in the past few months that included him and Sherlock wrapped around each other in a bed - limbs intertwined, sweat glistening off of porcelain skin…
“John.”
Sherlock’s voice interrupted his thoughts, and John realizes he has been daydreaming when the real thing was right in front of him.
“Let’s go to bed,” Sherlock said, his lovely baritone voice making John’s heart flutter more than it had any right to. Then again, this moment was perfect and it felt like they should have been doing this the whole time.
John stood and took Sherlock’s hand, leading him to his bedroom. Now that he was confident they both wanted this, his arousal was tangible. As soon as they were both in Sherlock’s room, he shut the door, and turned on the taller man, eyes raking over every inch of him. And, heaven help him if John isn’t speechless. The man is breathtaking. Like a statue. Only this one John is allowed to touch, and so he does. He runs his hands from the broad shoulders, down his arms, across his abdomen, and up his chest. He loves the way the smooth skin feels under his fingertips, and now he fully appreciates the idiocy of all the times he claimed not to be gay. Not to be in a relationship with this man. Because of course they are in a relationship - and John knows he’s ruined for all others since the day he met the world’s only consulting detective. His Sherlock Holmes. Suddenly, John wants nothing more than to show the world that Sherlock belongs to him. He leans in to kiss the long, lean throat in front of him with enough pressure to leave a mark. He lightly bites, and then immediately laves his tongue on the spot to sooth the pain. He hears Sherlock hiss in his ear so he knows he is enjoying this. John continues to kiss along the clavicle and to the other side of his throat, and he feels Sherlock’s hands running along the top of his jeans, as Sherlock starts to undo the button. John’s knees threaten to give out underneath him. How did he go so long without being touched, and especially, how did he keep himself from contact with this beautiful man in front of him?
Now it’s Sherlock’s turn to drop to his knees and rid John of the rest of his clothes. He doesn’t hold John’s gaze as he is too busy inspecting his cock with the same intensity he usual reserves for corpses. John momentarily thinks that maybe that thought should be a bit disturbing, but it’s not. It’s just how it is with Sherlock.
Soon all thoughts are gone as Sherlock’s long fingers wrap around his cock and he slowly glides his hand up and down a few times. John’s head rolls back and his eyes shut at the touch. A mixture of swear words and prayer come to mind, but the words die on his tongue as Sherlock begins planting identical kisses onto John’s cock. John is fairly certain that there is no more danger of frostbite as all the blood in his body is pumping overtime and the room certainly feels hotter than normal.
“God Sherlock,” he moans, “that feels so good. Shit. I want to feel my dick in your mouth.”
Embarrassment suddenly flairs in John’s chest as he hears the words actually said aloud. John had forgotten how vocal he could be. Would Sherlock be turned off by the dirty talk? Would he think John a bit odd?
But John should know Sherlock better than that. He has already proven that anything John has to give he wants all of it. Sherlock doesn’t even skip a beat, he looks up at John and simply replies, “I want to suck on your cock until you forget your own name, and the only one you have left to scream out is mine.”
If that isn’t the undoing of John Watson, ex-army doctor, then he doesn’t know what will be.
Sherlock doesn’t waste any time waiting for a response. In one fluid movement he licks from the base of John’s cock up to the tip and then swirls his tongue around the head as his lips close around to suck the sensitive top portion.
“Christ Sherlock.” John moans, as his knees actually start to buckle.
Luckily, he is close to the bed and Sherlock is observant. He lets go with his mouth so that John can fall onto the bed with his legs dangling over the side. Sherlock stays on his knees beside the bed, only moving closer so he can continue his exploration of John’s cock with his mouth. He licks the underside and swirls his head around the tip a few more times. Then he very slowly starts to take in as much of John as he can, until his cock is touching the back of Sherlock’s throat. He withdraws just enough and starts to slowly bob his head up and down. John thinks he can actually feel his brain buzzing. It’s been so long since he had sex, that it’s only a few moments before he feels himself getting to the breaking point. But he doesn’t want to go there alone. He only wants to go if Sherlock can follow. He puts a hand on Sherlock’s cheek to stop his movements. Sherlock withdraws and stretches himself out on the bed next to John. They kiss again, and it’s languid and heated. John can taste himself on Sherlock’s tongue and the thought of what that actually means makes him instantly harder.
“Fuck Sherlock. Your mouth feels so good. You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”
“If it’s anything like me, then I should think about the second week of us living together when you borrowed my dressing gown to leave the shower. I was hard for two days straight after that.”
“Is that why you didn’t leave your bedroom for nearly forty eight hours?” John joked, as they continued to pepper each other with kisses.
“Yes.” Sherlock replied simply, “I was too busy masturbating and imagining it was you. My curiosity has finally gotten the better of me John. I had to know what you looked like under all those jumpers. What you tasted like. What sounds you would make when I brought you to orgasm.”
John didn’t have a reply for that, except to growl and lunge at Sherlock. John rolled them so he was on top, pinning Sherlock’s mouth in a kiss, and teasing his nipples with a flick of his fingers. Sherlock arched up into the touch which brought their cocks sliding into each other and made them both cry out. John was suddenly overwhelmed with all the ways this could happen - all the things he wanted to do to Sherlock to see him come undone. He knew he could stay in this bedroom all night, and he wouldn’t have time for half his fantasies.
John broke the kiss and leaned over to Sherlock’s ear. He nibbled and sucked a bit, and then dropped his voice in what he hoped sounded sexy.
“What would you like me to do to you Sherlock?”
He punctuated his question with a grind of his hips, bringing their cocks together again. Sherlock shivered beneath him and arched his back again.
“I want your fingers inside me John. Please, oh f-oh, John.”
John couldn’t think of a time he had been more turned on. Sherlock rarely swore or lost his composure, and now he was writhing beneath John and begging to be fingered. John would later think back on that moment with amazement that he hadn’t come then and there. As it was, the only thoughts his brain could produce were:
“Fuck. Yes. Lube.”
The last was a question which Sherlock answered by scrambling to his nightstand drawer. They both moved so they were lying lengthwise on the bed. Sherlock pushed the small bottle into John’s hands. He generously coated his palms, and started stroking both of their cocks at the same time. They both moaned and John wanted to keep at it to discover all the different sounds Sherlock would make, but there would be time for that later (oh, there was going to be a later, John was sure of it).
John squeezed some more lube just on the tip of one finger, and moved to trace Sherlock’s opening. He pushed in just a little bit, and waited getting used to the feeling. He pushed in a bit more and paused again. Then he went in just a bit further until he felt Sherlock’s prostate and gently stroked.
“Uggh. God. John!”
“Yes. God yes, Sherlock. Let me hear every sound.”
Sherlock moaned again, and John inserted a second finger. He made small circles with the pads of his fingers, stroking the sensitive prostate with increasing pressure. His free hand stroked from the top of Sherlock’s bent knee down to his nipple where he gave a squeeze. Then he started nibbling on the inside of his thigh. John felt his own cock twitching and leaking pre-cum at all the noises that Sherlock was making.
“John. John. John! Ohhh. Feels so good - but it’s not enough.” Sherlock panted.
“Tell me what you want.”
“I want your cock John. Fuck me please.”
Well, John was a soldier after all, and he was used to taking orders. He didn’t need to be told twice. He slicked himself up again quickly then moved so he was kneeling between Sherlock’s legs. The man on the bed in front of him was breathing heavy, cheeks flushed, a line of sweat on his forehead. God, he was perfect. John couldn’t believe they were finally doing this. Just one last question to clear up then.
“Condom?”
“No need. Tested at Bart’s last fall. No partners in the past several years. You?”
“Same. Tested three months ago. Clean as a whistle.”
“Good. Because I want to feel it inside of me when you cum.”
And damnit if John hadn’t thought he had the dirty mouth. Sherlock’s words were like physical shove that made his hips shift forward, and the tip of his cock found Sherlock’s opening. They both locked eyes as John penetrated Sherlock in one smooth movement and waited to give him time to adjust. The whole world felt like it passed by in those few moments. In fact, the world outside could have been ending and neither of them would have noticed. John felt that buzzing in his brain return at the feeling of Sherlock’s heat and tightness around his cock. His eyes drifted shut at the sensations, and he moaned. Then Sherlock flexed his internal muscles and John’s eyes flew open. Sherlock was looking at him with a heated gaze.
“Fuck. Me. Now.”
At that command, John’s hips moved of their own accord, like they had been doing this forever. He started slow at first to get used to the sensation. Skin gliding on skin, feeling the warmth that was spreading through his body. It was too much and not enough at the same time. He knew he could never get enough of this feeling as long as he lived.
Soon, the slower thrusts weren’t enough for either of them, and John began to move in earnest. He brought his arms under Sherlock’s knees, giving him a better angle. Sherlock’s legs were long enough to hook over John’s shoulders. This gave John the perfect angle to hit Sherlock’s prostate. Sherlock moaned loud enough to wake half of Baker Street, and this only motivated John to start pounding into him harder and faster. He wanted to rip this man in half, split him open, and crawl inside so he could live there forever.
John could feel his own balls constricting as he got closer. “Sherlock. Ughh. Not - can’t last much longer. Feels too bloody good.”
“Don’t stop John. Almost there.”
“Never. Won’t stop. We both go together.”
John continued to pound into Sherlock, the headboard started to bang against the wall, but neither of them slowed or cared. Then he felt Sherlock’s muscles tense around him again, and John lost it. He felt his cock stiffen and then explode as he came inside Sherlock. Seconds later Sherlock cried out and then lost himself to his own orgasm.
John pulled out and collapsed on top of Sherlock, both men breathing heavy, but neither of them moving. He couldn’t keep track of how long they lay there, because he was pretty sure he had forgotten how to tell time anyway.
Eventually, he rolled off of his flatmate - Friend? Lover? No. Don’t think of that now… and brought his hand up to gently stroke his abdomen and chest.
“So, was that really all just to help warm me up?” he asked Sherlock with a dopey smile on his face.
Sherlock leaned over and kissed his forehead. Then the tip of his nose. Then they shared a long kiss. They broke apart with their foreheads together.
“I meant what I said before John. I’ve wanted this since that day I saw you in my dressing gown. And that was about two weeks after you moved in.”
“Hmm.” John made a contended little sigh. He wasn’t sure what to say to that. He knew Sherlock was opening up, but he was slightly afraid that if he did too, that it would be too much and Sherlock might run away. Oh, well. In for a penny, in for a pound, he thinks.
“For me it was since that first crime scene when we couldn’t stop giggling and you asked me to get a Chinese with you.”
Then John was given one of the rare Sherlock Holmes “This is my real smile and not just the one I use when I’m trying to scam people” smiles, and he felt his heart melt.
“Christ. I really am gay aren’t I?” he asks Sherlock with a chuckle.
“It would appear that when it comes to consulting detectives that you most certainly are.”
John finds he quite likes that answer. As long as it means him and Sherlock are together, he is content. He pulls the duvet over them so they won’t lose any precious body heat, and kisses his new lover - yes, lover. They kiss gently, and then it becomes a bit more heated, as they both find themselves panting again already. After that, the night is a blur of exchanged kisses, and whispered words, and the occasional love bite that he’ll be hard pressed to hide from Lestrade at the yard tomorrow.
Now people were definitely going to talk.
And John Hamish Watson, ex-army doctor, decides doesn’t care one bit.