the ding part 2

Jul 07, 2013 19:02


Title: The Ding
Author: Naturegirlrocks
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Rating: M/R
Pairing: Sherlock/John

Summary: Sherlock has been back for three months, but there is something distracting him. John worries while he slowly accepts his attraction to the man.

Read it on AO3 or here:

part 1


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Sherlock had managed to find the shop clerk's killer within two hours. The suspect had been hiding out in a public bathroom stall at Paddington station, trying desperately to flush a gun down a toilet...

The consulting detective collapsed not far after the suspect had been taken away by sergeant Donovan. Sherlock's fever was by then through the roof. John berated himself not for noticing earlier.

"What's wrong with him?" asked Greg as he helped John carry Sherlock to a waiting police car that was taking them back to Baker Street.

"Let's get him home first," said John.

"I'm fine," murmured Sherlock against his shoulder.

Neither of his two friends believed him though, mainly because he didn't argue about riding in the back of the police car.

"Just need to go to the bathroom," murmured Sherlock as they arrived home.

John and Greg tried not to listen to the painful grunting sounds emerging from the other side if the door. It was quite hard.

After putting Sherlock to bed, John took out a six pack of beers from the fridge. There wasn't going to be any pub visits this evening.

Greg had frowned when John told him that Sherlock probably had got himself a violent lover, most likely a man.

After collecting himself from the shock that Sherlock actually was capable of having a lover, Greg became thoughtful.

"Then you need to take him back," he said, taking a swig from his bottle. "You can't stand by watching your man get hurt."

"He is not my man," John huffed.

Greg just giggled in his beer, but then he put on a more stern face.

"Seriously, though. If someone is hurting Sherlock, we have to do something before his brother finds out."

"Mycroft would sink them to the bottom of the Themes with cemented shoes," nodded John bitterly. "But then he had to get in line after me. I'm not letting Sherlock get lost again. I just got him back, from the dead I might add."

"I hear you," Greg clinked his bottle to John's.

"Do you think he could have meet someone while away?" John bit his lower lip. "He hasn't really been acting like himself. He has been absent, I mean even more than before."

"Not impossible," Greg tapped the bottle opening thoughtfully to his chin.

They talked a bit more as they worked through the beers. They turned on the telly to watch the football game. John checked in on Sherlock regularly, but the man seemed to sleep soundly. The match ended at a draw with two goals for each of the teams. Greg called for a cab.

"Take care of him," he had said as a farewell.

------

John was standing in the doorway to Sherlock's room, looking down at the heap of gangly man spread out on the bed, face down. They had managed to get him out of his shoes, socks, coat and jacket, but had left the shirt and trousers on.

He stepped forward and poked Sherlock's thigh with a forefinger. There was a pathetic moan in response. John sighed.

"Sherlock..."

"Did you have fun at your hockey game?" Sherlock's eyes were still glossy.

"Your fever is worse."

"I'm fine."

"No, you are not!" John sat down on the edge of the bed so that he would be more level with Sherlock.

"Are you worried?" came a question from the pillows.

"Of course I am, Sherlock! Bloody hell! Look at you. This bloke of yours is either completely incompetent, a sadist, or both!"

John took a few calming breaths, the alcohol in his system wasn't helping.

"He's actually not that bad," Sherlock rubbed his forehead against sheets. "And he's getting better..."

"Sherlock! I don't who this man is, but I won't let you see him again! I forbid it!"

"You what?" Sherlock tried to turn in a sudden way, but winced in pain.

"Wait here," John got up, walked out to the other room to retrieve his medical bag.

There was a moment of silence when he came back to Sherlock's side. He took out a pair of latex gloves and a tube if anti-septic cream from the bag. He was actually going to do this.

"What?" Sherlock looked even paler.

"You know very well what I mean," John pulled on the gloves.

"No." Sherlock gave him a look almost akin to fear. "I'm not letting you. You have been drinking."

"You are right, and be glad that I have been drinking. Otherwise I would recognise this as the horribly bad idea that it is. Now show me..."

"No!" Sherlock pulled away.

"You know that I'm only trying to help you, right?" John sighed, and tried to put on a professional face. "If there is taring, you could have an infection, and that would only make it hurt more. You have a fever, something is wrong. You shouldn't get fevers from having sex. You know this, Sherlock! I have seen you do plenty of experiments on flesh and bacteria..."

John took a breath, feeling anger and bile rise in his throat.

"Is this the experiment? The experiment you needed the pants for? To get some guy to..."

Sherlock didn't meet his eyes. John clenched his gloved hands.

"So is this the experiment going wrong, or is it going right?" John had great trouble keeping his voice calm. "Did you intend it to be this way?"

"I don't want you to see..." Sherlock starred at the roof, avoiding John's eyes.

John recognised the tone in his voice. It was shame, and fear.

"Sherlock... I would never hurt you."

After a minute of undecisive breathing, Sherlock slowly unbuttoned his trousers and rolled to his stomach. John took a deep breath as his friend pulled up his knees to raise his backside.

John was not supposed to find the sight a turn on, but he did. His hands were steady, but his heart was shaking, as he pulled down the trousers and pants to reveal smooth skin. It was the black and grey designer pants.

Sherlock's breath hitched as John pulled them down.

There was a red buttplug in Sherlock's arse. John stared at it. Then he took another breath.

"Sherlock... What...?"

"Take it out," moaned Sherlock.

This was the worst idea in the history of worst ideas, and John wished he had had something stronger than just three bottles of beer to drink.

Gently he took hold had the end of the plug. Sherlock tensed up. He took up the antiseptic gel from his bag to busy his hands, and smeared it to the sides of the plug.

"Relax," John wished he could say the same to himself. "Just relax."

John pulled, Sherlock grunted. The plug coming out was about the size of a tennis ball. He put it aside on the bed.

Another breath to calm himself down, and he gently parted Sherlock's arse cheeks. The hole was, loosened, but also unnaturally swollen and irritated. There was, thankfully, no tarring.

Something, that John very well knew wasn't just something, stirred in his pants. His cock was filling up with blood just as fast as his mind was filling up with anger.

John let go of his grip of Sherlock's buttocks before he bruised them. Sherlock was breathing hard.

"I'm going to kill him," John grunted between clenched teeth, sending mental waves of gathered hatred to whom ever the pervert was who had done this to his friend.

Slowly he parted Sherlock's cheeks again, and applied the gel in so much of a professional manner as he could muster. Sherlock groaned, and John had to stop.

He moved back, and settled down on the edge of the bed to catch his own breath.

Sherlock rolled to the side, and turned his back to the wall. John clenched his fists over his knees.

"There's no one else," said a low voice from the curled up bundle beside him.

"What?" John turned to see Sherlock looking up at him.

"There was never a date," Sherlock bit his lower lip. "I did this to myself..."

"You... What?"

"The woman at the shop told me how, and she has messaged me when my new orders came in. I had some questions, and we texted. Rather pleasant for an adult-shop keeper, fifty-nine, lesbian, owns three cats, and knits her own penis-mittens."

"Sherlock," John warned.

"It went a bit out of hand, I admit that," Sherlock pushed his lips together a little. "I might have misjudged the speed of the proceedings, and the amount of preparation needed... It is a sensitive area after all, prone to infections if damaged."

John was just gaping, not believing his ears. He wasn't even thinking about that Sherlock still had both his trousers and pants down around his knees. Not much anyway.

"But it was really only the first trial when it was bad, when I couldn't climb the stairs," Sherlock suddenly sounded a little more enthusiastic. "Both the second and third trial has shown great improvement... Of course this fever was a obvious drawback, but... Perhaps I should wait longer in between the sessions."

"Why?" John interrupts what has the possibility to become a scientific report.

"Because I need reference points, of course. The gathering of baseline data is crucial."

Sherlock gave him a condescending look, but didn't manage to hold it for long before he slumped back to the bed.

"Why the hell would you....?" John stopped as he was reminded of Sherlock's lower body nudity. "Can we pull your pants back up? Please?"

"Why? Is my penis distracting you?"

"Of course it is!" John groaned.

It was. Sherlock's penis was half-hard. Just as John's was.

"This is distracting me too," said John taking the buttplug of the bed and throwing it into the dustbin by the bedside.

"Actually," Sherlock rolled to his side with a bad wince, which wasn't better since he was now facing John even more. "I was building up my tolerance..."

"For what?!" John was so upset that he got to his feet and almost paced the room.

"For you," whispered Sherlock with a low voice.

John stood still, just staring at his mad friend. Sherlock swallowed. With another grimace he sat up against the headboard, and pulled the bedcovers over his lap.

John had to sit down again. The strain on his trousers was painful.

"I..." Sherlock Holmes hesitated, actually hesitated. "When I was away... I... I discovered that I missed you. That... that I was in love with you."

John couldn't believe what he was hearing, he rubbed his face.

"When I returned," Sherlock continued. "I noticed my feelings were reciprocated."

"Sherlock..." John reached out and took the detective's hand, it was slightly bigger than his own. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

Sherlock made a huffing sound that meant that John was an idiot, and that John could bloody well find out for himself if John only put some of his feeble mind to it, but since John was an idiot, Sherlock was going to tell John and spare John's poor brain the trouble.

"Because you are constantly claiming to be heterosexual, I am basically asexual since I never taken interest in sex, and neither of us have any experience in male-to-male-intercourse. At least one of us should have done some kind of proper research before the inevitable happens."

John was speechless. He still held on to Sherlock's hand, though. Sherlock's eyes darted over John's face, probably analysing every little micro-expression.

"Most people just look up some gay porn on the internet," John said finally.

"I'm not most people."

"No," John laughed. "You most certainly are not."

"Though I did that too."

John sighed and squeezed Sherlock's hand.

"What am I going to do with you?"

He leaned forward and kissed Sherlock's cheek.

"What are you going to do with me? Sherlock tried a smile.

"I'm going to lay down beside you," said John settling next to Sherlock on the bed. "Hug you, and I'm going to let you get better." He placed his arms around the other man. "Then we are going to do your experiments all over again, together. Okay?"

"That's acceptable," Sherlock snuggled closer to John. "You want to share the covers?"

"Sure," John smiled. "We are going to talk more about this in the morning."

They settled together. John noticed that Sherlock had pushed off his trousers and pants from his ankles. The thought of the other man naked below the waist made him giggle.

"What?" asked Sherlock, settling on John's shoulder.

"I can't believe you."

"Is that new?"

"No," John laughed, but then gave him a serious look. "How would you ever think I would accept this?"

"You were not to know."

"You are a idiot. I'm a doctor."

"Stating the obvious."

"You're mad," John shook Sherlock a little. "Is that obvious enough for you? Now rest. We'll talk tomorrow."

"Promise?"

"Yes."

It took two minutes before Sherlock's breath was calm and rhythmic against his chest. John sighed, surprised over his own tender feelings.

He felt calm and a bit happy. John noticed he was still wearing the latex gloves, he gently pealed them off and dropped them on the floor. After that he settled against Sherlock and soon fell asleep.

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part3
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