The Five Times Sherlock Initiated Sex and the One Time John Did (NC-17)
This was originally written because atlinmerrick requested it quite a while ago :)
1.
Sherlock groaned in pain from the bathroom, and John found himself bolting towards the door, sucking on the scalded fingers of his right hand - he'd forgotten his cup of tea, and it got it's rache by splashing itself all over him.
"Are you alright Sherlock?" he said, opening the door. Sherlock was massaging his left shoulder, the one he always left funny on.
"I got a cramp, John." Sherlock pouted - something John secretly loved. It was moment when Sherlock was like a child, and by George was Sherlock a cute child.
"Would you like me to massage it for you?" John asked in a voice that showed he knew the answer already. By the time Sherlock nodded John had already stripped off his tea-ey top and was now throwing his pants into the hamper that never got used.
He hopped under the partial shower spray that Sherlock was hogging, between Sherlock's back and the wall. He began to knead muscles around the spine while ignoring the whopping hard on that was now between them. Perhaps if he ignored it, it would go away. He concentrated on Sherlock's back, moving down slowly to the base of his spine and back up, pulling on Sherlock's shoulders to make him stand up straight.
But all this concentration hadn't discouraged the leaking, throbbing, red, sensitive - okay John, enough adjectives. It's only a penis - piece of flesh. In fact, the touching of his lover seemed to have made the thing more persistent. Which John figured was actually quite logical.
"My turn," Sherlock rumbled, because really he felt like thunder talking sometimes. Maybe he was secretly Thor, and he'd just lost his hammer in his room somewhere. But, Thor or not, this man had turned John towards the wall and was now pressing his fingers into John - only his muscles unfortunately, or so John thought, until he found himself pressed against the wall, someone else's erection pressed against his back and Sherlock's ragged breathing in his ear.
"Why are you so God damn irresistible!" Sherlock said in a mixture of pain and anger, almost yelling the last word and punctuating by slamming his fist against the wall.
John felt a shiver go down his spine. Sherlock was very passionate sometimes. He felt a hand stroke his cock and he whined, like a puppy does.
"Can I fuck you?" Sherlock whimpered, the fight gone out of him. John was left breathless and could only nod, yelping in shock at the lube covered fingers entering him as he did it. Of course Sherlock had anticipated his answer.
Preparation wouldn't take very long, Sherlock had dipped his stick not two hours ago, before they pulled themselves out of bed for stupid Lestrade's stupid not-case that was solved before they got there.
Even so, Sherlock took a little bit of time to torture John, running fingers over prostate more times than was necessary. Soon though, Sherlock was the one moaning so hard it would get stuck in his throat, and he'd choke slightly and try to breathe back in and shudder. Sherlock did that quite often and John loved it.
John felt himself sliding against the cold hard tiles - Sherlock was stronger than he looked, and even stronger than that when he had his cock inside of you.
Sherlock hit a spot inside John at that very moment and John found himself wailing into the tiles, and Sherlock sobbed and sent his seed a-flying. John wasn't far behind and soon they were both leaning against the wall, breathing heavily.
"I love you, John."
2.
It was raining, as usual, and it seemed all of the cabs in London had made an agreement to avoid Scotland Yard on their usual runs. So they were walking home, and it was raining and Sherlock was on a high and his happy mood had infected John.
"Did you see the look on Anderson's face? How could he have searched the cupboard three times and not seen a bright purple ornate pill box."
"Anderson is an imbecile, John. That's why." Sherlock was as close to skipping as a six foot two man who looked a little bit like an alien could get.
"Sherlock, I'm soaking wet." John complained, but Sherlock didn't care.
"Then take off your clothes." He said simply, trying to catch rain in his mouth, arms spread.
"Why are you so damned happy?" John asked, light-heartedly.
"Well, John, I just solved a case which others had deemed impossible and now I'm going to fuck you. Why wouldn't I be happy?"
And Sherlock looked so amazing in his drenched coat, drenched silk shirt, drenched hair, and John could see the water droplets on Sherlock's flawless skin, so he let them walk for a half a minute before asking the next question.
"When? Sherlock, when are you going to fuck me?" And he found himself being pushed into the nearest alleyway and up again the wall. What was it with Sherlock and walls?
But John didn't have time to think of that, because there was a sodden body pushed up against his and his pants were coming undone only just faster than his erection was forming and Sherlock was pushing him up. John secured his legs around Sherlock's waist as he felt the wonderful intrusion and Sherlock's already heavy breathing in his ear.
"Fuck John, you were so… amazing." Sherlock breathed raggedly, "When you found the box. Nnngg."
The groan was due to the fact he'd just sheathed himself inside John in one go. It was at that moment that John discovered that Sherlock's prominent hipbones were perfect for manoeuvring himself on when his legs were wrapped around them.
And so he and Sherlock were mating in the pouring rain in an alleyway, fully clothed and less then three blocks from the police station and as John clenched at the shirt on Sherlock's chest and leant his head back against the bricks, close to the brink of absolute destruction, he thanked any God that Sherlock existed.
Sherlock pulled out and let him down as soon as they'd both orgasmed - John about half a minute before Sherlock - and collapsed against him.
John shuddered into Sherlock, laying his head on his shoulder.
"You're the most amazing, daring, and stupid person I've ever met." He whispered, and Sherlock wrapped his arms around him.
"And I like you even though you're so predictable." Sherlock smiled against his ear.
3.
They were stuck in a cupboard in a boarding school and John could not honestly see a way out of this one. Sherlock had lost his coat somewhere in the principal's quarters and he and John were pressed into the supply closet of the art department, cleverly the ones with the developing chemicals - if they didn't get out soon, he'd pass out. Sherlock had his eye out the keyhole, his impossibly long legs bent in an impossible yoga move that made John's wander further away from their immediate danger than he liked. He was whispering to himself so quietly John couldn't hear, but he was hoping against hope that Sherlock had a plan, because now that they knew the school was cultivating children to eat, it was a little bit scarier.
"John, he's coming. John!" Sherlock whispered.
"What do you want me to do about it!" John said back.
"Moan. Right now moan." Sherlock called back frantically.
"Wh- nnnnnnnnng." John moaned, as Sherlock had just mouthed his slightly interested cock through his pants.
However, any sign that Sherlock was even slightly turned on was obscured by the fact that he now had his eye to the keyhole.
"It worked, John."
John slumped against the wall of the cupboard and sighed.
"We've got to go Sherlock. Before someone else comes."
"We can't John, they're having a meeting in the next room and we're five stories up."
"But he'll come back- Sherlock, what are you doing?"
Sherlock was undoing his jeans and pulling them down, quite noisily.
"Passing the time."
And John's back arched as Sherlock took his penis in mouth and sucked. Within seconds, he'd given up his fight. There was no point in telling Sherlock that they were trapped in a small place where they were eating people because everything John had to say Sherlock had already thought of ten minutes back. He could always say that Sherlock was a madman who forced him in here, if worst came to worse. Also, if he was totally honest, it didn't really seem to matter that much any more.
Because one of Sherlock's hands was gripping his hip for leverage and the other was stroking the inside of his thigh, his lips were providing slightly rough friction, but his tongue was doing that thing and…
"Nnnnngh, oh god!" John breathed, threading his hands through Sherlock's hair, pulling maybe harder than he should, because Sherlock scratched down his thigh, just hard enough to hurt. But that was okay because the pain mixed with the pleasure.
And when John opened his eyes after his world ended briefly and saw Sherlock coaxing the last of the liquid out with his hand, tongue poised to catch the drops, John felt a surge of heat go through his body that was so strong that he thought he might collapse.
He didn't but Sherlock got a little more than he bargained for, and was shot in the eye with a small but deadly amount of projectile semen. Not that he minded, but John found himself in a fit of giggles at the look of surprise on Sherlock's face. It wasn't just that, of course, it was the mix of adrenalin and fear of nearly being caught with the world's only consulting detective in a cupboard by people-choppers, then getting a blow job in possibly the most unlikely place ever in the history of the planet mixed with the high of the orgasm, plus his infallible love for Sherlock. It made him giddy.
4.
Sherlock was lying flat on his bed naked with his hand trailing up and down his stomach when he heard John burst through the front door. "Sherlock!" he called out and Sherlock replied with an "In here!"
When John burst in with a look of concern on his face, Sherlock smiled widely. John's face relaxed and then became annoyed as he realised Sherlock had called him all the way from the surgery for a screw.
"Sherlock, I'm not banging you when I'm meant to be at work."
A this Sherlock took the fingers he'd been sucking out of his mouth and hooked them around his erection, which was spilling onto his stomach.
"You won't be."
"Oh good, I'll just g-"
"You'll be sucking me off."
And then, as though turned on purely by the words, he arched up, closed his eyes and moaned, moving his fingers at lightning speed.
John bit his lip, torn between what he should do and what he wanted to do. The main problem was he'd done what he wanted to do not three hours ago. How was Sherlock already ready to go?
Well, he was, his lanky white form writhing on the bed and John was losing this fight before it even began. Few people in the world could be faced with a rock-hard, naked Sherlock and ignore it. They were named Mycroft and Mummy Holmes.
It occurred to John that it was odd that he didn't know what his partner's mother's name was, but he found at that point he didn't really care because he was devouring a very noisy consulting detective. He found himself praying Mrs. Hudson wasn't home.
He heard a buzzing and Sherlock cut off mid yell ("OH JO-") to answer his fucking phone.
Not today, buddy. John didn't care if the whole of London was being massacred but friggin' aliens, Sherlock did not call him from work just to push him off when he got a call from Lestrade.
John collected supplies quietly. Sherlock had forgotten about his existence briefly, but he remembered it pretty damn well when John wriggled his fingers into his bum. "So you're saying that the contortionist was actually tied uARGH!"
John pushed up Sherlock's legs as Lestrade questioned Sherlock's wellbeing, but Sherlock just cleared his throat and continued chatting away.
Annoyed, John pushed himself in and Sherlock's eyes widened but his voice never wavered. John didn't mind by this point though, he was pretty hard and so he just established a nice rhythm for himself. Which Sherlock seemed fine with, until John unwittingly hit that spot of nerves.
At this point, Sherlock threw the phone across the room and flipped him over, riding him like there was no tomorrow. John, surprised by this change of circumstance, orgasmed just as Sherlock flipped him over and spent the rest of the experience on a bit of a high. He heard Sherlock bellow, though, and figured it was over for both of them.
After a little time of blackness, John felt Sherlock's hair against his forehead and a whispered voice in his ear.
"I think Lestrade is still on the phone."
5.
Sherlock dived smoothly into the pool while John sat on the edge, dangling his legs in. They returned to 'The Pool' three times a week now if they didn't have a case. John had finally found something that occupied Sherlock, he thought.
That, of course, wasn't true, because John was too dense to delve into the deeper emotions that drew Sherlock here.
It humbled him.
He had nearly lost John here, and that's why he loved the place. Because it made him realise how much he needed him.
Sherlock pushed himself above the water in front of John, grabbing his legs to hold himself there.
"Come in with me."
John shook his head, though. He wasn't one for swimming. He couldn't see the fun. The whole point was to not drown.
He hadn't figured out that that was also the point to life.
Sherlock wrapped his hands around John's waist and pulled him in instead, pushing him against the wall and kissing him wetly.
He pushed off John's swimming shorts and then his own. The place was empty, and if he was going to pick a lock, he was going to swim naked. And so was John.
He pulled John under slowly, wrapping his arms around him and kissing up his neck and John just watched Sherlock move under the water. The came back up for air and Sherlock pushes John against the side again, pinning him there.
He ran his hands down John's side as John leant his head over the side of the pool. From here he could see where Moriarty had stood on that day, but it didn't matter as soon as Sherlock's hands ran over his penis.
Sherlock leant flush against him no, breathing deeply into his hair while John clutched at his back and ass. Sherlock captured both their erections now and began rubbing in earnest. John closed his eyes tight and moaned into Sherlock's neck. Water was lapping around them and it became hot and cold in flashes as John tipped over the edge and hit his teeth on Sherlock shoulder after a tiny scream that echoed through the whole complex.
Sherlock came with a smug look on his face, but as he returned to the real world, he felt the heaviness of where they were and what they had just done and what it meant.
But tonight wasn't the night to be thinking about that. Tonight was the night to stop into the Chinese store, watch bad television and watch John sleep.
He pressed his lips against John's head and mumbled, "I love you."
+1
Sherlock wasn't just grumpy. Sherlock was cosmically, mind-blowingly furious. He sat on the couch sulking, as he had for three weeks, when John finally decided it was time for some drastic measures.
The only thing that was hurting was Sherlock's ego. Yes, Anderson had solved the case when Sherlock couldn't. Yes, the whole of Scotland Yard except for Lestrade had rubbed it in his face. Yes, he was red-faced and embarrassed. But for goodness sake, thought John, he could at least have sex with his boyfriend once in a while.
Now, John didn't really like initiating sex. He liked Sherlock to want it, and he like the feeling of being slammed against the wall (bed, couch, floor, banister, corpse…) and overpowered the way Sherlock did so well.
But as John pushed Sherlock back against the couch and slammed himself into straddling position, he thought maybe being in power wasn't all bad. Especially when he saw the look of surprise on Sherlock's face become even more shocked when John shoved his erection into Sherlock's hand.
"Do you know how annoying it is when you don't have sex with me? I've been sitting in my room for half an hour debating the pro's and con's of masturbating until I finally decided that I was sick of your moping. And now I'm going to fuck you."
Sherlock's eyebrows rose ever higher at the last sentence, but John had his hands through Sherlock's hair and was forcing entrance into his mouth and Sherlock didn't care anymore.
He'd almost forgotten about John in his anger (his ego was a very big part of his life) but now with John rubbing his growing hard on roughly through his pants, he cursed himself for doing so.
John's mouth was all over that stupidly long neck now, undoing the buttons of the silk shirt that he'd been worn since the last time Sherlock had been forced to change, three days ago. It was time for it to come off now, and it slipped of Sherlock's white shoulders in a ridiculously perfect fashion.
Sherlock grasped John's legs as John licked - not kissed, licked with his whole tongue - down Sherlock's sternum, dipping his tongue into Sherlock's belly button and gently pulling at the snail-trail with him teeth. By this point John was on his knees and painfully hard, so he undid his jeans and began pulling at his cock, and spreading the precome up Sherlock's chest.
Sherlock had just watched mesmerised so far, but now he began to run his hands over the back of John's head and neck as he wrenched down Sherlock's pyjama pants and began sucking on the penis there earnestly.
Sherlock let out a groan between his teeth and forgot his previous thought of wishing he'd washed himself some time.
John was still wanking fast, he eyes closed and he hollowed out his cheeks as Sherlock grabbed at the couch, picking up the Union Jack flag and shoving it into his mouth to muffle the noise, Mrs Hudson was home, after all.
It all ended quickly after that, Sherlock came and then John fell on his back and finished himself right afterwards. And then he crawled back up Sherlock and whispered in his ear, "Don't you ever deprive me again."
To which Sherlock answered, "I love you."
1.
Sherlock groaned in pain from the bathroom, and John found himself bolting towards the door, sucking on the scalded fingers of his right hand - he'd forgotten his cup of tea, and it got it's rache by splashing itself all over him.
"Are you alright Sherlock?" he said, opening the door. Sherlock was massaging his left shoulder, the one he always left funny on.
"I got a cramp, John." Sherlock pouted - something John secretly loved. It was moment when Sherlock was like a child, and by George was Sherlock a cute child.
"Would you like me to massage it for you?" John asked in a voice that showed he knew the answer already. By the time Sherlock nodded John had already stripped off his tea-ey top and was now throwing his pants into the hamper that never got used.
He hopped under the partial shower spray that Sherlock was hogging, between Sherlock's back and the wall. He began to knead muscles around the spine while ignoring the whopping hard on that was now between them. Perhaps if he ignored it, it would go away. He concentrated on Sherlock's back, moving down slowly to the base of his spine and back up, pulling on Sherlock's shoulders to make him stand up straight.
But all this concentration hadn't discouraged the leaking, throbbing, red, sensitive - okay John, enough adjectives. It's only a penis - piece of flesh. In fact, the touching of his lover seemed to have made the thing more persistent. Which John figured was actually quite logical.
"My turn," Sherlock rumbled, because really he felt like thunder talking sometimes. Maybe he was secretly Thor, and he'd just lost his hammer in his room somewhere. But, Thor or not, this man had turned John towards the wall and was now pressing his fingers into John - only his muscles unfortunately, or so John thought, until he found himself pressed against the wall, someone else's erection pressed against his back and Sherlock's ragged breathing in his ear.
"Why are you so God damn irresistible!" Sherlock said in a mixture of pain and anger, almost yelling the last word and punctuating by slamming his fist against the wall.
John felt a shiver go down his spine. Sherlock was very passionate sometimes. He felt a hand stroke his cock and he whined, like a puppy does.
"Can I fuck you?" Sherlock whimpered, the fight gone out of him. John was left breathless and could only nod, yelping in shock at the lube covered fingers entering him as he did it. Of course Sherlock had anticipated his answer.
Preparation wouldn't take very long, Sherlock had dipped his stick not two hours ago, before they pulled themselves out of bed for stupid Lestrade's stupid not-case that was solved before they got there.
Even so, Sherlock took a little bit of time to torture John, running fingers over prostate more times than was necessary. Soon though, Sherlock was the one moaning so hard it would get stuck in his throat, and he'd choke slightly and try to breathe back in and shudder. Sherlock did that quite often and John loved it.
John felt himself sliding against the cold hard tiles - Sherlock was stronger than he looked, and even stronger than that when he had his cock inside of you.
Sherlock hit a spot inside John at that very moment and John found himself wailing into the tiles, and Sherlock sobbed and sent his seed a-flying. John wasn't far behind and soon they were both leaning against the wall, breathing heavily.
"I love you, John."
2.
It was raining, as usual, and it seemed all of the cabs in London had made an agreement to avoid Scotland Yard on their usual runs. So they were walking home, and it was raining and Sherlock was on a high and his happy mood had infected John.
"Did you see the look on Anderson's face? How could he have searched the cupboard three times and not seen a bright purple ornate pill box."
"Anderson is an imbecile, John. That's why." Sherlock was as close to skipping as a six foot two man who looked a little bit like an alien could get.
"Sherlock, I'm soaking wet." John complained, but Sherlock didn't care.
"Then take off your clothes." He said simply, trying to catch rain in his mouth, arms spread.
"Why are you so damned happy?" John asked, light-heartedly.
"Well, John, I just solved a case which others had deemed impossible and now I'm going to fuck you. Why wouldn't I be happy?"
And Sherlock looked so amazing in his drenched coat, drenched silk shirt, drenched hair, and John could see the water droplets on Sherlock's flawless skin, so he let them walk for a half a minute before asking the next question.
"When? Sherlock, when are you going to fuck me?" And he found himself being pushed into the nearest alleyway and up again the wall. What was it with Sherlock and walls?
But John didn't have time to think of that, because there was a sodden body pushed up against his and his pants were coming undone only just faster than his erection was forming and Sherlock was pushing him up. John secured his legs around Sherlock's waist as he felt the wonderful intrusion and Sherlock's already heavy breathing in his ear.
"Fuck John, you were so… amazing." Sherlock breathed raggedly, "When you found the box. Nnngg."
The groan was due to the fact he'd just sheathed himself inside John in one go. It was at that moment that John discovered that Sherlock's prominent hipbones were perfect for manoeuvring himself on when his legs were wrapped around them.
And so he and Sherlock were mating in the pouring rain in an alleyway, fully clothed and less then three blocks from the police station and as John clenched at the shirt on Sherlock's chest and leant his head back against the bricks, close to the brink of absolute destruction, he thanked any God that Sherlock existed.
Sherlock pulled out and let him down as soon as they'd both orgasmed - John about half a minute before Sherlock - and collapsed against him.
John shuddered into Sherlock, laying his head on his shoulder.
"You're the most amazing, daring, and stupid person I've ever met." He whispered, and Sherlock wrapped his arms around him.
"And I like you even though you're so predictable." Sherlock smiled against his ear.
3.
They were stuck in a cupboard in a boarding school and John could not honestly see a way out of this one. Sherlock had lost his coat somewhere in the principal's quarters and he and John were pressed into the supply closet of the art department, cleverly the ones with the developing chemicals - if they didn't get out soon, he'd pass out. Sherlock had his eye out the keyhole, his impossibly long legs bent in an impossible yoga move that made John's wander further away from their immediate danger than he liked. He was whispering to himself so quietly John couldn't hear, but he was hoping against hope that Sherlock had a plan, because now that they knew the school was cultivating children to eat, it was a little bit scarier.
"John, he's coming. John!" Sherlock whispered.
"What do you want me to do about it!" John said back.
"Moan. Right now moan." Sherlock called back frantically.
"Wh- nnnnnnnnng." John moaned, as Sherlock had just mouthed his slightly interested cock through his pants.
However, any sign that Sherlock was even slightly turned on was obscured by the fact that he now had his eye to the keyhole.
"It worked, John."
John slumped against the wall of the cupboard and sighed.
"We've got to go Sherlock. Before someone else comes."
"We can't John, they're having a meeting in the next room and we're five stories up."
"But he'll come back- Sherlock, what are you doing?"
Sherlock was undoing his jeans and pulling them down, quite noisily.
"Passing the time."
And John's back arched as Sherlock took his penis in mouth and sucked. Within seconds, he'd given up his fight. There was no point in telling Sherlock that they were trapped in a small place where they were eating people because everything John had to say Sherlock had already thought of ten minutes back. He could always say that Sherlock was a madman who forced him in here, if worst came to worse. Also, if he was totally honest, it didn't really seem to matter that much any more.
Because one of Sherlock's hands was gripping his hip for leverage and the other was stroking the inside of his thigh, his lips were providing slightly rough friction, but his tongue was doing that thing and…
"Nnnnngh, oh god!" John breathed, threading his hands through Sherlock's hair, pulling maybe harder than he should, because Sherlock scratched down his thigh, just hard enough to hurt. But that was okay because the pain mixed with the pleasure.
And when John opened his eyes after his world ended briefly and saw Sherlock coaxing the last of the liquid out with his hand, tongue poised to catch the drops, John felt a surge of heat go through his body that was so strong that he thought he might collapse.
He didn't but Sherlock got a little more than he bargained for, and was shot in the eye with a small but deadly amount of projectile semen. Not that he minded, but John found himself in a fit of giggles at the look of surprise on Sherlock's face. It wasn't just that, of course, it was the mix of adrenalin and fear of nearly being caught with the world's only consulting detective in a cupboard by people-choppers, then getting a blow job in possibly the most unlikely place ever in the history of the planet mixed with the high of the orgasm, plus his infallible love for Sherlock. It made him giddy.
4.
Sherlock was lying flat on his bed naked with his hand trailing up and down his stomach when he heard John burst through the front door. "Sherlock!" he called out and Sherlock replied with an "In here!"
When John burst in with a look of concern on his face, Sherlock smiled widely. John's face relaxed and then became annoyed as he realised Sherlock had called him all the way from the surgery for a screw.
"Sherlock, I'm not banging you when I'm meant to be at work."
A this Sherlock took the fingers he'd been sucking out of his mouth and hooked them around his erection, which was spilling onto his stomach.
"You won't be."
"Oh good, I'll just g-"
"You'll be sucking me off."
And then, as though turned on purely by the words, he arched up, closed his eyes and moaned, moving his fingers at lightning speed.
John bit his lip, torn between what he should do and what he wanted to do. The main problem was he'd done what he wanted to do not three hours ago. How was Sherlock already ready to go?
Well, he was, his lanky white form writhing on the bed and John was losing this fight before it even began. Few people in the world could be faced with a rock-hard, naked Sherlock and ignore it. They were named Mycroft and Mummy Holmes.
It occurred to John that it was odd that he didn't know what his partner's mother's name was, but he found at that point he didn't really care because he was devouring a very noisy consulting detective. He found himself praying Mrs. Hudson wasn't home.
He heard a buzzing and Sherlock cut off mid yell ("OH JO-") to answer his fucking phone.
Not today, buddy. John didn't care if the whole of London was being massacred but friggin' aliens, Sherlock did not call him from work just to push him off when he got a call from Lestrade.
John collected supplies quietly. Sherlock had forgotten about his existence briefly, but he remembered it pretty damn well when John wriggled his fingers into his bum. "So you're saying that the contortionist was actually tied uARGH!"
John pushed up Sherlock's legs as Lestrade questioned Sherlock's wellbeing, but Sherlock just cleared his throat and continued chatting away.
Annoyed, John pushed himself in and Sherlock's eyes widened but his voice never wavered. John didn't mind by this point though, he was pretty hard and so he just established a nice rhythm for himself. Which Sherlock seemed fine with, until John unwittingly hit that spot of nerves.
At this point, Sherlock threw the phone across the room and flipped him over, riding him like there was no tomorrow. John, surprised by this change of circumstance, orgasmed just as Sherlock flipped him over and spent the rest of the experience on a bit of a high. He heard Sherlock bellow, though, and figured it was over for both of them.
After a little time of blackness, John felt Sherlock's hair against his forehead and a whispered voice in his ear.
"I think Lestrade is still on the phone."
5.
Sherlock dived smoothly into the pool while John sat on the edge, dangling his legs in. They returned to 'The Pool' three times a week now if they didn't have a case. John had finally found something that occupied Sherlock, he thought.
That, of course, wasn't true, because John was too dense to delve into the deeper emotions that drew Sherlock here.
It humbled him.
He had nearly lost John here, and that's why he loved the place. Because it made him realise how much he needed him.
Sherlock pushed himself above the water in front of John, grabbing his legs to hold himself there.
"Come in with me."
John shook his head, though. He wasn't one for swimming. He couldn't see the fun. The whole point was to not drown.
He hadn't figured out that that was also the point to life.
Sherlock wrapped his hands around John's waist and pulled him in instead, pushing him against the wall and kissing him wetly.
He pushed off John's swimming shorts and then his own. The place was empty, and if he was going to pick a lock, he was going to swim naked. And so was John.
He pulled John under slowly, wrapping his arms around him and kissing up his neck and John just watched Sherlock move under the water. The came back up for air and Sherlock pushes John against the side again, pinning him there.
He ran his hands down John's side as John leant his head over the side of the pool. From here he could see where Moriarty had stood on that day, but it didn't matter as soon as Sherlock's hands ran over his penis.
Sherlock leant flush against him no, breathing deeply into his hair while John clutched at his back and ass. Sherlock captured both their erections now and began rubbing in earnest. John closed his eyes tight and moaned into Sherlock's neck. Water was lapping around them and it became hot and cold in flashes as John tipped over the edge and hit his teeth on Sherlock shoulder after a tiny scream that echoed through the whole complex.
Sherlock came with a smug look on his face, but as he returned to the real world, he felt the heaviness of where they were and what they had just done and what it meant.
But tonight wasn't the night to be thinking about that. Tonight was the night to stop into the Chinese store, watch bad television and watch John sleep.
He pressed his lips against John's head and mumbled, "I love you."
+1
Sherlock wasn't just grumpy. Sherlock was cosmically, mind-blowingly furious. He sat on the couch sulking, as he had for three weeks, when John finally decided it was time for some drastic measures.
The only thing that was hurting was Sherlock's ego. Yes, Anderson had solved the case when Sherlock couldn't. Yes, the whole of Scotland Yard except for Lestrade had rubbed it in his face. Yes, he was red-faced and embarrassed. But for goodness sake, thought John, he could at least have sex with his boyfriend once in a while.
Now, John didn't really like initiating sex. He liked Sherlock to want it, and he like the feeling of being slammed against the wall (bed, couch, floor, banister, corpse…) and overpowered the way Sherlock did so well.
But as John pushed Sherlock back against the couch and slammed himself into straddling position, he thought maybe being in power wasn't all bad. Especially when he saw the look of surprise on Sherlock's face become even more shocked when John shoved his erection into Sherlock's hand.
"Do you know how annoying it is when you don't have sex with me? I've been sitting in my room for half an hour debating the pro's and con's of masturbating until I finally decided that I was sick of your moping. And now I'm going to fuck you."
Sherlock's eyebrows rose ever higher at the last sentence, but John had his hands through Sherlock's hair and was forcing entrance into his mouth and Sherlock didn't care anymore.
He'd almost forgotten about John in his anger (his ego was a very big part of his life) but now with John rubbing his growing hard on roughly through his pants, he cursed himself for doing so.
John's mouth was all over that stupidly long neck now, undoing the buttons of the silk shirt that he'd been worn since the last time Sherlock had been forced to change, three days ago. It was time for it to come off now, and it slipped of Sherlock's white shoulders in a ridiculously perfect fashion.
Sherlock grasped John's legs as John licked - not kissed, licked with his whole tongue - down Sherlock's sternum, dipping his tongue into Sherlock's belly button and gently pulling at the snail-trail with him teeth. By this point John was on his knees and painfully hard, so he undid his jeans and began pulling at his cock, and spreading the precome up Sherlock's chest.
Sherlock had just watched mesmerised so far, but now he began to run his hands over the back of John's head and neck as he wrenched down Sherlock's pyjama pants and began sucking on the penis there earnestly.
Sherlock let out a groan between his teeth and forgot his previous thought of wishing he'd washed himself some time.
John was still wanking fast, he eyes closed and he hollowed out his cheeks as Sherlock grabbed at the couch, picking up the Union Jack flag and shoving it into his mouth to muffle the noise, Mrs Hudson was home, after all.
It all ended quickly after that, Sherlock came and then John fell on his back and finished himself right afterwards. And then he crawled back up Sherlock and whispered in his ear, "Don't you ever deprive me again."
To which Sherlock answered, "I love you."