Depleted part 1
Title: Depleted
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Rating: NC-17/R
Warnings: A bit of spoilers for the unaired pilot.
Summary: (Based off of the cabbie's remark that Sherlock would be "as weak as a kitten".) John takes a weakened Sherlock to a hotel to get some rest. Sherlock has other plans in mind.
Lestrade had informed them that the investigation and crime scene clean up would take a good while and, ever the doctor, John had insisted that he take Sherlock to a hotel to get some much needed rest. Sherlock, of course, complained the entire ride over. It wasn't like he'd never been under the influence of drugs before, and it certainly wouldn't kill him to stay up and wait for the police to eventually leave their flat. John had gladly taken advantage of the taller man's weakened state at that point, all but forcing the grumbling man along the way.
It was late when they checked in and the person at the front desk seemed to be under the impression that they were nearing the end of a rather interesting date. It didn't help that, due to the drug the cabbie had injected him with, Sherlock appeared to be quite drunk. The consulting detective, who could hardly walk on his own, ended up leaning on John a bit more than he thought was necessary. However, he wouldn't dare to complain; it wasn't Sherlock's fault he'd been drugged. Truthfully, John wouldn't have minded anyways. Trying to save face, John requested a simple room with one bed, as it was generally cheaper. The room turned out to be a bit more luxurious than John had anticipated, and he hoped that the clerk had given them a free upgrade as a kind gesture. The small smirk on the young woman's face as she handed him the room key suddenly made a lot more sense to him.
John helped Sherlock over to the edge of the bed, lowering him down onto it before beginning to loosen his scarf. The taller man was being oddly obliging now, for which the doctor was grateful. The less energy he needed to spend on getting Sherlock to cooperate, the better. He couldn't imagine that he would sleep much tonight, given his friend's recent encounter.
Once both men's coats were off, John went to hang them up. From across the room, he noticed the slightest of smirks curving Sherlock's lips. "What's with you?"
"'His personal physician could do a damn sight better at caring for him than a couple of glorified bus drivers'?" Sherlock repeated, his brow quirked.
His cheeks tinted a noticeable pink as he muttered, "Yes, well, they wouldn't let it alone..."
"Quite frankly, you sounded far too interested in having me in a hotel room all to yourself." Sherlock couldn't help but smile at John's indignant sputtering in lieu of a response. "Relax, I doubt any others picked up on it."
"I did not have an ulterior motive in bringing you here, Sherlock."
"Pity."
The word had been quiet, almost inaudible. For a moment John surely thought he'd been hearing things. "Don't be stupid. You need to rest, anyways."
"I've been resting since the moment you arrived at the crime scene. I'm tired of it; it's boring. Why can't we indulge in your 'nonexistent' ulterior motive and then rest?" the lanky man demanded, sounding mildly agitated. He hated when people assumed they knew what was best for him, and he hated even more that John was often right. Not that he ever let that dissuade him.
John let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing at his temple. He'd temporarily forgotten that Sherlock could exhaust him mentally, as well. Perhaps he wouldn't spend the entire night trying to keep Sherlock from simply wandering off, but there wasn't much he could do to make him stay quiet. It was going to be a long night.
"See? You've no decent response, so stop arguing and get over here."
That earned Sherlock an incredulous glance. "You can't be serious."
"Why not?"
"Because you're... I mean, well... You're drugged!"
"It hasn't altered my mental state, John. Just made me a bit weaker. Besides, we've already had a shag, or did you forget?" Sherlock sounded bored again.
"Of course I haven't!"
"Then, pray tell, what's the problem?"
Sherlock stared at him with the gaze that could pierce through the toughest of men. John swallowed thickly around the lump that was suddenly in his throat, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. His cheeks were a darker shade of pink. John Watson certainly wasn't inexperienced in sex with either men or women, but he imagined that anybody would blush under the fire of Sherlock's eyes. At least, for his own humility, that's what he hoped.
"You can hardly walk on your own. How do you expect to manage to stay on top of me without collapsing?"
Pale eyes blinked and suddenly the detective was grinning. "Who says I'll be the one on top?"
The air between them grew silent. John stared at Sherlock, utter surprise apparent on his face. Sherlock blinked back at him, his smile not once breaking.
"Do remember to breathe, if you would, John. You'll be no good to me otherwise."
"... Bloody hell, Sherlock." John advanced on him. The surprise in his eyes was gone, replaced by palpable lust and affection. He nudged the consultant's legs apart, just far enough to allow him to stand between them, as his hand reached up, carding through the thicket of dark curls. He pressed a kiss to the top of Sherlock's head. "You brilliant," he tilted the other's head back to kiss his temple, "insane," he pressed another kiss to his jaw, "sodding idiot." With that, he crashed their lips together in a hungry kiss.
Their lips were pressed firmly together, almost too much to allow anything else. Almost. Sherlock felt a tongue brush against him and gasped, involuntarily opening his mouth. John took the opportunity to dive in, not wasting a single moment to taste every bit of the younger man that he could possibly reach.
A moan rose up in the taller man's throat, taking him by surprise. Their first time, he'd been in such control of himself, focusing instead on the little noises and involuntary movements that had escaped John. He didn't normally relinquish dominance, especially so willingly. He found it almost disturbing, but it was incredibly difficult to care at this point. A soft whimper found its way to Sherlock's lips. Despite his eagerness to take control of the situation, and the obvious bulge growing in his pants, John was still managing to keep his actions gentle, drawing their kiss out in the most loving of ways. Suddenly, Sherlock didn't care to overanalyze why he'd offered himself to John. The way he was kissing him was answer enough.
John's lungs were beginning to burn. He wanted desperately to keep going, to keep right on tasting the younger man, to feel the soft vibrations against his lips as Sherlock whimpered. Only when he started to feel dizzy did John finally give in. He broke their connection, only just far enough to be able to breathe. Their lips were still painfully close.
After a moment, the detective's eyes were focused again. "That was... Well."
John grinned, gently loosening his grip on Sherlock's hair, "Never thought I'd see the day."
"Hm?"
"Sherlock Holmes, speechless."
"Don't get used to it." He shuddered as their lips brushed against one another with each word.
"I'll try." John pressed a brief kiss to the other man's temple, "How're you feeling?"
"Increasingly unaroused at your insistence that we talk instead of perform." Sherlock's voice dripped with impatience.
A tongue darted out to wet John's bottom lip. "You're sure you're up for this?"
He fixed a narrowed look on the shorter man. "Shall I put it into terms you can understand? If you do not hurry the bloody hell up, I will ignore you for the remainder of the evening and get myself off."
"... Has anybody ever told you what an infuriating little prat you are?" John mumbled, nipping at the taller man's earlobe.
"Many times."
Finally, the older man pulled back. "Make yourself comfortable on the bed, alright?"
"What are you going to do?"
"I'll be right back, I promise." He gave him a small smile before quickly disappearing into the bathroom.
Sherlock watched him go, frowning. He waited for a moment, hoping to hear whatever it was John might be doing; he had no such luck. With a heavy sigh, the lanky man scooted himself to the head of the bed, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. He settled against the large, comfortable pillows, his eyes not once leaving the bathroom door.
"Hm... this is indeed an optimal hotel room, John. How on earth did you find it?" He might as well pass the time somehow. Without waiting to see if John would respond, he kept going, "The bed has an incredible spring to it; seems like it might be able to do half of your work. And the desk looks big enough to fit the two of us, don't you think? Yes, that smooth surface is just begging to be defiled. Perhaps we should shag on that next. Oh, or the chair in the corner. It looks rather comfortable--"
"You are such a bloody tease." John stated breathlessly as he opened the door. He'd shed his shirt and trousers, leaving only his undershirt and boxers. He held a small tube of something in his hand.
"You took your time." Sherlock stated conversationally, "What were you doing?"
"Cleaning up a bit. Looking for something like this." He indicated the tube as he walked over to the bed, soaking in the sight of a shirtless detective.
"Lotion."
(PART 2: http://shizukaame.livejournal.com/8189.html )