It was that time of the day again. The halls of the university were empty of the pitter of energetic feet and the chatter of inquisitive minds. The reddening afternoon sun was slanted through the tall row of picture windows that lined the hall to the classroom that was currently being guarded by one Sherlock Holmes: Consulting Student.
To any common passerby, he would be the picture of phlegmatic stoicism.
Back, ramrod straight.
Arms, crossed tightly across his thin, yet solid chest.
Legs, locked at the knees, making him taller than any person that age had the right to be.
Dark hair, an unruly bird's nest that sat upon his long angular face, yet settled, for the moment, over his high forehead and mercury eyes that were darting from one part of the hall to the other.
Pouty mouth set in a thin, blanched line across his face.
However, to any not-quite-common passerby, they would have seen a man two seconds away from blowing up in a torrent of aggravation and frustration.
Back, tense and stiff from pent up rage.
Arms, ready to punch and throttle anyone who would so much as dare to breathe in his direction.
Legs, set to bolt down the hall and personally drag the offending person who put him in such a state in the first place from whatever hackneyed affair he might be participating in and throw him, arse over head into the room.
Dark hair, which was hiding pale skin crawling from boredom and annoyance and eyes, practically white and catching every stray bit of data and detail that might be able to prophesize how long he might have to continue to wait.
Pouty mouth ready to spew bile and venom like one of those terrible land snakes that only live in dry, lonely, orange places.
He had been standing there for about 10 minutes.
Sherlock was not a patient man. The only reason he was even deigning to stand there was because he waiting for the object of his unabashed lust and obse-
Ahem. Excuse me.
Study partner.
Yes, Sherlock Holmes: Consulting Land Snake was waiting for the soon-to-be Army Doctor John Watson, fellow upperclassman and chemistry major.
John had agreed to tutor Sherlock in Biology 447: Molecular, Cellular and Developmental Biology, which is quite lucky for Sherlock, because on the last exam, John managed to finagle his way to a 96.5, a grade unheard of among anyone in their grade.
Meanwhile, Sherlock got a 0 on that exam, because A. he didn't take the test and B. he's not even in that class.
Sherlock Holmes: Consulting Liar had somehow manipulated his way into the very busy schedule of John Watson, future Army Medic for tutoring on a subject he took and passed two years ago.
Why? Definitely not, because he a thing for John, because Consulting Sociopaths do not have things for anyone, especially not for short, fair haired, sinewy , interesting smart, handsome, patient, friendly, understanding, clever, never boring, and brave young men.
Definitely not.
Thanks to a Mr. Mike Stamford who in a few years would become terribly fat, Sherlock got to meet John and so this obsess- eh, experiment on the, uh, effect of social interaction during, um, cognitive exercise was born.
Twelve minutes. He had been waiting for twelve minutes, a record previously unheard of for the man who had tripped someone down the escalator because they had refused to move.
In those minutes, Sherlock swore that this was it. He was completely finished with this tutoring sham, and once John arrived he'd tell him exactly what to do with that easy smile. Sherlock had never been so affronted, so offended at having to actually wait to be tutored! What irresponsibility, what boorishness, what-
"Hey, Sherlock! Sorry I'm late. Rugby took a little longer than I expected," John jogged down the hall, books in tow, glistening with sweat. "Were you waiting long?" A light flush painted his body, and his muscles were still strained and corded from having been running and jumping and tackling other men just five minutes ago.
Sherlock's eyes became cameras, unabashedly staring and snatching up every single piece of information he could glean. He noted the way John's chest was huffing, up and down and the way his lips parted to release the little pockets of air. He noted the musky smell of sweat, and grass and tea and John. The scent flew into Sherlock's nose and drained all the blood from his face and into a place that was much more accommodating.
He noted John's eyes were dark and slightly unfocused, no doubt from all the expended energy, and how his nostrils were flaring. His orbicularis oris was a bit contracted signifying a bit of tension, yet his right procerus was neutral-
"You lost the game," Sherlock stated.
John's eyebrows shot up, but his smiled widened in the way it usually did whenever Sherlock went about deducing and figuring and solving. "Well, actually I had to throw it otherwise I would have never made it here," he laughed and unlocked the door of the classroom.
The taller boy watched him, eyes softening and mouth unraveling into its usual audacious pout.
"No," Sherlock said suddenly. "I wasn't waiting long." He sat at the tall thick mahogany desk that belonged to professors and placed his notebook casually over his lap.
"Good. How was your- do you mind if I take my shirt off? Don't worry, I'm wearing an undershirt," John huffed and grabbed the hem of his shirt. It was half way over his elbows when John noticed that Sherlock's attention was riveted on him and that his hands were tearing into his notebook.
"Well, do you mind?" John asked with a slight frown. "If you're not comfortable, I'll-"
"No," Sherlock gasped and finally breathed after thirty long seconds. He sucked air into his mouth, held it, then blew it out shakily. His pulse was racing and he crossed his legs tightly in order to hide the now, very noticeable bulge in his trousers. Deep in the pit of his stomach a fire had been stoked and any sudden stimulation would turn it into a crazy hellish inferno that would set his whole body ablaze.
Fortunately, John knew this.
Soon-to-be Army Doctor John Watson is no idiot. Thanks to Mike Stamford, he knew far more about Sherlock than Sherlock could possibly guess. It started when he noticed that a strange man with dark hair and wickedly long legs kept staring at him during their Caribbean and African Literature in French lectures. Mike just so happened to be acquainted with that crazy haired sir and even offered to introduce the two.
While John was surprised when Sherlock suggested the tutoring and doubted for a second that Mike knew what constituted a 'mad genius' the answer soon became clear when he noticed the rather impressive erection Sherlock sported whenever they had their sessions.
Despite that, Sherlock never once suggested that they meet outside of school for lunch or even just to hang out. John wondered if this could possibly mean his intuition was wrong, and that the boy just had a very odd priapic disorder that happened to flare up whenever he was around. John didn't count it out.
Sherlock had just turned 19 and was still shaking off the last vestiges of puberty, so hormones could possibly be a factor in this. John was almost 20 and had been with a few people already, and so of course he was a sexual genius capable of diagnosing any case that came his way.
Ha.
Not that this wasn't a problem John didn't desperately want to solve. He had never met a person quite like Sherlock and knew he probably never would again. The man just oozed intelligence and grace at the age when boys still suffered from mouth breathing and unstoppable sweating.
John had hoped to give Sherlock time to settle and become comfortable with him, but it had been two months already. John was tired of having to undress Sherlock with his eyes and not his hands, and waking up with pants damp and the faint memory of Sherlock's taste on his tongue. It was time for action, John Watson style.
"Uh…you look a bit tense," John said quietly.
"Do I?" Sherlock muttered while flipping nonchalantly through the textbook.
"Uhuh," John breathed and let his tongue dart out to wet his lips. He crept up behind the chair and flexed his fingers before dipping under into Sherlock's collar. The other man stiffened visibly and suddenly the blood was pounding in John's ears, making his head feel like it was being held underwater. What in the hell did he think he was doing molesting this guy? Oh, but his skin was so soft and his shoulders were just so broad and thin like the swooping planes of a mountain or something.
The fire in Sherlock's belly was suddenly changed into a very short, very taut rubber band that was two seconds away from snapping and dropping Sherlock into molten lava filled swirl of ecstasy and breathlessness. It was a coil that was going to spring up at any moment send gears and cogs flying everywhere.
John. The John he had been fantasizing about since he first heard him give his thesis on the reflection of the diaspora on Caribbean revolution on French society. That John was now massaging his shoulders for some incomprehensible reason. Though to be fair, any type of reasoning was becoming a nebulous, unreachable thing.
"Yeah," John whispered, his hot breath caressing Sherlock's neck and curling around his ears. "Nervous about that exam coming up?" The rubber band tightened a notch and his arms began trembling inconsolably. John's scent was intoxicating. Every nerve on Sherlock's body was alive and screaming with sensation. John's hands were tracing fiery lines into Sherlock's muscles that were smoldering long after his fingers moved away.
"Mhm," Sherlock whimpered, his mouth once again pressed into a tight thin line. He no longer trusted his voice to not scream, "Oh dear god John, please touch me john please, please PLEASE!"
John's hand crawled down his shoulders and rubbed his pectoral muscles and gently brushed past his nipples. Sherlock sucked in a shaky breath through his nose and the rubber band got stretched one more notch.
"That's quite funny actually, because we don't have an exam coming up," John muttered and removed a hand from his chest to smooth down his shirt.
The cleverness on this one! Oh, Sherlock was in hog heaven and the fact that John's hands were making a beeline for his crotch was not helping one bit. Every second the rubber band was being pulled tighter and tighter and any second it was going to snap. This was going to be embarrassing. Three minutes had barely passed, not one of them was spent toward his genitals and it was about 19 seconds until blast off.
"J-john," Sherlock stuttered and followed the other man's hand with his eyes.
"God, Sherlock I love the way you smell," John barged on, too caught up in the feel of Sherlock's skin, his hands driven towards the one goal of the bulge waiting just a few inches away.
"John," he whispered again, the coil knotting deep in his belly only one breath away from popping.
John's tongue swirled around the shell of Sherlock's ear right before gently stroking his cock through his trousers.
"John," Sherlock sighed while trying to infuse it with warning. His hand spread over John's lightly as the rugby player continued to rub small circles. John pressed a small kiss right on his pulse and the coil sprung open.
Sherlock Holmes: Consulting Rubber Band clutched John's hand hard enough to leave nail imprints, quicksilver eyes shut tight as his orgasm swept over him in waves. His body trembled and tensed and his teeth bit hard on his lower lip. All other noises were drowned out except for the roar of his heartbeat and John's lips still moving against his skin.
Little by little the tension was released and he was left panting and damp and more than a little embarrassed in the seat.
John exhaled heavily and smiled against Sherlock's skin. That was amazing. Sherlock's skin was practically glowing and he was radiating the most delicious scent. He giggled a little, noting how close he was himself and imagining Sherlock in several positions.
"Wow, Sherlock, you're…what's wrong?"
The tall boy was hunched over, stiff as a board and clutching his elbows tightly. His eyes were glaring at something on the ground, once again the picture of stoicism if not for the deep flush darkening his features.
John's eyes widened and guilt left him cold and awake. He rushed to his knees in front of the boy and grabbed Sherlock's hands.
"That was great," John said quickly. "It was bloody spectacular. God, you're so beautiful; I cannot even believe that I'm sitting here with you."
Sherlock's eyes flickered to his, widening slightly. Minutely, John saw his shoulders relax a little and he hesitantly reached up for Sherlock's cheek.
"It was amazing," John said quietly and looked deep into his eyes, urging him to feel his sincerity. There was absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about.
The tall boy searched John's face and then without warning, pulled him forward by his sweaty hair and began snogging him senseless. Their mouths moved in tandem, and Sherlock nipped at John's lower lips, pleading for a taste. Tongues danced through each other's mouths sloppily and wonderfully and Sherlock pushed John so that his back was flush against the desk while the dark haired boy straddled him.
He moved from John's mouth to his neck, returning the favor tenfold.
"Please, John," Sherlock begged. "Let me touch you. Please."
John nodded fervently, voice suddenly strained and cracked as his hands moved across the expanse of Sherlock's back and chest.
Sherlock's clever fingers quickly made their way into John's trousers and they both could have sworn John's moan could be heard echoing down the hallway.
He lightly teased the head, wetting his fingers with the pre-cum before moving down to work the shaft. John buried his face in the crook Sherlock's neck, biting and licking and moaning his pleasure.
"Wait, Sherlock, wait!" he suddenly gasped and flipped them over so that Sherlock was lying on his back and staring up at John.
"What's the- oh god," Sherlock groaned and dug his nails into John's forearms.
The shorter boy had unbuttoned Sherlock's trousers and brought both of their pricks together. He rubbed them in tandem while Sherlock explored his chiseled chest and tight back. He pulled John down for a kiss and thrust into his palm creating the most amazing friction.
Their breathing got louder and shorter and their movements got more frantic until finally, John gave one final tug that sent him spilling onto Sherlock's flat stomach with the other boy following not soon after.
John collapsed on the ground besides Sherlock and stared up at the ceiling, the only sounds being their harsh breaths.
He swallowed and let his head fall to the side only to find that Sherlock was already staring at him.
They burst out laughing.
Sherlock's abs were soon aching as much as his lungs from trying to hold in his snorts and giggles but whenever he glanced at John, a new peal would bubble from his belly.
"Next time," John gasped, while wiping away tears with the heel of his hand. "Next time, we should go somewhere with an actual bed."
Sherlock's laughter died in his throat.
Next time? Of course there would be a next time. Did he honestly think John would have anything to do with him in public? No, this was only for the sex. Sherlock had set himself up as the whore who had lurid trysts in abandoned classrooms and now he would have to live with it. It would possibly be the only way John would even talk to him. He probably wouldn't even believe that Sherlock was a virgin.
Oh.
Next time. John will be expecting more. Much more. And if Sherlock didn't give it to him, then he would leave. Even if Sherlock explained what happened, John probably wouldn't want to take the time and responsibility of educating someone as inexperienced as him.
Which meant that John couldn't know. It would be fine though. The body was merely transport, who cared what happened to it if it helped the greater good. It would hurt at first, but then he'd get used to it. Eventually.
"Sherlock?" John asked, somber once again. "Are you alright?"
"Perfect," he murmured. "Next time should it be your place or mine?"
John chuckled a bit before sitting up and scrubbing his face with a hand.
"Listen, Sherlock, I know I gave you the wrong impression, and I'm sorry, but I swear I never do things like this. Ever."
Sherlock's blood ran cold. Stupid him, planning ahead.
"I was honestly hoping to get to know you a little better before…jumping your bones. I don't know what came over me and I apologize, but…would you like to have dinner sometime? I understand if you meant for this to be a onetime thing, or-or if you wanted it to just be physical but I really want-"
"I'm a virgin," Sherlock blurted out.
John's eyes widened comically. "Really? Then I take it that you don't normally-"
"Never. And yes, dinner would be perfect," Sherlock assured him with a wide grin.
John returned the smile and settled back down.
"John?"
"Yes."
"You got a 96.5 on your last test."
"Yes."
"I could help you get the extra three point five."
Future Army Medic John Watson and Sherlock Holmes: Consulting Student exchanged looks and this time their giggles could not be stifled.
The End.
Why hello there! This is my first Sherlock story and also my first actual sex scene. I hope that you enjoyed it! Don't forget to review!