It has been ages since I've written anything, and this is the first Sherlock fic I've ever written so play nice please.
Summary: Johnlock PWP. Sherlock's touch has never felt so good.
It's well into the late morning when John realizes that he hasn't heard Sherlock get up yet, his breakfast that Mrs. Hudson made getting cold on the table. He wonders what time the detective finally got in, his latest case causing him to be in and out at all hours of the day over the past week.
He wonders how the other man can go on the way he does, on too little sleep, with no food in his system. He tries to keep him on track, as does Mrs. Hudson, but there's no controlling the man when he's in the grips of a case the way he is now.
There's a quiet creak on the floor as John makes his way down the hallway to Sherlock's room, the door partially open and the light from the hallway spilling into the darkness. The flat is otherwise quiet except for the soft sound of Sherlock's sleepy breathing, and John quietly pushes the door further open, taking a step inside.
His breath catches immediately at the sight of Sherlock, the consulting detective lying flat on his back, one hand splayed over his stomach while the other is tucked behind his head, his breathing steady with sleep.
His sheets only barely cover one leg, the remainder of the material bunched up beside him. Sherlock's cock is hard and leaking pre-cum, several drops gathering on smooth skin as the head hovers just above Sherlock's stomach.
John feels his own cock stiffen and strain against the material of his pants at the sight, and he unconsciously begins to start rubbing the rough material. He takes a step back until he is resting against the wall, his hands shaking as he releases the button and pulls down the zipper of his jeans, reaching into his pants and pulling his straining member out.
He bites his lip, hard, to keep from moaning as he squeezes the shaft and begins a slow rhythm, every nerve fiber feeling like it's on fire. Sherlock's cock twitches almost as if John had been touching it instead of his own, and he can't help but let his gaze travel up the smooth expanse of skin, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the movement in his throat as the detective swallows.
John can't help but imagine the feel of Sherlock swallowing as he takes the length of his shaft into his mouth, John's hand slowly moving up and down his cock as he imagines the thought of seeing Sherlock's lips wrapped tightly around him.
John is so wrapped up in the imagery that he doesn't notice Sherlock's eyes drift open until it's too late, his hand stopping mid-pump as his breath catches. He can't bring himself to even blink as he watches the other man slowly pull himself up in bed, his eyes on John as if his mere gaze were pinning the doctor to the wall.
In seconds Sherlock is standing in front of John, their gaze locked as the detective pushes John's hand away, grabbing his shaft and squeezing it hard and forcefully. John's head falls back at the sudden jolt, hitting the wall, and he's not quite sure if it's the head trauma or the long slender fingers that are fisting and stroking his cock that makes him see stars.
Sherlock uses his other hand to brace himself against the wall next to John's head, and the doctor moans as he feels Sherlock's erection brushing against his thigh, the pre-cum warm on his skin. The detective's breath is hot on John's neck, his breath catching in his throat as the other man nips at his skin, the sudden sensation tingling down his spine when the pain is followed by the stinging sensation of his tongue.
"Sherlock."
The name is said on a breath, John not even sure if it was loud enough to be heard, and he feels his heart racing as Sherlock speeds up his rhythm, his body pushing closer and closing any remaining distance. The only space between them allows the movement of Sherlock's hand, John attempting to snake his between them to grab hold of the cock that continues to rub against his thigh, but Sherlock forcefully grabs his wrist, pinning it to the wall above him, his grip tight and relentless.
John doesn't attempt the same move with his other hand, instead grabbing the back of Sherlock's neck as he thrusts his hips forward, his eyes closed and pinpoint lights flashing behind his lids. He pushes his head further back against the wall, tilting his chin up and allowing full access to the sensitive skin of his neck as Sherlock nips and sucks at it.
John can feel himself on the verge, the muscles in his groin tensing up as he pants out Sherlock's name repetitively, the detective silent as he continues his assault on John's neck, his hand speeding up, pumping faster.
It's over with a flash of light, John feeling blind and heavy, his legs threatening to give out from under him as he tries to regain control of his breathing, of his heart that's about to beat out of his chest. His hand that was previously around Sherlock's neck feels sticky, confusion starting to creep into his mind as he slowly allows his eyes to open, taking in his environment.
His heartbeat seems to pick up tenfold as he notices that the lights are on in the room, his eyes settling on the perfectly made bed in front of him. He blinks away the confusion as his gaze slowly drifts to the doorway, and he feels the air escape his lungs when he sees Sherlock standing there, his shirt buttons straining against his chest, the faintest of bulge hiding within the material of his slacks.
"John."
"Sherlock. I- I can explain."
John realizes there's very little explanation needed as Sherlock's eyes travel down his body, and it's then that John realizes he's still holding his cock in his hand, cum moistening his knuckles and the floor below.
This was really just something that popped into my head as soon as I woke up. Wasn't really meant to be anything big, more or less just a one shot, but I may add on. Haven't quite decided yet.