AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well friends, take four friends who enjoy writing fan fiction, add a discussion of David Tennant and a smutty little line he says in the film Secret Smile (See Clip Here: watch?v=NoUdPin-dhU). Now imagine some very creative minds coming up with various ways our favorite characters might have said this particular line and this fic was born! My Illustrious Foursome? Myself, Domino62, GeekishChic, and distantstarlight (mostly on AO3). The title is courtesy of Domino62 and GeekishChic alike, each coming up with half. The work itself is mine but Extensive credit is given to Spades (FF). I do not know if I can add her as my co-author here but she not only betaed but remedied my pathetic excuse for drunk dialogue, tweaked my humor and provided some of the best ideas to augment the tale (a particular scene with buttons is Choice!) In addition we celebrate me being able to complete an actual one-shot that is "normal", as in Not 10,000 words! If you read my works and my chapters you understand that this is a significant challenge for me and I am proud to say I DID IT! HAHAHAHAHAHA! Please, Please Enjoy!
The party was in full swing already, most of the Yard's finest were decked out and celebrating the holidays in style. Some officers stopped by before going on duty, while those just coming off shift joined the party still in uniform, nobody really cared. They had been invited along thanks to Sherlock's constant consulting and John was having a great time. He was easygoing enough to get on with most everyone, when Sherlock wasn't interfering anyway. John really needed this night out. Cases had been light for the past couple of weeks resulting in a chronic state of sulk for his temperamental flatmate. He had insisted Sherlock come with him, to be sociable for once, and the detective at least humored his partner with only a token complaint. Much as he did love the man, John was taking advantage of the relaxed atmosphere to unwind.
He had lost track of how long he had been dancing, as well as how many drinks he had already had, by the time he plopped down at a table with a plate of nibbles and another drink. While the bar wasn't serving the finest single-malt in the world, he was perfectly happy celebrating with some everyday Johnny Walker. He ate and drank at leisure, absently observing the dancing. Sherlock was off talking to Lestrade or something, but there had been no explosions or fights requiring his attention thus far. By those standards tonight was already a rousing success. His reverie was interrupted by the arrival of another guest to his otherwise empty table. John surveyed his new companion in surprise before offering a smile, "Sergeant Donovan? Allow me to say you are looking lovely tonight." And indeed she did, wearing a red dress that hugged her curves with lace stockings and black high heels and her hair pulled up. She looked nothing like the hard assed cop she normally was.
Donovan was a bit surprised at the compliment, considering their usual antagonism, but accepted it just the same. Propping her elbow on the table and leaning forward, she cocked an eyebrow and smiled, "Interested Doctor Watson?"
John couldn't stop a slight blush but otherwise didn't bat an eye at the proposition. Still smiling he replied, "Just a compliment Sally."
Donovan shrugged, smiling as well, "Well thank you." She leaned back in the chair sipping at her glass of wine. They sat in companionable silence for a bit before Sally spoke, "I see you got the Fre... Sherlock here without a murder being involved."
John acknowledged her correction with an incline of his head, "Appreciate that. And, uh...yeah, yeah got him here without too much of a fight actually. Seems to be going pretty well so far."
Sally nodded, "Holiday spirit and all bring out the best in the boyfriend does it?"
John lifted his glass to take a drink and hide his smirk, offering no response to the leading question. Sherlock and he had been together now, officially, for three months. However they chose not to broadcast that to the world in general. The criminal classes didn't need more ammunition to use against them, though the whole world seemed to make their own assumptions anyway. Sadly though, the bottom of his glass was all he found. He sighed at the tumbler for a moment before offering a solution. Gesturing at Sally with the glass as he offered, "Refill?"
Sally looked at her glass, downed the last of the white wine, then passed it to John with a smile, "Sure, why not."
John returned with a full glass for both of them. He had seen Anderson briefly with his wife earlier and knew Donovan was alone. Sherlock would find him if he needed him, so John saw no harm in keeping her company. They spent the next hour companionably, drinking and dancing, and drinking some more until both were well beyond tipsy. As they took a breather from the dance floor Sally slumped towards John her words just a bit slurred now, "Found your boyfriend. Looks like you got some com...comp..(hic)...tition if that lovesick...puppy dog look on Dimmock's face is anythin' to go by." She snickered loudly when John gaped at her like a fish.
"What?!"
"Over there," she pointed to where Sherlock stood deep in conversation with Lestrade. He was flanked rather closely by DI Dimmock who did indeed have a rather smitten expression on his face, along with an inviting smile whenever Sherlock looked his way. Knowing Sally was watching, John bit back his jealous tendencies when he saw Dimmock laugh at something and rest his hand on Sherlock's arm a bit too familiarly.
John studied the three carefully. Lestrade leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, holding a glass of something, looking intent and interested but only on a conversational level. Dimmock, however, obviously did not ascribe to the world view that Sherlock was involved with his flatmate and was seeking every opportunity to join in the conversation and ingratiate himself to the detective. Not that John could blame him in the least. Sherlock had worn his bespoke black suit with a crisp white button down. The shirt clung desperately to the man's chest, while John swore those trousers were literally sculpted around his lush ass. Even the tailored black jacket did nothing to help, it was cut to reveal the chest, accentuate the waist and ended just above said ass. In short, Sherlock was lethal to anyone who cared to look. And John was the lucky man who got to do more than look. He shifted in his seat, attempting to discreetly shift his arousal. Sherlock, of course, seemed to be keenly attuned to John's arousal, the cool eyes drifting across the room to meet his gaze...a small knowing smile on his lips. John cleared his throat and tossed back his latest drink before addressing Sally again.
"As if he would ever have a chance with Sh-Sherlock," John actually laughed at the poor man's expense,"Can you even imagine?"
It was Sally's turn to laugh now, "No. You're right of course. Sherlock wouldn't think once,...no twice, twice about squashing poor Dimmock like a bug. Even though he is a reasonably nice guy and all. Shame. Would have made for some great sport tonight. There's always somebody taking bets on you two, throwing Dimmock into the mix could seriously up the ante."
John nodded sagely before the remark caught up with his alcohol soaked brain, "Wait...What?!" Sally just laughed while John shook his head, "Right lot of bloody bastards you are, and you know it too." Sally's laughing only got worse until she was leaning heavily on John's shoulder while she hugged herself and shook. John joined in good-naturedly, the idea of the Yarders taking bets on Sherlock's love life, while a bit disturbing, was still funny. He wondered just what the bets could be; was it simply if they were a couple, or more specific like who tops or what kinks they liked. John couldn't stop a knowing smirk at that. He should throw in with the pool, though he supposed it wouldn't really be fair since he had inside information. He snorted loudly then sobered suddenly, addressing Sally with mock seriousness, "Maybe we should go save him before Sherlock does his worst to the poor man. He does have a riding crop after all."
Sally paused to consider this but fought the giggles when she finally responded, "Nah, he's a grown man. He'll have to learn sometime. Maybe he needs some discipline anyway? Sherlock could be just the man for him!"
John snorted loudly at the images that statement caused, before joining in on the giggling, which only made it worse. He had a passing thought that they were pretty well sloshed and should really stop drinking now. Oddly enough he forgot about it when he went for their next round. When he returned, sitting heavily in his chair as he passed Sally her wine, he found his companion lost in contemplation. Both elbows on the table, with her chin propped in her hands as she leaned forward, Sally stared intently at the three men still talking across the room. John left her to it as he sipped his whiskey.
In a moment she sat back, grabbing her glass for a swig of wine before she looked accusingly at John. "It's really just not fair for him to be so fucking good-looking when he's such an ass to everyone. I mean look at the man!"
John did look. His mind, not so helpfully, supplied the image of said man naked and writhing beneath him last night. His arms bound above him to the headboard while he whimpered, begging to come. He smirked remembering a certain bite mark that could be found on one firm buttock, as well as the possessive marks currently covered at neck and groin. He shrugged and smiled, "He's not an ass to me." Sally's eyes narrowed sharply at him so he quickly added, "Well, not always."
Sally was lost on her tangent, however, and ignored him. "How do you live with it? Those eyes….they're stunning. And that hair, shit could you imagine gripping those curls in the bedroom? I'd grip them an'never let go. Ride him hard like a...like a...a hard rider."
John raised an eyebrow but Sally plowed on. "But that mouth has to be the worst, that utterly sinful voice and those lips. Just look at those lips John! What do you suppose he could do with that mouth and those luscious lips? God, the noises that could come from that mouth. I could just cream my panties thinking of them. And don't get me started on that tongue."
The rational little voice in the back of John's head knew they were positively smashed or Sally would never have said those things to him; wouldn't even admit to them. Unfortunately, the rational voice was not the one that came out of his mouth. The alcohol laced voice with no inhibitions whatsoever was the one that practically leapt out of his mouth. Leaning over to speak in her ear conspiratorily he said, "I d-don't have to su-suppose."
Sally pulled back to look at him in surprise, "You don't? Nooo! You mean…" waving her hand back and forth between him and Sherlock, "you an he….actually….?"
John's eyes closed as he nodded seriously before leaning in to whisper, "I've come in that mouth."
Sally couldn't stop the loud gasp that escaped her mouth, "John Watson! I don't believe yo...you just said that."
John sat back, smiling broadly as he picked up his drink and winked at Donovan. "Ish a verra, verra nice mouth." Another giggle escaped when John realized what he just said but he quickly shrugged it off. Three Continents Watson had had enough of flirting DIs and lusting Sergeants and had decided it was high time to defend his territory. He failed to take into account being rather drunk and the fact that they had been keeping it a secret. The next thing he knew, Sally grabbed his free hand and was yanking him to his feet, drink and all. Before he could even get a word out, she had drug them both, rather shakily, over to the threesome and the particular man in question.
"I think you should take your friend home Sherlock. We're wasted...no wait, I mean…I...he's wasted….well...so am I. But yeah...he's wasted. You should take us home...I mean, him home. Take him home."
All three turned to look at John who merely grinned and gave a rather sloppy salute, giggling slightly. One of Sherlock's perfect eyebrows rose at this, his expert gaze continuing to study John as he spoke to Sally.
"And just what makes you think Doctor Watson is wasted Donovan?" he replied cooly.
Sally, far from sober herself, hadn't counted on the question. "Well he said…..uh, I mean he wouldn't…..and you would never…..but there's just no way….has to be wasted drunk to say something like that," she spluttered.
Both eyebrows were now at full mast and Sherlock looked Sally square in the eye when he asked, "And just what did he say Sally?"
John had already lost track of the conversation and was staring intently at the front of Sherlock's shirt. The hand that wasn't holding his glass slowly reached out and poked at one of the visible shirt buttons. John's brows furrowed as he poked at the button again, this time with more force. Sherlock absentmindedly swatted at his hand but John was intent. How could a button that small withhold that much chest, he mused drunkenly.
Sally blushed furiously, glancing between the two men. John offered no challenge or support so she finally blurted out, "He said he had came-come in your mouth! Come!"
The corner of Sherlock's eye twitched at the butchering of the English language but he was more focused on not laughing out loud. Lestrade gaped at his friend and exclaimed in approbation, "John! You didn't?"
Dimmock blushed hotly at the mere idea but stayed quiet looking enviously at John.
Sherlock loved that John could surprise him and this one was grand. Christmas indeed he thought. Turning to face his still smiling lover he asked, "Did you say that you had come in my mouth, John?" He purposely lowered his voice, practically purring at John.
John blinked dumbly while a shudder passed down his spine, his interest in the button quickly abandoned in lieu of the husky voice, his eyes rolled towards the ceiling while he seemed to struggle to recall anything of the past half hour. "Ahh…." finally latching on to the appropriate bit of memory he smiled a broad smile, "Yep," he popped the 'P' playfully and giggled slightly again, "Yeah. Yes I did." He leaned drunkenly into Sherlock, suddenly pinching those cupid's-bow lips between his fingers until they looked like a fish. "I never can resist that perfect...pouty mouth with," he swirled his free hand around meaningfully, "l-lips."
Sherlock's carefully disengaged John's fingers from his lips while he fought the smile that twitched at the corner of his mouth. Oh this one was going into permanent storage in his mind palace.
Lestrade, Donovan, and Dimmock were still staring at John in shock. They had never seen him so drunk or brazen. John was usually the one in control of all his faculties. But now he was the blunt, outspoken individual that all parties seem to be afflicted with. They waited for the train-wreck that would be Sherlock ripping him to shreds, a natural disaster you didn't want to watch but couldn't tear your eyes away from. When Sherlock wrapped an arm around John's waist and pulled him in close, they feared the worst. But when he gripped the back of John's neck and pulled him in for a passionate kiss, the shock nearly floored the three Yarders. Add John moaning and arching into the kiss while reaching up to grip Sherlock's curls and they were struck completely dumb. It became even worse when the tight grip on the hair pulled a rumbling growl from Sherlock's chest. The shocked silence persisted until Sally shook her head sadly and mumbled, "Cocky little bastard gets the hair too, dammit. S'not fair."
John and Sherlock kissed for long moments, lost in each other and completely oblivious to the stares they were getting from more than a few people now. Sherlock finally broke away and with a broad smile asked John, "Do you want to do it again?"
John struggled for a moment to remember what they were even talking about but then answered his lover's smile, "Hell yeah I do!"
Sherlock spared only a moment to offer their friends an "Excuse us please," before dragging John off. When they reached the door, John tried to head for the coat check but Sherlock pulled him towards the men's room instead. "No time like the present John!" His manic grin alone should have set off alarm bells.
John just knew somewhere in his mind there was a thought as to why this was a bad idea. Sadly though, that area of his mind was on a temporary holiday paid in full by Mr. Walker. However, when you find yourself in a bathroom stall with your pants around your ankles and your cock down your flatmate's throat, you pretty much cease to think about anything but that. Instead, he gripped the dark curls with one hand while the other hand gripped the top of the stall door and enjoyed the view while he was brought to a spectacular climax. He wasn't even aware that his mouth did not go offline at the same time as his brain. "Oh yeah...yeeaaah….just like that Sherlock, God just like that. Oh Christ, you know just how I like it! God that fucking mouth. Christ, I love you!"
John was helplessly thrusting into the slick heat of Sherlock's mouth, watching those red, wet lips wrapped around his girth and sliding up and down. This wouldn't take long. "Suck it Sherlock, suck that cock. You're so fucking gorgeous on your knees sucking me off. Oh yes, oh yes, that's it Sherlock. That's it…..I'm close….I'm so close. Oh Fuuuuuuuckk!"
John leaned against the wall, eyes closed and head swimming while he tried to catch his breath. He was oblivious to Sherlock jerking himself efficiently to his own completion and moaning against his thigh. He also never saw Sherlock pocketing his cell phone that had been sitting on the tile floor, recording their entire interlude. Soon enough Sherlock was helping him with his pants, tucking him back in tenderly before giving him another long kiss. If John wasn't already unsteady on his feet before, his lover made sure he was now. Nevertheless, Sherlock was soon leading him back into the party and their friends.
As they re-entered the hall, John worried that something dreadful had happened while they were gone. The music still played in the background but no one was dancing. Everyone in the hall seemed to be staring at the two of them. "What's wrong?" John hastily asked Sherlock, certain he could deduce the problem instantly.
Sherlock bowed his head a bit, actually mildly embarrassed, because he did indeed know what the problem was. He tugged gently on John's hand in his as they ventured further into the hall. As they walked on, the sound of applause started to come from the crowd. Only a smattering at first but quickly growing into a raucous cheering round of applause complete with wolf whistles and cat calls. The holiday spirit must have infected Sherlock because he suddenly smiled brightly and bowed deeply from his waist. John, in confusion, followed his lead and also bowed before they continued towards their original group.
Just before they reached Lestrade and Donovan, John tugged on Sherlock's hand, "I don't understand Sherlock. What did we do?"
Sherlock couldn't stop the wry grin on his face. "Well John, I failed to adequately judge your volume and range when under the influence and less than inhibited. Therefore, we have just came out to the entire Yard at once, and quite effectively I might add. Apparently they are happy for us."
John blushed when he realized what Sherlock meant and clasped the hand in his more firmly. The powerful orgasm had helped tug him towards sobriety but not enough to allow the sense of humiliation that was bound to erupt at some point. But ever the soldier who deals with adversity and moves on, John soon shook it off and said, "Wonder who won the betting pool then?" Sherlock merely chuckled as they regained their original threesome. Everyone stared at each other uncomfortably, not sure how to broach this particular watershed moment. John finally recalled what he said to Sally earlier and bit the bullet with his friends, thanks in no small amount to liquid courage. Giving everyone a cheeky wink with a shrug and a grin, he spoke, "Well I did tell you, it's a verra nice mouth."
Shocked by John's nerve, as much as what had happened, they all broke into laughter on the spot. With that the spell was broken and the party gradually returned to normal.
Sally slapped John's arm playfully as she cussed him and laughed at the same time, still quite unsteady on her heels. "Crazy bastard!"
Lestrade's laughter barked out louder than everyone's at John's sass. That was the John Watson he knew alright, reinforcing the fact that what they all just heard had actually happened. For all the rumors and jokes, this was real. He looked between his two friends, "Well I suppose it's about time then. And, in the holiday spirit, I'll make sure not to give you both an ASBO for public indecency. Though we may need to have some psychiatric counseling for the mental scarring some officers may have experienced."
"Mental scarring? Shit, some of them want lessons," Sally muttered before wobbling to the wall for support.
Sherlock actually chuckled and made a joke, though knowing Sherlock and his brother, maybe not, "Just send the bill to Mycroft." He commented to Sally, "I'm sorry Sally, John won't allow me to instruct on this particular subject."
John had a rather good laugh himself at that one. He noted Dimmock looked only slightly put out at losing his shot at Sherlock, remaining quiet but smiling kindly at the pair. Lestrade looked them over again, a sudden random thought eliciting a question, "Sherlock, why did you wear that white shirt? You could have worn some red or green for the holiday you know."
Sherlock shot John a positively sinful look as he replied, "Why Inspector, I am fully decorated in red for the holidays!" He leaned forward to whisper, "Just because you can't see it doesn't mean it isn't there." He straightened with a smirk, his low voice practically purring his reply, "I'm not the only one with a delectably," he paused for something between a sigh and a moan as his eyelashes fluttered ecstatically, "capable mouth, Inspector."
John was fighting desperately not to laugh at the faces of the Sergeant and the Inspectors. Dimmock squeaked, slowly lowering his drink and free hand to hold them strategically over his groin. A soft "Fuck!" escaped Lestrade's mouth and Sally released a sighing moan as her tongue darted out to wet her lips. All three of them now contemplating exactly what type of redness "decorated" Sherlock underneath his white shirt. The accompanying thoughts regarding location and application only adding fuel to the fire and leaving them all speechless.
John thought now might be a good time to dance and insisted Sherlock join him, since the cat was out of the bag as it were. Sherlock was a surprisingly good dancer and despite John's fairly inebriated state they cut quite the figure together. Yarders from all departments were stopping to offer them congratulations and more than a few cell phone snaps and selfies were taken to commemorate the night. Too soon, John thought, they were saying their goodbyes and Sherlock was bustling him into a cab for the ride home.
As if the hangover in the morning was not it's own punishment, John retained all memory of the night before. Like a movie critic forced to watch everything happening in one, long, horrible, movie reel, he wanted to shout at the screen….or maybe the director, but sadly in this case it would still be him. He groaned in pain and despair all day. Everytime he thought about it, he wondered if he could avoid the Yard for the rest of his life; or change his appearance and name, or just move away with Sherlock. Sherlock took it all in stride, teasing John lightly when he ranted that he had been taken advantage of in his drunken state. Sherlock only laughed at that.
The very next case they were called on, John studiously refused to meet anyone's eyes. Sally apparently did the same because neither of them were going to even acknowledge the things she had said that night about Sherlock, let alone what John had said and actually done. Lestrade only snorted at them and got on with business while the other Yarders engaged in various stages of denial or congratulations.
Sherlock had his own brand of revenge. After all, John had revealed the secret they were supposed to be keeping without discussing it with him first, whiskey be damned. The recording of the evening's event had been broken down into the choicest sound bites and Sherlock programmed them as random ring/alert tones on both his and John's phones. However, where his phone might say "You're so fucking gorgeous." or "Christ, I love you!", John's was another story. John's would moan out, "Oh yeah," and "Suck that cock," as well as the masterful, "Fuuuuuuuuucck." John would blush furiously every time, practically dropping the phone, or at times diving across a table in his rush to silence the alert. He tried to remove them only to have Sherlock sneak them back on, until eventually he forced himself to ignore it.
Sherlock enjoyed his partner's reactions greatly, only deleting the tones once his Captain lost his temper completely and threatened to leave and never come back. Sherlock knew he wasn't likely to do it, but deleted the tones anyway.
That is not to say he didn't keep them for himself, of course.