AN: Okay so this is a short ficlet for creative_fool on instagram. I happened to be scrolling though instagram when i saw the request to write a Johnlock ficlet in which John walks in on Sherlock reading 50 shades of grey. It was seriously just what i needed to take away my boredom this afternoon and so after about like 7 hours or so i'm done with it. The ficlet. I don't know if its any good but hey, i can learn, so yep, readers R&R please thank you!
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in BBC SHERLOCK or 50 shades. Ideas are purely my own. This story is 100% fanmade.
50 Shades of Sherlock
It's about three in the afternoon, the most boring time ever for a consulting detective. Cool London air wafts through the open windows of the second floor apartment at 221B Baker Street, sending the curtains fluttering gently. It seems as though in winter the crime rates are lessened by the winter's cold and harsh grasp and there is nothing that this consulting detective can do. He is bored. Extremely bored.
Sherlock, loads the pistol with another round, lounging in his black leather chair as he fires off the rounds into the yellow smiley face on the wall. It's been peppered with bullets, all a result of his boredom. To make matters worse. John is not home, he still has his work as a doctor at the clinic to attend to.
"Great minds aren't meant to sit around and wait for cobwebs to grow! I need to do something!" he growls, leaping up from his seat, tossing the pistol carelessly to the couch beneath the smiley before he walks over to his table, pulling out a drawer where John has filed away all their previous cases neatly and in alphabetical order.
Sherlock pulls out a few random folders, laying them out on the table he looks through them one by one, noting the details of the case. How he could have solved it in lesser time or how he could commit new information to memory for future use. There was however a particular case that had him intrigued, the case file was tagged 50 Shades of Wrong. John, he thought, seeing the title. It was so John to come up with such oddly wonderful titles.
Sherlock remembered this one well, it was of a woman who had supposedly died from an overdose of a BDSM sex life. Of course what he later found out was that she had been strangled by her partner via the use of a collar that had not left any marks and had not been kept anywhere near the victim's body. He smirked at John's notations, of the couple. Noting that prior to this the murderer had read the book titled 50 Shades of Grey. It sparked a sense of curiosity, the detective in him wanting to rise to the challenge.
He shut the file, placing it back on the desk with the rest of the files, picking up his phone he sent a text to John, 'When will you be home? –SH' It wasn't long before he got a reply.
'I get off at five, should be home by a quarter to six. Why? –JW'
'Nothing. Just bored. –SH'
He had about two hours to read more into this new curiosity of his and that would begin by reading the book itself, he could finish it in two hours he prided himself. Quickly he made a dash up to John's room recalling that the doctor's sister had once upon a time given him the whole trilogy series as a Christmas present. What a morbid sort of thing to give your own brother…he'd thought. Scanning though the collection of medical journals, some Shakespeare, some Bronte, and finally there it was the deep blue spine with the white lettering, 'Fifty Shades of Grey'.
Sherlock pulled the book out of its place, taking a quick glance at the cover before quickly running out of the room like a young child excited with his find, shutting the door to John's room and going back to his leather chair. Propping his legs up on the coffee table he settled down in front of the crackling fire and began to read the book.
John made his way home quickly today, not stopping by the grocery store like he usually did when he was on the way home. Sherlock didn't usually text him to ask him when he was coming home and he had a little sort of fear that the man might be up to some tricks again. Just the other day he'd come home to a house that smelled absolutely awful thanks to Sherlock cultivating bacteria in a severed head and to top that off, he'd gone and used one of John's documents to scrape the pieces of decaying flesh into and it had cost John one hell of a night to stay up to finish retyping the document for the next day.
He rushed up the steps two at a time, bursting into the room to find Sherlock reclining in the black leather chair, dressed in his usual purple shirt and black office pants and reading Fifty Shades of Grey. This was no joke, the brilliant detective was reading an erotic novel in the living room of their apartment and completely unfazed about his flatmate's discovery.
"Sherlock," he said, staring pointedly at him, "Is that my book? Were you in my room again?" John asked, watching as Sherlock put the book down looking to him.
"Yes. Problem?" he asked before continuing the book.
"No. No there's not a problem there except that you barged into my room again! Sherlock haven't I told you about people's rooms being a private space meant only for them?" John asks, taking off his coat and hanging it up on the rack.
"Yes. Now what do you think of handcuffs John? Would you use them in the process of sex?"
"What?" John asked turning to Sherlock, "Handcuffs? No. Why?"
"Hmm…how do you feel about ropes and whips and…" he pauses looking at the book again, "riding crops?"
"Excuse me? What's this about?" John asked not knowing where this was going.
"About five to twenty five percent of the general population participate in or have the tendency to engage in BDSM. That murderer we had in the case awhile back happened to be one of them," Sherlock explained, watching John take his seat in the plush chair opposite him, he had the sudden notion to try it out with him for some reason. They had a relationship of trust that was for sure and BDSM required trust.
"You're reviewing the case? Well why do you need my book?" John asks watching Sherlock getting up from the seat now, setting the book down as he went to rummage in some boxes, coming back with his hands behind his back.
"Do you trust me John?" Sherlock asked, trying to hide his smirk as he watched blue eyes widen as he approaches.
"You know I do. Why are you asking?" John murmurs seeing Sherlock drop to his knees before him.
"Good, now take off your shirt."
"I'm sorry what?" John asks not quite sure that he'd heard right the first time.
"Take off your shirt," Sherlock repeats, lifting John's shirt in emphasis.
"What?" John mutters, confused but he listens anyway, taking off his shirt, pulling it over his head as he lets it drop to the side of the chair, the cool wind kissing his warm skin. The bullet wound on his left side of the chest, gently throbbing it what seemed to be excitement.
John finds Sherlock taking his hands and holding them together before securing one of them with the side of a handcuff and holding him still slides the other one into place, closing it with a firm grip. The heavy metallic item weighing John's hands down. John's heart seems to speed up when he feels Sherlock's hands slowly making their way up the sides of his still clothed thighs, the slender fingers branding him through the material of the jeans.
The fingers find their way to his belt, undoing the clasp and pulling the brown strip of leather free.
"S-Sherlock…stop, you don't want to do this," John was saying, his breath shallow, ragged.
Sherlock notes the dilation of John's pupils and his increased pulse and smirks, "I don't think I'm the only one that wants this," he says, unbuttoning his jeans and shuffling them down John's hips and his legs, pulling them off completely leaving the doctor naked save for those red boxers he liked so much.
"Sherlock are you toying with me?" John asks shifting under the intense gaze of the detective, his body all uncomfortable and tingly.
"Experimenting and toying are two different things John. Now, go lie down on the couch," Sherlock commands as he stands, towering over John who sits in his chair almost fully naked.
"Why?" John asks, looking up at Sherlock, still fully clothed, the rich purple of his shirt a contrast to his dark curled hair.
"Because I told you to," he says with more force in his voice. It sends a shiver down John's spine, and Sherlock doesn't miss a beat when he sees the immediate response. John Watson was secretly a sub. He thought to himself, liking the thought of it already.
Sherlock took out his riding crop from its place in the desk drawer. Striding over to the doors in the apartment, he shut them both and locked them.
John lay back down on the couch, the pistol between his thighs, he tried to reach for it to put it on the coffee table but the riding crop tapped down over his knuckles lightly. "Lie back," came the command and John followed, lying back on the couch looking up into Sherlock's face, the cool metal of the barrel of the pistol, brushing against the back of his thighs.
Sherlock reached for the pistol, hands purposely drawing themselves over the sensitive inner thighs of the other man watching those hips lift responsively. He smirks, setting the pistol on the coffee table. The riding crop positioned beneath John's chin, drawing his gaze up to his, he smiles at him letting his intention be clearly known to the other.
Next he reaches for the tie that is strewn on the back of the wooden chair near the window, he leans down to John, gently lifting his head and making sure the tie completely blocks out his vision, blindfolds him. He sees John gulp, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows, the new sensation of being rendered without sight sparking a sort of fear in him and yet, Sherlock notes, John is aroused, the telltale signs of an erection showing in those red boxers.
Sherlock grins and he slowly draws the riding crop over the bulge in John's boxers hearing the other's sharp intake of breath, hips once more thrusting up. "That's right John, good boy, feel it," he murmurs seeing the red fabric darken as it soaks up John's precum. He tortures the other just a little longer, tracing patterns over his chest, the old scar seeming to be the most sensitive when he hears the other's soft plea, "Sherlock, please…take them off…"
"What's that John? What do you want me to take off?" he teases, seeing John's cuffed hands going to reach for the boxers, he taps them with the riding crop, "Ask me for it John. Tell me what it is you want me to do."
John blushes, his vision obscured by the tie. He cannot see Sherlock, but he can feel him, his presence, his heat. "I want you to take off my boxers," he finds himself saying.
"That wasn't too hard was it?" Sherlock whispers, setting the riding crop aside as he takes off John's red boxers, the erect member springing free, standing tall. Sherlock licks his lips at this, seating himself on John's thighs, he pins John to the couch with his body, hearing the other gasp beneath him at the friction.
He takes off the tie, smoothing a hand through John's golden blonde hair, watching as the doctor looks to him with lust in those blue eyes, he feels the doctor try to move, to grind his hips into him and Sherlock smiles devilishly, pushing John's cuffed arms up above his head, "Someone's impatient today hmm? I'll just get straight to it then shall I? Save you the torture?"
Something in John freezes, 'straight' that single word. 'Not gay. I'm straight. No. This is an experiment…a weird yet nice one at that…' he thinks feeling Sherlock's tongue licking its way down his chest, gently nibbling on his nipples, his fingers rolling the other between them and tugging it till it's peaked. He watches as Sherlock continues down, still holding his hands in place above his head.
Sherlock's blue-gray eyes meet his now as the detective has his mouth, just poised above his erection, hot breath, seeming to beckon him to thrust into the other's mouth, he moans softly when Sherlock take his head into the warm wet cavern of his mouth. "Sherlock!" he calls, panting, trying to fight off Sherlock's grip on him, he wants more.
"You naughty boy," Sherlock growls, letting go of John's cuffed hands, feeling them gently kneading his shoulders, a silent plea for more, he licks John's length from base to head, hands gently fondling his balls. He begins to pump John's erection tonguing just the tip before taking the head into his mouth once more, sucking hard. He can hears John's muffled moans as the doctor tries to be quiet lest Mrs. Hudson hears them and he smirks, relaxing and taking the other right to the back of his throat.
John finds himself unable to stifle the loud moan that escapes his lips, his hips thrusting up into Sherlock's mouth, hands pressing Sherlock down to take more. He doesn't care what people will think because right now all he wants is Sherlock, like this sucking him off.
Sherlock pulls back when he feels John's grip tightening, fingernails cutting into the thin material of his shirt, watching as with a moan, John cums in hot thick spurts that cover the pale skin of his stomach.
"Dear me John, that was quite a reaction indeed, I must take note of my findings for future use," Sherlock says with a smirk as he licks his lips, the salty tang of John fresh on his tongue. He shifts now going to stand but John pulls him back, a dangerous glint in his eyes.
"You're not going anywhere until you finish this off Sherlock," John says, panting hard as he tries to regain his breath, his hands grasp onto the front of Sherlock's purple shirt, pulling the detective back and he kisses him hard on the mouth, tasting himself on the detective's tongue. John smirks now as he pulls back, "Besides if I remember correctly in Fifty Shades, that character, the woman, Anastasia or something, she did switch command with Grey. So it's only fair that you carry out your experiment properly," John says.
Sherlock cannot help but to be delighted by this, an intriguing thought, John wanting to top him. Yet when he hears the sound of ripping fabric and the clattering of buttons to the floor and looks down the front at his tattered purple shirt he cannot contain the dominant side of him.
"That was my favorite shirt!" he growls, pushing John back down on the couch now, straddling him again. "You're going to have to pay for that, John and by that I mean you being bottom again."
John grunts in pain as his head hits the couch, yet he fights back, the thrill of this 'experiment' making him smirk as his cuffed hands finish off the purple shirt and pulls it off Sherlock's shoulders exposing pale unblemished skin over a body that is lightly muscled.
Sherlock fights back as John pulls off his shirt, he once more pins the doctor's hands above his head, holding them in place tightly this time. "You asked for it. You'd better not regret," he growls, feeling John this time using his strength, mustered from the old army days of his to fight off his grip.
"Undo the cuffs Sherlock. Now." John demands, wanting to be able to feel all of Sherlock .
"No. Not going to happen."
"Oh?" John raises a brow now as he boldly reaches for the front of Sherlock's black pants, fingers deftly undoing the zipper, it's no surprise he doesn't wear boxers. John had already learned about that before when Mycroft had them kidnapped from their household. His fingers curl around Sherlock's semi-hard member, drawing it out and watching as the detective becomes undone, head falling back, lips parted on a sigh. Its times like these that John feels love towards him love of more than just a friend.
"Y-you've gone and done it now John," Sherlock whispers, voice menacingly low as he hastily fetches the tube of lubricating oil in the drawer, squeezing a sizeable amount on to his palm and spreading it over his erection.
It takes John mere seconds to realize what's about to happen, before he watches as Sherlock, now naked, kneels between his parted legs. "Sherlock…" he breaths, wiggling closer to the detective.
"There's always a first for everything," Sherlock says, smirking as he pushes in quickly, causing John to scream, cuffed hands grasping onto the headrest of the couch, knuckles turning white.
"Fuck, Sherlock!" John mutters through gritted teeth, "Jesus! You're killing me!"
"Relax. John, it won't hurt as much if you relax," Sherlock says, leaning in to press his forehead to the doctor's.
"Oh Yes! Yes! Sherlock, there, over there, again!" John moans, cuffed hands draped around Sherlock's neck as the detective pounds into him, hitting his prostate and making him cry as he brings him closer and closer to the edge.
Sherlock, pumps John's weeping cock in time to his thrusts, the sound of slapping flesh on flesh resounding through the apartment, making him grin as he watches John's face scrunch up in pleasure as he cums hard over the two of them. Sherlock, works himself to completion, pulling out as he releases his hot seed over John's thighs, whispering the doctor's name as he falls into the high after the climax.
"I guess we should have another experiment next time on the switching of roles John. Shouldn't we?"Sherlock murmurs as they lay together on the couch.
"I look forward to that Sherlock," John whispers curling up to Sherlock, "You and your experiments."
AN: So there it is my little BDSM (somewhat) work of art in a way so to speak. Hope you guys liked it! :)