It's not a job Sherlock /wants/ to advertise but his arm has been twisted by the certain drunken sentiments of Doctor John Watson and /MAYBE/ he doesn't like the process but he think's he'll like the outcome. After printing a few sheets of the same advertisement he give them to to pin up. "Womb service wanted ASAP" and a number that was not Sherlock's nor John's but a spare phone for in case of emergency. John was scared of what it might do to Sherlock's career and Sherlock was scared of what it might do to John.
It has started on a Friday. Sherlock had cracked a case and He and John were celebrating in a run down old café with what you couldn't /really/ call a hot dinner, but a dinner all the same.
"You know, perhaps we should go to a pub, you know, after." Watson suggested, mouth full of food. One of the side affects of being on the job with Holmes was a starving Watson. Sherlock removed his scarf from around his neck and lay it over his lap, almost protectively, tucking into his meal.
"I don't like to drink." He passively replied, separating his plate into sections of potatoes, meat and vegetables before eating. John pushes his plate away at this point, finished already, wiping his mouth on a napkin.
"So get a orange juice? Come on Sherlock, don't be boring." Watson smiles leaning back in the chair watching his ''colleague" gracefully eat, now feeling a little guilty as his body makes a point of telling him he ate to fast by giving him indigestion. Sherlock grins into his dinner. 'Boring.' He hates the word. Which is probably why John chose it.
"If you like."
So they spend countless hours in a pub not to far from the café. John's managed to slip a vodka into Sherlock's juice. He knows of course, but he's allowing it. Sherlock spends a couple of hours impressing John by deducing things about the people around them. It always did fascinate John. It takes four hour and fifteen minutes for John to get paralytic. Sherlock is just tipsy, mind foggy from the Vodka here and there but nothing too bad. One cab ride and a strip up the stairs later John is trying to take Sherlock's clothes off. The taller man grins but protests.
"No John. Bed." He half laughs, needing to get John to sleep.
"If you insist" John slurs, pulling at buttons until one actually comes off. He's even tripping over his own feet. Sherlock laughs again.
"You've misunderstood me, Watson." He grunts as he throws John into his bed. "Stay there and sleep." He demands, turning to switch the light off and leave, but it's too late. John's started whimpering.
"NO SHERLOCK PLEASE!" He calls into the dark, knowing the man will still be standing in the doorway- watching. Holmes sighs, shaking his head, coat and scarf still on, missing a button, mind you.
"Not like this, John." And he turns and leaves, back to his study at first, still a little disorientated. It takes him a few seconds to remember he finished his case and so goes back to his room, undressing for bed and sliding under his covers. It's not often he got a good nights sleep. Closing his eyes, he quickly fell to slumber land- Until John's screams woke him. Racing out of bed, tripping over everything possible before speeding up the stairs in just boxers and socks to find John still in his bed, screaming in his sleep. This happens a lot. Sherlock crawls on to the empty side of the bed, reaching over to grab John and hold him still, stopping him from hurting himself. It takes a lot of effort and a long time but John finally relaxes into Sherlock's arms. John is sobbing whole heartedly and Sherlock rocks him as the smaller man rambles on about his dream, watching everyone die and being shot at all over again.
When John calms down enough to talk Sherlock takes a deep breath, knowing John was okay.
"What do you need..." He asks in the most sincere voice he has.
"To feel better..." John chokes, still smelling of alcohol. Watsons hand lays on Sherlock's thigh - very close to certain...areas. Sherlock's face didn't move a bit, not surprised by the movement at all. Actually he'd expected it. John was ALWAYS like this after one of his episodes. Anything to make him /forget/. Not so much feel better. This wasn't the first time, no, not by a long shot. Holmes was used to this by now. He knew the routine. John lifted and exposed his neck so Sherlock could press his lips to the soft area, brushing across it. John gaps at this, adding a little more pressure to Sherlock's leg. The taller man slides one leg up and around John's back so that Watson is between his legs, back against his chest and John now rubs BOTH of the legs either side of him, grunting as Sherlock pulls his striped jumper off his body. More kisses are laced down Johns neck while Sherlock gracefully un buttons John's shirt, painfully slowly until his chest is bare. Like Sherlock's. Heat is suddenly radiating from the two, John's breath becoming heavy as he slides his hands behind his back, to feel Sherlock and his semi-erection. Sherlock takes hold of Johns hands and removes them, placing them back in Watson's lap.
"Pace yourself, John. If you must do /something/ you can work on /these/" He whispers, pulling at the waist band of John's jeans. He does as he is told, fumbling with his belt and zipper until he slides them off, now matching the man behind him. Boxers and socks.
This is the bit Sherlock likes. Boxers and socks. He could sit here and hold John like this all night and not want anything more. Being unlike other human beings he doesn't really have much of a sex drive. That, however does not mean he can not have sex or that he doesn't enjoy it. Just that it's hard to get his started. So he rests his chin on John's shoulder savoring THIS moment like so many before as John starts to stroke himself through the material of his boxer shorts, growling and throwing his head back against the other man. Sherlock turned away for a second, closing his eyes. Why couldn't he just have this? He found it impossible to bring up in a normal conversation and the only other time he got this was for about five seconds before John needed to rip every scrap of material from Sherlock's body. He'd already started, Removing the socks first before spinning from Sherlock's grip pulling him onto his back. He automatically shielded himself with his hands and John tore off his boxers, hiding himself. This always made him uncomfortable. He never understood why he had to take his off before John removed his. Watson then stepped out oh his undergarments reveling a hardening erection. He crawls on top of Sherlock and kneels over his body, dragging the penis against the taller man's lips. Sherlock obeys to John's needs, opening his mouth and licking at it until John feels satisfied. This is another bit Sherlock doesn't like. He consents, but he doesn't like. Where john lifts his legs and throws them over his shoulders, so John can see everything. Sherlock's chest rises and falls, but if it'd be for anything, it's because he's still scared of this. John drunkenly rubs himself against Sherlock's semi before pumping himself, then pushing himself against Sherlock's tight hole. The man on his back squeezes his eyes shut as John forces himself inside. John has control over Sherlock completely. It's the ONLY time he feels in control. It take an hour of 'Love making' before John is ready to fall.
"SHERLOCK!" he grunts, pumping in and out of the mans body. "Tell me you love me..." He growls, ready to blow.
"I love you John." He whispers. And it's true. He loves John more than he loves anyone. He just wants John to say it OTHER than when they're in bed like this. And then it happens. Sherlock feels the hot stickiness inside him as John removes himself falling back into bed. John's panting, on his side, turned away from Holmes, and Sherlock is still on his back where John left him until he pushes himself back into a sitting position pulling on his boxer shorts and socks. At first he accidentally pick up Johns but he sets them aside to pull on his own. Then he picks them back up again, rubbing the material and thinking...
"Are you still awake John?" and when Watson 'Mhmms' Sherlock continues. "Can you put these back on?..Please?" He holds out the under garments to which John, confused face, takes and slowly slips back on. Once he's done THAT and he's sitting up Sherlock pulls him back in between his legs and presses up against John's back, his arms wrapped around him. "Stay." he half demands, half whispers to the drunken John. And he does stay.
"Maybe...If we're going to keep doing this we should have a baby." He giggles.
That whole weekend he doesn't shut up about it. Even when he's sober. But John gave Sherlock what he wanted so now he has to return the favor.