A/N: John solves a case and that's brilliant. What's even more brilliant is the fact that Sherlock is crazy aroused whenever John shows the rest of the world that he's a lot smarter than he looks, he just doesn't look it because he lives with Sherlock.
Written as a part of a John/Sherlock fic exchange for ravenclawprongs. I hope you like it, love!
The murder victim was face down on the floor and in a pool of her own blood from where she had been stabbed several times in the chest with a pair of scissors. Sherlock had paced around the body many times and had retreated for short intervals into his mind palace in order to try and locate any useful information that might lead him to the woman's killer.
She was incredibly tall and thin. Even without the identification from police, it would have been easy to guess that this woman was a model. Sherlock could sense that she had uncovered a very unsavory secret about someone recently, but it wasn't apparent what that secret was. The killer was likely the very person with that secret, but who was it? Could it be a fellow model, or someone else within the business? Her father had died recently and there was a dispute about the will. It could have been one of her siblings trying to claim whatever had been named hers in the will, especially if they were unhappy about her getting whatever her father had bequeathed to her. There was a boyfriend and a lover. Could it have been one of them?
There was something that Sherlock was seeing that would have given him the clue that he needed to know just who killed her, but for some reason he couldn't register it. It certainly was there, but he just couldn't quite see what it was. Lestrade tried to send him home, but Sherlock refused. John was on his way, and if anyone could help him see straight, it would be John.
In Lestrade's opinion, John couldn't have arrived soon enough. The man was a blessed anchor for Sherlock, and as soon as he entered the scene Sherlock's seemingly endless frenetic energy seemed to dissipate exponentially. John asked permission to take a closer look at the body, and within a few minutes of being granted that permission he asked, "Are you checking with her manager?"
Sherlock had been pacing with his head tilted up to the ceiling when John finally spoke. He was on the other side of the body, but he looked about ready to leap over the corpse and shake answers out of John. He froze and his head snapped down to stare at him.
"Why would you say that?" Sherlock asked.
John gestured to her spine. "Look at the lumbar portion of her spine. There's evidence of lordosis, though it isn't incredibly prominent right now. Spine curvature, particularly in the lower part of her back," John clarified when Lestrade shot him a puzzled look. He stood up and looked back to Sherlock before he continued. "She may have started to develop it and may have tried to change the types of shoes she was wearing on the runway and during shoots. Look in the closet in her foyer. I would bet that most of the shoes that she uses on a regular basis are stored in there, and I would think that most – if not all of them – are flat and have increased support. If I were a manager of a popular model who was starting to raise a stink about her shoes, I would want to drop her as a client in a way that would also keep her from talking too much about why she was no longer my client."
"But the manager?" Lestrade asked.
John shrugged. "Who would be angriest if she was trying to shake things up in the industry? The manager probably has a lot of clients and doesn't want a reputation of pushing his models so far that they sustain serious injuries."
It wasn't as if anyone at Scotland Yard assumed that John wasn't necessarily intelligent. The man was a doctor. Medicine wasn't something you entered if you weren't brainy enough to get through medical school, let alone avoid malpractice suits through your career. Nevertheless, when John Watson spoke up that day at their crime scene, everyone fell silent and stared at him.
Even Sherlock.
John put on the air of ignoring everyone around him and focused only on Sherlock. In order to cover his slight nerves at being the center of everyone in the room's attention, he licked his lips. He mentally kicked himself after doing so. It was drying them out and he didn't want to put Sherlock off from kissing him because of chapped lips.
This self-loathing over his nervous habit lasted merely seconds, because the first movement in the room after everyone had frozen in their spots was Sherlock leaping over the body (despite Lestrade's howls of protest), cradling John's face in his hands, and planting a kiss right on John's lips.
The kiss definitely was not anything spectacular to anyone watching. It was common knowledge that the freak and his pet were shagging. Displays of affection were rare and were usually saved for moments in which one of them had been rescued from grave peril. The day that everyone found out about the two of them was after John had been stabbed on a case and was in the back of an ambulance getting patched up. It was nearly two years after that, and most officers could count the number of times they had seen the pair kiss, let alone hold hands or embrace, on one hand. The kiss was nothing spectacular or surprising, but only to those watching it.
John often kissed Sherlock because the man was being brilliant. On the lips, on the forehead, on his the crown of his head, anywhere accessible at the moment and wherever John felt like it was appropriate at that time. Sherlock kissing John because John was being brilliant, well. That was something else entirely.
Kissing Sherlock at the best of times was like the sun hitting your face after a long, rainy stretch. It was like how standing on the beach and feeling the sand beneath your feet used to feel to John before he spent years in the desert. It was like ice cream on a hot day, or a warm blanket and a roaring fire on a cold one. John could have gone on and on about the clichés he felt when Sherlock kissed him, but the one time he had mentioned this to Sherlock it had resulted in a fight because Sherlock felt that "comparing how you feel when our lips touch to inane situations is utterly pointless and grossly sentimental for goodness sake John, now will you please resume kissing me?" It was safer to keep the clichés in his head where Sherlock could only speculate that he was thinking them.
In private, Sherlock kissed as if he was nervous most of the time, and John loved that. To feel the deepest insecurities of a man who most saw as charismatic and confident was humbling, and John did everything he could to handle the fragile heart of Sherlock Holmes as delicately as possible. The public kisses were different in the sense that Sherlock still was swaggering around being Sherlock Holmes. He was the arrogant sod that drove most people around the twist when they had to speak with him. When Sherlock kissed John in public, he kissed like that Sherlock Holmes.
The kiss that day was firm and gentle at the same time. Their lips met with enough force for John to feel the ghost of the kiss after they had parted. It hadn't lasted more than three seconds, but the world had narrowed down to those few centimeters that were Sherlock's lips right then. John could have sworn that he had felt the Earth slow the speed that it was spinning at on its axis as his eyes fluttered closed and he sucked Sherlock's gorgeous bottom lip in between his. He would have nipped, but they weren't in their home and Sherlock was pulling away before the thought could really enter his head.
"John," Sherlock declared breathlessly, his hands thrown out at his sides. "You are brilliant!"
If John had the complexion to blush, he would have blushed. Instead, he licked his lips again and shrugged modestly. He did his best to ignore the hungry stare that Sherlock directed at his tongue as it darted out of his mouth. With a minute shake of his head, Sherlock snapped back into business mode and spun around until he had located Lestrade in the crowd of officers around him.
"Interview the manager," he demanded. "He'll probably have some seemingly airtight alibi, but dig a little deeper and he'll start to crack under the pressure. He may be cunning but this isn't something he could have planned on too far in advance. Given the murder weapon of choice I would guess that this wasn't a well-planned decision." Sherlock turned back to John. "John and I done here."
Even John was shocked by the speed that Sherlock left the scene at. John shrugged at Lestrade, who sensed the question in the man's eyes and said, "Go on with you. I'll call you for a statement sometime later this week."
"Thanks Greg," John smiled, tearing off the coveralls that the Yard required them to wear. He jogged out of the apartment and dashed down the stairs to find Sherlock waiting with a cab outside of the building.
The tension rolling off of Sherlock was powerful enough that the driver shifted uncomfortably in his seat as John gave their address.
"Sorry if I stole your thunder there," John offered after a few minutes of tense silence and Sherlock staring at the side of his skull. "I figured you had already told them who it probably was."
"John," Sherlock gasped. "I have never been so proud of you. You were amazing back there."
John's head tipped up towards Sherlock. "Is that so? You didn't mind me telling them what I saw then?"
"Not at all," Sherlock gushed. "I am always proud to associate myself with you, but that was extraordinary, John! I don't think that I have ever been so impressed by another human being or so turned on by anything you have ever done."
"Even that time behind the dunes at the beach?" John asked with a chuckle.
"Even that," he replied as a shiver ran down his spine during his recollection of the time that John had mounted him behind a sand dune after they had wrapped up a case. "I love when you show just how intelligent you are. Your brain may pale in comparison to mine, but when placed next to anyone else you are brilliant. I wish you showed that more."
John's hand reached across the seat and grabbed Sherlock's. He laced their fingers together and brought their clasped hands up to his lips so he could kiss the back of Sherlock's hand. "Coming from anyone else in the world, I would have been offended by that." He gave a warm smile so Sherlock would know that they were fine.
Sherlock scooted closer to John and laid his head on John's shoulder. John wrapped his arm around Sherlock's waist and pressed him closer. They stayed that way until the cabbie cleared his throat when they turned onto Baker Street.
John left Sherlock in the cab to pay while he unlocked the front door. As he was fumbling with the keys, Sherlock flapped up behind him and pressed up against him. "Let's try something new," he rumbled in John's ear. John shivered.
"Does it involve murder?" John asked jokingly as opened the front door. He prayed that it wasn't a certain something gory. Even doctors have their limits.
"No." Sherlock kicked up his heel and shut the door behind them. His hands pressed into the small of John's back and gave him a gentle shove towards the stairs to the upper level. John considered planting himself in the foyer and not moving until Sherlock told him what they were doing but thought better of it when he heard Mrs. Hudson puttering about in her front room. Letting Sherlock think he had the upper hand in a situation was an option that was vastly preferable to scarring their sweet landlady.
John had expected Sherlock to pounce when they entered their flat, but he didn't. Instead, the man swept past John (leaving him to close and lock the door so said landlady didn't barge in on something) and planted himself in his chair as if he hadn't a care in the world.
"This is odd," John remarked.
"What is?" Sherlock asked.
"A minute ago you were about to rip my clothes off in public. Now you seem like the picture of calm and collected." John sat down in his chair and stared at Sherlock.
"Well," Sherlock sighed as he inspected his nails. "Really, John, this is no fun if Mrs. Hudson doesn't accidentally walk in on us."
John chuckled. "So you're telling me that despite the fact that you were sufficiently turned on from the crime scene all the way home, you aren't now that we're in the flat and there isn't anyone to see you?"
"Oh John, must you be so dull," Sherlock moaned. "The fact that we were around people when I kissed you didn't arouse me. Think."
John purposely scrunched his face up in a way that he knew drove Sherlock mad because he looked adorable. Sherlock had never said John looked adorable, but the lab notebook he had left open had something about this face being adorable and irresistible, along with some other very complimentary things that paid off for Sherlock in bed later that night.
"Ah," John finally said. "You're aroused when I make a discovery. You're aroused when I'm smart. Hate to break it to you mate, but I'm actually pretty intelligent, I just am dim in comparison to you."
"No, John," Sherlock sighed. "You were being not-stupid back there. You observed. The manager, John, the manager! None of us had that until you came in, which is truly humiliating for me and yet so terribly arousing that I think that I might just rut against the arm of this chair and think of all of the ways that you are intelligent. You're so unbelievably sexy when you're observant."
John stood up and crowded right into Sherlock's personal space. Instead of leaning down and taking him right in the chair, John decided to pull away and leave a whimpering Sherlock to try and deduce what was coming next.
"Follow me," John said in a gravelly voice that he reserved only for nights when he was feeling particularly giving. John was always a giving lover, Sherlock thought with a smile, but when he really wanted it John could bring him to the edge over and over again while kissing Sherlock tenderly all over his body like it was the last time they would ever make love through that torture of not being able to come like he wanted – no, needed to.
When he crossed the threshold into the bedroom, John ordered Sherlock to stand still. His eyes raked hungrily over Sherlock's body as he made slow, tantalizing circles around him. Sherlock was beginning to tremble under the scrutiny and the anticipation when John stopped in front of him and started to unbutton his shirt, working his way down. When Sherlock moved to start on the bottom to speed their disrobing, John slapped his hand away. "Let me," he soothed. Sherlock dropped his hands and watched as John patiently undid his buttons. "You said you're turned on when I'm observant?" Sherlock nodded. "Well tonight, let me try to be observant for you."
"Yes please," Sherlock gasped hoarsely. He could feel John's knuckled brushing against his abdomen with every button and it was like sparks were going off everywhere their skin made contact.
"You like when I touch you this lightly," John whispered. "You like how it feels when my fingers drag along your stomach when I'm in between buttons. You like to be handled gently because this is the only place where you're always treated like the treasure you are." John's lips went to his sternum and he kissed the hollow part between Sherlock's pectoral muscles. He pulled back just a bit, but not enough that his lips weren't touching Sherlock's chest. "You like being treated gently because you are rarely treated that way outside of the flat."
"For a good reason," Sherlock huffed. It was more strained than he wanted it to be.
John looked up at him. "You're abrasive and rude and sometimes people want to attack you. But this is all a mask. I know it. Anyone who sees this would know it."
"Please, I would rather you not sell tickets for people to watch our lovemaking," Sherlock groaned.
"Lovemaking," John sighed. "You're a romantic too. You wouldn't let anyone else know, but I found that box you keep of every note I've left for you." Sherlock stiffened and John returned to the buttons. "I'm sorry that I snooped, though to be fair you do the exact same thing to me on a fairly regular basis. Some of those were just me saying that I was going to work and that breakfast was in the fridge and could be reheated, but you saved them all. You like some sentiment, despite your denial of the fact."
The shirt was unbuttoned at this point, and John flicked it off of Sherlock's shoulders so it fluttered to the floor. Sherlock scowled at that.
"Back to gentle," John whispered, his lips starting to trail along Sherlock's neck. "How does that silk feel against your body? I bet you love the way that it rubs against you when it moves. It's like a soothing touch when something doesn't go your way, or when someone is rude. Your suit is like that too, though that's more vanity. Obviously bespoke, so you wanted comfort and to show off your figure when you needed to for cases." He liked Sherlock's bobbing Adam's apple and then slid his lips down to the center of his clavicle to nip and kiss more.
"It was useful in reeling you in," Sherlock sighed as he ran his fingers through the hairs at the nape of John's neck.
"Added perk," John forced out around a mouthful of skin. That was going to leave a mark. John planned on leaving many marks tonight because that meant that he could soothe the bruised skin with his tongue afterwards.
"The bedroom is minimalistic, which gives you a place to think when things get too cluttered in your mind. You like order and precision in your life where it allows, which accounts for all of your clothes as well. Everyday items must be put in their spots in a place where you won't get overwhelmed." He attached his mouth to a nipple and sucked. Sherlock drew in a gasp and then held back a moan.
"Sensitive," John whispered before he turned to the other nipple, sucking until it was as red as its twin. "Again, gentle touches, Sherlock. You like to know that you're cared for while you're this vulnerable."
John dropped to his knees and undid Sherlock's belt, then unfastened his trousers and let them slide to the flood. His penis was bulging out to the right side as it always was when he was aroused, and John delicately ran his nose over the tip of it. Before he got too carried away, he kissed the head when just a single drop of seminal fluid leaked out and stained the black boxer briefs.
"Lay down in the middle of the bed, pants on," John said breathlessly from his position on the floor. Sherlock toed his socks off and scrambled into the bed and watched as John quickly disrobed. John always left his shirt for last because he was still self-conscious of his scar even though Sherlock had made it quite clear that he didn't mind it in the least. In fact, he was quite enamored with it.
In less than a minute, John was joining him on the bed and Sherlock looked like a bloody feast. He didn't know where to start.
"I can't believe you're mine," John gasped, as if the realization was just hitting him. Sherlock just held up his hand and wiggled his ring finger. Suddenly, John knew where to start. He shifted so he could kiss that finger over the ring and then run his tongue along it. With a soft sucking noise, John took the finger into his mouth and-
"You aren't actually pretending to fellate my finger, are you?" Sherlock asked incredulously.
John pulled off. "I can stop if you want. You have such gorgeous hands. They're the hands of a chemist, of someone who does precision work that requires them to have a steady, graceful hand." John kissed the open palm and moved down to the artery in Sherlock's wrist. He ran his tongue over it and felt the quick heartbeat of his partner. Sherlock hummed and john slid up his body until there was just solid contact between them. Sherlock arched his groin up into John's, who let out a surprised gasp and at the end of the exhale managed to say, "Frottage. You love it because you're surrounded by me. You like to feel safe and ensconced most of the time which is why you hate my blog and that hat, but here you're a little insecure and you want to be completely surrounded by me. You feel safe, and I hope that you feel loved when I'm wrapped around you like this. It's a good precursor to intercourse because you feel safe enough to let yourself be free and let yourself be loved the way you should be loved." John forced his hips down and Sherlock keened in desperation.
They continued their slow grind against each other for several minutes. Between kisses Sherlock planted some spectacular love bites on John's neck that he was surely going to have to purchase some sort of makeup to hide.
"I have concealer," Sherlock sighed. "For when I need to disguise myself and my skin needs some adjustments. Just promise me you won't wear it in the flat. They'll be so beautiful."
John nodded, his nose bumping Sherlock's because their faces were so close together. He pulled back a bit and opened the bedside table for lubricant. They had long since discarded condoms when their test results had come back clean, though John insisted on regular testing because of all of the questionable items they touched on experiments or cases. John put a generous glob of it on his left index finger and sat on his knees so Sherlock could scoot his bottom up and give John a better angle. He reached down and spread his cheeks and John had to palm himself at the base of his cock for just a second. There was something mesmeric about the gorgeous rosebud and John loved it. He was tempted to bury his face in it, but they were both so tightly wound that he was worried they wouldn't make it to the finale if he did.
John traced light circles around Sherlock's entrance, and when Sherlock began to thrust his bottom up impatiently, John slid the first two knuckled of his finger in. Sherlock gasped and then his body relaxed, as if it had been containing an enormous amount of pressure and this was the relief that he had been seeking all this time. With the accuracy of the medical professional he was, John crooked his finger and found Sherlock's prostate. Sherlock's reaction was never one of great outward pleasure when those nerves were stimulated, but he said that the feeling was so overwhelming that there was no noise that he could possibly make that would show his appreciation for that gesture.
John worked another finger in, and soon he had three. Sherlock's back was arched and he was kicking his feet out as if he were trying to find something to brace himself against. Both of his hands were fisted in the sheet.
"For the love of God, John!" Sherlock cried. "Have mercy, please."
"Begging," John said with a smirk and a wink. Sherlock scowled. "Alright, love, I'm going to take them out now." For Sherlock, the loss of the object penetrating him while he was being opened up was worse than being held on the edge for hours. They had tested this theory once. Just watching it happen made John's balls ache.
Taking pity, he added more lube to his hand and rubbed it all over his cock. Grabbing the towel he had next to the bed he wiped his hands off so he wouldn't make Sherlock an even stickier mess than he was about to me.
The plunge into Sherlock was slow, but every second of feeling the contrast between Sherlock's tight heat around one part of his cock and the cool air of the room made cooler by the lubricant was wonderful. After what felt like forever, John's hipbones were pressed into Sherlock's hamstrings and Sherlock had wrapped his legs around John's waist. They waited until Sherlock squeezed around John, their agreed on signal that whoever was bottoming that time was ready for their partner to move.
John was exceedingly gentle that night, taking care to angle himself so his cock would scrape past Sherlock's prostate at a relatively high frequency. Sherlock let out soft ahs and other soft moans that could only be drawn from him during sex.
John interrupted the silence by saying, "I know more."
"Oh," Sherlock replied and gasped at the same time.
"Oh yes," John said sinisterly, beginning to pick up his pace. "For example, your favorite elements."
"Who – unf – says that I only ha-haaaaave one?" Sherlock asked through moans.
"I do," John grunted. "Your fourth favorite was actually your initial favorite element. Mercury ,because its heavy and fascinated you as a child."
Sherlock's head gave a jerk that John took as a nod. "The second one was a more recent discovery. That one is Silicon, because many lubricants are Silicon based, and without them we may not have found a method of having anal intercourse that worked well for us. I'm sure there are other things we would be fine using, but this is what we're using now." Another jerky nod, and wide eyes – from the sex or astonishment John wasn't sure/
"But your all-time favorite is Arsenic, because when you break down basic tobacco ash, Arsenic is the only element in each molecule with only one atom." John was getting close, and he could feel Sherlock approaching his climax possibly faster than John was. He decided to take pity on the man and stroke his heretofore untouched cock and finish his thought. With a deep breath he managed to grunt out, "Arsenic is the special. It's one of a kind. Arsenic is you, Sherlock Holmes."
That was what it took to send Sherlock tumbling into orgasmic bliss. John had pulled his hand away just as Sherlock had started ejaculating and just sat back rubbing his nails over the tops of Sherlock's thighs, still buried balls deep in him,
When Sherlock caught his breath a minute later, John asked, "Do you want me to finish in you or should I toss off?"
"In me," he sighed. "Come on, John. My blogger. My husband. My conductor of light."
With Sherlock's words of encouragement, it only took John about twenty strokes to come. Sherlock squeezing around him as much as he could with his relaxed muscles helped too. He came with a loud grunt and pushed deep into Sherlock. As his panting subsided, Sherlock lifted his head and kissed John sloppily. The rolled onto their sides (John softened and slid out of Sherlock with a little suction noise), limbs tangled together and still kissing.
"We're going to have to replicate this," Sherlock said when they finally broke for air. He buried his face in John's shoulder and kissed the marred tissue there.
"Replicate. Fuck, Sherlock, I don't know if I have enough deductions about you to make this a regular thing," John laughed, clapping his hand on his forehead.
"It doesn't have to be me," Sherlock protested. "Talk to me about things you've observed and then report back to me so I can achieve that incredible state of arousal again."
"I thought I aroused you plenty," John said in a mock hurt tone, tweaking one of Sherlock's nipples lightly for effect.
Sherlock hissed and pulled back. "Of course you do, but sometimes I might want to shake it up. Might I remind you of that time I sucked you while you were watching a woman making a ridiculous amount of noise and faking her self-stimulated orgasm on camera?"
"Alright, I get it." John flushed, then yawned. "We really should wash off, but I'm too tired to do it right now. I'll take care of it once we've woken up. All of those deductions knocked me out."
"You mean the rapid imbalance in your hormones and then the race your body has to restore said chemicals has taken a toll on you. Old man," Sherlock teased.
"Git," John said playfully. He snuggled into Sherlock and laid his head on his shoulder. "If I'm missing most of my prolactin and testosterone to name a few, it's your fault. Not are you going to take a nap with me or are you going to be a dick and leave me to a solo post-coital snuggle?"
"I'll stay," Sherlock said as he tried to suppress a yawn. "I've neglected sleep and I think that made the hormonal imbalance affect me more than usual. I'm also feeling rather… cuddly." To reinforce his point he pulled up the warm duvet that they would both appreciate once their sweat began to cool.
"Oxytocin," John sighed as he closed his eyes and snuggled into Sherlock.
"Indeed," Sherlock agreed. He pressed his lips to John's scalp and fell asleep in that position.
A/N: This was my first time creating my own case and I'm a little self-conscious about it. Be gentle please!