Sherlock sat in his arm chair, tapping his foot impatiently, in time to the bloody irritating chirps of the morning bird outside.
Tap. Tap Tap. Tap. Tap Tap. Tap. Ta-
"Will you fucking give it a rest? For sanity's sake?" Snapped John, having finally had enough.
He slammed down the lid of the laptop (only he didn't because it was quite expensive), and turned around to face him.
"What is it? I'm trying to write something up."
Sherlock opened his mouth to speak before John interrupted, saying "And you had better not say anything to do with cigarrettes."
Sherlock snapped his mouth shut, and stared at the ground mutinously for a few seconds before muttering under his breath, "I was only going to say that your blog is stupid."
John decided to let the comment slide with a long exhale. He re-opened his laptop and before long,
Tap. Tap Tap. Tap-
Get out." He said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Sherlock seemed taken aback a bit, affronted.
"What?"
"Get out. I mean it. I've had it with you for today."
Incredulously, Sherlock retorted, "You can't kick me out of my own house."
"No," John answered. "I'm banishing you to your room. You can come out when I'm done; until then entertain yourself however."
Sherlock challenged him with his eyes, but when John refused to back down he half-smirked and stood up, dusting himself off imaginary dust.
"Fine then, John. Whatever you say."
He strode past the desk purposefully and opened the door to his room at the end of the corridor.
As he stepped in, he turned around to look at John before saying sternly, "Don't come in," closing the door firmly behind him.
Not really paying attention, he opened up the laptop and absentmindedly said to no one, "Right, right."
For about an hour of blissful silence punctuated by strange sounds coming from Sherlock's room and the clacking of the keyboard, John Watson worked.
The noises he ignored, not really wanting to know what strange experiments Sherlock conducted in the privacy of his room. What he did publicly in the kitchen was bad enough.
John really did believe that poor old Mrs. Hudson was going to die of shock if she found anymore dessicated toes in the fridge.
Mrs. Hudson is tough, but not that tough.
The noises were getting louder and louder though, and were starting to break through his concentration.
"Do you want to shut up, Sherlock?" He shouted.
The did quieten for a few minutes before slowly rising up again until they were louder than they were in the first place.
Sighing, he stood up and closed the laptop, taking off his glasses and setting them on top.
"Alright!" He yelled, pacing towards the door. He gripped the door knob.
"I'm coming in to see what the fuck you're doing!"
"Wait-"
He slammed the door open. Sherlock was under the covers, his face red.
"What are you doing here? I explicitly stated that you were no-"
"You can shove your explicit statements up your arse. You know I want to concentrate, what the fuck are the noises?"
"I don't know what noises you're talking about," he stated, shifting slightly under the covers.
"Don't lie to me-" suddenly he narrowed his eyes. "What's wrong with you? You look like you just ran a marathon."
Indeed he did. He was breathing hard for someone who had been in an apartment all day, and his face was much redder than when John had last seen him.
"I don't understand?" Sherlock half said, half asked, his voice breaking in the middle.
Suspiciously, John advanced. Sherlock's breathing hitched.
Quick as a flash, John grabbed the top of the covers and yanked them off of Sherlock.
Sherlock yelped, then moaned as a rush of cold air hit his hard cock in his hand. Immediately, the embarrassment kicked in, but not as quickly as John yelled and jumped back.
"What the fuck?" He exclaimed.
"Ahh..." Sherlock groaned, simultaneously trying to hide himself, his most private self from John, but also a little bit... enjoying it. He couldn't stop himself. Even though he was in plain view, his hand kept moving up and down, the delicious tugs eliciting shameful moans from him "John..."
"You're a fucking pervert!" John backed away further still.
"John... You don't understand," he gasped. He couldn't stop.
Oh god, Watson, he could see it, he could see everything,
"When- When you got annoyed, and you used that voice I-"
He moaned again, desperately trying to stifle it, but just as desperately thrusting into his own hand on the bed in front of John, his legs spread like a whore.
"I got so hard, I thought you'd..." another dirty moan, "I thought you'd notice as I walked past."
He stroked harder and faster still, groaning John's name.
"You do this a lot don't you?" John said in disgust.
Sherlock's other hand snaked between his legs and fondled his balls. "John..."
"My name... You moan my name every time you jack off, don't you?"
"I'm sorry, John, I'm sorry," he repeated, unable to stop his hands from rubbing and fondling, slick from pre-cum, the juice even dripping from the tip of his dick into a puddle on the bed.
"You disgusting, fucking pervert," John stated, watching the sight in front of him. Sherlock was turning into a mess, moaning loudly, the shame making him even harder.
"Say it."
"I'm a pervert," Sherlock moaned.
"I didn't hear you."
"I'm a sicko!" He groaned, a writhing mess. "I'm a perverted, sicko who masturbates with someone watching,"
"My, my that was rather loud," John said. "Mrs Hudson can hear you you know. She probably knows how much of a pervert you are now."
"Ungh," He half sobbed, his hand moving ferociously.
"Say it louder, to make sure," John ordered.
"I'm a pervert! I'm a- a- pathetic, virgin slut who want's to c-um in front of John, oh my... oh my god."
"What are you doing right now? Say it loud enough, so that Mrs. Hudson can hear you."
He could feel it, the pleasure rippling through him. He panted, his hand working
"I'm pleasuring myself infront of John! I'm rubbing so- so... I'm about to-"
"Stop," John ordered firmly.
As if invisible chain had been put on his hand he stopped, his dick painfully wet and hard.
He wanted to cum so bad, to cum in front of John, to have him watch him lick it off of his hands-
John unzipped his fly.
"Come over here, pervert."
Before he began to move, John added, "On your hands and knees."
Sherlock obliged, his heart thudding from an almost orgasm, and the prospect of what was about to happen.
Sherlock crawled over to John on his hand and knees until he was at eye level with John's crotch.
John took a step back, then pulled his cock out of he restraint of his boxers
Sherlocks mouth hung open, just a taste of his just a taste
"No. You don't get to suck my dick, you disgusting faggot."
John began to masturbate, jacking off his dick hard.
"You're going to be treated like a whore because that's all you are."
Pre cum began to bead at the head, which quickly got rubbed over the rest of his cock as he thrust into his hand.
"I'm going to cum on your face while you're on your hands and knees like a slut, because that's what you deserve."
Sherlock began to pant like a dog, one of his hands creeping towards his painfully throbbing member.
When it looked like John wasn't going to stop him he grasped it, and gasped.
"Are you going to cum?" John taunted.
"Are you going to cum on the bedroom floor like the nasty fuck you are?"
Sherlock moaned hard as he got that familiar feeling in his stomach.
"When I'm done with you're face you're going to luck all your cum off if the floor, then mine off of your face, you fucking whore. What you can't get with your tongue, wipe with your hands and slurp, you cumslut."
Sherlock gasped as he came, hot white strings spurting onto the dark carpet, moaning filthily.
John groaned and followed suit, ropes of cum hitting Sherlocks face, some landing into his waiting mouth.