For my wife, so if you have to blame someone for this blame her.
It was a day like any other at 221B Baker Street as Sherlock Holmes walked proudly into his study. Watson, his chiseled features suddenly adopting a look of confusion as he noticed the conspicuous absence of pants on Sherlock.
"Is it no pants day again," asked Watson with a raised eyebrow.
"Indubitably," stated Sherlock in his most pompous of voices as he walked over to the window and gathered up his violin. HIs perfect, lithe profile in the window light was enough to set John's passion afire and he considered Sherlock as the detective played a dubious tune.
"What's the occasion this time?" asked John, half afraid of the response he was going to get. Sherlock continued playing unabated, his throbbing erection keeping time with the stroke of the bow against the strings of the hard wooden instrument. John felt his eyes attracted to that throbbing penis, with its metronome precision in time with each stroke of the bow of the violin.
"Does everything have to have a reason?" asked Sherlock, turning around suddenly, causing his erect penis to knock over the music stand which then promptly crashing to the ground. John inhaled sharply as Sherlock bent over to pick up the spilled contents of the stand. Each lithe movement was enough to cause John's already stirred passion to begin to overflow.
"With you, yes," replied John, standing but turning away from Sherlock lest he reveal his mighty oaken manshaft to Sherlock too early. As he attempted to adjust himself, the mighty rod attempted to escape his pants. Fortunately, it was thwarted by the reinforced Zipper that Mycroft had given to him after their last unfortunate incident. 'Those poor therapists were only trying to help,' he thought.
"If you must know," replied Sherlock matter-o-factly, "It is because I am finally mostly over my cold." Finally Sherlock had placed all of the items on the stand back to his satisfaction and began to play again, his cock throbbing hypnotically as he methodically stroked the instrument. The taunt covering of his vaginal lips hidden just under his second smaller Omega penis. Sherlock was one of the rare double donged Omegas, and that was what John loved most about him.
"I see," stated John, stepping out from behind the chair, his erection obvious to anyone in the building as it strained magnificently against the tortured fabric of his slacks. The illness had been quite terrible, with Sherlock being downright awful throughout. It was only now that he was cleaned and showered that Sherlock had finally stopped being an intolerable prick. 'Speaking of which,' John thought.
But alas, before he could take Sherlock to Pound Town, the vexsome investigator had stopped playing his instrument and wandered off to the kitchen. He stood with his perfect, apple like behind wiggling slightly as he grabbed at a banana and began to peel it with his left hand. John watched him, the Alpha in him rising to even further heights as Sherlock held the fruit in his hand considered it for a moment and then placing the tip in his mouth and proceeded to swallow the fruit in one gulp.
'There are limits,' thought John as he strode into the kitchen. Upon reaching Sherlock, he spun the man around; this close the air reeked of his Omega pheromones. John could tell instantly that Sherlock was in heat and Sherlock's most sacred of spaces was open and receptive. The honeyed dew of his arousal gleamed in the fluorescent light of the kitchen.
Sherlock smiled as John lifted him in his powerful arms, depositing Sherlock onto the kitchen island with a mighty thump. John was relegated to animal like noises as he forced Sherlock's legs open to reveal his most intimate of spots.
"I see someone is interested," Sherlock began as John stepped forwards only to slip on the banana peel and spin around so that his back thudded against the island loudly. Pots, pans and one Sherlock Holmes fell from the island causing both the detective and his gaping fuckhole to fall down right on top of one of John's heads… unfortunately it was not the one Sherlock had anticipated.
His eyes wide with agony, Sherlock looked down to see the visible outline of John's face in his pelvic region, with Sherlock's massive erection where the nose should be. John screamed, standing up somehow and began running around the kitchen like some sort of demented, 4 armed, scarecrow. Finally, somehow, and just as Sherlock had anticipated an escape from their predicament, John ran out of the kitchen. This caused Sherlock to hit his head on the door frame, and promptly knocked the great mind unconscious.
After a quick tumble down the stairs and a terrible moment of confusion, John, looking like a horribly sacrilegious version of Vishnu, found his way outside. The tabloids had a field day with the pictures of unconscious Sherlock, who had somehow found his hat, and John running through the streets of London with both of their massive peckers on full display.
Fortunately, Detective Lestrade found them after a mere half day and was able to use the jaws of life to separate the two of them. Unfortunately, John died due to lack of oxygen in the meantime.