Sunday
The afternoon is quiet. John runs the broom over the stairs as he finishes tidying up the flat, since Mrs. Hudson's been gone for the past three days. The first heavy snowfall of December drops fat snowflakes from the clouds, and John can hear them pattering over the windows and door. He glances at the doorway at the top of the steps, and pictures some mistletoe hanging there from a small string. Then, he imagines Sherlock standing there under the mistletoe, with that quirked eyebrow and tiniest trace of a grin that nearly drives John mad. Three more weeks, John reminds himself, until he can hang the mistletoe and possibly see that image in his head come to life.
He enters the kitchen to see Sherlock bent a bit over the table. John's breath catches in his throat, and he freezes. He can't stop his eyes from wandering over the aubergine silk shirt stretched across the man's shoulder blades, those long legs, and the dark grey trousers that hug tightly in all the right places. Before he realizes it, the tip of his tongue darts out and runs over his bottom lip hungrily. There is no sexual identity crisis needed here; John knows that he wouldn't feel this for any ordinary bloke but Sherlock. And Sherlock does not constitute as ordinary, which, to John, makes things even better. He wants to undress Sherlock with his eyes. He wants to picture the smooth, white skin of his back, and the taut muscles of his arms and abdomen. He wants to...
"John," Sherlock interrupts. John snaps back to Baker Street, after noticing that he had completely zoned out. "You're daydreaming."
"Thinking," John corrects him.
"Thinking?" Sherlock turns back to his experiment on the table. He shrugs. "I like it."
Sunday Evening
Sherlock left for Bart's with his experiment two hours ago, leaving John alone in the flat. Earlier, Sherlock had shoved a Rubbermaid storage container out of his bedroom, and had left it sitting against the wall outside his door. It's still there, John notices, and a sense of curiosity starts to bubble up inside him. He knows he shouldn't go through his flatmate's belongings, but he's never seen that box before, and he wonders what kind of things Sherlock might have inside. Leftovers from past experiments? Old Case files? Body parts...? John shudders at that last thought. It's unlikely that Sherlock would actually store body parts anywhere other than the fridge, but it's not impossible.
He creeps over to the box, and lifts the lid slowly, as if expecting to make a dramatic discovery. He's surprised, and a little disappointed, to find that the box has things that are actually normal. Chemistry notes, which John assumes were from University, cue cards with little deductions like "Uncleaned wedding ring but other polished jewelry: might mean marital stress", and "items made from Polyester will look 'lumpy' after many washes" written on them, random pens, pencils, a couple of markers, and an argyle sock fill the container. Then, John's eyes fall on something a little extraordinary. An old CD with a simple "2005" written on it in Sherlock's spidery handwriting. He picks it up, wipes it on his jumper, and he's intrigued to find that it has very few scratches, considering it was at the bottom of the box.
Curiosity gets the best of him. Knowing that he should not do this, and how rude and potentially harmful it could be to look through the disc, he puts the lid back on the box, and takes the CD and his laptop to his bedroom. He sits down on the bed, pops the CD into the disc drive, and waits for it to load. To his surprise, it actually works, and opens in Media Player without any problems.
The video is something he was definitely not ready for. Sherlock, who doesn't look much different in the video than he does now, is standing in front of the camera, running his hand through his wild curls. He squints at the lens, as if to make sure the camera is recording, and then takes a couple of steps back. He says something that John can't make out, and begins to unbutton his untucked dress shirt. John knows that he should just stop watching right this minute, but fuck, Sherlock's taking off his shirt, and John was literally just fantasizing about that not too long ago. The buttons come undone, and the shirt falls to the floor gently. The sight of Sherlock's bare chest and slightly muscled abs sends a wave of heat throughout John's body, and his growing erection presses uncomfortably against his pants. Sherlock, almost as if he knew John would be watching this later, gives the camera a wink, and unfastens his belt. He rips it out from his belt loops, and he steps out of his trousers. Left in just a pair of tight black boxers, Sherlock stands there for a moment, running a hand over his chest, flicking a nipple with his thumb, and then moving his hand down further, further...
John is palming himself through his jeans, but it's not enough. He shoves his pants down past his thighs, and starts rutting into his fist. His cock is impossibly hot, and he grows even harder when Sherlock starts feeling himself through his boxers. It's not decent, John tells himself inwardly, to watch a video of my flatmate undressing and having a wank like this, but shit-fucking-fuck, he's actually taking it out of his boxers, and oh my goodness, I just- He starts thrusting harder, and he bites his lip to hold back a moan. He has never seen this side of Sherlock before, and it turns him on.
In the video, Sherlock parts his full lips a little, and a whispered moan slips out. He is thrusting into his fist like John is, and he tips his head back and lets out a short groan. "Just like thaaaat..." Sherlock whispers to himself.
"I can't!" John breathes, as he falls onto his back and lets himself tip over the edge. His heart is racing inside his chest, and it's a few moments before he is able to clean himself up and take the CD out of his laptop.
As he walks out of his room to put the disc back into the box, the door to the flat opens and closes, and Sherlock bounds up the steps. He comes up behind John, and stops.
Oh shit...
John turns around to find Sherlock staring at him, the tall man's cheeks glowing a bright shade of pink.
"Sherlock, I didn't mean to- I, uh- I just thought-" John rambles, not knowing how to explain himself.
"No, no," Sherlock interrupts. "I figured you'd find it." He clears his throat, and loosens his scarf. "I'm, um... I'm flattered. I suppose you want to see that again, in person?"
"Oh, God yes."