My other pieces are not abandoned. I don't have a lot of time nor inspiration. Hopefully this will make it up a bit?
It all started with quite an ordinary day, actually.
John, Captain of the Royal Army Medical Corps, was whistling along with the tune of a talkshow that's on the telly, while folding his and his flatmate's clean clothes on the table. A table that was, thank God, for once free of experiments.
Sherlock was over at Scotland Yard, helping Lestrade with some of the older cases and John had a quiet morning in to do household chores (yes, these didn't happen magically) and one unfortunate self-checkout shopping trip. At noon he had to show up at the clinic and hopefully not too many snotty brats would take up the rest of the afternoon. Followed up with a Tube ride to 221B Baker Street and some take-away. John sighed happily. An easy day, now and then, is wonderful.
Sherlock would be home this evening and... John's right mouthcorner curled slightly up. Sherlock... "Today!" John decided. "I'll tell him today." Yes, it would be a good moment to eat some Thai and then just spit it out.
John warily looked around him. Alone? Yes. Latest camera check? Yesterday, Sherlock removed the newest addition to the livingroom and flushed it down the toilet. (While wholeheartedly agreeing it was where Mycroft and his lackeys belonged.)
He decided to test it out. The words lay thick on his tongue and were uncomfortably heavy on his chest.
"Sh.. Sherlock." no, a bit not good. Try again.
"Sherlock!" too military.
"Sherlock, I want to tell you something and I hope..." Too long. His attention span is not so wide.
"I love you."
"For quite a while, actually."
John flushed over his entire face and chest and snapped his head to every corner in the room, imagining his flatmate sitting there and deducing John's pathetic lovesick attempts.
"Married to The Work, John. Carry on!" he imagined Sherlock's conclusion.
"Who am I kidding..." and folded on.
"Hi John! Thanks for coming in. Daniel's wife had to go somewhere and Daniel had to accompany her. So he called off just this morning. A pair of helping hands is always useful around here." Sarah grinned warmly.
"Afternoon, Sarah. Where are my files?" John asked, grinning back and really happy Sarah turned out to be a good colleague even after their disastrous dating period.
"I put them on your desk. Off you go! Someone's waiting already!"
John saluted mockingly at her and strode off. The greying blond man entered his clean office, put his coat on the coat rack and sat down. Swiftly shifting through the files of today. A hard and perfunctory knock disrupted the near silence of the room and the soft shuffling sounds of the papers in John's hands.
"Come in, please!"
The door opened and closed.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Moran?" John looked up to see a healthy looking thirty something man with a military haircut look at him.
"Please, call me Sebastian. And ask me what I can do for YOU."
John's intuition and training prompted him to grab for his gun. Frustrated he squinted his eyes when he realised he left his weapon at home.
"Uh uh, Dr. Watson. Never go to war without a gun. Now, stay quiet, listen to me and nobody will get hurt."
John gulped softly when staring into the barrel of the other man's preparedness.
"Keep moving."
John went on. Shuddering slightly when the cold early Spring air hit his body. He left his coat at the clinic. With good reason. John was quite indisposed at this moment.
"Let's test this, shall we."
Captain Watson gritted his teeth and frowned. "What do you.."
"NO TALKING!" an insane voice yelled. "You know the rules! And you don't want to break any rules, do you, Johnny?" Moran sounded like a petulant child.
John frowned even more. His whole body radiating tension.
"So, test?"
The statue like man on the pavement nodded.
"Flap your arms around."
John didn't move.
"Move. Your. Arms."
No reaction.
"Fine. Who first? Your sister or your housekeeper?" Moran's voice growled.
John swallowed his pride and flapped his arms weirdly around.
"Good. Now jump. Three big jumps, think you can do that?"
John did so.
"No hesitation anymore. Good."
"Why are you doing this to us?" John asked, swallowing his pride.
"NO TALKING! And why? You killed my master! And I'm going to ruin you, like Sherlock ruined me! This time there will be no escaping from the dead! And you will make the same choice as he did, this time on my terms! You're going to be my toy if you want them to survive."
The blogger gulped in great big puffs of air to keep his panicking under control. He remembered the laptop Moran showed to him at the clinic. Sarah, Molly, Lestrade, Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, Harry and... And Sherlock... All under surveillance. Either red dots, hidden bombs or hitmen near would do the trick. John had looked up in Moriarty's slave's eyes and saw the complete and utter insane truth.
"You do. What I say. Without hesitation. Anything. You do that? They live and you'll become my pet."
John understood. His life for theirs. What he didn't understand is why he had to go see Sherlock first.
"You'll see." Moran answered as if he knew what the doctor was thinking.
"Will you do what I say, without hesitation?"
John nodded immediately and tried not to touch the invisible earpiece.
"Good soldier."
"Leave off, Sally."
Sally huffed and left Sherlock alone at the table. The consulting detective's shoulders sagged a fraction with the leaving tension of Donovan not lurking around his desk anymore.
What did John say? Ah, learn to say thanks.
"Gavan, euh, Greg." Lestrade looked down surprised at Sherlock. The younger man tried to smile without scaring away the nearest working police members.
Lestrade got the geste. "You're welcome. You do us a great service, I should be thanking you."
Sherlock wanted to say something demeaning about the police force when suddenly John burst into the department.
"John!" Sherlock said and stood up.
His loyal blogger was glowering furiously and stomping down to where Sherlock was.
"John? Did I...?"
"It wasn't a real baby in the oven!" Sherlock frowned, trying to apologise for the babydoll experiment in the oven. Really. A detective should know in how many parts one would chop a baby to bake it.
John now stood directly in front of Sherlock.
His gaze pointed at the taller man's shoulder.
"John?"
Suddenly John gripped him by the lapels and pushed Sherlock backwards. Lestrade was completely taken by surprise but just shrug it off. Those two were weird anyway. Let them do their thing and then they can go on solving crimes.
"John? Where are you taking me?"
"Push him in the office."
John did that.
"John?"
"Shove him up the wall."
Sherlock's breath left his lungs when he got hurled into the wall.
"Kiss him."
A short hesitation.
"Kiss him hard and rough."
"John?" Sherlock asked alarmed when all of a sudden two lips were upon his.
The taller man froze completely.
"Oh God, oh God.. I'm so sorry!" John thought to himself.
Then John was taken by surprise when Sherlock surged up against his shorter frame.
"John!" he moaned and kissed his blogger back with all the passion he had been keeping inside for all those years.
The blond immediately took charge over the kiss. He opened their mouths roughly and inserted his tongue. Exploring his best friend's mouth.
Sherlock groaned and his knees were trembling. John noticed and the guilt turned up a notch.
Awkwardly the detective tried to reciprocate. Inexpertedly letting John take over and trying to give as good as he got.
"Keep his hands away from you."
John now noticed that Sherlock's long fingers were softly feathering up and down his back. Nauseated by abusing the trust his friend had in him he slapped them away, gripped the slender wrists and slammed them against the wall. Keeping them there.
Sherlock's eyes rolled up for a short moment. Completely surrendering to the newfound sensations. The long awaited tension was finally answered.
John's teeth were nipping and licking and biting at Sherlock's mouth.
"John. John. John." sounded from the Cupid's lips as a mantra.
"Grind into him. Hard."
John did and heard the other man's breath hitch. A hard lump was poking into his belly.
They froze. For the first time in all that time their eyes met.
Angry and cold ones met confused, dilated and embarrassed ones.
"Ah, euhm, a bit not good, I suppose." Sherlock tried to extract him from John's grip.
John kept him plastered to the wall until the darkhaired man slumped back defeatedly.
"John, I... I apologise?" Only Sherlock could apologise while making it sound like a question.
Frightened for doing something wrong he tried to read his doctor. But be it because of the lustfilled haze he was in or the detached way John was behaving. He couldn't read anything.
"John. I can't deduce you anymore. John?" his friend was acting dodgy.
John's heart shattered into a thousand pieces. Sherlock sounded so scared and insecure.
"Shut him up."
So the good captain kissed him again. Sherlock sagged in relief against the other man. Happy to have been forgiven his indiscretion.
Happily kissing his John back when John abruptly pulled away. Breathing harshly and lost in his head for a moment.
"What am I doing to him? How can I? I don't want them to die. I'm sorry. So sorry. He kissed me back. Why was I so stupid!? All that lost time. Now it's too late and I'm abusing his trust." John felt sickened to the core.
John came back to the present after zoning out for about five seconds when he realised Sherlock was giving him soft tender kisses. Placing them randomly on his face and neck. Under his ear, on his cheek, his forehead... His hands were free now too and they were stroking lovingly in John's salt and peppered blond hair.
John willed his tears away. Sherlock was starved for contact and love. John was giving it to him, only to rip it all away. What would that do with his best friend?
"John. My John." the younger man murmered gravelly.
"Wakey wakey, Johnny." John's heart hardened again. He had to do what he had to do to keep them alive.
"On your knees." Sherlock was nibbling softly on his neck so didn't see the wide eyed look his friend suddenly made.
"Now." Moran's deadly voice whispered.
"John? Did you drop something?" Sherlock asked surprised.
No answer.
"Does your leg hurt? What is it John?"
John closed his eyes. Feeling defeated and powerless. Guilt was drowning him. Sherlock was so unexperienced.
"Suck him and make it the best you have ever given."
The doctor trembled and vowed he would not make eye contact with Sherlock. Or he wouldn't.. Couldn't do it.
"Jo... Ooohn? Oh!" Sherlock's voice went up a notch when John started mouthing his erection through his dress pants.
"John! People could come in. Why? You don't have to.." a very distinct mouthing move "Aaah, I'd love to..." heavy trembling wracked his body ".. take this further at hoo.. Ooome!" Sherlock ended the sentence.
"John, stop! Please! I can't think, I..."
It was just too much. Silent, near invisible, tears coursed over the guilty blogger's cheeks.
"Tell him to not think then."
"Then don't think." his voice sounded robotic to his own ears.
"O.. Okay, John. If that is what you want. Ofcourse."
John couldn't believe his ears. Sherlock just let him use him like this. Even if he wasn't ready for this step yet. He wasn't! John was sure of it.
"Open his pants and suck it."
Completely humiliated he tried opening the expensive pants. He didn't understand how to do that because of the invisible buttons. Sherlock's aroused penis was heavily straining against the fabric when John heard Sherlock gulp audibly. When trembling white spidery hands slowly reached out to the buttons, John couldn't do anything but watch the insecure and shy movements transfixed.
The hands were lovely. John already knew this.
Sherlock opened his pants and was waiting awkwardly to lower them. Five seconds passed. Ten.
"John..." a hoarse voice said "Perhaps I need to tell you..."
"Pull them down. Now."
After the move on John's part was completed, Sherlock's hands clamped over his penis. He moaned softly at the sudden touch to keep him from exposing.
John bit the inside of his cheek. He felt like he was raping Sherlock. Look at how frightful he was.
"He really is a virgin." a laughing and mocking Moran interjected.
Bile rose in his throat.
He kept watching the hands mesmerized. Long seconds became a minute of eternal waiting when Sherlock took a deep breath and dropped his hands away. Promptly clenching them by his side.
"Do you... Is this.. Acceptable?"
Was Sherlock really asking if he was doing something wrong and if his erection was pleasing to me? John asked himself. The poor man. Doubting himself so much when exposing his humanity. Whatever Donovan or someone else said. Sherlock was undoubtedly a human with fragile feelings. The fact he kept them hidden shows John how deep they really are. He knew that Sherlock feels and experiences his emotions maybe even stronger than the average person.
"Do it."
John wet his lips and bent slightly forward. When his warm mouth touched the tip of the long and slender cock of one Sherlock Holmes, said man slammed his fists into the wall and moaned out loud.
"That.. I.. John!"
John went to work. He nibbled softly along the side of the shaft and put his fingers in a tight ring around the base of the beautiful penis.
Sherlock groaned.
He stuck the head in his mouth and softly sucked on it. Letting Sherlock get used to the feeling. Cradling the base of the cock in one hand and gently juggling his testes in John's other hand.
"John, I...!"
Already? John wondered and he clamped his fingers even tighter around the base and pulled his mouth off.
Sherlock sighed. Premature ejaculation averted. For now.
"Johnny, you can do better than that." Moran's voice sounded aroused and John would bet his good leg on it that he was masturbating to the view and sounds he had of them.
Disgusted he glanced up and saw Sherlock avidly watching him. Frowning when he saw the disgust in John's frown.
"I tried to tell you.. I.. Don't really... This is not really my area." thinking John was displeased with how sensitive he was.
The blogger answered with a deliberate deep throat.
"Oh! FUCK!" Sherlock shouted.
John's dick gave a tiny twinge of interest with the realisation that Sherlock just said fuck but it soon went away. It's not fair he got to see this side of his flatmate when said mate didn't realised he was getting tricked.
Sherlock Holmes was not prepared for a betrayal of this magnitude.
"John! JOHN!" Sherlock tried pulling back. John tightened his fingers again and stopped his movements for a while.
Sherlock tried steadying his breathing. "Just.. Give me a moment. I'm sorry."
Another first. John thought. Sorry. I'm sorry.
"Let him wet your fingers. Put them up his arse."
So cruel. So bloody fucking cruel.
John took a couple of seconds to process the new command and Moran luckily gave him the seconds to strenghten his resolve.
He put up his hand. The other still around the base.
Sherlock looked at the hand waving in front of his face. Trying to deduce what to do with it.
John pointed out two fingers.
A pair of beautiful eyes opened wide in arousal and reluctant want.
John waited patiently while nibbling on the head of the cock when he felt a warm mouth closing around his two fingers.
He closed his eyes. Oh Sherlock. It must be degrading to do these things without the proper preparation and warning. Still, he did it. John was taking his feelings through the mud.
"What a good little slut, isn't he." Moran made it sound more like a statement than a question. On purpose. No doubt.
Sherlock slobbered a bit over John's fingers, sucked them, licked them and wet them really carefully.
After a last nip at his fingertips, John pulled his hand back and placed the extremely wet fingers at the edge of Sherlock's intrance.
The half naked body tensed. John teased the rim and slowly slid one fingertip inside. It immediately clenched up. Understandably. And then softly eased again.
Slowly he sank his finger further and further. Sherlock spread his legs wider.
"Jooohn, yeeess." he hissed softly when the finger was in to the hilt.
John's middle finger slowly started entering too. The fingertips were scissoring the way soft and nicely.
It didn't take too long to get there.
Why was nobody bothering them? John wondered. We've been here.. What? Ten minutes? Thirty? One? Time was hard to place at a moment such as this.
This situation would normally be the most sexual and arousing thing John has ever had the privilege of knowing. Now Moran has taken this beautiful moment and ripped it to dirty shreds.
"Now. Make it quick."
John resolutely resumed sucking and bobbing away. With each upward bob he went in with his fingers. Fucking Sherlock fucking Holmes on his fingers.
"John!"
The trembling increased dramatically in the lean body.
The doctor tilted his fingers just so when on the next inward push he rubbed over the right spot. Gotcha!
"JOHN!"
Again.
"Aaaag! Oh God!"
Again.
"I'm... I ALMOST!"
Again!
John looked up to see his friend utterly debauched and brought down to an animalistic level. His hands were flapping uselessly around because he couldn't decide whether to place them on the wall, on his hips, on John's shoulders or his head.
Sherlock was crying from the extremely new sensations.
And when that completely wrecking realisation materialised in John's mind, carving it as a scar on his soul and heart for the rest of his life, Sherlock came.
Warm semen spurted in John's awaiting mouth. It just kept coming and some of it dribbled out at his mouthcorners.
In the distance he heard Moran moaning too. John didn't feel anything anymore. He was broken. Detached. This situation was just too painful for him to endure anymore.
Sherlock, who came with a silent scream, sagged down on the floor until he was eye to eye with John. A John who wouldn't make any eye contact. The blogger silently swallowed and wiped his face.
Breathless Sherlock tried to speak. "John, that..."
"Stand up."
John did so.
Sherlock's eyes followed his movement and slid down again to the height of his fly.
With a great deal of effort and trembling limbs he moved on his knees. Placing his hand softly on John's belly.
"I could.. If you tell me how?" Hopeful. Shy.
Sherlock's hand slid down slowly. Still trying to make eye contact.
He froze.
"You're not hard." Coldness and confusion crept into his words.
John looked out the window. Anywhere but at the man on the floor.
"Tell him you just wanted to prove he was a freak. Tell him you'll leave. For good and he is not to search for you."
John hesitated. Call him freak? Call him something that others have been calling him for his entire life. Hearing it out of the mouth of a trusted and loved friend?
"Tell him that. Now. And, Johnny, look him in the eye."
John clenched his fist. His nails drawing blood in his palms. Anything to keep him from showing any emotion.
And automatically answered.
"I've just proven you're a freak, Sherlock."
Horror struck the detective's face.
"No." he whispered softly to himself.
"I'm going to leave you."
"No!" Sherlock clutched at his jumper and fat tears made tracks down his anguished face.
"For good."
John backed off and turned for the door. He heard Sherlock scrambling to get upright and his clothes in order.
"John! Wait!"
"Don't look for me. Ever. Again."
"NO!" Sherlock yelled.
John left the room and strode through the desk. Get to the elevator. Leave now. Quickly.
"John?" Lestrade asked quietly. "Did you settle your little domestic?" he joked.
That's why nobody disturbed them inside. They were 'settling a domestic'. John faltered for a second and closed his eyes. Counted to three and walked on.
"JOHN!" Every head turned into the direction of the world's first consulting detective.
Sherlock ran after him.
"What did I do wrong?!" he almost wailed. Not caring for once to show his emotions to the greater public.
John walked faster, afraid of Sherlock catching up on him and not having the energy anymore to keep up his mask for much longer.
"Hold the elevator, please." he asked a petite police officer. She did that and he stepped inside.
He turned and made his gaze as dead as he could.
"Don't! Don't! John!"
John pressed the button for the ground floor.
"Don't leave me!" Sherlock blurted out and skidded to a halt in front of the doors.
"Farewell, Sherlock."
The doors closed.
A long muted nooo sounded through the doors and banging echoed loudly into the tiny cubicle. The probability that Sherlock was beating and kicking the closed panes in frustration and defeat was very high.
The sounds faded away the lower they came. It felt, to John, as if he were descending into hell.
And when John stepped outside the building. Moran was smoking a cigarette and opened the car door for him.
"You did well. Get in."
Sherlock wasn't coming after him. He pulled the earpiece out.
"I'm sorry, Sherlock." John choked out. He looked up trying to see a familiar face at one of the many windows.
"I'm sorry!" he sobbed heartbrokenly and bit his fist still smelling of his one and only real love.
He got in. And left to places unknown.
The End?