Sherlock Holmes lounged back into his old green chair. He glanced over at the big yellow smiley-face he'd so graciously painted, and then fired rounds into, on Mrs. Hudson's wallpaper. He groaned and lolled his head back against the cushion. He was bored. Again. As was so apt to happen when he was between cases. The door opened then closed again with a soft click. Watson was back. Hopefully with the Ninhydrin he had requested, a chemical useful in testing authenticity of paper documentation. Even between cases, experiments could still be conducted. Sherlock always had to be one step ahead, especially with all of the business with Moriarty that had just taken place. He pulled the pink encased phone from his pocket and sighed. No knew messages. Perhaps for now, however, that was a good thing. Tucking the phone away, Dr. John Watson appeared, as if on cue, "I got the... Ninhydrin you requested, but could only find it in crystal form." Sherlock sighed again, "That will have to do." John shook his head and handed him the small discreet brown bag. "Please, don't act so gracious," he muttered before leaving the room again.
Sherlock frowned, gracious? What should he have to be gracious about? It was a simple request. He dropped the bag to the floor, shook his head and strummed his fingers against the green material covering the arm of the chair; vinyl from the looks of it, not naturally soft enough to be leather, but more durable. And of European manufacturing. He paused. Now he was just distracting himself. It was at this point that he leaned forward and rested his face in his hands, frustrated. Perhaps he should try to appreciate Watson a little more; after all he had attempted to save his life on multiple occasions. "Attempted" in the sense that he'd had the situations under control and hadn't needed saving. That would have been ridiculous. The only time that he had been in over his head was when Watson had been encased in a shallow layer of bombs. But he'd never actually admit to being in over his head.
His mind wandered back to when he had first seen John step out of the shadows. Sherlock had known instantly that something was wrong, the large coat that John had been wearing was not his, and he immediately noticed the wires sticking out from just below the zipper; obviously fixed to a bomb of some sort. Moriarty wouldn't have been stupid enough to put the bomb on his own figure. Not to mention Watson's blinking pattern, which had been uncalculated, fearful. Watson was simply just another victim in Moriarty's game. Sherlock had that figured out before Watson had pulled open the coat. No, what had transfixed him was the abject horror of seeing John helpless; in a situation that had also rendered Sherlock helpless. He clearly remembered everything about those vital minutes. Tearing the coat from Watson's body and watching him collapse were especially vivid memories.
Watson re-entered the room, cup of tea in hand, and Sherlock flopped back into the chair, trying to seem nonchalant. John took a seat on the couch opposite, the room silent, except for the occasional sip of tea. "How are you… from the other day, I mean? Still recovering from shock I'd assume." Sherlock stared forward with a blank look, avoiding John's gawking. Watson composed himself before finally answering, "I'm… fine." Watson directed his gaze away from Sherlock. "I was more worried about you." Sherlock was up and across the room in mere seconds, hands posed on the couch on opposite sides of Watson's head. "Why?" Demanded Sherlock. Watson's gaze never left Sherlock's. "I-I don't know… Sherlock?"
At the mention of his name, Sherlock released the couch, grabbed ahold of Watson's collar and crashed their lips together. Watson immediately tensed, but didn't push him away, as Sherlock had expected him to. Watson's mouth opened slightly at the touch of Sherlock's tongue and Sherlock delved deeper; green tea, with no sugar and a touch cream. Not the combination that Sherlock would have preferred for his tea, but then again, it wasn't his mouth. Sherlock's hands ran from Watson's jumper collar to his waist. Lean, but not thin, solid, muscular. Sherlock's hands slid underneath Watson's shirt. John moaned against Sherlock's lips, encouraging him. Sherlock gently bit Watson's lip before swathing his tongue over it.
Breaking the kiss Sherlock pulled the Jumper over Watson's head, but before Watson could say anything had moved in to lick and suck his neck, leaving behind several small bruises. Watson reclined his head back onto the couch and moaned again, slightly louder. Emboldened by Watson's sounds, Sherlock moved down John's torso and took John's left nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it before nipping it, ever so lightly. Sherlock's right hand trailed down to Watson's trouser and he gently ran his fingers over the growing bulge. Teasing. Watson gasped at the contact, throwing Sherlock off guard momentarily and took that chance to nuzzle his ear, running his tongue over the helix, then the tragus, before sucking on the lobe. Sherlock undid the button, then the zip of Watson's trousers, and dipped two of his fingers under the pant's elastic; made from Egyptian, or perhaps pima cotton. His mind quit analyzing as soon as his fingers brushed the tip of Watson's penis.
At the contact Watson's cock flexed and his lips fell away from Sherlock's ear, his head reclining against the couch. Sherlock moved from Watson's left nipple to his right, flicking it with his tongue while his hand dipped lower to stroke Watson's shaft. Unsatisfied with the constraining fabric on John, Sherlock pulled Watson's pants and trousers down in one smooth motion, drawing his lips away from Watson's chest. Sherlock positioned himself between Watson's legs for better access to his throbbing cock. Watson was clean cut, well groomed, as was expected. His tongue trailed from the head of Watson's cock, down the shaft, before sucking carefully on his balls, massaging them gently, then moving back up Watson's shaft. Watson let out a sound that was between a moan and sigh, "S…Sherlock…" he stuttered, but before he could say anything else Sherlock wrapped his hand firmly around Watson's cock and started rubbing up and down with a slight twisting motion, moving progressively faster. After a moment he slowed down, coupling the motion of his hand with the warmth of his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tip of Watson's head. Watson gasped, with one hand gripping the couch, the other tightly grasping Sherlock's dark unruly hair. "You're going to make me… uh… ahh-!" Sherlock quickly pulled back and ceased any movement that might push Watson over the edge. He wasn't finished yet.
Sherlock pulled his own trousers down, followed by his boxers; took his own hard cock into his hand and started stroking. With his other hand he urged Watson to turn over, kneeling on the couch. Watson's face was now a lovely scarlet shade, partially from arousal and partially from confusion, but he complied nonetheless and came to pause with his hands and knees firmly planted on the couch cushions. Sherlock placed two fingers into his mouth; making them hot and wet, then gingerly traced Watson's ass, after wetting his fingers once more Sherlock slowly pushed one, then two fingers in, and began gently pulsing his fingers, slowly, gently at first then with greater fervor as Watson relaxed. Watson moaned again, louder this time. Sherlock withdrew his fingers and wet them again, but this time smoothed the saliva onto his own rigid cock. After he was plenty wet, Sherlock placed his cock at Watson's entrance and began to push his way in. Watson was tight, and to sooth him, Sherlock reached around to Watson's cock and played with the pre-cum began rubbing once more, slowly at first but with more vigor as his own penis slid further into Watson. Watson arched his back and began moving in time with Sherlock's hand, in turn moving Sherlock's cock inside of him, until it was a smooth lunge, in and out. At this point Sherlock released Watson's penis and placed both hands on Watson's hips, tightly, before roughly thrusting into him. Sherlock finally released a moan of his own, growing ever more solid inside of Watson. Sherlock thrust faster, in a smooth motion, pleasure growing ever more prominent in their sounds and movements. "J-John!" Sherlock exclaimed, before finally liberating himself, his hot cum pouring out of him and into Watson. Watson followed over the edge of ecstasy shortly after, semen dripping from the tip of his cock onto the couch. Sherlock removed his penis from Watson, now exhausted and rolled to the floor, while Watson collapsed onto the couch.
A few minutes passed until panting subsided into quiet breathing. Suddenly, Sherlock stood and picked his belongings from the floor. "That was not entirely… un-enjoyable… but it won't be happening again." Watson paused unsure of what to say as Sherlock replaced his pants and strode out of the room as if nothing had occurred. Watson sighed and shook his head, still in blatant disbelief, before managing, "I… I… well, I didn't think I was gay. D-damn.."He shook his head again, picked up his now cool tea and took another sip.