Author's Note: Hey, guys! So, this is my first Johnlock. In fact, it's my first fanfiction, so be gentle, and please inform me of any grammatical mistakes I may have made. One can only proofread so many times..
As you may have guessed, it's set during the hotel scene in the first movie. This is just the beginning of what I intend to be a multi-chaptered fic, so please review and tell me what you'd like to see come! And guys, it's rated M for a reason. if you don't like smuty slashy sexiness, don't read! Now, without any further ado, I give you JohnLock. Enjoy!
It was early in the morning on a Saturday. Sherlock had gotten himself into another one of his predicaments, this one a bit stranger than the previous. He found himself to have been stripped naked and bound using handcuffs to the bedpost in a hotel room. Of course, he had only faint clues as to how he got there, although he had nearly no recollection of the previous night's endeavours. He remembered drinking wine. Correction: he remembered sipping wine. He must have been drugged to have ended up in this position, because he decidedly would not have ended up there willingly.
As he came to, he realised he, thankfully, was alone. Groggily, he looked around the room. He looked to familiarise himself with his surroundings, but as he regained rational thought he looked for a means to escape. He saw his clothes neatly folded on the table opposite him. He then vaguely remembered being stripped. It was by a woman, definitely by a woman. He had the worst feeling that one Ms. Adler was involved. Yes, now he remembers. He was gaining consciousness as she was leaving. She had placed the key to the handcuffs beneath a pillow that was in between his legs. He passed out again sometime during the night.
With no use of his arms and little use of his legs (which, by now, were numb due to lack of blood flow), Holmes knew there was no way he could get out without help.
It was then that the maid walked in to do her morning cleaning. She walked in and went straight for the bed, fresh linens in hand. She looked up and saw Sherlock and screamed, dropping the sheets.
"Madam, I need you to remain calm," he said, trying to assure her and keep her in the room to aid him, "and trust me, I am a professional." He tried to make his voice sound as, well, professional as possible. "Beneath this pillow lies the key to my release."
Of course, she ran away screaming. Sherlock hung his head in slight frustration.
"That's not what I meant," he said to himself, realising his ill-considered diction.
Sherlock let his mind wander. He began to think of his partner-in-crime, John Watson. The two had been working together for years now, and if anyone truly knew Sherlock, it was John. Sherlock thought fondly of the man, perhaps too fondly, some might say. Holmes found himself thinking of the doctor in ways a man shouldn't think of another. He thought of the way it might feel to run his fingers through is hair, or what it would be like if John kissed him. What it would feel like to have the doctor's rough stubble against his own, lips crashing in synchronized movement...
Sherlock shook his head to snap out of it. He couldn't be thinking of this! Such activities were highly illegal! Not that he was one to care about the law, but he'd prefer not to be lynched. After putting his mind away from such thoughts, it would be a long day of contemplating how he's allowed this to happen to himself before someone else finally found him. Day was fast turning to night, and the room was dimly lit by the fading sunlight.
Watson, worried about his dear drunken detective, had found out where Holmes was last seen and come searching for him.
He entered the room nearly running, and stopped before Sherlock, cocking his head slightly.
"I...how...wh...Holmes..." he stammered, massaging his forehead in a mix of relief, frustration, and shock.
"Ah, hello, Watson, glad you could join me," said Sherlock almost cheerily. "Do help me, won't you?"
Watson sighed. He headed for the table, assuming the key to be with Sherlock's clothes.
"Ahem," Sherlock said. When Watson turned around, Sherlock jerked his head toward the pillow. Watson raised his eyebrows at him and gave a puzzled look.
"It's over here," Sherlock said.
"Really?" said Watson, rubbing his face exasperatedly.
"Oh, come now, Watson, you're a doctor, now get over here and help me."
Watson went over to the bed to retrieve the key. He removed the pillow and alas, there was the shiny little bit of silver metal. Watson picked it up, brushing against Sherlock as he did so. The action sent subtle shivers through both men, and each tried desperately to hide it from the other. Watson was headed around to Sherlock's hands when he was struck with a sudden realisation: so long as he had this key, Sherlock was in his mercy. Holmes was his to command. So long as the two were in this situation, Watson could do what he had always dreamed of doing. He could, should he need to, in the morning dismiss it as having been drugged himself, but this, the opportunity presented to him on a silver platter, was far too good to just pass up.
Watson chuckled to himself excitedly as a large, mischievous grin spread across his face. Now, more than ever, was the perfect excuse for Watson. Drunk with power and lust impairing his judgement, he decided not to think or to reason, only to act.
He took off his hat and coat and casually tossed them aside. Sherlock looked confused.
"Uhm, Watson? This isn't tea time. I would like to get down, if you don't mind. I've lost all feeling in my limbs and it's rather unpleasant."
Watson ignored him. He unbuttoned and removed his waistcoat as he walked over and locked the door. He lit all the candles in the room, knowing they'd soon be in complete darkness otherwise. He whistled as he loosened his tie and closed all the curtains in the room, making doubly sure that not a single living soul could see inside the room.
"What are you doing, Watson? Why are you closing all the curtains?" Sherlock asked, less worried than truly curious.
Watson stood directly in front of the bed and, by extension, Sherlock. He pulled off his tie and began unbuttoning his shirt.
"My my my, Holmes, are you losing your touch? World's greatest detective and you haven't yet deduced?" Watson asked playfully. "We're about to partake in some rather amorous and quite frowned upon activities," he said in a low, husky voice. "I have to close the curtains. We musn't be caught."
He removed his shirt and climbed over Sherlock, straddling him.
"What are you doing? Watson, I don't think I-" Watson interrupted him with a rough, heavy kiss. At first Holmes was shocked, but immediately he began kissing back hungrily.
No time was wasted warming up to each other, they kissed passionately as though it wasn't the first. In a way, it wasn't. The subtle innuendos they'd played off each other since the day they'd met were finally being put to reality: the desperate dream had come true for both.
John kissed down Sherlock's jawline, nipping and biting at every bit of skin he came in contact with. It wasn't long before he grew possessive and little, dark marks cropped up in his wake.
He bit and scraped against Sherlock's shoulders, and only growling groans could be heard from the detective beneath.
Watson moved to remove his trousers, already feeling Holmes hard against him. Free of the fabric constraints, John began to rut his hips down into Sherlock's, increasing the friction between them and eliciting gasps from both.
Sherlock struggled in his restraints, rocking his hips up into John's, straining to break free, to run his hands over his new-found lover's skin, to feel him, to touch him. Bruises had begun to form on his wrists, and they had only just gotten started.
Watson's kisses grew in number and trailed farther down Sherlock's body. Holmes groaned in pleasure and anticipation as John's mouth sauntered nearer and nearer where he wanted it to be. Watson came dangerously close to Sherlock's painfully hard erection when he brought himself up to re-position.
Sherlock let out a small whine of desperation at the contact (or, more rather, lack thereof).
Sherlock had wanted to tell his old friend how he felt for a long, long time. He began to think that now would be a more than perfect time, but he found himself unable to form words. Only rushed, raspy breaths escaped from his throat as he longed for the former soldier to press on. Only the beautiful sounds of not-quite synchronized gasps, the rustle of the sheets, the slight scrape of skin against skin, and the erotic metal clanging of the handcuffs filled the large room, and both men found that those sounds were more than words enough.
John let his hand gently trail down where his mouth just was, slowly but surely inching closer to the warmest spot. He put pressure on that spot, making Sherlock's breaths more ragged still. He let his other hand trail up and into Sherlock's mouth, hoping he knew enough to take the hint. And surely he did. Sherlock stifled a moan as the pressure increased, and knowing what was to come next as he sucked lightly and suggestively on John's fingers.
John's hand left Sherlock's mouth and moved for another spot, his newly wet fingers to provide some semblance of lubrication. He was tracing them around Sherlock's thighs, sending shivers through the detective. They were drawing closer.
John pressed one finger into Sherlock as he began to prep him.
"Oh, God, John, just skip it!" Holmes said desperately, between gasps.
"Are you sure?" the doctor asked, genuinely concerned. He didn't care what Sherlock had to say next, he, with his medical knowledge, at least knew enough to realise skipping preparation was not an option.
The carnal look of sheer need in Sherlock's eyes was enough for John to rethink his choice, but he didn't. Going against Sherlock's request, he pressed a second finger into him. As he was doing what Sherlock clearly found tedious and unnecessary, John made sure, once he expertly located the man's prostate, to brush up against it and distract Sherlock from what he was doing. After he had a third finger in and was teasing a fourth, he felt Sherlock was sufficiently prepared. He looked around a moment and spotted a bottle of lotion on the bedside table, thinking it would suffice to lubricate him enough. He spread it over himself before he positioned himself at Sherlock's entrance, and ever so slowly and gently pushed in.
Sherlock bit down on his tongue hard enough to draw blood in pain. John remained still for a moment, then leaned forward to catch Holmes in a fiery kiss. Tasting the metallic copper sting on his tongue appealed to the animal instincts in Watson, making him then thrust unrelentingly into the detective.
After a little while, the pain melted away into immense and unexplainable pleasure for Sherlock, and husky moans had begun to escape from his chest. Again, he fought his cruel steel restraints wanting desperately to dig his nails into John's back, tangle his fingers through his hair, take a vice grip on his hips, anything. His wrists began to bleed with his strenuous attempts.
After a bit, John began to settle into a quick and steady pace, a tempo akin to his racing heartbeat.
The pleasure for both escalated exponentially over the next minute or so, leading up to the moment they'd both been waiting years and years for.
It wasn't long before John was sent over the edge, releasing into Sherlock. Hearing the growl that came from the man atop him sent Sherlock into orgasm just moments thereafter. Before he lost all strength, Watson reached up and unlocked Holmes from his bindings. His hands immediately slapped onto the sides of the doctor's face and pulled him in for a passionate, rough, but gentle kiss. He looked straight into Watson's eyes and merely nodded and smiled.
And that was all either needed: the both knew they didn't need words to express the love each obviously felt toward the other. And that night, entwined in one another's arms, the men slept peacefully, wrapped in warmth and savouring their night together, not caring in the slightest about the implications and consequences their actions had in the outside world, nor about the complications of keeping their new relationship under wraps.
However, they'd awaken to find that there were many...