Detective's Orders

by Flamie Kitten

All John wants to do is get on with some work, but Sherlock has other ideas that he intends to make known- and if there's one thing John's learnt, it's that Sherlock almost always gets what he wants... Sherlock/John.

Detective's Orders

I sat at my computer desk, absentmindedly tapping away at the keyboard and trying to catch up with all of the paper (well, type-) work that I'd mysterious fallen behind on "for some reason". I knew I was lucky that Sarah still even considered me a friend after everything that had happened- otherwise I would be out of a job by now. The least I could do to repay her kindness was to actually try and get something done.

The afternoon passed by fairly slowly, but at least the work was easy. I only had a few actual patients to attend to- a young girl with an ear infection, a man suffering from constant migraines, and an old woman who mostly just seemed to want somebody to talk to about her army of cats back home. It was fine, though- I was actually relishing the… ordinariness of it all. It was relaxing to just sit there and type and have a chat with those few people and switch off from everything else. I had no worries about being dragged into a sudden chase, or wrestling eight-foot-tall giants, or-

A sudden buzz in my pocket brought me out of my reverie and an icicle of fear stabbed through me- had I thought too soon…? Cautiously, I drew my battered old mobile phone out of my pocket, and unlocked it with a press.

Shit. It was a message from Sherlock. What could it be this time, what if-

This case is boring. I fancy doing something more interesting tonight. SH

I briefly closed my eyes as hot relief melted that icicle away- but it was soon replaced by uneasy confusion. What on earth was he on about now?

Like what? JW

I replied quite slowly, as always- but it wasn't just my usual slowness that hindered my texting this time, but hesitation. I watched the little animation that signified that my text had been sent, and had been about to place my phone back in my pocket when suddenly it buzzed again- marking Sherlock's near-instant reply. I rolled my eyes and opened the message.

You. SH

My heart thudded and I swallowed hard, eyes darting about the room as though everybody in the building knew what was going on right now. Sherlock and I had been… "more than partners"… for a little more than five months, now. It was almost funny how a near death experience could trigger your feelings into overdrive. After the incident at the pool, well… Things hadn't quite been the same since.

But there had never been anything like this before- suggestive texts while at work? What the hell had gotten into him…?

I stared at the text for a long time, not knowing what to do- what did you do in this kind of situation? Did you reply? How did you reply- did you act shocked? Confused? Coy? Trust Sherlock to be able to drive me into a state of complete befuddlement with just one word and a pair of initials. My finger hovered over the reply button for a long while, and I nearly dropped my phone when it went off again.

The chair's still broken from last time, unfortunately. I think the table may prove to be sturdier. We'll see. SH

A furiously-red blush immediately crept up my neck- I could feel it burning all the way to my ears and cheeks. I nervously licked my lips and very slowly put the phone down on the desk. I then, very pointedly, returned to my typing, keeping my eyes focused on the medical files in front of me, telling myself to pretend I'd never even received the texts at all.

Which was a bit more difficult when my phone started going off every few minutes.

"Fuck off, Sherlock…" I murmured under my breath, my typing getting even slower and heavier than usual- each determined key press making a loud click. The buzzing and the clicking started synching up. I leaned back in my chair, pressed a hand to my forehead, and sighed.

I then made the extremely foolish mistake of checking my phone again.

What if it was an emergency this time?

It wasn't.

Have I flustered you, Doctor? SH

What's wrong, John? You've got a good imagination, haven't you? SH

Or are you struggling? I'll be generous. Here are a few key words to get you started. SH

Heat. SH

Bite. SH

Suck. SH

Pant. SH

Moan. SH

Thrust. SH

Etcetera. SH

Are those inspiring enough for you? SH

Ignoring my texts, John? That's not very good- what if I was in trouble? SH

Mrs. Hudson is out tonight. There won't be any interruptions. SH

Oh, come on John. Don't be boring. I know you've done this before. SH

And I quote, "I can't wait to finish work, then I can have you all to myself. JW" SH

You should put a less obvious password on your phone. SH

Oh, just leave work already. It's not like you're busy. SH

Come home and have some fun. Detective's orders. SH

I groaned, one hand clenching as the other held down the off button hard enough to make my phone shake. The red flush on my cheeks hadn't died down- on the contrary, it had gotten even worse. I felt like my skin was burning.

And to make matters worse, another, more pressing, physical tell was making itself known.

"Damn you, Sherlock," I hissed under my breath, moving my hand to cover the sudden tenting in my trousers- as though that would do anything. I shifted my chair closer to the desk, hiding my lower body from view should anyone happen to walk in. What had Sherlock been thinking? Was he manic, sleep-depraved- or worse? He had to be to think that this was a good idea. I swallowed heavily again, my Adam's apple bobbing in my throat.

I couldn't further jeopardise my position at work by asking to leave now- what excuse could I possibly give? Oh sorry, suffering from hot flushes and slight arousal because my flatmate's been sending me dirty texts, got to run.

Yeah, right.

I just took in a deep, slow, controlled breath, pocketed my phone and forced myself to stare at the files.

Come on, John, I told myself. Your phone's off now, you can just concentrate on this and kick his ass when you get home.

I got back into the rhythm of typing again, and the discomfort in my pants went away. I began to relax, and a steady hour went past with nothing else interrupting me, the time ticking away to half-past-four. Only an hour to go.

I just finished typing up the file (thank God I got paid by the hour, rather than by the amount of work I actually produced) when an icon popped up in the right-hand corner of the screen, announcing that I had a new email.

It opened it absentmindedly, assuming it would be Sarah.

It wasn't.

At first I didn't know what I was looking at- or rather, I didn't understand the significance of it. Then it dawned at me that I was looking at a desk. The desk at the flat. A desk that was usually covered in all manners of things from books to papers to laptops to evidence nicked from the police.

A desk that had been meticulously cleared.

There was a message underneath the picture.

I take it that you resorted to turning your phone off. Really, John, was it that unbearable- the notion of entertaining a few crude thoughts at work? Am I that distracting? Did biology kick in, dear Doctor? Let me guess… flushed cheeks, increased heart rate- possibly even the beginnings of an erection? Tut, tut, John- why don't you just come home and let me fix all of that for you? Look, I even cleared the desk. Can you really make yourself wait for another hour? I have everything ready right now.

See you soon.

SH

My legs jerked up so hard that my knees bashed up against the underside of my desk. I pushed my hands up into my hair and groaned in a mixture of pain, irritation, and- yes- arousal, again. I glanced back and forth between the email and the clock on the wall. Ninety minutes. Ninety minutes to go. I couldn't help it- I started thinking about what would happen when I got home. Hot, messy kisses followed quickly by the hungrily tearing of clothes off of one-another, and then touching and more kissing and biting and licking and moaning and-

Flushed cheeks, increased heart rate, beginnings of an erection.

Check, check, and damn him.

There was a knock at the door and I breathed in sharply- fuck. I hastily fanned at my face knowing it would do absolutely nothing to cool down the red tinge of my skin, and pressed my chair as close to the desk as possible. I closed the email. I went back to work. Or at least tried to, anyway. There was a second knock.

"John? You in there? Haven't fallen asleep again, have you?"

Sarah.

"Yeah, I'm here!" I called back, hating how much my voice decided to quaver.

Maybe she's just checking up on me. Maybe she'll leave now.

"Oh, good," she said as she opened the door and walked in with a bright smile on her face. I tried to smile back.

Damn, damn, damn.

"Because I need you to sign these- Hey, are you alright?"

She was looking up from the pile of papers in her arms, her face falling slightly as she stared at me. I tried to blink back as innocently as possible.

"Yes…?" I answered. She tilted her head and approached me. My hands clenched slightly and I forced my face to remain neutral. She set the papers on the desk and extended a hand towards my forehead. I resisted the urge to leap out of my chair.

"My God, John, you're burning up- are you sure you're feeling okay?" she asked with obvious concern, her cool fingers brushing against my skin. I smiled weakly and shrugged.

"It's a bit warm in here-" I ventured, but a quick glance to the left reminded me that the window was in fact open and a cool afternoon breeze was making my office anything but "too warm". The frown on Sarah's face suggested that she didn't believe me. As long as she didn't guess the true reasons behind my "sickness" I was actually all right with that.

"Your eyes are all glazed and you look a bit out-of-it, John. I'm not sure I want you around any more patients if you're coming down with something yourself. Why don't you sign these papers and then get yourself home? There's not much left to do- I can cover for you if anything pops up."

Her unfortunate choice of words had me laughing nervously, but I soon covered that up with a miniature bout of coughing. I wasn't one to skip work (oh, who am I kidding?) but if she was providing me with an opportunity….

"Really?" I asked, voice hoarse- and not intentionally so. The undeniable image of Sherlock tearing my clothes off as soon as I walked through the door kept popping up in my mind. It didn't help with the redness. "Would that be okay?"

"Just listen to yourself, John," Sarah said with a roll of her eyes. "Really now, I can understand wanting to catch up with your work but not if you're going to push yourself over the limit like this. Come on, sign these and off you go," she repeated, pushing the papers towards me. I tried not to appear too eager as I grabbed a pen, scanned through what was written, and then swirled my messy, Doctor's signature wherever necessary. "Get that useless flatmate of yours to make you a cup of tea," Sarah added with a smile, thanking me as she picked up the papers and began to leave.

"Thank-you," I said, smiling genuinely now. "I will."

The journey home was agony. It was coming up to five by the time I managed to squeeze onto a train- that was the thing about London; even though it was hardly even rush hour yet, the whole city was still packed. Useless tourists and smug commuters. It didn't help that images of what the evening potentially promised kept on flashing in my mind- getting an erection in public was not very high on my list of things I wanted to happen, so I gritted my teeth and did my best to quell them.

Finally, I arrived at Baker Street Station. My walk was bordering on a jog; I was so keen to get home. What on earth had Sherlock done to me to get me into a state like this? Leaving work an hour early and practically running down the street. My heart was pounding in my chest, blood rushing around my ears as I opened the door to 221B. Silence greeted me- but he'd said Mrs. Hudson would be out today.

"Sherlock…?" I called up the stairs, beginning to take my coat off as I walked up. Would he be waiting for me? Would he already be in a state of undress- smirking that smirk of his, knowing full well that I was hardly in the frame of mind to argue with him? "Sherlock?" I repeated, opening the door, my breath hitching in my throat as I found-

Darkness. The curtains were closed, the television was off- there wasn't even the flickering dance of a laptop screen. Frowning, I put my coat up on the peg and closed the door behind me, flicking on the light as I looked around. My eyes were drawn to the desk- it was just as cleared of junk as the picture had promised… so where was Sherlock?

"Hello?" I called out, a little worried now, as I approached the desk, looking around the room as I did. He was nowhere to be seen. My worry started evolving into irritation. This was just like him- this was probably an experiment or something, with him wanting to see if he could goad me into leaving work early-

Suddenly, there was movement behind me and his bare arms were wrapped around my middle, his mouth buried at the side of my neck- teeth lightly grazing my skin. My whole body shivered, as though electrified, and I inhaled quickly with a jump.

"Sher-" I began.

"You took your time," he whispered gruffly. "I'll have to try harder in the future."

I couldn't do anything but stand there, quivering, as he began to press hungry kisses along my throat and jaw- the little flushes of arousal I'd been feeling all day were swiftly rushed into overdrive, and all-of-a-sudden my mind was deliciously blank save from the knowledge that he had wanted me enough to try and bring me home all the quicker. I started to move my hands, linking my fingers with his and leaning back against him, to be nearer to his lips, to his half-naked body. He was already completely aroused- judging by the bulge digging into my lower back and the urgency with which he was kissing me.

Before I could do anything about it, my hands were suddenly on the desk, my body bent over it. I could feel his breath against my ear, the weight of his body pressing slightly down on my back. His hands were everywhere; moving, touching, groping- stripping my trousers down to my ankles and tugging my shirt over my head. His teeth were suddenly at my neck, biting hard enough to elicit a strangled moan from my lips. I felt him fumbling with his own trouser fastenings behind me, felt one more layer of clothing removed from between us. He started to grind his erection up against my rear- I could feel his hardness through our underwear and began to shiver and moan softly. I was so ready- so impossibly ready… I had been all damn day.

"So eager, John…" he groaned thickly against my ear. "Have you been thinking about this, about me, all day? My texts and emails must have worked to some extent, then."

"Hurry up," I said, my voice trembling. "Stop teasing, you bastard, you already did enough of that earli-"

"Shhh…" he crooned soothingly, his hand slowly stroking the back of my leg before slipping to curl around my inner thigh. My hips shifted, pressing my rear hard against his crotch- a smile lifting my lips as I heard his barely-controlled gasp. However, he quickly regained control over the situation, his other hand holding my hip firm as the first one trailed up my leg and hooked a thumb into the waistband of my pants. My breathing was getting steadily more uneven, my heart pounding in my chest, as he slipped his hand into my underwear at a tantalisingly slow pace. I closed my eyes, lips parting, as those long, long fingers curled around my swiftly-hardening length and tugged- hard. My nails dug into the desk and I breathed out a long, ragged gasp.

I writhed underneath him. I needed him.

"Sherlock…" I begged, but he didn't reply- he only started stroking me harder, nails lightly pressing into my skin, thumb trailing slow circles around the head. I could practically hear the bastard smiling as he swiped the digit over the bead of fluid there, the hand at my hip clutching a little harder.

"Oh, John…"

"Shut up," I hissed, my cheeks flaming- why did he have to point out everything in that smug, self-satisfied voice of his? Why couldn't he just get on with it, knowing full well as he did how much I had wanted this?

"As you wish…" he chuckled, but I noticed that his voice wasn't exactly steady anymore. My legs trembled as he continued his stroking and his teasing- my whole body was shaking with desire but he was taking his time, driving me insane as he did in all things…

Suddenly, the hand at my hip was pulling my underwear down, exposing me fully to him, allowing his dexterous hand to touch me from base-to-tip without any restrictions. My moans were getting more frequent and my hips started inadvertently thrusting my length into his grasp, which made him chuckle in that infuriating manner again but I was growing beyond caring. His touches were always so precise, so exquisite, so completely and utterly incredible-

I cried out with frustration as he stopped, and began to turn my head to snap at the man but he placed a hand on the back of my head, fingers lightly gripping my hair, keeping me in place as he pressed up even closer to me- the hard feel of his length pressingly obvious against the groove of my rear. With surprising strength for someone as wiry as himself, he began to push my head down against the table until my torso was lying flat on the top, forcing my lower half to lift up against him until I was almost on tiptoes. I could feel him grasping for something at his side, and saw a blur of movement as he kicked his trousers away. Apparently he hadn't taken them fully down earlier, just undone them. He kept me pressed down- but he didn't really need to. The feeling of control he was exerting over me was more than enough to make my head spin with desire. Despite my pride and military background, it was surprisingly easy to admit to myself that being at the complete mercy of the world's only Consulting Detective turned me on like nothing ever had before.

Even through the haze of lust I could hear telling sounds- the click of a bottle cap, the slide of cotton against skin, a soft grunt of pleasure. As ever, it remained enough of a surprise to feel his now-slicked fingers trailing backwards from my perineum to make my hips jump involuntarily- a response that made his hand tighten in my hair. My breath hitched in my throat as his wandering fingers continued their journey and brushed over my hole, but he barely gave me a moment to steel myself before he pressed one into me with one, smooth motion. I hissed between my teeth as he started moving it slowly within me, a second joining the first quickly enough to leave me reeling.

"Fuck…" I whimpered as he began to pick up the face, coating me in the fluid while occasionally making me jump as he- almost casually- brushed one of those long, long fingers over my prostate. "Fuck," I said again, swallowing hard.

"Lost the ability to speak, have we Doctor?" he whispered huskily, pushing a third finger into my aching body. He was moving with a dizzying combination of rough but slow- sliding his fingers out almost to the tips before penetrating me again with their full length. The hand on the back of my head lifted me up just the slightest, his body effectively pinning me in place… exposed and willing.

I moaned raggedly against the tabletop, felt my body grow suddenly warmer as he leaned over me again, his lips tracing the scar on my shoulder very gently in stark contrast to the increasing force of his fingers, the sensation of him taking me hovering on the border between pleasure and pain. His hips rocked against mine- his bare hips. The sound from before had been him removing his underwear.

"Please Sherlock-" I begged, tilted my head back with a gasp. "Please."

He continued to take me with his fingers, trailing patterns on my neck, shoulders, and upper back with his tongue and teeth- ignoring my pleas. My length, skin flushed red, ached for attention with more pre-cum beading at the tip. If he kept this up-

"Sherlock," I cried, gritting my teeth. "Fuck- Sherlock- I want you. I want you now."

The result was almost instantaneous- he pushed my head, none-too-gently, back down onto the table and sharply tugged his fingers out of me. The sudden sensation of emptiness had my hips greedily bucking into thin air again, but he didn't leave me waiting for long- a soft groan later and hot, slick flesh was pressing up against me again.

A moment's hesitation.

"John," he said, all traces of earlier sarcasm gone- replaced by need, pure and simple.

"Yes," I gasped, pushing back against him, lifting my body to meet his. "Yes, Sherlock."

Consent given, his free hand gripped my hip hard enough to bruise as he pulled me towards him at the same time as he thrust into me. Our combined cries of pleasure were loud and raw- a carnal release for pent-up anticipation. His hand slipped down from my head to the back of my neck, nails digging into my skin, as he filled me to the hilt, his hips pounding against my rear. He didn't start slow and gentle, but moved straight into hard and fast- almost pushing me to the brink in an instant.

"So tight, John," he panted loudly. "So tight and hot and right and ready and all mine."

His words had me moaning, my body rocking to meet his every hard, possessive thrust- my length still painfully untouched, sweat beading on my forehead. But Sherlock seemed too lost in what he was doing- both of his hands already preoccupied with keeping me exactly where he wanted me. His thrusting slowed a little and he began to repeat his earlier trick, almost completely leaving my body before totally claiming me again, angling his hips so that almost every thrust hit home- the head of his length brushing against my prostate over and over again. He clearly wanted to push me to the edge first-

"Touch yourself, John," he was suddenly groaning against my ear, tongue curling at the delicate skin, breath hot along the damp trail. "And don't be quiet about it."

That sounded like an order, and one I was all-too-willing to obey.

The position he had me in didn't make it easy, but I knew it was on purpose and just made do. My length was so hard and hot as I curled my fingers around the sticky-skinned flesh, and my body shivered, trembling in ecstasy, as I began to stroke myself.

"Noise, John- moan for me," Sherlock prompted with a growl, bucking hard up into me. I complied promptly, shaking and gasping as I pumped my erection, my hand sliding along skin made slippery with my own arousal. Sherlock quickly began to match my movements, thrusting in time to the motions of my hand. I groaned and cried out, his nails clutching my neck and hip if too many heartbeats went by without a pleasured sound leaving my lips. "Good, John, good…" he praised, voice breaking.

Clearly, my sounds of bliss were pleasing him too.

The desk started scraping against the floor, and my body started to tighten as, all of a sudden, I was rushing towards my peak.

"Fuck, Sherlock… Fuck- I'm gon'na-"

"Do it," he interrupted, the words clipped. "Come, John, come."

That was enough to undo me- his deep growl of a voice commanding me like that. His hand left the back of my neck as my upper body jerked upwards, my throat raw as I cried aloud in full passion. My length throbbed in my hand as I released, messily blowing my load against the desk. My legs turned to jelly, but Sherlock held me in place- holding me against him by both of my hips, now, his thrusting picking up pace again along with the frequency of his grunts and groans of pleasure as I remained tight around his driving length. Supported by one of my hands pressed flat on the desk, I kept my body slightly propped up, eyes glazed and spent, breathing even more ragged, as I let the Detective have his way with me.

"Oh god… Oh, John…" he groaned. He grip was almost crushing- I could practically feel the bruises forming on my hips. "John, may I…"

"Yes, god yes," I said instantly, swallowing hard.

He made a noise that I could only describe as a snarl, burying himself in me right to the hilt- and latching his teeth to the point where shoulder met neck. He sucked, hard, and there was an incredible rush of heat deep inside of me as he filled me upon his own release. My hand tightened around my own length and I cried out- again- and shocked myself with another burst of my own climax.

"Sherlock-!" I shouted, and he dug his teeth in harder, forcing my eyes to close as I remained there, lips parted, sweat coating our bodies, his hips still gently rocking as though he had forgotten how to stop. My nails had dug deep grooves into the desk, and there were scrapes on the floor where the desk's legs had been pushed against it. With an almost obscene pop he released his mouth from my shoulder and the skin throbbed where an impressive bruise would no doubt form. He then collapsed against me for a moment, his thin chest and stomach fitting neatly into the curve of my back. With my legs still shuddering, I slowly lowered my head against the table again, breathing rapidly. My other hand hung loose by my side. Sherlock's fingers were stroking my hips and thighs, following the marks his nails had left. We just breathed together in noisy silence for a long moment.

He recovered first, placing an almost tender kiss to the already-painful mark he had left on my shoulder before lifting himself off of me again. I bit down on my bottom lip as he slowly pulled himself out of my body- I could never decide whether I found the sensation pleasant or not. Sherlock merely made a soft noise as he stood and walked away from me- his fingers trailing along the curve of my rear as a final point of contact. I remained bent over the desk for a few seconds longer, my eyes still closed, trying to get my heart rate and breathing back to something resembling normality.

"I do hope I lived up to your expectations," came his voice- the teasing tone well and truly reinstated. Shakily, I stood up straight- my body aching in protest after being bent over in that awkward position for so long- and turned around to face the other man. In the time it had taken for me to get my bearings, the other man had managed to drape himself over the sofa and held a cigarette to his lips- preparing to light it with a smirk. My eyes narrowed slightly. "Problem?" he queried, all innocence. I opened my mouth to retort, but suddenly thought the better of it- what could I possibly say that would persuade the great Sherlock Holmes from doing something other than what he wanted to do? He'd just proved that not five minutes ago.

"I'm going to have a nap," I said simply, and walked as normally as I possibly could, all things considered, towards his- our- bedroom. I tried to keep a straight face as I imagined what his expression could be- shock, irritation, surprise? I didn't really care, I was exhausted and Sherlock could do whatever the hell he wanted.

I suppose he'd earned that cigarette.

I practically collapsed onto the bed, barely managing to struggle under the sheets. I knew it was still early evening, but the day had taken its toll- and besides, Sherlock's habit of sleeping at all hours meant he had blackout curtains for times such as this. It was as dark in his room as though it were nighttime. I had just started to doze off when suddenly I heard movement and then felt the warm press of a body up against the back of mine- and the pleasing absence of the smell of smoke. I smiled in the darkness.

"Decided against the cigarette, then?" I mumbled sleepily.

"I couldn't have my favourite Doctor angry with me, not after I just spent all of that time trying to make sure of the complete opposite," came his reply- straight-forward and matter-of-fact, but there was a hint of affection in there too. I turned my body towards him, wrapping the lithe Detective up in my arms. He quickly moved in for a kiss, but there was none of the fierce hunger from earlier. In fact, if I didn't know better, I would say it was decidedly more sleepy-

To my utter astonishment, Sherlock's lips fell away from mine and his head slid down to rest against my neck and shoulder, his face pressed up with a soft sigh against my skin. I blinked several times, wondering briefly if he had succumbed to narcolepsy thanks to his habit of staying up at all hours- but his peaceful breathing and the way his fingers were curling against my chest soothed my worries away. It was more likely that our… activities… had simply stripped him of all of his remaining energy. Had he been pacing about the flat all day, just waiting for me to come home?

I pressed a kiss to his forehead and he murmured, but did not wake.

"Thank-you, Sherlock," I said softly. I didn't quite know which I was thanking him for- the sex, not smoking, or actually going to sleep. Perhaps it was all three. I settled down into a more comfortable position, still holding his warm body against mine, and closed my eyes again.

Sleep was quick to find me.