Author Notes: This story is made of two chapters and I hope to get the next one posted some time during the next four weeks. Keep your fingers crossed that university doesn't get in my way and let me know what you think about it. ^^ Btw, I just passed a colloquium in organic chemistry this week and I therefore are allowed to work at the lab to finish my course. =D
Beware of the rating!
Confusion and Frustration
"Sherlock, dear, I have made you boys some scones..."
"No, you haven't Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock all but snarled as he slammed the front door shut and fixed their landlady with a calculating look. "You have obviously made them for Mr. Thomson, who expressed his desire to taste your pastries - no doubt after Mrs. Turner mentioned them to him in passing, as they are neighbors. Now what went so wrong that you brought the pastries back home to give them to us?" Sherlock's eyes flickered over their landlady, taking in the splintered nail polish on the index finger of her right hand and the stains of make-up on her right sleeve. The story was as clear to him as if he had watched it play out in front of him. "Ah, yes, obviously your luck with men hasn't improved since..."
"That's enough, Sherlock!" John didn't shout the words, in fact, he didn't raise his voice at all and yet the commanding tone silenced Sherlock at once.
Bristling, Sherlock turned around to his friend, who smiled apologetically at Mrs. Hudson, while Sherlock was well aware of the anger that boiled beneath the soft, misleading disguise of a jumper and puppy eyes. "Sorry, Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock has been in a mood all day long. You know how he is, don't take it personally." Sherlock grinded his teeth, while John was speaking about him... no for him like Sherlock wasn't there at all. Like, he wasn't capable of forming words and sentences on his own to speak his mind. He was just about to announce to John that the victim's sister had only given him her number, because she and her boyfriend were planning on having a threesome, when John grabbed his wrist and physically hauled him up the stairs.
"I would really love some of your pastries, Mrs. Hudson," John called downstairs on their way up, but he didn't wait for their landlady's response. Instead he dragged Sherlock through the door to their flat and closed it behind them with a thump. Sherlock crossed his arms in front of his chest and waited for John's rant to start. After all, Sherlock wasn't as unaware of social niceties and rules as he liked to pretend on occasions. No, it was rather that he chose to ignore them, as he couldn't see the use in exchanging meaningless pleasantries with others, when there were better ways to spend his time. Nonetheless, he was well aware that his behavior today was classified as more than a bit not good. Usually, Sherlock didn't go around insulting every police officer, suspect and witness at a crime scene, but he hadn't been able to keep his deductions to himself today.
"Good morning, Sherlock, John."
Sherlock's eyes swept over Lestrade as he jumped over the barrier tape that surrounded the crime scene. "She isn't interested in you," Sherlock announced loudly, while John greeted the police officer with a pleasant smile.
Lestrade's lips twisted in a complicated way, until they settled on an annoyed grimace. "And how do you know that, genius?"
Sherlock shrugged, as he stalked in the direction of the body, which had been found under a bush, adorned with petals of roses. "You have been going out with her for five weeks now. She is understanding of the odd hours you have to work and likes to listen to stories about your job. At the same time, she hasn't had sex with you... No, you haven't even gone farther than a chaste kiss." Most policemen turned away as Sherlock drew closer to the body and pretended not to listen to the deductions about their chef.
"Sherlock..." John's voice held a warning note, but Sherlock ignored him, just like he had ignored him all morning and continued. "She has probably told you some heartwarming story about a sexual assault in her childhood and that none of her former lovers understood her and always pressured her into having sex with them. She must have hinted that she had already given up on finding herself a partner, until she met you and you are so noble and so besotted with her that you promised her to wait as long as she needed." With that, Sherlock kneeled down next to the body of a woman in her forties and let his mind take in all the little details that the pathetic excuses of policemen had certainly dismissed as irrelevant. Otherwise, they would have already solved the case and wouldn't have had to call him to the scene. It was barely a two! Sherlock was just about to point out the missing pearls from her evening gown and the pattern of the petals, when Lestrade's next question interrupted his train of thoughts. "What's wrong with waiting until someone is ready for sex? Hell, Sherlock, I know that you don't get certain things, but if you really care for someone then sex isn't the most important thing on your mind."
Something snapped in Sherlock at that sentence. He couldn't exactly pinpoint what it was and why he was in such a foul mood today, only that everyone and everything annoyed him. And Lestrade certainly wasn't helping matters by talking about such unimportant nonsense. "There is nothing wrong with waiting for someone to be ready," Sherlock jumped to his feet and pulled the gloves from his hands at the same time, throwing them at some idiotic assistant of Anderson. "Only, if the whole story of a sexual assault is made up and the person in question is actually a journalist, who wants to get first hand information about your work. Especially about my involvement in your cases, as her wife hadn't been able to fool me into taking a case that they had made up, so that they would have a story for their newspaper."
Everyone was staring at him now. No one was pretending that they hadn't listened to Sherlock's deductions anymore. They all watched - in a mixture of horror and fascinating - how the face of their chef turned an unhealthy shade of red as he turned on Sherlock. "You bastard! You couldn't have told me about that in private, could you?!"
Sherlock watched fascinated as Lestrade took a step in his direction, his fists clenched at his side and obviously prepared to give him a good dressing down - and probably a bloody nose - when John stepped between the two men. "You know how he is, Greg. At least, now you can spend watching the next football match at the pub with me, instead of going to a vegan restaurant with your date."
Sherlock wanted to snarl at John to stop interfering in his business and that he didn't mind a good brawl with Lestrade at the moment, but he stopped the words just in time from emerging, when John sent him a warning look over his shoulder. Usually, Sherlock ignored such warnings, but it was different when they came from John. It had always been different, when John had told him how to behave in comparison to when Mycroft had done the same, but... it was even more different today. On the one hand, Sherlock didn't want John to be angry with him and on the other... he felt the irrational urge to wind John up. And that didn't make any sense, did it? After all, last night...
"Hey, Freak, were you assaulted as a child as well or can't you hide your freakishness long enough to get laid?"
Sherlock's whole attention shifted to Sally, who was smirking at him, confident of victory this time. At any other day, Sherlock would have ignored such a dull verbal attack, but not today. Today, Sally's words stirred up memories from last night and John... John...
"Not everyone defines himself over his sexual encounters and I suggest you don't do that either or you will come to a disappointing conclusion. Considering that your last sexual partner was Anderson, who only came to you, last night, because his wife is menstruating." Sherlock watched with satisfaction as all the color drained from Sally's face and Anderson - who had stepped up behind her - glared at him angrily. "You damn Freak, the only way someone would ever want to have you in their bed, is if they gagged you beforehand."
A counter was already on the tip of Sherlock's tongue, when Lestrade stopped the argument, before it could get out of hand. The DI still looked agitated with his lips pressed in an angry line, but he appeared to have overcome the urge to beat the crap out of Sherlock. "I suggest you share your conclusions with us, Sherlock and then you can go the fuck away, before someone loses their temper."
Sherlock merely rolled his eyes at that - as if any of the police officers was a real threat to him - and then pointed at the body. "She came here for a rendezvous with a former lover, who was blackmailing her. It has probably something to do with the ridiculous fantasy novels she has written and which have been getting worse and worse for the last couple of years. I say that her lover was the actual author of the novels, but somehow she managed to claim the fame for herself and her ex-lover wanted money from her. She fueled his rage, by offering some fake jewelry as payment and he killed her, though, he is still in love with her. Flower petals, sentiment," Sherlock sneered the last part and waited for some reaction to his brilliant deductions. None were forthcoming, not even a question about how he knew all that and his mood - which had just started to rise - sank once more. "If that's all, then I'm leaving. I'm sure even your incompetent lot can manage to catch the killer."
He stalked away, ignoring Lestrade's outraged protests and Sally's unimaginative insults.
John was at Sherlock's side when he hailed a taxi, but his friend didn't talk with him either. They spent the drive home in an uncomfortable silence, while Sherlock tried to figure out what had gotten him in such a bad mood, because even he was aware that he had been much crueler than usual.
"Tea!"
Sherlock looked up from where he was still standing in the entrance - recalling today's events - when he heard John slam two mugs on the kitchen table and he figured that it was time to face the music. Slowly, Sherlock hung up his coat and scarf, before he wandered into the kitchen and sat down in one of the chairs, while John glared at him from the kitchen counter. "What the fuck is wrong with you? I know that you can be a real bastard, but you topped everything today."
John looked exasperated and tired. An explosive mixture in the former army doctor and Sherlock knew that he should treat carefully. That the best course of action would be to go to his room and remain there, until he had figured out why he was so on edge today. If he apologized beforehand, John would even leave him alone until dinner and then they could...
Sherlock grinded his teeth and glared at his friend. "So, you say that I should remain silent, when Sally is insults me?"
John didn't take the bait and merely rolled his eyes at Sherlock's question. "I'm not talking about Sally. What she said was wrong and insulting and you had every right to defend yourself against her. Her words could have been triggering to you, if they had held any truth after all. "
Sherlock frowned at that, recalled her exact wording and then snorted. "Mycroft or Mummy would have killed anyone, who had tried to touch me."
John nodded, but the suppressed anger still didn't leave his eyes as he regarded Sherlock with forced calm. "So, we have established that you were in your right to defend yourself against Sally, but it was wrong of you to attack Greg like this."
Sherlock scowled. "I didn't attack Lestrade, I just pointed out to him that his girlfriend was using him. Isn't it kinder..."
"No, Sherlock, it isn't!" Sherlock almost jumped when John's fist came down hard on the table and rattled the mugs on it. Tea spilled over and Sherlock wondered if John would make him responsible for the wasted brew as well, as he appeared to blame everything on Sherlock today. "Christ, we have been over this already. If you wanted to be kind, you could have told him about your knowledge in private and not in front of his whole team. Although," John continued, steel entering his eyes, before Sherlock could interrupt him. "Your behavior towards Greg wasn't as bad as towards Mrs. Hudson. It was deliberately cruel to talk to her like this. I'm just glad that you didn't go to the morgue today or you would have probably ripped into Molly as well. Really, Sherlock, your behavior..."
"It's not your business how I behave, John! Don't patronize me!" Sherlock jumped up from his seat and glowered at his friend, using his height as an advantage to tower over him. "You are not my mother or my brother. You don't have any right to reprimand me for my behavior. Just because you had had your cock up my arse last night, doesn't mean that you have any right to tell me what to do. You. Have. No. Right!"
The words hung between them like poisonous fog and Sherlock only realised what he had just said, when John's next words cut into him like a bayonet. "At least, you now know why you don't have any friends, you wanker!"
OOO
John wanted to take the words back as soon as they had left his mouth.
He noticed the second they hit Sherlock, when a silent gasp left his friend's mouth and then... his features blanked as he turned around and stalked to his room. The door was slammed shut with more force than necessary as John kept on staring at the steaming mugs on the table. Christ, what had gone wrong today?
John sat down at the kitchen table with a heavy sigh and cradled his head in his hands. Sherlock's behavior at the crime scene wasn't that unusual and John wouldn't have thought anything - or at least, not much - of it, if it hadn't been for Sherlock's treatment of Mrs. Hudson. No matter how cruel his friend was to others, John had only ever witnessed him deducing their landlady once and that had been during Sherlock`s cold turkey on nicotine. It worried John - not because he believed that Sherlock was using again - but rather because he couldn't figure out what had railed his friend up like that. And for Christ's sake, Sherlock was his friend - as well as Greg's, Molly's and Mrs. Hudson's - and maybe even more than that. For a second, John thought about going to Sherlock's room to apologize for his hurtful words, but then he decided against it. If he wanted to prevent a repeat of their former conversation, then he had to figure out what had triggered Sherlock's behavior. Somehow, John feared that it had something to do with the events of the last evening..
"You are so beautiful, Sherlock. Gorgeous."
John marveled at the picture Sherlock Holmes - brilliant genius and only consulting detective in the world - made as he was sprawled out under him. The silken crimson covers were a stark contrast to Sherlock's alabaster skin and for a second John wondered if that was the reason Sherlock had decided on this color. He dismissed the thought as soon as it had entered his mind, certain that Sherlock wouldn't waste his brain power on something as mundane as the perfect color combination for his room.
"John!" There was a pleading note in Sherlock`s voice and John allowed his friend to drag him down for a kiss. Dear God, he could spent all night, kissing Sherlock, John thought as he sucked on Sherlock's bottom lip and tore a whimper from his friend. He was so responsive, that John wondered when Sherlock had done this for the last time... or if he had done it at all. "Sherlock," John started, but he didn't get far, as Sherlock's mouth claimed his once more. This kiss wasn't sweet or gentle or even playful anymore. John groaned, when Sherlock's teeth nicked his lower lip, as he angled his head to the side.
Usually, John wasn't found of rough sex, when he was with a new lover for the first time. Too much could go wrong, if you didn't know each other well enough, but Sherlock was initiating it. And John knew his friend well enough to be certain that Sherlock would stop him if John did something wrong. Dear God, Sherlock would probably throw him out of the bed, if he felt the need for it. With that thought in mind, John deepened their kiss and grabbed Sherlock's jaw with one hand to force his mouth wider open. At the same time, John allowed more of his weight to settle on top of Sherlock, pressing his lower body down to rub himself against his friend's stomach-John felt Sherlock's own erection dig into his thigh and he moved his hips to wring a tormented groan from his friend.
"God, John," Sherlock gasped and it was music to John's ears. "I need... please, I need..." The movement of Sherlock's hips and the desperate attempt to get some sort of friction as he rutted against John was enough to clarify his words and John grinned down at him. "What do you want, Sherlock?" He purred in Sherlock's ear, allowing himself a small smile, when his friend shuddered at his voice. Who would have guessed that a brawl with some youths in a pub could lead to this outcome? If John had suspected that all it took for Sherlock to snog him senseless - as soon as they had entered their flat - and then drag him to his room, would be a good old-fashioned brawl at a pub, John would have provoked one much sooner. Actually, Sherlock had provoked the fight with his deductions, but John didn't care for such details, when he had the most gorgeous man on earth in bed with him.
"You... I want you... John."
These simple words sent new waves of heat southwards and John had to take a couple of breaths to make sure that he wouldn't humiliate himself. He had dreamed so often about Sherlock gasping these words - or himself gasping them to Sherlock, he wasn't picky in this regard - that it took John a second to accept them as reality.
"How do you want me?" John breathed against Sherlock's neck, even as one of his hands wandered downwards to tease Sherlock's straining erection with only the tip of his finger. "I... everywhere... please, John... just, I want... you." John wrinkled his forehead at that, even as he kept stroking Sherlock's cock teasingly. That's why they should have slowed down in the kitchen. They should have sat down after the first heated kisses and talked about their feelings - because, bloody hell, John certainly had feelings for this brilliant genius - instead of falling into bed right away. If they had been lovers for longer, John would have known what Sherlock meant by these words. If he wanted a blowjob or John to take him or if he wanted to take John or... the possibilities were endless.
"John!" An impatient whine underlined Sherlock's voice and John gasped when his friend leaned up to suck on his collarbone, before biting down lightly.
"Christ, Sherlock," he muttered, even when his cock twitched at the stimulation. At least, it was fairly obvious now that Sherlock wasn't new to this, otherwise he wouldn't act so confident, would he? John pushed the last flicker of doubt away and then decided to just go for it. If Sherlock couldn't articulate what he wanted - and that was a first - John would make sure that he at least got what deserved: A great time and as much pleasure as he could take.
Smirking, John pressed one last kiss to Sherlock's lips, before using the element of surprise to his advantage, to turn Sherlock on his front.
"John!"
There was no hint of protest in Sherlock's voice and he didn't try to turn back around, so John went with his plan. He started on Sherlock's neck and kissed his way down his spine, taking his time to kiss every freckle on his way down. Sherlock tasted even better than John had imagined. There was a hint of the expensive shower gel, Sherlock had used before going to the pub with John and underneath lay the unmistakable taste of fresh sweat and something that tasted uniquely like home... like Sherlock. John didn't realise that he had sped up his progress, until he held two plush cheeks in his hands and rubbed his nose against the cleft of Sherlock's arse.
"John, what... Oh God."
A grin flashed over John's face as he licked between Sherlock's parted cheeks and savored the earthy taste of his friend on his tongue. Obviously, no one had ever done this to Sherlock - if his writhing on the bed at John's first struck was anything to go by - and John was determined to make the experience memorable. He followed the tender flesh of Sherlock's down - savoring the taste and his friend's excited moans - until his tongue was finally free to tease Sherlock's quivering hole. A shudder ran through Sherlock's body at the contact and John stopped and waited if any kind of protest would be forthcoming. None did and therefore John proceeded with the exploration of Sherlock's most intimate area. Some part of his brain pointed out to him that he wasn't practicing safe sex her. That they should have showered before doing that, but John drowned that voice out with a groan as he circled Sherlock's opening with his tongue. His friend had only showered a couple of hours ago and his last blood tests had come back clean. No need to worry about infection, he told his mind - that spoil-sport - and continued his work. The ring of muscle quivered every time, John let his tongue flicker over it, accompanied by Sherlock's moans and groans. And his friend got even more vocal, when John pushed the tip of his tongue in Sherlock and moved his hand to fondle Sherlock's balls at the same time.
"Oh, John! Yes, please... I need..."
John pushed in a little deeper with his tongue and stroked Sherlock's hard cock at the same time. Pre- come gathered at the tip and John used it to smoothen his strokes, as he stroked his friend faster and harder, while pushing is tongue in and out his tight heat, until Sherlock was a moaning mess beneath him.
"John... I... please... more!" He raised an eyebrow at Sherlock's plea - demand more like it - and then very carefully withdrew his tongue from inside his friend to press the tip of one finger to Sherlock's opening instead, nudging against the slick entrance. "Is that... what you want?"
John noted the husky note in his own voice and felt the throbbing of his neglected cock. Well, it would have to wait a little longer, as he enjoyed pleasuring Sherlock far too much to chase his own orgasm just yet. Instead of an answer, Sherlock pushed back against John's finger and he chuckled at the typical impatience of his friend.
"Lube, sweetheart," John reminded his friend and wondered if he had done something wrong, when Sherlock's body froze under him at the simple words, before Sherlock exhaled slowly and stretched his arm to open the drawer of his nightstand. The tube of lube and two condoms almost hit John's head as Sherlock threw them in his general direction and a low chuckle escaped him at that. "You are incredible," John whispered and breathed a kiss to Sherlock's lower back and then slicked his fingers with the lube.
The first finger went in effortlessly, as Sherlock's muscles were already relaxed due to John's earlier ministrations and he took his time in preparing his friend - no, lover was probably the more accurate term now. John didn't know when Sherlock had had anal sex for the last time - he was so thigh - but he certainly didn't want to rush anything and hurt him by accident. More preparation couldn't hurt. In the worst case scenario, John would only die from frustration, as his cock throbbed impatiently between his legs and demanded of him to push into Sherlock right now and... But no, he couldn't do that to Sherlock. He would hate himself forever, if he ever hurt Sherlock, while they were in bed together and so much trust was placed in John's hands.
The muscles around his fingers clenched, when John inserted a third one and he stilled his movements at once. "Alright, Sherlock?"
"Yes, just," John felt Sherlock drawing in a deep breath and then slowly letting it out, relaxing his body in the process. "You may... continue." A small chuckle escaped John at the choice of words - so typical for Sherlock and so unfitting for the situation - and did as he was told.
John pushed his fingers deeper into the tight heat. A moan escaped his lips as he imagined how Sherlock would feel around his cock and he had to take a few steadying breaths to calm down, while his erection throbbed demandingly. Soon, he assured himself and angled his fingers a certain way to press against Sherlock's prostate - sometimes his medical training really paid off.
"Yes, again... John!" He had never been able to deny Sherlock anything and therefore, John pushed his fingers teasingly over Sherlock's prostate again and again, wringing groans and moans from his lover as he pushed back against John's fingers. "John, please... I..." The sentence ended in a disappointed whimper, when John withdrew his fingers and grabbed one condom. "Shh, soon," John pressed a reassuring kiss to Sherlock's lower back as he put the condom over his erection and gave himself a couple of strokes to spread some lube over it.
"Lift up a little," John urged Sherlock on and brought his lover to his knees, before halting. "Do you want it like this?" His erection was almost killing him, but John wanted to make sure first that this really was what Sherlock wanted and that he was comfortable with the position he was in. "If you don't..."
"God, John, just... I want you... inside... now!" Alright, he couldn't have asked for a more verbal confirmation of Sherlock's desires. John took a deep breath and prepared himself for the tight heat awaited him, before he pushed into his lover. It felt... incredible. John bit down on his lower lip to stop himself from pounding into Sherlock right away. He had prepared him carefully, but he didn't want to...
"I'm not... made of glass..."
John snorted at Sherlock's protest, but he fulfilled his implied wishes by pushing faster and deeper into his lover than he had intended at first. They both groaned, when John was seated to the hilt in his lover.
"Alright?" He checked again, when they had both gotten their breath back, and took Sherlock's growled Yes as confirmation.
John rotated his hips, searching for the perfect angle to please his lover and only started to thrust, when Sherlock moaned in ecstasy. He snatched one hand around his lover's waist to grip Sherlock's leaking cock and stroked it in time with his snapping hips. At this point it was impossible to tell, who was the more vocal one of the two, as the room echoed from the cries of both men as they drew closer to the edge.
Sherlock was the first one to fall. His whole body shook as he came and John swore that he would never forget the feeling of Sherlock's cock twitching in his hand nor the sticky feeling of his semen running down John's fingers. It only took half a dozen more strokes afterwards, for John to reach his own climax. Everything seemed to stop as his cock pulsed inside his lover and wave after wave of pure lust washed through him and left him boneless in its wake. Somehow, John still managed to keep upright and pull out of Sherlock, before collapsing next to his lover. He pulled the condom off and knotted it together - to prevent a bigger mess - and threw it to the floor.
"That was... fantastic," he murmured and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's shoulder as he snuggled up against his lover. They would have to get cleaned up soon, if they didn't want to wake up sticky in the morning, but John thought that it could wait for another five minutes. He was much too content - lying next to Sherlock - to get up now.
John frowned down in his - now cold - tea. As far as he could tell, the evening had been perfect. The sex had been amazing and they had both enjoyed themselves. John had made sure that Sherlock hadn't been hurt in any way and his lover had given his explicit consent to everything.
John tipped his fingers nervously against the mug.
After some cuddling, he had gone to the bathroom to clean himself up and he had brought a wet flannel for Sherlock. At this point, his lover had claimed the whole bed for himself - being deeply asleep - and John had gone back to his own room to sleep, after he had wiped the sticky mess from Sherlock's stomach.
In his opinion, he hadn't done anything wrong, but that didn't mean that Sherlock's bad mood was unfound. Maybe, his friend had misunderstood something that John had done or said or... maybe, his bad mood hadn't anything to do with last night at all. Either way, John needed to talk with Sherlock... and to apologize for the insult he had thrown at him earlier. No matter how irritating Sherlock sometimes was, he didn't deserve this kind of abuse - especially not from his lover.
John steeled himself and then got up from his chair - abandoning his lukewarm tea - to set things right with Sherlock. He just hoped - as he stood in front of the bedroom door - that Sherlock would even be willing to talk with him.