John runs into the kitchen, almost tripping over his own foot, quickly turns the tap and drinks the water with his head in the sink. He coughs and sputters the water and then drinks again thirstily, turns the tap off, and breaths heavily.
He almost choked himself with dry crumbs of his morning toast and isn't quite sure if he shouldn't have left it that way. He thinks he is far too old for the bees and butterflies speech and if he was dead he would have definitely avoid that sort of conversation with Sherlock of all people.
"Are you all right?" Sherlock asks eventually, his head tilting curiously to side.
John huffs, wipes away last drops of water with soft woollen sleeve of his brown sweater and straightens up.
"I'm perfectly all right. Am not quite sure about yourself, though," John mutters. He coughs again a little, goes back to the lounge and sits in his armchair.
Sherlock rolls his eyes and jumps onto his feet, pacing across the room, gesticulating wildly.
"I don't understand the mechanics nor the reasons, and even though I find it really amusing that you are not able to give me an answer immediately and without difficulties, while you are the far-famed Three continent Watson, I will wait a little longer for your two imperceptible brain cells to put together and think of an adequate answer." He stops near the window and turns around, looking at John. "Well?"
"Well what?" John asks in disbelief and Sherlock's head falls back in exasperation.
"Honestly, John, are you even awake?" He ruffles his hair and groans. "Really simple question, do I have to write it down in hieroglyphics or maybe in pictures to get a simple answer?"
John laughs shortly and pinches his ear. With a low "ouch" he shakes his head and leans forward, resting his elbows on knees and rubbing palms over his face shortly. Sherlock narrows his eyes, looking slightly uncertain of what that gesture meant. John notices.
"Oh that was just to make sure I really was awake. Now, are you actually certain there is no another meaning to your question? Anything I could have misunderstood? Because, frankly, I'm a bit perplexed of what you have asked about."
Sherlock takes a deep breath and as patiently and slowly as he is able to behave right now (not much, not really), he walks across the room, sits down in front of John and blinks few times.
"I'm sure I mean it just in the way I'm pronouncing it now: what do people do while masturbating?"
John suppresses another laughter, Sherlock could get angry unbelievably quickly and it seems it could happen any moment.
"Well, the mechanics..." John pauses and muses about how on earth he can tell that to Sherlock. He just shrugs in the end and continues. "Er... Sorry. Haven't you done it before? Ever? It's just... I can't quite believe that in your age you wouldn´t... You know. Wank." John smiles and winks. But Sherlock's face just looks blank. John's eyebrows rises. "You can't be serious..." he snorts. Sherlock frowns and John inhales sharply. "O-k..." he slowly releases his breath.
"Maybe I could inform you that I have some data on what to do. But I don't understand what is happening during that... activity. Why bother in the first place."
John closes his eyes briefly and reminds himself that this is Sherlock, not a normal guy in any possible way.
"Well, people bother because it's very... Er, nice. The pleasure, you know?" No, he doesn't know, apparently. John tries to imagine a ten-year-old who'd know nothing about it and has just found out. He broods for a while, thinking about that if he ever had a son, he would try to comfort him and tell him about it more...
No - Way! He shudders.
What the hell do parents do about it? What do they tell? He really can't remember how it went when he had found out, it was so many years ago!
It can't be so ha... Difficult. And Sherlock isn't ten anymore. He could understand, right?
"It's just like sex, but you're alone. Sometimes it's even better than sex. Sometimes. Ugh." He coughs.
"Really?" Sherlock queries with surprise. John frowns.
"Sherlock, do you have any experience? Any... At all...?" He shifts slightly and tries to deduce that from Sherlock's face but he isn't the one good at deducing people.
Sherlock waves his hand dismissively.
"It didn't occur to me that it could be anything useful."
"But it is useful, Sherlock..." John interrupts in disbelief. "You were a teen like any other man, weren't you just..." John quickly seeks for another term instead of horny. "Tense, sometimes?"
"Of course I was," Sherlock replies. "But it passed eventually."
This will be very hard. Pardon the pun.
"You know... There are more pleasant ways to deal with it, if yo... If someone is alone. Apart from waiting for it to pass. That's why people do it. Sometimes they do it even though they're not..." Horny. Sex-starved. Bottled up. "...Tense." John adds lowly. Sherlock opens his mouth in slight awe.
"Really? Do they do it without a proper cause? And how could they proceed?"
John nearly rolls his eyes. Honestly. This dialogue?
Most probably the numero uno among the most ridiculous conversation between Sherlock and him.
"They fantasize, Sherlock. Haven't you ever had an erotic dream?"
Sherlock frowns and looks to the hearth, bemused.
"I don't think so..." He says quietly, hesitantly. John feels a bit sorry for this exceptional human being. He wonders how bewildering must have Sherlock's teenage been. Clearly he didn't have friends, nor had he a sibling close to him enough to chat about girls... Or boys, what could John know. The Holmes' brothers grew up among calm people, who thought about affection or sex like about something redundant and tedious.
"What do you fantasize about?" Sherlock asks abruptly and John startles.
"That's really very personal question, Sherlock." He answers and chuckles a bit. But Sherlock definitely doesn't know a thing about boundaries and keeps staring at him. "Mostly about someone touching me. Or kissing me. Or both. Or having sex in places I've never had sex before." With you, mostly, John added in his mind with a sigh.
"Does it work even when you're not interested in sex at the time?"
If it works when... Oh, hell. This is just so weird.
"Yes. You should try it yourself." John pauses and then giggles. "Sorry. Um. For the giggling I mean." He snorts. "B-but it's just..." He sighs when he looks at Sherlock who watches him blankly. "It's a bit weird to recommend you something like that, when you're... Oh, never mind." He stands up from his chair. "I'm going to Tesco, fancy anything?" He really needs to go out now. Anywhere.
"We're out of honey," Sherlock says and takes his violin, caressing it mindlessly.
"Right," John mutters and leaves.
Sherlock sits there, thrums his violin from time to time, looking a bit lost.
This was interesting, in the end. Intriguing, indeed. He needs more data.
He puts off the instrument and grabs John's laptop, looking for temporary files from internet. John is an average man of his age and concerning his lack of sex recently, he must have look for it elsewhere.
There.
Sherlock's eyebrows rise pretty high.
Oh.
Oh.
This is... not even slightly expected. What Sherlock has expected were tons of pictures or materials on porn, a heterosexual porn, strictly speaking. Not something where two... Two men...
Sherlock blushes crimson, feeling his cheeks get hot rather vividly. He quickly gets rid of evidence of his intrusion to John's privacy and puts the laptop back in its place.
In that moment John comes in, looks at bemused Sherlock and with a shake of his head he carries bags with food in the kitchen.
Sherlock is observing his movements, seeking for... What exactly?
He isn't sure. Maybe a proof of John's bisexuality?
John has never gone on a date with a man. Not since he moved in with Sherlock, anyway. Perhaps he doesn't want anybody to know about it?
Sherlock doesn't notice when John leaves again, but suddenly he is alone in the lounge and the dark outside suggests it is quite late.
He goes to bed.
OoO
He is used to dream a lot, as one's brilliant mind is able to, and his dreams are always truly colourful and intense. It doesn't occur to him they are special in any way, he mostly dismisses them as something his mind is doing to sort out the mess of new memories and data.
So. When he dreams this night, he could dismiss it in the very same way.
Except he couldn't.
Thrashing in his bed, muttering, and moaning, for God's sake! Wherever it comes from? (well, apparently from Sherlock's mouth, to be precise...)
Anyway...
After quite restless night, Sherlock wakes up with a new sort of dream in his memory and an erection.
He has had rather a lot of experiences with the latter, nor the former. But both in the same time? Sherlock lifts his duvet, tangled round his body, and glances down there. (You see, he is perfectly aware of idioms for a penis, but he can´t use them, not even in his own mind. So here we are, talking like a ten-year-old.)
That is interesting. He covers up again, staring up blankly, deducing himself.
Heart rate – elevated, that he can tell. Sweating slightly, even his hands are a bit damp, and his hands are never damp, that is vital for most of his experiments. Breathing quickened... And down there is a clear evidence of arousal.
Sherlock never does arousal.
And yet.
He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.
Maybe he can do something the men on John's laptop were doing. Just for scientific reasons, obviously. For a start, let's say... Visualizing the dream.
Touching... Touching, licking... Kissing... Kissing there...
Sherlock gasps and opens his eyes when he feels twitching of his member.
Interesting!
He doesn't know why exactly (but his body evidently does and it acts of its own volition, finally), but his right hand slides down between his legs and gropes a bit – and Sherlock, not even slightly used to this intensive feeling, comes with a loud groan.
At first he winces a bit when he feels the effect of his... He isn't sure if it could be counted as a wank.
But then he laughs, a bit dizzy because of that satisfied feeling.
He lays there, grinning contentedly, and when he hears a clink from the kitchen, he wipes himself clean, and dresses up.
OoO
John has an awful night.
He has several nightmares, and once he has to get up and run to the bathroom, retching violently in the sink.
He feels like a shit, and every time he closes his eyes, he sees his own unit dead, bodies ripped apart, heads missing. He rubs his face and whimpers quietly. He has some pills in the bathroom cabinet, which would make him sleep dreamlessly, but he doesn't want to take them, not even at night like this one.
He sighs, goes to the kitchen and opens the fridge to fish something to drink, but he swears when he sees a plate with fingers on it and bangs the door shut again.
"Shhhit. I swear I will kill him one day." He drinks from the tap instead and turns the tap off when he hears a noise...
He freezes. It came from Sherlock's bedroom.
"Jo-o..."
It sounds like sobbing?
John quietly comes to the bedroom's door and opens it a bit.
"Sherlock?" he whispers. "Are you ok?" He peeps inside when the detective sobs again.
Sherlock is spread over his bed, lying on his stomach, his duvet on the floor. He is thrashing and whimpering and John sighs ruefully. Apparently he isn't the only one with bad dreams.
He comes closer, lifts the duvet and covers Sherlock up, resting his hand on his shoulder for a while.
"It's ok, it's just a dream, Sherlock," he whispers and then...
Sherlock moans.
John gapes in the darkness.
Nah! He must have heard something different. Or his tired brain just imagined how...
"John," Sherlock moans again, and John flinches as if he has been shot again.
"Mmm," Sherlock adds and grips his duvet tightly, sighing.
John leaves the bedroom, not quite sure how he got in his bed again. He can't fall asleep till the dawn.
So.
Here he is, in the kitchen in the morning, making tea and his mind is whirling with possibilities, why was Sherlock dreaming... Was he even... About them?
And then he hears a laugh from Sherlock's bedroom.
Sherlock laughing when alone? Possible. But this early in the morning? Probable, in case he has just... That he has just...
No way. He said he didn't do that. But maybe he changed his mind?... Well, at least someone is enjoying this morning. He takes out another mug and with an angry clink he places it aside of his own.
"John! Good morning! Have you slept well?" Sherlock almost beams when he comes to the kitchen.
"Not really, no," mutters John.
And then, of all things, Sherlock starts to make a breakfast. John gapes in disbelief.
"But you did sleep well, I can tell," John says acidly. Sherlock pauses and... Are his cheeks a bit more rose? John inclines his head.
"Er. No, I did not, actually." He smirks.
John rolls his eyes and chuckles. He can't help it.
"Yes, I know." He grabs his mug and goes to the lounge. Sherlock stands there, nibbling at his lip, spreading strawberry jam on a toast absentmindedly. Did John see?... Did he hear something?
Sherlock takes their breakfast to the lounge and gives John his toast.
They eat their breakfast silently and shall we say, a bit awkwardly. Then, just out of the blue, Sherlock clears his throat.
"I can see your point, now."
John blinks and sips his tea.
"I see," he replies and they both look aside.
Truly English, aren't they?
"And?" John shifts slightly and what the hell, did he just asked his flatmate what was his first wank like or what?
Sherlock frowns a little.
"And what?"
John licks his lips and looks at Sherlock.
"Ah! Sure. You want to know if I... was successful, right? Well. I could say so, I presume." Sherlock smirks and blushes.
John watches him getting a wonderful shade of crimson and suddenly his mouth is watering. He swallows and observes Sherlock shifting, fidgeting, looking anywhere but at John.
"Well done," John says, swallowing again, not so hungry for a toast any more.
Sherlock flicks his eyes towards John, eyebrows rising slightly. "I beg your pardon?"
"Well, then. I said... Well, then. I think I just..." he points towards the bathroom with his thumb and jumps to his feet, suddenly nervous.
"John!" Sherlock is behind him in an instant and catches his shoulder.
"Yeah?" John tries to stay calm, but it is really difficult with all that tightness in his jeans. Just don't look down, Sherlock, look in my eyes and my eyes only.
"If you want to tell me something... Anything. I will listen. And... I will not judge you, you know that?" says Sherlock and John's mouth shapes a beautiful "O". Sherlock can't help it but stare at the perfect circle.
Where do those strange feelings come from?
Is it because of the yesterday's research on John's laptop? Or the dreams? Or the...
Orgasm, Sherlock makes himself to think that out loud – although in his mind only. Orgasm.
He finds out he wants another one.
John closes his mouth and shakes his head.
"It's nothing. It's just... It's nothing." He smiles and starts to turn once more, but Sherlock takes his hand and John flinches, "Sherlock, what the hell –"
"I saw your internet history yesterday."
John gasps, instantly forgetting about his hard problem.
"You what?" he whispers.
No, he didn't. He couldn't mean the... Could he?
"I was looking for the reasons... er, on what I had asked you before, and I came... across... those pictures. And videos." Sherlock looks on the floor and then on John who is imitating Sherlock's former shade of red.
"You didn't." says John with a frown, backing away.
Sherlock smiles. "But John, it's alright, I'd like to –"
"Shut up! It was private, Sherlock, private, you have no right to... whatever! Even if you came across something like that, you could have pretend you saw nothing."
Sherlock straightens his hand, fingertips touching only the air. John leaves the flat, stomping down the stairs and bangs the front door shut.
It seems to be not good, Sherlock muses.
Any review will be highly appreciated, thanks B-)