PART I - BIRTH
Chapter 1
A/N: Hello, Sherlock fans this is my first fic so plz be nice! 3 3 3 #TriggerWarning for Syria
Tags: Future MPREG, Over-protective!John, Virgin!Sherlock, Stalker!Sherlock, Syria, John Watson/Sherlock Holmes
Sherlock awoke to the bright sunlight of his tent, the gentle breathing of the Syrian children undisturbed by his troubled thoughts. There was a leather-bound journal near the tattered garbage bag he was using as a blanket…the same journal he'd had since he left home at age 18…given up his trust fund, thrown away a seat reading Astroscience at Oxford, and embarked on a 15 year journey of Voluntourism. The journal was bound by a gold clasp. He had harvested this gold alongside the child slaves as a prisoner of the Revolutionary United Front in Sierra Leone.
Of course, he thought, that was before he had been given the skin of the last Asian Tree-Squirrel…The skin that now inundated the journal in a leather cover that years later still hadn't lost its furry consciousness. Finally, he had escaped Sierra Leone & Asia…stumbled into Ethiopia where he met a beautiful Shaman Priestess who had carved a delicate pentacle into the cover.
15 years, he thought, and what had he managed to accomplish? Providing an impoverished African village with the gift of calculus. Finding spiritual enlightenment in an abandoned Tibetan monastery. For all his worldliness and intelligence and his conventionally attractive hot bod…he had never felt the touch.
One thing was for sure, his true love wasn't waiting for him in Calais. In 12 hours he would be back in London, promising the impoverished Syrian children he would write when he found the time. Sherlock's own childhood had been ruined by his wealthy, distant parents. The Shaman Priestess believed his upbringing was in fact directly related to his virginity.
London. It had been a lifetime.
"'Ello poppet, care fo' a jelly doughnut?" 10 minutes after touching down in Heathrow, Sherlock had already been accosted by a brutally ugly barista in the Heathrow Starbucks.
"Hold the dough and jelly, keep the nut," Sherlock proclaimed.
"Oooohhh. Oi verry much loike a man 'oo 'as the balls t'order nuts," exclaimed a man in rumpled striped sweater. Sherlock spun around so he could gaze at the man who was nearly a foot or two shorter than him with golden-brown hair. He saw the man lean heavily on a cane, though he held himself with a degree of dignity that was A-plus for the average London cripple***.
(***A/N: Trigger warning for Anti-PC!Sherlock)
"I'm Sherlock, good sir. What is your name?"
"Dr. John Watson. Sherlock...Sp'osen that's Sherlock Holmes then, innit bruv?"
"What makes you think that?"
"Fink it? 'Oo says oi fink it, oi bloody well know it, yeah? You're related t' Mycroft 'olmes."
"I am, indeed. Mycroft is my brother. Estranged. Caught up in the wealth and promiscuity of high society London," Sherlock sighed, shaking his head mournfully at the thought of Mycroft baking the potato with his university buddies under white linen table cloths at the supper club. Such indulgence. Sherlock had rejected such things, but now he wanted them and he wanted them from the man who stood before him in the striped sweater. So petite, so easily overpowered…Dr. Watson wouldn't have lasted a single day in the mines of Sierra Leone, harvesting blood diamonds to fund the corrupt militia. Sherlock wanted to protect him…cover Dr. Watson with his body like an area rug made out of Asian Tree-Squirrel.
"Mister 'olmes, do you fink oi care 'bout a bloody 'olmes fam'ly riv'ry? Oi've got better fings t'do than t'give the 'olmes bruvahs the time o' day, you git me?"
"Oh I get you. How about I get you a drink, Dr. Watson?"
"Very will then, oi s'pose a Baby Giraffe of Pig's Ears wont kill a man, yeah?"
"No, I would never want any harm to come to you, my dear Watson," Sherlock cooed. They went to Sherlock's new apartment where he pulled a six pack of gluten free apple cider from a medium sized ice bucket near the wooden door. They sat down on the couch together. John arranged some of the white pillows to make himself more comfortable. They picked out a movie. Sherlock moved his ankle when it started to fall asleep. John stretched part way through the movie. They talked a bit about their lives. Sherlock showed John his journal. They ate some snacks. They logged into to Mycroft's Netflix and watched some CSI Miami. Sherlock looked at the time.
"Dr. Watson, it's too late for you to leave!" Sherlock exclaimed. The streets of London are so dangerous now."
"Oi kin git myself 'ome, you posh git. Thank you, verry much, yeah?"
"John…I'm asking you to stay." Sherlock begged as he felt a single tear welling up in the corner of his left eye. "Please."
John could see the hunger in Sherlock's bright blue eyes and he swept the well-read edition of today's New York Times off the coffee table. Sherlock could feel his breath hitch in anticipation…was this it? Was he finally going to lose his virginity?
The past hour of watching movies had been, in a word…extraordinarily special. John had a keen intellect; he had been able to guess the end to every episode of CSI Miami. He always knew who the killer was. But tonight the killer was Dr. John Watson himself. The victim?
Sherlock's heart.
"Oi fink you should take you clothes off wiv me, bruv," John cooed, ripping off his shirt. Finally! God…and under that shirt…muscles and scars from John's time in the Balkins. He had talked about the war only briefly. Sherlock knew what war was like…he had lain in the abandoned trenches of Normandy, praying up to a sky of apathetic stars. Even now, his heart was at war. He was so terrified of falling in love after observing his parent's frigid marriage, more cold than the Christmas Eve he had spent locked in a windowless Winnebago while his parents whipped Mycroft's backside with a 400-year-old Stradivarius Violin. Cold…like his father's eyes when Sherlock dropped out of Eton to help …but no…can't think of that now…not when Watson is waiting…must think…only…of…Watson…
Watson.
"Yes. Of course." Sherlock gasped, coyly unbuttoning his starched collared shirt.
"Fuck me, mate…you're a bloody fit piece o' ass, then ain't you?"
"Dr. Watson…" Sherlock groaned as the petite doctor pushed Sherlock back onto the clinical coffee table. "Wait-I'm…nervous."
"Don't be a bloody tease then, bruv!" Watson groaned. "My dicks 'alfway out, innit, so jist fink pos'ive fings and oi'll…well, bloody hell…oi didn't bring any condoms wit me! Rotten luck, that is, innit?"
"It's OK, Dr. Watson…I'm clean."
"Yeah roight, mate…'ow'm oi sp'osed to b'lieve that rubbish, then?"
"Believe what you will…" Sherlock blushed, desperately wishing he had slept with the gorgeous Shaman Priestess when he had the chance. "But I am very much clean."
"Roight then…let's git on wit it."
A/N: lol end of the chapter plz let me know what you think but also be nice! #Cliffhanger omg like total sex scene cumming up next chapter #dying.
Chapter 2
A/N: So like please go easy b/c this is my first time writing penetration k thanx #sexytimez
Tags: Future MPREG, Over-protective!John, Virgin!Sherlock, Stalker!Sherlock, Water Sports, John Watson/Sherlock Holmes
Clear blue water, high tide came and brought you in
And I could go on and on, on and on, and I will
Without warning, Sherlock gasped as John's fingers threaded through his luscious black hair.
"Wait…Dr. Watson…I have an idea." Sherlock exclaimed.
"Alroight then, whassit now, Mr. 'olmes?" John gasped, as though his right arm wasn't dripping in scented lubricant.
"There's a communal pool on the third floor…no one will be using it. Maybe we should go there?" Sherlock asked shyly.
"Ughhhhhhhhhh….fuckkkk….'olmes you fuckin' men'al, mate?" John yelled, gesturing to his gigantic erect penis. "Why the bleedin' donald duck would I wanna go t'the bloomin' swimmin' pool?"
"It's just this is my first time and I want it to be special, OK?"
"Yeah, oi guess…oi daan't know wot your problem is let's jist get on wit the bloody fing an' be done wit it, roight." John sighed, but pulled on his boxers reluctantly and then gave Sherlock and hand up off the cherry-wood coffee table.
"Thanks, John. Much appreciated." Sherlock pulled on a sheer bathrobe, and they stepped into 221B's private elevator and the ascended up to the third floor.
Finally, they reached the third floor and stepped out onto a balcony that overlooked a pool that overlooked all of London. Sherlock could see where the pool was built onto a large concrete platform that jutted out over Baker Street. Three sides of the eight-foot-deep rooftop pool were made entirely out of glass. Before he had left for the continent, Sherlock had been able to dive down several feet and look across Baker Street. He could watch the oblivious corporate Plebeians three stories below. Beyond Baker street? The glorious London skyline where Sherlock could see the Gherkin standing erect and bulging like an over-stuffed Trojan condom.
"Fuck me, mate but oi'll say ain't dis jist a fan'asic view," John gasped. They stripped down naked, deliciously exposed as lukewarm pool water trailed over their skin like a lover's sweaty caress. They waded out, gripping onto the edge of the glass so they could keep their heads above water in the deeper section of the pool. A few people looked up and gasped at their naked bodies, but Sherlock couldn't notice, too busy looking at John's tan, muscular thighs. "Sherlock, mate, kin you floa' on top of me, you fink?"
"Of course," Sherlock gasped. He let go of the side of the pool and drifted sideways onto John's naked body until he could feel John's erect penis in between his 2 buttcheeks. Without warning, John fucked him hard up against the glass wall of the pool. Sherlock could feel himself cumming at the exact same time John came until, finally, they were floating listlessly in the pool, cocooned in a milky combination of chlorine and semen.
"Isn't it beau'iful, mate?" John sighed, leaning his head against the glass as they watched the sun set over the skyscrapers. A few men in suits were gaping up at them but Sherlock was more concerned with the drops of water that glistened as he watched them trickle over John's masculine shoulders.
"I never get tired of this view." Sherlock said and whispered…John nodded, assuming probably that Sherlock was referring to the sunset when actually Sherlock was referring to John's rock solid buttcheeks.
Skies grew darker, currents swept you out again
And you were just gone and gone, gone and gone
A/N: Lyric credit goes to my absolute fav artist Taylor Swift u guys have to check her out. If anyone is curious, here's the 221B swimming pool I imagine for #sexytimez #johnlock #Gherkin #Starbuckz
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