People sometimes tell me that I'm surprising.

Sherlock Holmes himself has even said it!

Sometimes I even surprise myself.

This was one of those times.

There was nothing special about that day. Nothing even the least bit special. I came home from a regular day at the clinic. Sherlock and I (well, really, Sherlock) had just finished off a case two days prior and the adrenaline was nearly ebbed completely away. Sherlock had been keeping busy with cases on his website, however, so he wasn't really causing much chaos.

So, anyway, I walked into the flat and put my coat up, as normal. I went and made both of us tea, as normal, and I sat down with the paper in my chair after putting Sherlock's tea on the table. He was lying on his stomach typing away on his laptop. He gave a sort of hum that I took as a "thank you."

Rude of him, sure, but I'll take what I can get.

I took my time reading the paper. I sipped my tea; I finished it before it cooled down too much. After I took our tea cups and cleaned them, I came back into the room to ask a question that had just occurred to me that I was sure Sherlock knew the answer to.

"Why is it so damn humid in here? It isn't even raining today, for once, and it's fairly cold outside."

"The heater's broken," Sherlock muttered at me as he used all of his fingers to type on his laptop. I watched for a while – I really don't get how he can do that so easily. I gave a sigh and shoved my jumper off. The layers were just too much for this.

"Well, you should fix it."

"I should?" Sherlock gave a scoff and I could practically hear his eyebrow rise.

"Yes. You should. It was probably your fault."

Sherlock gave a snort but didn't deny it. The next second, he snapped his laptop closed and put it on the table, giving off a tortured sounding whine as he stretched out and shoved his face into the cushion.

"You sound like you're dying, Sherlock."

He gave a little whimper into the couch.

"Please don't die in the flat. They'll blame me for it and have good reason to," I had sighed, sitting back down on my chair and putting my feet up. He was still for a second before he gave an odd sort of flail and shoved his arms into his t-shirt, shoving it up and off, flinging it to the floor.

"Really?" I scoffed, standing up and picking it up. "You're seriously just going to fling it across the room?"

He gave a grunt. I bet you anything he was laughing or smirking into the cushion. The bastard.

But here's where I surprised myself.

I was planning on either

Hitting him with the shirt and telling him to clean up his messes
or

Putting it in his room so it wasn't just sitting on the floor in a heap.

I didn't do either of those things.

Sherlock was squirming on the couch, stretching and being generally annoying simply because he knew I was still in the room. He gave a huff and stopped moving, the muscles on his bare back tense beyond his own control.

The shirt dropped to the floor and my hands were on his back before I realised what I was doing. He gave a little jolt, but my thumbs were already rubbing hard circles in his tense, completely stressed out back.

I blinked at what I was doing when I finally realised how odd it must be, but didn't stop. My thumbs dug in, and then my palms dug in, and Sherlock wasn't protesting, though I was sure he would be soon. I was sure this was going to cause another of those awkward "I'm not looking for a relationship, John" conversations, even though that really wasn't what I was doing at all.

I supposed he was just tense and my natural doctoring kicked in. I had done this a lot in the army. It helped me think, it helped others relax – it was nice.

I pushed the heels of my hands into the most jumbled parts of his muscles and he gave off a weird sort of gasp. That was the only indication (after a whole minute of this) that he actually liked it.

But then I got to his shoulders and he gave off a god-awful moan. I say god-awful because it just sounded so incredibly sexual and raw, with a low rumble to it, his fingers twitching on the cushion, that I was shocked and paused for a second. He gave off a little growl and his other hand clawed at my leg. I gave a little huff of laughter and continued, pressing my weight down a little harder as I massaged his shoulders right near his neck.

It was awkward, standing over him like I was, but I didn't say anything because he was making those- those- well, those highly arousing noises. The sighs and groans, his fingers curling every time he gave off a shudder.

I didn't realise I was fixated on his neck and shoulders until he squirmed slightly. I moved my hands down his back, pressing and circling, massaging and feeling his smooth, warm skin under my fingertips and the way he was shuddering and squirming with each press.

It's unnerving, the things you find out while giving your flatmate a casual back massage. Like, for instance, what spots on his back and neck would make him groan like he was having sex. Just how hot his skin could get from a back massage. The reason my mouth was watering more than normal. The reason I could hear my heartbeat pounding fiercely in my head. The reason I didn't mind that my hands were very low on Sherlock's back, making him purr and sigh into the couch like some sort of cat.

It really would have just continued like that without going any further if Sherlock hadn't… Well…

"John," he moaned into the couch, reaching up his arm behind him, even though he couldn't see, and grabbing my leg somewhat awkwardly behind the knee. I felt like I needed to reply. I ended up just spitting things out.

"I feel like you somehow hypnotized me into doing this. Like some little scheme of yours," I had kind of gulped out, tittering off a little laugh at the end. I moved up towards his neck again, concentrating a bit around his spine. He gave off a groan and twisted so his arm wasn't at such an awkward angle, tightening his grip. I looked at it for a second before reaching his shoulders again.

And with another shaky inhale and shudder, Sherlock pulled me roughly forward so I flailed and landed quiet inelegantly on top of him. I was still for a second, but then he wiggled with a little huff into the cushion.

"John, move," came his muffled voice.

"Oh, sorry – Geez, I'm sorry-" I began to get up, but his arms flailed backwards, trying to get a hold of me. The angle was apparently impossible, however.

"No, you idiot, I pulled you on top of me," came the voice. I decided to assume I heard him right. I tried to control my breathing.

"Okay." I sat on his lower back carefully, working at his neck again. He gave a sort of shuddering gasp.

"Down more," came his low voice. It was actually really hard to understand him when he spoke in such a low voice while speaking into a couch, believe it or not. I moved my hands down and he gave off a growl and turned his head slightly so I could hear him clearly, his voice low. "I don't mean your hands. Scoot down more, John. Don't be so naive."

And, oh, god, the way his voice rumbled with it – the rawness of his voice, dripping with what I hoped was exactly what I was feeling – it was nearly enough to make my eyes roll back if I wasn't concentrating on self-control just then. I scooted down so I was sitting on his arse, but he turned his head a little more and glanced at me before breathing out "Further."

I stopped moving for a second and just stared at him, my breathing slightly harsh and my hands on his hot, hot, hot skin and so close to his beautiful, curly hair. He smirked and turned away again, but not pushing his face back into the couch. I pushed myself down further and he gave a growl of approval, which made everything much more enthusiastic. At that point, it was as if I had no choice but to know I wasn't imagining things. Or, that's how I was taking things, anyway.

I ran my hands down his back slowly, leaning in on my thumbs on either side of his spine. As I ran my thumbs back up his back, I paused every once in a while to dig my fingers in and circle them. Each little shudder that he gave sent jolts through my fingers to the rest of my body, causing me to flush and concentrate harder.

But what Sherlock liked best – and, in turn, what I liked best – was his shoulder and neck area. Whenever I got back up there, he would groan and sigh and my name would seep out of his mouth. I felt like that alone would be what would ruin me. The way his husked, deep, dripping voice would pour out my name slowly as if he was making sure I would hear that he was saying it and how he was saying it.

His hands were on my legs, but not doing much because of the awkward angle. However, he attempted to claw at me or squeeze my legs – I don't really know which one – whenever he would groan out my name.

I didn't realise I was leaning forward so far, I didn't realise I was shuddering along with him – I didn't realise that I was quite honestly getting off just by hearing his blessed, pornographic groaning and knowing that I was the cause of it. And I didn't expect any of this. Especially not on Sherlock's part.

Because, as my hands found his shoulders again and dug into the spot I had found caused the most beautiful groans and hisses I had ever heard in my life, his hips bucked forward and I stopped breathing, my eyes closing and my whole body freezing up.

I felt him tense after a second, but I wasn't going to have any of that – I pushed my thumbs in again, circling them and whispering with the air I had left what I think could only have been something along the lines of "Jesus, Sherlock," when his hands finally found a comfortable grip on my legs and tightened as his hips bucked again, joined by what must have been an open-mouthed groan, it sounded so disturbingly wonderful, breathy, wet, and loud.

Did I mention that the flat was hot? God, it was humid. I had started to think to myself "When did it get this hot?" My shirt was bugging me and there really was only one solution. I took my hands off of Sherlock's back and must have muttered something about my shirt as I worked at the buttons. I don't know, all I could concentrate on was Sherlock's rough breathing.

I couldn't seem to unbutton my shirt.

But Sherlock twisted under me and unbuttoned it for me, pushing himself up after so he was sitting and shoving it off of me. My shirt dropped to the floor and we stared at each other for a second. His face was flushed and his eyes were so oddly dark, eyelids low and mouth slightly open.

"I'm more than just a floating pair of lips, John," came his reply in such a – god, his voice was just pornographic. There's no way around it.

His voice was lower than usual, it was dripping with everything I felt at that moment (and maybe a bit of amusement to top it off), and it managed to growl in such a way that I felt I was being hunted. I shivered and tore my eyes away from his mouth.

"I can't continue if you're facing me," I heard myself mutter.

"No," he said thoughtfully, licking his lips and smiling to add onto his stunningly sexual expression. "I thought I'd do you, instead."

"W-what?" I sputtered. Like a moron. I'm a moron. Ask anyone. Ask Sherlock.

He gave a bark of laughter suddenly. He leaned forward, still chuckling a little bit.

"I suppose I should have worded that differently," he muttered into my ear. "It's your turn. Lie on the couch.

"You seemed to really enjoy it..."

"Yes, and I want to have you feel, now." Sherlock moved himself out from underneath me and got up. He pushed me face down on the couch and wasted no time sitting on top of me the way I had been sitting on him after his instruction. I gulped slightly, but all my worries were forgotten when his honest to god magic hands landed on my back and went to work.

I guess being the one to always offer the massages, I had never realised how amazing they could feel. The way his fingers almost violently but somehow smoothly and perfectly shoved against my back pushed groans out of me that I didn't know I was capable of.

"God, was this what I was doing?" I managed between groans. Sherlock dug his thumbs into my shoulders as he leaned forward to my ear.

"Yes, but I was hoping you'd go deeper."

He should be arrested. Really, I should call Lestrade and have this man arrested. He's not allowed to do these things to me.

I turned my head, bringing my arm up awkwardly (like I gave a fuck at the time) and grabbing his head. I don't know how he managed to continue working at my back as our lips mashed together fiercely. He even leaned forward so it would be less awkward for me. I was groaning into his mouth and his tongue was completely dominating no matter how I tried.

His hands moved down my spine, pressing and circling, and I couldn't help it when I stopped kissing because of the pleasure of it. Sherlock smirked against my mouth. He pulled away, giving me one quick kiss on the lips. And then his lips were on my neck, his tongue was on my neck, and his hands never seemed to stop moving.

I really was completely helpless.

Especially when he leaned up and flipped me over suddenly. I couldn't hold back the gasp when he did. I mean, I wasn't expecting it, obviously. I looked up at him and his beautifully flushed face again. We seemed to decide at the same time that he needed to be closer to me. I reached up just as he leaned down, and my arms were around him and his hands were on my ribs as our lips crashed together again with hot, wet breath and little whimpers as I grabbed his arse and pulled him against me tightly.

But he pushed himself up again, leaving a trail of kisses from my mouth to my chest as he went. He looked down at me, his breathing so harsh that I was actually a little worried he might hyperventilate.

He tilted his head, his eyebrows furrowing.

"It's quite hot in here, isn't it?"

I nearly snickered and he must have seen it on my face, because he gave a devilish grin. As soon as I felt his hands on my belt, my hands flew to his pajama pants. He smacked my hands away and I grumbled slightly.

"You have more to take off than I do," he breathed out, yanking my belt out of the loops and chucking it across the room. I frowned at it when it knocked a (thankfully plastic and empty) cup off of the table next to my chair. He unbuttoned my pants and zipped them down quickly. My hands went back to his pants, but, again, he smacked them away.

"Oh, come on!" I growled. He gave a huff of laughter, yanking my pants down and hooking his fingers around the elastic of my boxers to pull them down. He stood up when he pulled them down and pushed my pants and boxers only to my knees before finally taking his pajama pants off and climbing back on top of me.

"Wait," I breathed out, "I thought you were topping."

"Clearly I am, as I am on top of you," he replied, reaching into the couch and taking out a bottle of lube. I stared at it as he opened it and poured some in his hand.

"Has that always been there?"

All he did was laugh for a second before reaching back and taking me in his hand. My eyes fluttered shut, but I didn't make a sound. I forced my eyes open and saw Sherlock watching my expression with extreme interest and obvious arousal. Very obvious. Obviously.

He didn't need to, but he pulled me again, ignoring the oddness of his angle.

"Sherlock," I muttered, my hands finding his hips. "Don't, you don't want me to- to-"

He bit his lip slightly, just watching me, before he pulled his hand away and hesitated.

"John, could you… I mean, the way your hands felt on my back – and I thought, maybe…"

"This is the first time I've ever heard you timid," I replied before grabbing his slicked hand and taking the remaining lube off of it. I leaned forward and reached under him as he leaned up on his knees more.

I watched his face, his eyes closed, as my fingers massaged and traced just outside. I slipped in slightly before pulling away quickly and he gave off a hiss. I licked my lips, grinning, and pushed my pointer finger all the way in. He bit his lips together for a second, squirming and opening his eyes. What I saw, so raw and openly aroused, only caused me to pull my pointer out and push in two more fingers with it. He gave out a small surprised yell, grabbing onto my shoulders. I winced slightly and found his prostate quite quickly. He groaned extremely loudly, nuzzling his face against my cheek as I massaged his prostate and stretched him at the same time.

"Come on, then," he muttered against my cheek. "I'm fine."

I pulled my fingers out and started to guide him to me, but he pushed my hands away with a smirk.

"Oh, this is all me, Doctor Watson." He led himself to me, lining himself up and looking at me before pushing down, squeezing around me, and taking me in completely in one swift movement. His eyes closed with a shudder before he began moving.

He pulled up carefully and pushed back down carefully a couple of times, but after that it was rough and harsh. He would pull up and then slam down, and soon he was riding me hard and fast, groaning and being rather loud as he squeezed around me on purpose.

He slammed down again and again, quick but at a steady pace, and it was perfect, but I feared he felt I was able to stand more than I actually can.

"Oh, god, Sherlock – I'm not going to last long if you keep this up-" I gasped out, wrapping my hand around him, pulling and working him apparently just right.

"That's the point," he huffed out. "John," he groaned.

And, god, it's embarrassing, but that's what did me in. The way he groaned out my name brought everything forward and I nearly bit through my lip as Sherlock rode me through it before being done in, himself.

It wasn't until we were both clean and lying next to/on top of each other on the couch with a thick blanket on top of us that I finally asked the question that had been bugging me for at least half of it.

"Had you been…? Sherlock, had you planned this?"

"Not all of it, no. I did take of my shirt with the initial intent being to begin Plan: Seduce The Flatmate, but I hadn't realised you had such a massage kink."

"I don't, it was just… instinct."

"Yes, well," he muttered. I was surprised to find him flustered. He shifted a bit before he continued. "I wasn't aware… of my own, at that. I had expected, however, that I would have had to at least take my pants off as well before you did anything."

"To be fair, I didn't do anything but give you a massage."

"That's because you're too damn noble. A sexual situation is right there, screaming in your face, and you're feigning obliviousness in order to not, quote, "take advantage," end quote. It's really all rather idiotic, though I really should have known. I wish I could say I thought you better than that, but, really, you're not."

"Er, I'm sorry?" I sighed and he tensed up.

"Ah, see. This again. You're taking this much the wrong way. While it's annoying that I had to do so much and even give my verbal consent to the situation, it's all very you. You certainly wouldn't want to upset anyone by pushing something past where they want it. And it's understandable, after the way I speak of such things and my usual view on it, that you would assume that everything that's staring you right in the face is simple some sort of illusion your mind warped up – as it's a very you thing to assume. However, I hope that next time you realise that when your flatmate is groaning like a porn star from a back massage, it might mean a little more than you think it does."

"Wait, so you have a massage kink?"

"You seem to have missed the entire point of my monologue."

"Do you?"

"Clearly I needn't have been worried about your insecurities."

"Yeah, but, Sherlock, do you?"

"Those webpages were clearly way off."

"Sherlock!"

"Yes?"

"…Wait, you looked up advice about this on webpages?"

"Yes, yes. I actually made a few accounts on different ones to ask questions specifically. People on a rather interesting webpage called Tumblr give interesting ideas."

"Did you break the heater?"

"That's neither here nor there."

"But you have a massage kink." He gave off a very frustrated huff and leaned up on his elbow to look at me.

"You're not going to let that drop, are you?"

"Nope," I smiled stubbornly. He grumbled and rested his head on my chest. "Not until you answer me," I added.

"Well, too bad."

He should have known – or maybe he did know – what I would do next. I wrapped my arms around him and he sighed, letting himself relax. After a couple of seconds, I pressed my fingers into his back in circles and I felt his eyelashes as his eyelids fluttered shut with a cut off moan.

"I think I'll take that as a yes," I said smugly as I stopped and his neck turned a bit red.

"Fine, I do. I hope, now that you know this fact, you will find it fit to take advantage of it when I get particularly bored."

"Did you seriously just tell me to seduce you every time you get bored?"

"John, honestly, you can't say you wouldn't benefit as well."

"No, I can't say that," I muttered, kissing the top of his head. He gave a hum and nuzzled me a bit. It was odd how cuddly he suddenly was. It made me wonder if he would be like this from now on, or if it was just a thing having to do with the aftermath of sex.

"You are comfortable and I would much enjoy if we would continue both what we are currently doing and what we did previously until we can no longer stand each other, if it comes to that."

"Okay," I chuckled.

The man certainly is charming, in his own odd way.

AN: I blame the oddness of this fic on the fact that it was in John's POV and I've never attempted POV smut in my life. It caught me a bit off guard, I apologize. I do hope you enjoyed it, nevertheless.