John Watson lay on the bed trying to get his breath back. And at the same time trying to work out exactly what had just happened to him. Because if he had not been completely mistaken, and assuming he was actually awake, Sherlock Holmes had just come into his room at three O'clock in the morning and had a wank on his belly. And things like that just did not happen. Not ever.
The door had opened and naked Sherlock had walked in to his room. Then proceeded to pull the duvet off of John and straddle him. And then with a series of agonisingly determined strokes he had tossed himself off. Whilst John lay there. Unable to make a sound but the occasional squeak of discomfort as Sherlock sat back too far and knocked up against John's own neglected erection.
Not one sound, just Sherlock's steely eyes locked on John's and a look of absoulte determination on his face. John had the strangest suspicion that Sherlock was Sleepwalking, or in this case Sleepwanking?
Finally with a sudden sharp cry he had ejaculated all over John Watson's belly. All over it. He smiled and his last act before he got up and left the room was to lick a stripe from the Waistband of John's boxer shorts up to his chin and then kiss John once, firmly on the lips.
"Gorgeous" And then he left the room. Leaving a confused and slightly sticky John Watson to wonder exactly what else "helping with investigations" was going to include.
