Writhing around his white sheets, Sherlock twists and turns gripping his sheets, sweat running down his poised neck as he dreams of John pulling his hair, breathing down his neck and telling him to lay down or push him against the wall, their breathing in sync as he feels John thrust up into him taking control of everything, unlike in the real world when Sherlock is the one controlling how things go in general. In his mind he felt sweet release and his body merged with his mind and he felt pleasure pulsating all through him; from his head down to his toes running through him like a current. Moans erupted from his mouth as he dreamt of John all over him, ravaging him with his body. In his dream all he could do was moan and heavily breathe out the words "Yes" and "Oh god" over and over again. Everything felt so hot for Sherlock and the feeling of arousal was still something odd for him; he never saw much point in caring about arousal and pleasure but ever since he met John that slowly changed and the time he had spent apart from John had been agonizing and hurtful. All he would have imagined was being with John and now that he and John we once again together his dreams had multiplied and he spent far too much time observing what John liked and didn't like to have happen to him just so he would know what he could dream of at night. Sherlock would have spent many more hours writhing around his sheets in sexual frustration if his phone hadn't started going off. One moment he was sweating next to John, panting out of satisfaction and the next minute he is in the dark in his bed listening to his phone going off. Sherlock grunts and opens his eyes to go reach for his phone. As he lifts himself up off the sheets he feels them stick to his sweat; his muscles feel tense and he feels hard. He yawns and rubs his eyes like a small child would do; an attitude Sherlock only had for himself. An innocent and fragile attitude; on of being exposed to the world and a frail person. He wipes the sweat of his brow and ignores his hard-on as he gets up, naked, from the sheets to grab his phone. He doesn't look at the caller ID knowing it had to be Lestrade or someone calling him on a case, even though the hour was ungodly and he was having such a steamy dream he answers, but not before he puts on his child-like attitude.
"What do you want?" He asks, disgruntled and annoyed. He only liked it when people called him when he wanted to. He loved new cases but he was currently working on one big one which involved one of the biggest frauds in banking history; a man who could scam anyone out of millions of pounds with just a few convincing words and ideas. Sherlock found his tactics captivating; he didn't ever meet the man but apparently, according to Lestrade, the man knew him and wanted to get in touch, but only if Sherlock knew how to play his cards and Sherlock always knew how to play his cards, he even knew to cheat on occasion.
"Something big is going on down here, come quickly." It was John. Sherlock got out of his child-like mood and put on his softer voice; how could he feel so annoyed when that voice answered him at such an hour. He had just been dreaming of that voice not 3 minutes before-hand.
"What could be so big that I need to be called down there now? Can't those amateurs survive until the morning? How did you even get called down there before me?" He had a soft voice but still sharp and arrogant, as usual.
"It's uhmmm… It's hard to explain. All I can really say is that there is a nutter down here dressed in something very odd claiming he's from As… As-something. Lestrade wants you down here to see if he is legit. He is either a very unwell person or the guy that popped down to New York a year or two back. Remember? Oh and to answer you other question…"
John's voice was unheard to Sherlock who was thinking about the New York incident that happened almost 2 years ago; an apparent ET arrived, bringing along some sort of massive army from space destroying half of New York. Loki, was his name. Loki from the Norse legends, and the people who tried to take him down, and succeeded were apparently known as Avengers. Sherlock didn't know too much about the incident as he was in hiding at the time and he was working on a private case for a client he had at the time; a very complex kidnapping that he solved after about a week of investigating but he was more focused on that than what was going on in New York. He remembers he is on the phone with John.
"Sherlock? Sherlock…? You still there?"
"Yes, yes. Just thinking. Listen I'll be down to there in a bit. Until then tell Lestrade not to let anyone in to talk with him. I want to speak with him in a calm state."
"I don't know if leaving him alone will he-"
"Just do it, John. Please, for me." He had a twinge of hope that that last bit will make John do it. He was right.
"…Fine. Just get here quickly, yeah? The entire place is going ballistic. They think he will blow them up or something."
"Yeah, yeah. Idiotic people with think so."
He hangs up and gets up to dress, becoming re-aware of his hard-on. Still not gone then, he thought. He frantically thought of everything he has ever read or heard on what to do on the matter. Nothing useful comes to mind until he remembers walking in on John once… John had been pleasuring himself, which he later found out was known as masturbating. It's supposed to help arousal when no one else is around to help you get rid of it. He had the image of John lying down, completely naked with his left hand gripping his sheets and his right hand with his cock in it and slowly running his hand up and down it. He assumed the same position and began as he had seen John do it, not getting rid of that image, which seemed to get him even harder. He was surprised how fast he finished, moaning ever so loudly and coming all over his sheets, panting as he collapsed onto the sheets. He looked at the time; it had only taken him 6 minutes and wondered if that was a good or bad thing. Still panting he gets up and puts on his purple shirt and his black pants as he heads out his room to go.