DIRTY LITTLE SECRET
Disclaimer: The show and characters belong to BBC, Moffat and Co., I just borrowed them for fun.
Spoilers: 1x01 Study in Pink, otherwise you're safe.
Summary: John finds out a dirty secret of Sherlock. Established relationship, mature content.
AN: Unbetaed, so be warned. Also, this is my very first Johnlock (and slash) fic, so be gentle with me. :) Anything else? Enjoy. :)
-
John Watson took the stairs with a smile in the corner of his mouth. Getting home to Sherlock felt slightly different – and different meant good this time - since they had finally taken the first, tentative steps to change the nature of their relationship a couple of days ago. Friendship turned into dating with occasional sexual encounters. From that day on, every hour had passed with learning something new of how Sherlock&John functioned, what benefit Sherlock&John had that Sherlock and John separately didn't. A new chapter of their story had started, full of novelty, anticipation and passion.
Entering the flat, he found Sherlock sitting at the desk, engrossed in intently watching something on his laptop.
"Hey," John greeted his flatmate, maneuvering into the room, balancing the loaded Tesco bags in his arms.
"Hello", Sherlock muttered absent-mindedly, not breaking his gaze away from the screen.
Unpacking the groceries, John couldn't help but noticing the immaculate kitchen-table. No experiments today, yay, he noted. But the discovery also meant that it was very unlikely that Sherlock ate anything that day. Nothing new, John sighed.
"We're going out tonight, you'd better know that." The detective needed food, even if he didn't share the opinion. The only way of forcing the genius to consume anything edible was taking him to a restaurant.
Sherlock didn't reply, just let out a barely audible humming sound.
"Are you listening?" John prompted him, moving in the doorway of the kitchen. He fixed his gaze on Sherlock. "Have you heard what I said at all?"
Receiving no other reply than mere silence, he walked up to the desk, curious what the detective was so much engulfed in. Peering at the screen above his flatmate's shoulder, John's face flushed in embarrassment. The glimpse of naked male bodies entangled with each other was enough to regret his curiosity. A man watching porn was not a big deal, yet it was Sherlock Holmes, the man considered to be asexual. There had been times when John Watson wondered about the genius' sexual experience. He hadn't been sure that Sherlock's mind palace had a room for theoretical and practical knowledge of sex until their first time together. To the doctor's relief, Sherlock was a healthy young man with needs and desires, however his sexual appetite had been dormant for years.
However, finding the detective watching porn was something new.
"Uhm, Sherl-," being about to bring the fact of watching sex videos in the living room during daytime was not good to Sherlock's attention, John's glance unintentionally flicked at the screen one more time. His eyes immediately grew wide and he almost choked. What he saw was something he hadn't expected the least. The two men in the video were him and Sherlock.
"God, what the hell is this..?" he stammered, startled.
"Spare the obvious questions," Sherlock replied without looking up, composed, as if he was just watching some documentary show.
How can he be so indifferent, the doctor huffed.
"Fuck, Sherlock..."
"Correct observation, John." He noted, tilting his head to have a better viewing angle.
The ex-army doctor's face flushing deep red, he gaped at his flatmate and the laptop screen. Sherlock watching themselves having sex was... He couldn't find the proper term to express his awkwardness. How the hell did the detective acquire that recording? Actually, when did they start to tape their intercourse in first place?
John Watson had never recorded his sexual adventures with anyone before. Not that he would have been bothered about seeing himself during the act. He was pretty sure about being a great lover; all the feedbacks and past experiences referred to that. He wasn't shy about his body either; due to the strict, though military training he was still muscular and fit, so there was nothing he should have been ashamed of. The only region of his otherwise perfectly body was his left shoulder where that bloody bullet had hit him, turning his world up-side-down. The wound healed, but the scar, both on his skin and heart, remained a memorial of a moment that John Watson would rather have liked to forget. The ugly, pink scar was an all time reminder of horror. It was his own, unique tattoo, memento of the darkest side of human nature, the cruelty that human race was capable of. The wound reminded him of what he despised and fought against. He remembered the death of innocents and his own survival. He was alive, which he interpreted as a message that he was to accomplish yet one more mission in this world. Now his uniform and battle-gear was replaced by the mind and leg-work and the single gun he owned, while the battlefield of Afghanistan transformed into the streets of London. On Sherlock's side he fought criminals, not less dangerous enemies than those human monsters in the desert of hell.
Normally, John didn't bother who saw him nude, but the current situation was different. He wasn't familiar with the sight of himself during sex, he couldn't particularly imagine what it would look like with someone having the very same anatomy. Not that it would have repelled him, it was just strange.
Taking a closer look, he confirmed that the recording was real indeed, and, from the surroundings concluded, it must have been taken two days ago when he and Sherlock hadn't got to the detective's bedroom, and consumed each other on the floor of the living room. Knowing the particular fondness of spying on people, the only source of this home video must have been Mycroft Holmes.
"I'm going to kill Mycroft," he hissed, his eyes searching the room for the possible hiding place of the spying cam. "He doesn't know the word privacy, huh?"
Shrugging barely noticeable, Sherlock casually replied. "He does, just interprets in his own way."
"Oh right," John sneered. "You Holmes brothers... One needs a respective vocabulary to you. Seems like both of you have a twisted aspect of privacy issues."
Finally tearing his gaze away from the screen, Sherlock cast an innocent glance at his blogger as if saying 'Me? Why?'.
"No, Sherlock, don't look at me as if you didn't know what I'm talking about. My laptop, my phone, my e-mails...Does it ring a bell? But I'm not complaining anymore, I have given up on that long ago. You've taken over my life, and, strangely, I don't mind it. But this...this is too much. Mycroft's little spy-game has crossed the line."
Pausing the clip, Sherlock sent the media player's window to the tray and launched the internet browser.
"How can you be so bloody calm about it?" John exclaimed. "Does the thought of your brother gawking at you having sex, moreover with another man, not freak you out? Does it not infuriate you?"
"It's not what you think," he noted indifferently. "And just so you know, Mycroft doesn't have issues with being gay. He has his little dirty secrets himself. "
John wrinkled his nose. I so do not want to know about those.
"How many times should I state that I'm not gay?!" He burst out. "It's just you, you sodding daft!"
He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. "What's the next step? Seeing ourselves in the morning paper?"
"I don't care who knows that I'm shagging you," Sherlock said nonchalantly.
"Maybe you don't, but I definitely don't like the idea of my private life being exposed. These are "- he gestured toward the screen with his hand - "utterly intimate moments, which means they are private. Private, should I spell it for you? P-R-I-V-A-T-E! What is under the entry of 'private' in your mental thesaurus? In my interpretation it concerns things that I don't share with anyone, they are for my eyes only. And one's love life is definitely off-limit for public. Note that Sherlock, if you happen to have deleted this fact. "
"Come on, it's only me - one of the willing participants - watching it. So where's the problem?"
"Where's the problem? Where's the fucking problem? I'm telling you where it is: this was recorded without our consent by your dear brother, who handed it to you as it was yesterday's paper, and now you're watching it as if it was anything but an afternoon soap on the telly. Sherlock, it's our fuckin' fucking, for heaven's sake, not fuckin' Coronation Street!"
"Do you know you used the word fucking three times in one sentence? " Sherlock raised a brow nonchalantly.
"I fucking know!" John yelled and yielding the laptop from his flatmate, snapped it shut. "Say bye to the movies. Funfair's closing."
"Joooohn! That's MY laptop!"
"I bloody don't care," the doctor huffed and climbed the stairs to his room. "And just so you know: no more sex until the flat is bug and cam-free."
Hardly did John leave the room, Sherlock yanked out his mobile. 'Dear brother, I'd leave for an urgent business overseas if I were you. Avoid Baker St 221B for a while at least. Or expect a missile called John Watson. - SH'
Sherlock cleaned the room of the unwanted spies in no time. When finished, he dropped down on the sofa and kept replaying the earlier outburst of John in the private home cinema of his mind palace, analyzing his blogger's behaviour. Some things he considered to be evident, John approached differently. Being a genius and sociopath, Sherlock ignored the elusive web of emotions that instinctively and involuntarily clouded the thinking of normal people when it came to reactions to matters of life. He didn't understand why people had to complicate their issues to be solved by adding another problematic layer. Approaching things with emotions produced two problems the same time - the original issue itself plus the emotional side. If they helped to resolve the fundamental question, Sherlock could understand the need of going that way, but emotions always seemed to lead to the contrary, making the solution of the initial issue much more difficult. Had it been anyone else applying this method though, Sherlock'd have mocked them all the time, pointing out their failure. Yet, it wasn't anyone else, but John Watson. He was an exception. Maybe the one and only. Not only due to the fact that they had passed the point of being friends, flatmates and colleagues only - which intrigued Sherlock like nothing else -, but also for John was smarter than the majority of ordinary people.
Sherlock found that the new situation of John and himself being involved with each other was even more exciting than any case. It promised so many new experiences, possibilities, many things he had not explored with anyone before. John being his conductor of light, partner in crime, best friend and colleague made him the perfect person to introduce the inexperienced detective into the world of love and take him onto the road that Sherlock wouldn't have stepped on otherwise. No one else was interesting, smart and loyal enough to entice him there. John Watson turned his life up-side-down, and Sherlock Holmes didn't mind it. With his affection, trust and love John brought the incomparable, unique thrill into the detective's life, something he hadn't known before.
Sherlock took the stairs by two, his long limbs moving fast and catlike. Pausing at the doctor's bedroom-door, he knocked lightly. Getting no response, he entered the room. Once his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw John, still fully clothed, lying on the bed with his back toward the door. Hesitating whether to sit down and touch him, Sherlock's scrutinizing look searched for the tiniest sign to confirm that his blogger was sleeping.
Without moving or turning his head, John suddenly spoke up in an inanimate, flat and cold voice."If you came to retrieve your laptop, it's under the bed. And in case you wonder, I didn't delete the file, let alone opened it."
Sherlock could sense the hurt in the other man's tone. John's reaction kind of angered him, yet unlike many other times, he wasn't angry about John, but himself.
"The flat's clean..." he noted low-key. Perplexed, he tentatively sank down onto the edge of the bed. When John didn't reply, he continued. "Does it upset you this much because it was me who you were with in that recording?" The question was so unexpected that the doctor's rhythmic breathing stopped. "I am a man, not a woman... furthermore, being involved with me is not very flattering..."
"Stop this!" hissing, eyes sharp like a knife, John turned around in a sudden move. "Just stop this! For a genius you are utterly stupid at times! I thought you already knew me better than that. Where are those extraordinary observation skills of the great Sherlock Holmes? What should I do or say to show that I'm not ashamed of being with you? To make you see how much you mean to me, that I love you more than I have ever loved anyone? I've already killed for you, and yes, I'd do the other way around too, I'd die for you, Sherlock fucking Holmes! I'd die for you so you brilliant git could live. Even hundred women don't come up to you. I'm not interested in men, but if I had to choose between a beautiful, smart, lovely woman and you, I'd choose you in a heartbeat. And once in my life I so bloody don't care what others say."
"I'm sorry..." Sherlock whispered.
"Damn you, you sodding git," switching on the bedside lamp, John inhaled loudly, annoyance mixed with frustration and helplessness, yet heavily tainted with the voice of love and forgiveness.
The apprehension was visible in the detective's ice-blue eyes.
Taking Sherlock's hand gently, John took a deep breath. "You know what happened was not good."
"A bit not good?" Sherlock asked with an innocent, puppy-eyed look, though it was rather a statement than a question.
A small smile crept into the corner of John's mouth. This look of the young Holmes was irresistible, one could simply not hold a grudge when facing those begging, baby-blue eyes and cute, pout lips. He was sure that Sherlock was aware of this feature and took advantage of it.
"Oh, Sherlock..." He sighed and pulled the detective into a loving embrace. "There are so many layers of being a feeling and loving human being that you must learn yet."
"I don't want to disappoint you," Sherlock spoke quietly, almost in a whisper. His voice was desperate. "I don't want you to be ashamed of me."
John sighed again, his fingers caressing the detective's silky curls. "Sherlock, crazy as it sounds, but I'm not ashamed of you. Annoyed, furious, yes, but not ashamed."
"I don't deserve you," Sherlock muttered guiltily.
John smiled. Breaking away, his eyes locked the young man's. "Yes, you're an arrogant, annoying, intolerable bastard, yet, I can't help about it, I love you." Cupping Sherlock's face, he pulled him into a soft kiss.
Sherlock's heart fluttered at the confession, and he never felt more loved and at home like in that very moment. Deepening the kiss, he explored John's mouth passionately, his hand rubbing the nape of the doctor's neck.
"Do you know why I was watching that clip?" Sherlock pulled back and looked at his flatmate.
John groaned at the sudden stop, not liking the cool room-temperature replacing the hot, wet mouth of his lover.
"Should I be interested? Right now?" he asked unenthusiastically, furrowing a brow. Yet, knowing Sherlock wasn't going to drop the issue until he got an answer, he decided it was better to play along. "I guess you were curious," he gave in with a
"Exactly." The detective's eyes were brightening up. "And what about?"
"A kink?" John rubbed his temple indifferently.
Sherlock raised a brow. "A what?"
"Whatever, forget it," John sighed resignedly, before rephrasing his thoughts. "You get off on the visual image."
"If I wanted to get off, I'd grab you and serve myself," Sherlock said courtly, reproach tainting his tone. Cutting the guessing game short, he provided the answer. "No, I wanted to see ourselves during the act. The way we move, breath, cry-"
John's cheeks flushed deep red.
"Uhm, Sherlock, I get it... No need to-"
"Shhh, John," the detective whispered huskily, placing a finger on the doctor's swollen lips. "Let me finish. I wanted to see all that in order to store every little movement, gasp, moan in my mind palace for further use." His baritone caressed John's ears, making every cell of his body tingle. "I wanted to see how you respond when I touch you," his fingers lightly squeezed the doctor's neck, so briefly that John almost whimpered by the sudden lack of touch; "kiss you," he breathed a little kiss onto the palm of the ex-soldier; "fill you, so that I know how to elicit that reaction from you again."
"So it was you..?" John muttered as reality was dawning on him.
"Yeah," Sherlock gave him a small smile, pleading guilty. "I asked Mycroft for help."
"But why? You could have just asked me..."
"I wasn't sure whether you'd have approved. If you had refused the idea, I couldn't have managed to have this recording. You'd have been cautious every time we had sex, and that'd have ruined everything."
John sighed. "Alright, you couldn't have known. Had you asked me and let me know it was important to you, I'd have let you film it. I haven't done it before though, but on some conditions applied, I'd have approved. And by conditions I mean privacy, only you and me can see it."
Sherlock looked at him remorsefully.
"You incredible, silly git," John's mouth curled into a small, affectionate smile. He reached for the other man's hands and squeezed them tenderly.
"So you're not angry with me?"
"I should be, you know."
Sherlock gave him a small smile.
"But this doesn't mean you can do anything you wish and I forgive you every time you act like a jerk," the ex-soldier cast him a warning glance.
"You're sure?" Sherlock muttered mischievously, before his lips met John's in a teasing, brief, feathery caress.
"I am," John stated in a hoarse voice, trying to do his best to disregard the detective's flirtatious attitude.
"Want to know what I have learnt from the video?" Uttering huskily, Sherlock lips brushed John's earlobe.
"Was it useful?" John breathed in with anticipation.
"Oh yeah," Sherlock licked the sensitive skin, while placing his hands on the doctor's chest and pushing him down onto the bed. "Reading your subconscious reactions is really enjoyable." His mouth brushed along his lover's neck and collarbone, while his skilled fingers worked on the buttons of the striped shirt.
Moaning at the sensation, John's fingers dived into the mop of Sherlock's dark curls, enjoying the feel of the cool, silky hair on his heated skin.
"I've never cared for human body beyond being the object of crime scenes; it's just transport of the mind," Sherlock muttered against his blogger's chest. "I've considered all the extra attention as waste of time and energy. But since we're...," he looked up at John, looking for the proper word, "involved with each other in this new way, I'm willing to approach the matter from another point of view. Because I want you to be happy. I want to give you everything you used to get from your girlfriends..."
"I don't want you to give me what they did. I want what YOU can give me." He stared into the beautiful blue pools, letting their look communicate.
"I might disappoint you."
"No, you won't. And you know why? Because it's not just sex that I want from you. I want you to be my partner, someone I can talk to, laugh and cry with, someone I can come home to."
Sherlock beamed at his flatmate.
"You are my partner, John. In every way." He brushed his lips against the other man's, kissing him softly. "You are all I need. You complete me, without you I can't function. You tolerate my flaws, accept me as I am, and believe in me like no one else. As long as you're with me I manage everything. But without you I fall apart."
"I think that's what love is about," the doctor smiled warmly.
"Is it?"
John nodded.
Sherlock gazed his lover's eyes for a long moment before speaking. "I love you, John Watson."
The ex-soldier's heart skipped a beat. This was the first time Sherlock said those three little words. With a happy smile on his face, he cupped the detective's cheek with both hands and pulled him into a passionate kiss. Their mouths melted into each other.
Sherlock's scent was lingering in John's nose, and it drove him wild. He wanted Sherlock like never before. His hands slid between their bodies to undo the buttons of the detective's shirt and trousers. It had been a while since John Watson was head over heels in love, but now it happened again, and he just couldn't be patient enough to get what he wanted. Frustrated by the resistance of the bloody buttons of Sherlock's clothes, he decided to go for method B. With a swift move he ripped the stubborn shirt open, the fabric tearing with a screeching sound.
Taken aback by his lover's vehement action, Sherlock pulled back with wide eyes, gasping.
"That was one of my favourite shirts."
"You're right, 'was' is the key-word," John grinned. "What about your trousers?" He winked.
Grimacing, Sherlock sat up and reached for the button in question. "You're dangerous," he noted while unzipping the certain clothing.
"But you love danger," the doctor smirked. Licking his lips, he grabbed the lapels of the shirt and pulled down the young man onto himself again.
Sherlock dropped onto the other body, skin meeting skin.
"So do you," he breathed against the ex-soldier's face.
"Mmm," John smiled, sliding the silky material off of the detective's arms. "We're quite a pair."
"Partners," he smiled back.
"In every way."
In that moment both of them knew that tonight was going to be different to the few ones they had spent together. Those times were kind of the introduction to something special, a taste of what was yet to come.
Finally getting rid of their clothing, John ran his fingers along Sherlock's collarbone, chest, hip and thigh, drinking in the beautiful sight in front of him. "God, Sherlock, I want you so much."
"Not more than I want you," the detective drawled, leaning down, and brushed his thirsty lips against John's. "Let me take the lead this time," he whispered into the soft kiss.
John's eyes searched his. Sherlock having uttered those three little words not so long ago, the doctor expected himself to be the giving end tonight and please the detective as some kind of reward. Now Sherlock suggesting the other way around, his plans went into thin air.
"Are you sure?"
The detective nodded. "I am. I want to make it up to you for the incident with the recording."
"You don't have to..." John started, but with a sudden urge, he changed his mind. "Sod it, who am I fooling? You have to." He looked down at his partner, his eyes lighting up in mischief. "Yeah, you owe me big time."
Sherlock grinned back. "Got it, Captain Watson." His lips crashed against his lover's one more time, in a hot, sloppy, fierce kiss.
While nibbling and sucking on John's lips and skin, Sherlock's hands were roaming all over the ex-soldier's body, rubbing and squeezing the exposed flesh. Some regions earned his multiplied attention, having noticed that those parts were particularly sensitive to his touch. John's breathing took a roller-coaster ride, rising and falling, depending on which area Sherlock's fingers, mouth and tongue were pleasing.
"Are you aware of how often the rhythm of your breathing changes during the act depending on the intensity of pleasure?" Sherlock murmured huskily, licking the hot skin."Do you know how you curl your toes when getting closer to the edge?" His tongue flicked around John's nipple, making the body underneath him shudder in pleasure. "Attentive enough, one can use this knowledge to read their partner's needs, tell how long till the climax and which zones of the body needs more attention to reach the orgasm."
John's heart was beating faster with every word.
"The body is alike to a landscape with its hollows, plains, hills, hidden caves and underground streams. Recently, I've realized that exploring it is one of the greatest adventures." Sherlock nuzzled his nose into the crook of the neck of his lover. "You smell so good," he hummed. The rainforest-scented shampoo was still lingering on John's hair, indicating that he had showered a few hours ago. "You're a real landscape," Sherlock uttered, glancing up at John in awe."Your skin is the creamy, fine soil," his fingers caressed John's cheek, before sliding up into the sandy strands. "Your hair is the golden, autumn forest, the abs, biceps and curvy arse are the tantalizing hills emerging from the ground. The turquoise lines roaming under the velvet of your skin," he softly traced the veins with his index finger, his mouth leaving tiny kisses in its wake, "are the wildest rivers and tranquil streams of the existence."
His hand brushed against John's erect penis, making the doctor moan. Sherlock smirked. "And your dick is the great wonder of nature. The biggest adventure."
"Watsonland is all mine," he added in a predatory growl. "Mine."
The detective's hot breath was caressing John's skin, and the doctor felt like his whole body was on fire. Blood was burning the wall of his veins, every little breath was scorching his nose and lungs, and his mouth felt drier than it had ever done in the desert. And when Sherlock's hot mouth suddenly was on his aching, arching member, the sensation was too much to bear.
"God, Sherlock," he was panting hoarsely, "if you keep it up like this, I'm not going to last long..."
"That's the goal, my dear Watson," Sherlock smirked, and gave another long squeeze to the throbbing cock of his flatmate. "Come for me," he whispered, before capturing John's mouth passionately, sucking the remaining air out of his lungs.
Sherlock having literally taken his breath away, John thought he would lose his senses when the detective released his numb lips.
"I love you," Sherlock whispered into his ear, and that was when John lost it. Shuddering under the young man, he came with a loud gasp. His whole body was shaking and the sensation was so intense that he could see stars in front of his eyes. For some minutes, he was heavily gasping for air, thinking he'd never be able to breath normally again.
The young Holmes was watching his spent lover with pure affection. In the post-orgasm glow John looked much younger, the sweaty forehead and dilated pupils made him even sexier.
Craving his partner's closeness, John was holding onto Sherlock until the last tremble of his orgasm subsided.
"Sh'lock..." his hoarse voice stumbled as he tried to speak.
A content smile appeared in the corner of the detective's mouth. He loved making John Watson speechless. And he was up to continue to do so. His hand sneaking under the pillow, he rolled out a small plastic bottle of lube, and popping off the lid, smeared some of its content onto his fingers. The other hand travelled between the doctor's buttocks, and John hissed as the cool gel met his anus.
"Sherlock..." he finally overcame the breathlessness, and seeing his lover's intentions, he was about to protest and point out that it was his turn to please, but the detective cut in.
"Shh, John, I've told you, I'm in control tonight." His fingers dived into the ex-soldier's body, rubbing the hot walls, occasionally hitting his prostrate.
John Watson groaned loudly, his heartbeat accelerating again. Unable to speak, all he could do to show Sherlock his love was sliding his fingers into the dark hair of the young Holmes and tenderly massaging his scalp. The other hand enveloping Sherlock's shaft, he started stroking the hard member.
Sherlock's breath was caught for a moment by the unexpected move, before he instinctively thrust against the doctor's hand.
Some minutes later they both were panting, getting closer to the edge. Their sweat-covered bodies joining, all they could focus on was pleasing each other as never before.
John had never felt that alive. When Sherlock filled him, shaking wildly, John found release along with him, in perfect sync, shivering in pleasure. His whole body was overloaded with sensations; he couldn't tell where he began and ended.
Sherlock collapsed on him, his hot, irregular breath tickling the doctor's neck.
For a while, all that could be heard in the room was the loud gasps of the two men. When their breaths finally calmed a bit, John snuggled closer to his lover.
"You're fantastic," he beamed at him.
Sherlock never got tired of hearing his blogger complimenting him. "That's your effect, you make me," he smiled.
Some time passed in silence, when John spoke.
"You know this doesn't change my feelings about your little spying game," he raised a brow, taking a look at his flatmate. "I still disapprove what you did earlier."
Pulling the 'here-we-are-again' face, Sherlock turned his attention back to something interesting, namely John's body. Gazing absent-mindedly at his partner's torso, his eyes followed the blue lines of veins running into every direction under the skin of the muscular chest.
"Actually, I've already got used to you behaving oddly and having different views than normal people do, so it's not really you I'm angry with. No, before you misinterpret what I'm saying, I'm annoyed by your indifference to the issue indeed. I don't even dare to think of what could have happened if it had not been me who entered, but Mrs. Hudson or Lestrade or even worse the inspector suddenly felt like raiding our flat accompanied by Donovan and Anderson...God, I'd have died in embarrassment.."
"Well, Sgt. Donovan and Officer Anderson could have learnt something for further use.."
"Sherlock! That's not funny."
"I wasn't joking," Sherlock remarked flippantly, pulling an innocent look.
John sighed. "Argh, I don't know which freaks me out more - the mere thought of the possible scenario, or knowing the fact that you mean what you're saying." He narrowed his eyes. "Does the thought of anyone walking in on us while doing it not alarm you the slightest?"
Sherlock pouted. "No, not exactly," he replied nonchalantly. "They all know what an intercourse is, don't they? All have done it; some of them," a tiny, knowing smirk appeared in the corner of his mouth, "still do it regularly, even if having a helping hand. Actually, some have more than one volunteer, occasionally the very same time."
John groaned. "I don't want to know about it..."
"You're right, they are boring," the detective shrugged. "Not very inventive, not even Lestrade..."
"Sherlock! " John cried out in horror. Lestrade's sex life was the last he was interested in. Well, after Anderson.
Sherlock continued as if he hadn't heard the outburst. "However, he borrows handcuffs for personal use at times.. ," he wondered aloud. "We could try them next time too..." He glanced mischievously at his partner.
No matter how annoying the detective's nosey attitude was, John's pulse quickened at the thought of him and Sherlock making good use of a pair of handcuffs.
"Of course, we have to record that," Sherlock added innocently.
"You dirty little git," John chuckled, pulling the detective into a loving kiss.
End