"Maybe," Said John, seductively, "We could solve this mystery," He lent in to Sherlock, his mouth and tongue tickling the detective's ear,
"…Together" John whispered breathily.
"Oh yes," Breathed Sherlock, panting down his sidekicks neck, his hands working their way down to Watson's hardening…"
John's eyes widened in shock, before rolling whilst he shut he laptop with a snap. He was quite disappointed to be frank, that last one - titled Double Exploration (he should have seen that one coming) – showed promise. But no, like many others before, it had succumbed to they realms of so called "slash" fiction, where most of these stories didn't even have a decent plot, just pages and pages of... well, you get my gist.
John Watson supposed he should know better than to trek into the deepest depths of the Internet to seek fan-fiction, but being a writer of Sherlock's endeavours himself, was curious to hear some adaptations of his work. Encouraged by the early stories, when Sherlock and himself were not so much in the public eye, and only really exclusive to readers of his blog, but since Sherlock and himself had become well known (Watson refused to call them celebrities), the fascination had moved from the crime and investigation, to the relationship between the pair. Even if he did come across some properly good reads, most did end up with himself engaging in some form of intimacy with Sherlock Holmes. Even the one that were more, lets say "family friendly" usually included a "longing glance" or two exchanged between the pair.
John sighed and leaned back in his chair. He could see why people could misinterpret the relationship between Sherlock and himself, but it was nothing very unusual. He had moved in to 221B Baker Street after being in a dingy flat, suffering from posttraumatic stress and almost entering depression after his time in action in Afghanistan. He moved because he needed somewhere nicer to stay, and also some excitement after the boredom of normal life compared to being in action. After being drawn into one of Sherlock's cases, his therapist had recommended he document his experiences and feelings on a blog, and it had all spiralled from there. Sherlock wasn't exactly a people person, and had only admitted he was friends with John a few months ago, so he could see why they could look so close compared to Sherlock other (and really non-existent) relationships. Sherlock was a friend. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Some of these stories did make him chuckle, especially the crossover ones. Some of these would include running around time and space with some mysterious man in a blue box, or solving crimes with a small group of teen wizards, headed by some boy with an oddly shaped scar on his forehead. Others got more ridiculous, with them helping super hero super groups, or even singing show tunes with a bunch of misfit American teens.
It did touch him though. That people could dedicate hours of their time writing about the pair of them, their adventures. The fact he had inspired people made it all seem worthwhile, especially on days when Sherlock was being temperamental. With a sigh, he opened up his laptop again. If people could find the time to write these stories, the least he could do was read them.
"A head peered round the doorway. "May I join in?" Whispered Ms Hudson seductively"
"Oh God!" Cried Watson, putting his head in his hands.
I suppose with a title such as "Three for tea", he should have seen that coming.