This story was prompted by something I read: "The gasp in your ear on the first thrust." This turned out a lot fluffier than I predicted. Also, I'm gonna call this an AU, since pretty much everyone is out of character. It was still fun to write! Also, have to add that my theory about Mary is that Sherlock and John have this big elaborate plan and John's apology to her at Christmas was totally fake to lure her into thinking they were comfortable with her past and all that. I honestly don't think John has, or will completely forgive Mary. I also think that whole thing with Moriarty is a ruse to lure Mary into their trap. Somehow it backfires and she is killed, leaving John to raise their child on his own. Sad, I know, but if you have read the cannon stories, you know what happens to Mary.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy! If you have comments or concerns, please don't hesitate to tell me. I take criticism well, if it is delivered well!
A mix of touching, or brushing against each other. Sherlock knew their space was small, but it seemed that John would push past him in the hallway on purpose when it was clear, he could have waited until Sherlock was all the way in his room.
But, that was John testing his own limits and Sherlock's boundaries. Because he felt it as well, John did. Felt the electricity whenever they were in a room together, their hands 'accidentally' bumping as they reached for the salt, or some dumb thing.
As it so happened, there were no cases and neither man had plans on Sherlock's birthday. John insisted they head to the pub with Lestrade and Molly and celebrate. After all, you only turn 32 once in your lifetime. Harry had been 29 for ten years.
Sherlock sat in his chair in his blue dressing gown, pouting at the fire. John paced back and forth trying every thing he could to convince Sherlock to come to the Pub. The doctor let out a breath and pinched the bridge of his nose as he used the back of Sherlock's chair to steady himself. His fingertips brushed the man's shoulder accidentally and whether he imagined it or not, it didn't matter; Sherlock's pressing his shoulder into John's fingertips was enough. John leaned on the back of the chair and rested his chin on his arms that were folded on the top of the chair. He was at Sherlock's ear.
"Maybe a case will rear it's head?"
The combination of John's warm breath and rumbling voice sent Sherlock flying out of the chair, running a hand through his hair and pulling on his pyjama pants. John smirked at him.
"Fine, I'll shower and dress in my finest if that will make you stop..." Sherlock waved his hand in John's direction. "...doing that...whatever it was."
John stood and quirked an eyebrow at the dark-haired man.
"What did I do?" John was going to play this up as long as he could. "Maybe you'll finally get laid, get rid of some of that edginess."
Sherlock narrowed his blue-green eyes at the doctor.
"I'm not edgy, and sex is … messy..." he cleared his throat and wrapped his robe around himself. "I'll be in the shower..."
"Hmm...I'm sure you will," John had to bite his lip not to laugh at the other man. Sherlock stopped mid-stride and looked back at John with an inquisitive look. John shook his head and gestured for him to go.
XXXX
It was John who was waiting for Sherlock an hour later. He had decided not to bother the man; he knew he was pushing his luck already, getting Sherlock to agree. John was tapping at his laptop, working on a new blog entry, when the consulting detective finally walked out of his room. John looked up, then looked up again and cocked his head.
"A-Are you wearing jeans?"
"Yes and they are highly over rated," Sherlock paused in front of the mirror over the fireplace. He hated that his vanity had gotten the better of him that evening. He had come to the conclusion, literally and figuratively, he was going to have to satisfy his body's sexual urges, if he was going to ever think properly again. Whether he satisfied them with John, or a random person at the Pub was of no consequence. He wouldn't lie to himself, though. He preferred John. "However, they are comfortable and I might get used to them eventually."
John snorted. He couldn't help himself. He was secure enough to tell Sherlock that he looked good and wished him luck in his pursuits. What he wasn't ready for was Sherlock's non-egotistical answer.
"Thank you, John," he cleared his throat as he threw on the dark blue suit jacket over a white dress shirt. John moved his head and saw a grey t-shirt peeking out from underneath the shirt. "You look nice as well. I'm sure any suits you have this evening will be lucky."
John opened his mouth to say something, but looked down at himself instead. He was wearing his dark green jeans and a patterned dress shirt. He'd found a brown vest in Sherlock's closet one evening when his curiosity got the better of him, also he thought the bastard dead, so he thought he wouldn't mind if he borrowed an article of clothing. He knew the gesture was petty and beneath him, but he was so angry and inconsolable at that point he didn't care.
"Er...thanks," John stammered as he stood and grabbed the navy blue jacket hanging on the back of his chair. "As Mary is out of town, I don't think I'll be pursuing anyone."
"We'll see about that." Sherlock muttered under his breath and he grabbed his black coat and threw it on in an over dramatic gesture.
The cab ride to the Pub was full of comfortable but electric silence. They could feel some sort of tension in the air. Whether it was sexual neither knew, but when they kept glancing at each other, their eyes would linger a little longer than necessary. They both smirked and turned away.
The Pub itself was almost packed, a fact neither Sherlock nor John could reconcile for a Tuesday. If it had been Thursday, a better explanation could be had; neither one could get the hang of Thursdays. When they reached the booth where Molly and Lestrade were sitting, they all made small talk about why the Pub was so busy. After Mike arrived, they toasted to Sherlock on his birthday.
After an hour and three drinks and two shots each, they were feeling light and easy. Sherlock surprised them by suggesting they go to another bar and they all agreed. After visiting a couple other bars, Molly said her goodbyes. As she was halfway to the door, Sherlock hopped off his bar stool unsteadily; John grabbed his elbow and, Sherlock patted his hand and smiled and thanked him. Everyone's eyebrows lifted as they watched Sherlock saunter to Molly. He held out his elbow and she looked up at him in surprise.
"Please, Molly, just humor me? It is my birthday," he gave her his best puppy-dog eyes and she giggled and shook her head at him. She weaved her arm through his and he gave her a genuine smile, one that made his eyes sparkle and the skin crinkle at the edges. He grabbed her coat at the door and held it for her to put on. Smiling uncontrollably, she let him put her coat on her and she looked wide-eyed at the group she just left. Lestrade lifted his beer in a gesture to her, and she shrugged.
"Molly, will you please do me another favor?" Sherlock asked when they were outside.
"I-I Sherlock, what is wrong with you?" She asked. "Well, besides being pissed, of course."
"Just...it's my birthday, Molly, please?" Sherlock had his hands resting on her shoulders.
"I...sure, what is it Sherlock?" Molly sighed.
"May I kiss you?"
Molly blinked up at him with incredulity. She licked her lips as she turned her head and exposed her cheek.
"No, Molly," his voice was husky, "a real kiss."
Her breath caught. How many times did she daydream about this? Too many to count. But she couldn't risk that.
"Sherlock, I-I can't," she shook her head. "It would...I couldn't let you go with just a kiss, Sherlock. Please, I know you don't understand, but I hope in time you will." She stood on her tip toes and kissed him on the cheek. "But please know I don't love you any less."
She smiled up at him, then turned and walked to the curb to hail a cab. He watched her with bleary eyes.
This was why he rarely drank. This was why he didn't have relationships.
He sighed and ran his hand over his face as he walked back into the bar after Molly stepped into a cab.
His right hand went instinctively to the crook of his arm as he itched the vein there. He flexed his jaw. It would be easy to get high. He now knew where to get some...
"You okay?" The voice, that voice, him standing there.
John was his drug.
Suddenly, Sherlock knew what John meant in his blog about him not being able to quit Sherlock.
The dark-haired man drew in a sharp breath and turned and quirked a brow at John.
"Yes, couple more bars and we call it a night?"
John blinked.
"Ah...sure,"
And that's exactly how it went. A couple more bars and around one in the morning, John found himself, out of habit, following Sherlock up the stairs up to the flat. Before he took the first step up, he had to focus his bleary eyes. He giggled at himself. Sherlock was only halfway up when he heard the giggle and turned and saw John in a comical version of himself trying to climb the stairs. His hand was on the bannister and one foot hovering above the first stair, wavering.
Sherlock snorted at John and the other looked up at him as he descended unsteadily. John let out another giggle, but was cut off when the consulting detective rested his hand on top of his hand, and grabbed his midsection. He pulled awkwardly, causing John to fall forward into him. Sherlock lost his balance and fell hard on his arse end on the stairs with John on top of him.
But instead of being mad, like Sherlock expected the doctor to be, he was laughing heartily now. The dark-haired man started laughing as well, thinking about the silly position they were in.
"How does your arse, feel there Sherlock?" John said as he held his arm up to try to suppress his laughter.
"It hurts." Sherlock said between spurts of laughter. "Would you like to kiss it, make it better?"
At that, they both burst out laughing and Mrs. Hudson promptly emerged from her flat.
"You boys having a good time out here?" She asked as she crossed her arms and smirked at them.
"Oh dear," John commented as he clumsily climbed off of Sherlock. "I am sorry, Mrs. Hudders if we woke you. It was his birthday and we had to go out and celebrate."
He had walked over to the sweet woman and kissed her on the cheek.
"You smell of a brewery John, but I still like you," she patted him on his arm as he smelled his breath in his hand. Sherlock rushed over unsteadily and grabbed her upper arms and kissed her on the cheek as well.
"The game is...ON!"
Both John and Mrs. Hudson started at Sherlock's exclamation. He grabbed John's hand and pulled him up stairs with him.
John shrugged and she smiled at them.
They fell through the door laughing and John flopped ungracefully on his chair.
Sherlock's smile faded a little. He knew this was all temporary. That John would fall into Mary's arms when she came back from...where ever it was she went. Sherlock's drunk brain wasn't thinking clearly. But that really was the point, right?
"No, no, no that isn't right!" Sherlock ducked his head and pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes.
"Wha-," John started as he stood too quickly and tottered dangerously over to the taller man. "What is the matter, Sherlock Holmes?"
Sherlock drew in a deep breath, and if he was going to be truthful, he was drawing in John's scent. Of course there was alcohol, but there was so much more – a woodsy, masculine, spicy, soft – so much more that Sherlock wanted to drown in.
And, oh god, John was touching him.
"I'll get us some drinks,"
John's eyebrows went up as he stood with his hand out where it was resting on Sherlock's arm, which was now in the kitchen getting them more drinks.
"I'm not completely sure we need more drinks," John walked dizzily into the kitchen where Sherlock was making an ungodly amount of noise and moving at speeds that made John nauseous.
"It's okay, I've got a game to go with the drinking," the other said as he turned and was holding a cask and two tumblers in his hand.
"Ah...er...last time we played a game whilst we were drunk, I groped your knee," John turned as Sherlock seemed to prance into the living room. He turned and took his coat off at the same time and it twirled like a cape. John shook his head as Sherlock rushed up to him.
"I know, I want to see more!"
And Sherlock disappeared out of his view.
John blinked, trying to get his mind around what his ex-flatmate just said.
"Wait, you want me to grope you?" John looked round just as Sherlock appeared from his bedroom rolling up his sleeves and his shirt untucked.
"Well, we can do that or Cluedo?" Sherlock smiled as he plopped down into his chair and grabbed his drink.
"I-I'll grab the papers."
Neither John nor Sherlock had touched each other for an hour. If they were going to be honest with each other, they had forgotten about the promise of groping. They were drunk on alcohol and high on each others company.
Until they both scooted forward in their chairs to squint at each others papers.
"Am...I a good...kisser?" Sherlock had been given Madonna, and John snorted despite of himself.
"I dunno, I've never kissed you,"
"Well," Sherlock paused to finish the rest of his bourbon and placed the glass on the floor by his chair. "let's fix that shall we?"
Before John could react, Sherlock had his hands on either side of Johns face and his lips planted on the others.
John froze. He wasn't sure how or why he got in this situation, or why he was suddenly turned on. He leaned into Sherlock's kiss and reveled in their closeness for a moment, then pulled away.
"Fuck it," he said under his breath and swilled the last of his drink and dropped the glass on the floor.
Sherlock, in the meantime was having trouble comprehending why John backed away from his kiss.
"Well, that wasn't as exciting as I thought it was going to be," he was so confused that his brain wasn't catching up to what he was seeing, and that was John taking off his vest and unbuttoning his shirt. After he got halfway down, he grabbed the others shirt and started unbuttoning his shirt. He hummed his approval.
"I bet you are a better kisser than that," he said with a lazy smile on his face.
John smirked.
"Of course I am," he said as he captured the others full lips in an awkward, yet delightfully passionate kiss. Their hands went up to each others faces and touched and felt every inch. John ran his hand through Sherlock's soft curls and Sherlock ripped off John's shirt.
"Hey, that's my favorite shirt -" he started, but then realized Sherlock had his arms bound with the shirt. His hazy mind couldn't figure out how he was bound, but he found he liked it.
Sherlock gripped his face a little harder than he meant and turned him to face him.
"Well, now it's going to be a favorite memory," Sherlock smiled again, and this time it was purely predatory. John drew in a sharp breath, which turned Sherlock on even more. He kissed John again, even deeper and more passionate than before. They stayed like that, all the while, undressing and touching each others bodies – after Sherlock let John out of the bond of his own shirt - finding out how the other responded.
When they finally pulled away for air, Sherlock stood and held out his hand for John who smirked and took it and allowed himself to be pulled up out of the chair. The detective guided him to his bedroom, but not before turning John and slamming him up against his door.
In the back of his mind, John knew that was going to hurt in the morning. But that wasn't what he was focused on, he was focused on Sherlock kissing him like he was going to disappear, pawing at him like this was their last night on earth. Sherlock thrust his knee in between John's legs and he cried out in ecstasy.
John was shirtless and he wasn't sure when that happened, but he didn't care. The things Sherlock was doing to his chest were magical. As he made his way to John's waist, Sherlock was on his knees, undoing his belt the whole time. John wasn't sure if he was going to hold out, but he also didn't want the other to stop. He helped the other with his trousers as it seemed so agonizingly slow. Sherlock nuzzled Johns cock through his pants and John grunted.
"Sher-...mmm," he tried to get his breathing under control. "I'm not sure how long I'm going to last. You put your hand down my pants, it might be lights out for me."
"Okay," Sherlock breathed as he stood. "Do you want me to tie you down and fuck you?"
He said this as he kissed around John's neck and ears. John tried to keep his bearings as he unbuckled Sherlock's belt and took it off from his waist, then snapped it between them.
"I'm willing to try!" John grinned deviously and Sherlock laughed at him. John laughed in spite of himself.
"Well," Sherlock said as he grabbed the belt and John's hands and thrust them above his head, all while grinning. "Let's tie one on and fuck!"
They both laughed then kissed each other. Sherlock wound his arm around John's waist and brought his other hand down to open the door to his bedroom. A rush of cool air hit them and felt good on their overheated skin as the detective guided his doctor to his bed. They both landed with a loud exhale and laughed some more.
Sherlock stood and quickly relieved himself of his trousers and pants. John looked away as he started to undo his own, but Sherlock stopped him. John looked at the other confused, but Sherlock stilled his hands as he kissed the other man. He gently pushed John onto his back as he straddled his waist, his cock laying halfway on John's naked belly and his pants; John's own erection forcing it's way out of his pants. John never broke eye contact and never reached for Sherlock.
The dark-haired man stood and grabbed John's feet and turned him so he was laying lengthwise along the bed. He pulled the doctor to the edge of the bed and ran his cock along the length of his arm. The doctor squirmed, and wouldn't look at Sherlock's cock. He wanted to; he wasn't sure he was ready to see his best friends cock, as much as he was curious about it.
"John,"
His name floated around the room, like a bird needing to land from a long flight.
"John, if you aren't ready, I understand, but -"
John drew in a deep breath. He was dizzy from the alcohol, and he wasn't sure this whole decision wasn't purely alcohol fueled.
Who was he kidding? He lost track of the number of times he lost sperm thinking of Sherlock's lips around his cock, or fucking Sherlock from behind. In all his fantasies, he was in charge however, not the other way around.
But that was a lie too. He came the hardest when he gave himself to Sherlock in his fantasies.
Turning his head slowly, John was face to face, so to speak, with Sherlock's cock. He opened his mouth and licked at the head. It was bitter with pre-cum, but it tasted like the rest of Sherlock: warm, wild, and brilliant. Taking the head into his mouth, he cringed at his lack of experience. But he heard Sherlock moan, so that had to count for something. Looking up at Sherlock was a surreal experience. The man was pale and all planes and except for the small trail of dark hair leading to his nether region, he was smooth. He made eye-contact with the man, and thought he was going to explode. He took more of the other in, as he watched different expressions cross the others face.
"J-John, god, John, mmm..." Sherlock was shaking, trying not to shoot his cum down John's throat. Even for his lack of experience, his doctor was doing a hell of a job. He finally had to hold John's head.
"I have no experience-"
"It's okay," he squeezed his eyes shut to will himself to calm down. "Are you sure you still want me to fuck you?"
"The only thing I'm certain about right now is that I want you. On top of me, inside me, around me."
Sherlock groaned and finally moved to bend and kiss John. He finished undressing John, then climbed on top of him, resting his head next to John's cock. It was larger than he was expecting. And beautiful, like John. He wrapped his hand around it and reveled in the noises and squirming that the man made. Sitting up and straddling him, Sherlock gripped both cocks in his hand, and John threw his head back. Sherlock almost lost it there. He kept stroking John as he stilled his hand on his own cock.
"Either fuck me or let me cum, I can't handle any more, please?"
Sherlock's cock twitched in his hand.
John was begging.
Sherlock lost control; he had finally found his fix.
He leaned over and kissed John, hard, and passionately. John wrapped his arms around the other and he thrust his cock into Sherlock's hand.
"No, let me fuck you," John whispered into Sherlock's ear.
John needed to be inside Sherlock. He needed to cum, but he needed to be inside Sherlock, to feel him, see him, hear him.
John finally found his own fix.
Sherlock suddenly found himself on his back, his legs up on John's shoulders.
"Do you have any...lube?" John knew there was no sexy way of asking, so he usually came straight out and asked.
Sherlock scrambled to his bedside table and pulled out a small bottle.
John really didn't expect him to have any.
"I have to experiment somehow,"
John nodded slowly, the alcohol causing his peripherals to blur. He squeezed some lube onto his hands and bent to kiss Sherlock as he reached between them. He felt Sherlock guiding his hand and rubbed the lube all over. Then, Sherlock guided one finger inside. He drew in a deep breath. John massaged and worked with one finger when Sherlock guided him to use another finger. Sherlock moaned loudly and John stopped.
"Please don't stop,"
John massaged and scissored and kissed and reveled in Sherlock's moans and quivers.
"John, I...need... you...John I want you,"
"Oh god, yes," John kissed the other quickly, then sat up a little too fast, letting the dizziness pass before taking more lube onto his cock and into Sherlock. Exhaling loudly, John held the head of his cock at Sherlock's entrance as he bent again to kiss Sherlock.
"Please, John, I'm so ready I'm about to fuck myself,"
John bit his lip to keep from laughing, and buried his face into Sherlock's neck as Sherlock did the same. John pushed himself in, and Sherlock gasped, loudly, into John's ear. The doctor pushed himself in more. The man was as warm and tight as he imagined. He pulled back a little and more moans and gasps from Sherlock.
"Ok, now fuck me,"
John was relieved to hear those words and he thrust himself hard into Sherlock. He could probably get off on just hearing Sherlock, and he went faster, bracing himself on the wall above Sherlock's head. The bed squeaked and moaned under their ministrations, but neither paid attention.
Sherlock cried out as he came on himself and John, who came so hard he was seeing stars. He was certain he was growling and using words that would make a sailor blush. He really didn't care at that point, he just had one of the best orgasms ever, maybe possibly the best fuck in his life. He thrust one last time and shivered.
"Sh-Sherlock...Jesus, Sherlock..." John stammered as he caught his breath.
"N-No, just Sherlock," the dark-haired man responded. "Unless you just had a religious experience, then I understand-"
"Shut up," John shook his head and kissed Sherlock and they both smiled into the kiss. "Happy birthday you brilliant man."