"His ignorance was as remarkable as his knowledge."
Sherlock Holmes, a Study in Scarlett
I don't own Sherlock :( and relevance to anything else is entirely coincidental!
Ok warning you now. SMUT! PURE UNADULTERATED SMUT! DO NOT READ ON IF YOU HAVE A PROBLEM WITH THIS!
Sherlock lay upon the couch glaring at the roof of 221B Baker Street, slack jawed and lazy eyed.
"Bored." he moans loudly. Sherlock's eyes drift closed as he rolls onto his side and summons the details of his last case to the front of his mind. He examines each one, slowly checking for any error, searching for anything he may have overlooked. "Not that there would be any errors," he thinks to himself. Eventually he has checked everything, so he sits up, his arms folded around his body. His dark blue nightgown clings to the couch, static electricity building from the rubbing of the two fabrics.
"BORED!" the word is being yelled over and over inside his head. He pulls his body onto his feet he wanders up the wooden stairs which lead to John's room.
"John… John?" he calls, his voice echoing up the stairs. The cool wood brushes up against his bare feet. He can feel every indentation, every worn patch of wood from where people have stepped. Wooden splinters protruding from the planks stab slightly into the soft arches of his feet. He runs his hands along the faded wallpaper covering the musty walls. Mrs Hudson hadn't had the time nor the money to cover these stairs before Sherlock had moved in.
"John?" he calls. Entering the room, his eyes are caught by the bed. Or rather, who is lying on its covers. Upon his silken sheets lies John, whose nightgown is barely covering enough to be called decent. He props his head up with one hand and gestures to Sherlock with the other, his chest on display. Sherlock takes in the covering of curly, light coloured hair and the contours and sharp angles of his muscles, and notices, with much surprise, that John is a very attractive man.
"Come to bed Sherlock." he calls. His usually strong voice is hoarse with anticipation.
Sherlock is confused for a moment, before using his powers of deduction to figure out that John is using his powers of seduction. John wants to sleep with him. John wants to sleep with him. His rational mind is appalled by this: John, his John, who has had multiple girlfriends and is usually very adamant about his sexual orientation, wanting to sleep with him! But deep inside a small, sickening creature cries out with glee: maybe he wasn't so married to his work after all.
Sherlock cautiously walks towards the bed, his crisp blue eyes drinking in the image of his blogger, his John, laying upon the bed in nothing more than a nightgown. He crawls towards Him, limbs lithe and fluid and gingerly places a hand upon john's outstretched leg. He feels john's muscles ripple and tense under his touch. He shivers.
Suddenly, John grabs Sherlock's outstretched arm, and pulls the consulting detective in to the curves of his body. He quickly starts to undo his carefully knotted gown. Shaky fingers pull at the bow, loosening it slowly, the silky blue fabric clinging to sweaty fingers and palms. The bow gives and John peels back the nightgown exposing Sherlock to the room.
The first thing John realizes is that Sherlock is stark naked under his robe. The second is that, much as the detective would deny it, he has a raging hard on, and is definitely aroused. John notes that his intellect isn't the only massive thing that Sherlock has.
"So beautiful..." John moans. Sherlock's pale body stretches out before him. His legs seem miles long and are just begging to be opened up to him, so that the good doctor may do as he pleases. Smiling deviously, John reaches out to squeezes Sherlock's member gently in the palm of his hand. Sherlock writhes and moans, making quiet, breathy screaming sounds under his breath. Johns cock throbs incessantly in response to the vision he sees before him.
All Sherlock can do is concentrate on his breathing as John's warm breath puffs along the length of his dick. Eager hands run up and down his thighs, digging softly into his skin. Sherlock moans again, the air hitching in his throat. John was going to have to do something soon or Sherlock was going to come. John runs his hand along Sherlock's body. He's slick with sweat from John's teasing.
The army doctor reaches his arm under the bed, brushing past used tissues and towels. His hand grasps the sticky bottle and the condoms. Crinkling plastic presses into his hand, and john turns back to look at Sherlock with wide eyes. Sherlock knows that he is in trouble the moment that John looks at him. Pupils dilated, laboured breathing and an expression of utter lust fills his features. This isn't the first time Sherlock has seen that expression: he's seen it on the faces of hundreds of women, teenage girls and curious men, but never did he think he would see it upon john's face.
At first he thought this would have been just sex, pure, animalistic sex, but he realized in that moment that it was much more than that. John was Sherlock's soul mate, his equal and opposite in more ways than one. This would be the start of something new and interesting: an experiment.
"Ready?" John says to Sherlock, his voice barely louder than a whisper. Sherlock looks up into John's eyes to see the excitement and anticipation filling them.
Sherlock nods.
"Imagine, the great Sherlock Holmes with nothing to say." John flashes the detective a playful smirk and reaches out a tentative hand. All the earlier passion and ferocity has been replaced with tenderness, washed away by the realisation of what they are about to do. Caressing soft fingers along the pink tip of Sherlock's penis, John reaches one hand down to fondle his pulsing balls. Sherlock moans once again and reaches out to touch John's throbbing member. John's breath huffs out in pleasure as Sherlock's cool fingers touch his disco-stick for the first time.
John lets Sherlock take over for a while: Mrs Hudson is out of town so they have as long as they need. Sherlock could get another call from Lestrade at any moment, but he wouldn't answer it if that were to happen.
John watches Sherlock with lust filled eyes as his long, slender fingers trail the scar on his lower abdomen, left there from his brush with a serious case of appendicitis when he was 10. John had nearly died, and the memories were still vivid and traumatic. He remembers the horrible green of the hospital curtains after his surgery. Too long a time had passed for him to remember it properly. His appendix had ruptured while he was at school, causing the infectious pus to get into his bloodstream. He had peritonitis: a disease where the inside tissue of the body becomes infected. John had nearly contracted septicaemia, and the he knew that the reason he was still alive today was because of the doctors. They were always telling him not to worry and comforting him while they worked on him with steady hands. They were the reason he wanted to become a doctor. He wanted to be privileged enough to join their life giving ranks.
John looks back down to Sherlock as he sucks and kisses his way down John's body, eliciting moans of pleasure from the doctor. He trails his hand downwards again, to find John hard and insistent at his touch. Sherlock smiles a dirty grin and shuffles down until his face just level with the good doctor's groin. John watches as Sherlock lets out a cat like tongue and licks his way down from his head to his base. It takes all of Johns control not to come right then. He lets out a long, need-filled moan as Sherlock ever so slowly pulls him into his mouth, sucking gently, understanding that's all Watson can take at that moment.
His head bobs strangely in rhythm with his movements along John's cock, causing John to spasm under him. They begin a strange dance: Sherlock moves his head forward, John thrusting forward slightly to meet him, John dances underneath him and lets out a short moan, then Sherlock moves back, brushing his tongue across his head of the disco-stick, then the whole thing starts again.
Caught in the rhythm, John loses track of time. He feels empty, yet completely full. The seeping hot energy of orgasm slipping down his spinal cord and John is slowly lost in the sensation.
Awakening suddenly, John pulls himself from Sherlock's mouth, knowing that the consulting detective is ready. He reaches around the bed and pushes Sherlock over so that his ass is closer to John's hands. Taking a handful of lube, he begins to warm it in his palms.
Slowly, John takes a single finger and pushes it though the centre of Sherlock's ring of muscles. They moan together; Sherlock feeling the new sensations of John's finger so deep inside him while John thinking of the feeling of Sherlock around him, imagining that warm moist tube wrapped firmly around his engorged penis.
John begins to massage Sherlock's anal muscles, allowing them to relax before he thrusts into them. Sherlock lies panting, with his head resting on the pillows, his eyes closed, just happy to experience the feelings.
"Ready?" Sherlock nods hesitantly, nervous about experiencing this for the first time but trusting the good doctor completely. Adding more lube, John thrusts two more fingers into him slowly. Sherlock gives out a loud, drawn out moan. John thrusts a few times just testing then removes his fingers slowly, enjoying hearing Sherlock cry out from pleasure. Satisfied, john pulls back, hastily puts on a condom and begins to lather himself up with the lube.
John enters Sherlock hesitantly at first, testing the feeling. His eyes roll back into his head slightly and he sheathes his length inside him. Sherlock screams. Starting up a jerky rhythm he begins to push quickly in and out of Sherlock. Sherlock drools onto the crisp white sheets. John leans around and squeezes Sherlock's cock in the palm of his hand. The detective arches his back, pushing up into john's chest. Sherlock stretches his face over his shoulder. Kissing John on his shoulder, Sherlock whispers "I want you to fuck me so hard that I can't walk straight tomorrow."
"That was my plan," John whispers back, chuckling.
Suddenly Sherlock is on his front and John is pounding into him. His cock pushes though Sherlock's warmth, hitting his prostate violently. Sherlock shouts johns name over and over again, almost as if it is a prayer against the inevitable. John can feel his orgasm building, bubbling under the surface of his skin. He knows he isn't going to last much longer. He doubles his speed.
"Are you bored now Sherlock?" John shouts as he pounds his cock into Sherlock's ass. All Sherlock knew was that he had never been so amused in his life. Sherlock moans johns name as he comes inside him: Sherlock can feel the warmness dripping in his anal cavity. He comes violently, and he knows that John will need new sheets.
The haze of pleasure clouding his thoughts Sherlock looks over at John. For the first time, he realizes, he isn't looking John over, searching for deductions to he made. He smiles widely and winces slightly as John pulls out of him. They meet eye to eye and an unsaid "thank you" flickers though Sherlock's eyes. John just smiles.
"I'll be taking advantage of this new found distraction, mind you," John mumbles into Sherlock's skin. Sitting up Sherlock presses his lips onto Johns.
"Oh yes, I fear you will, seeing as we have some very important experiments to do. Maybe some involving jam?" Sherlock says in between kisses. He pushes John back into the bed kissing him ferociously.
"Oh, god yes."