To sit and to drink- or to go to the hotel room and face an annoying flatmate? John wasn't fond of either option, but since his relation to Holmes had scared Dr. Mortimer away, he was out of other plans. Drinking alone was never a good idea for him, for fear of ending up like Harry; so, in a moment of fine poor-decision making, John gathered his dignity and hiked the stairs to their shared hotel room. He paused outside the door for a moment, preparing himself for whatever confrontation awaited on the other side.
In their time apart since their tiff by the fireside that evening, John had managed to forget that Sherlock had been drinking when he left him. Opening the door, their room stunk of single malt. The room was dark, and the moonlight gave little away through the window on the far side of the room. "Sherlock?" he questioned. He crossed the room to the bed; seeing Sherlock's form curled under the duvet and facing the window, he took a seat on the edge of the bed, and began taking off his shoes. His eyes adjusted to the dark enough to spot an open, almost empty fifth on the bedside table. John himself was rather buzzed from the wine earlier, so he could do nothing but hope that Sherlock, a man who never drank, could hold his liquor.
Sherlock felt the bed dip with John's weight, and promptly turned down the covers atop him, as if to welcome John to bed, in so revealing that he wasn't wearing so much as pants. John looked back- "Jesus, Sherlock! Put something on!" he cried, turning his head.
"It's nothing you haven't seen before, you're a doctor."
"But that doesn't mean I need to see yours!"
"Need, no, want..." mumbled Sherlock.
"Sorry, what? Not you, too! I'm not gay!" asserted John.
God help him, John wished that would have stopped Sherlock. Instead, Sherlock crawled over to him, apparently interpreting 'I'm not gay' as a point to be experimented upon. John knew he liked women, he loved women, but even at the best of times he was bi-curious. John was also a man whom was attracted to someone for their mind, not their body alone. To John's chagrin, Sherlock was bloody perfect in both of those areas. He was aware he was attracted to his flatmate, but he would never act upon it, as a point of honor- he liked having Sherlock as a friend too much to risk it. Even so, putting a naked Holmes in front of him was too much for him to take without action.
Sherlock was now situated on his knees directly beside of John, stark naked, and staring at him. John lifted his eyes to meet Sherlock, afraid to look anywhere else. If all else failed, John would blame it on the alcohol, but in this moment, he wanted nothing more than for Sherlock to touch him. He would deny it if pressed, but nothing in the world compared to the want he felt for any contact with his mad flatmate. As if John's thoughts had been heard (more likely his physiological responses,) Sherlock raised one hand to grasp John's wrist. Holding his hand? Leading him? No, John realized; Sherlock was taking his pulse. "Sherlock..." John tried, not deterring his flatmate one bit. "John, are you aware that the anatomic reactions you have to me denote attraction? Of course you are. You just pretend they don't as..." with that, Sherlock was cut off by John. Not by anything John said, no, John was silent, but rather by the fact that John had started to remove his clothing.
"John?" Sherlock choked out. "Hmm?"
"You are... you're...removing your..."
"Mmm, pants, yes, I am" with that, he was naked "So we'll match" John breathed.
Sherlock had full intentions of getting John naked from the very beginning, but his willingness took Sherlock by surprise. Good ol' John, still able to keep Sherlock on his toes. Sherlock smiled, inviting the gentle, hesitant, yet fervent kiss John placed upon his lips. Sherlock opened his mouth to John, and though it quickly became apparent to both parties that this hadn't previously been Sherlock's "area," he was furiously trying to learn. John, it would seem, was a brilliant teacher, and Sherlock soon excelled, placing his hands further and further down on John's body. John used one hand to cup Sherlock's face, but the other wandered much like his partner's. Sherlock started to gently moan under John's ministrations, and John's more desperate vocalizations soon following as both men started to rub each other's fast-arising erections. Somehow, Sherlock's hands knew exactly what to do to drive John mad, whimpers and pants flowing from the shorter man.
For his part, John was making Sherlock rock his hips against John, doing anything for more friction- anything to make the pleasure keep happening. Deep, guttural moans hurried forth to join John's in the otherwise silent room. Suddenly, John slid from the bed and positioned himself on his knees, maneuvering Sherlock so that his cock was directly in front of John. Sherlock's breathing was heavy, his eyes with blown pupils conveying the feverish lust the man felt. John placed one hand on Sherlock's thigh, the other massaging his balls, his mouth placing a wet kiss at the base of Sherlock's shaft. "Jooohn" Sherlock breathed, attempting to contain himself. John smiled a wicked smile, then licked from the detective base to tip, before working Sherlock as deep into his mouth as he could. Sherlock was so taken by the sensation, he gasped, panting, his hands balling the sheets in his fists. John pulled off, sampling the tip, before beginning a rhythm of licking and devouring upon the younger man's member; leaving him only the faculties to say John's name, as if it were a prayer, his only hope to never stop feeling as he did at this moment- every inch of him in mind-blowing pleasure. He could do nothing but sing John's praises:
"Oh god, John!
Joooooohhhhhhnnnnn Jjjjjjooooooohhgnnnnggg..."
John could tell Sherlock was close, and he wanted nothing more than to bring the man he so adored over the edge, into the arms of bliss that John doubted Sherlock had ever felt before.
"Oh, JOHN!" Sherlock shouted, his body wracked with waves of gratification. John continued his works until he swallowed all Sherlock had to give him. The raven-haired angel collapsed backwards onto the bed. John stood up, moving beside his satiated lover. Sherlock's eyes fluttered, revealing John- hand working furiously upon his much in need manhood. Sherlock grabbed John's other hand, placing the fingers in his mouth. He worked his way, lapping and sucking John's hand wet. He then took the hand and placed it on John's cock, guiding it, and John, into exhilaration beyond return: his senses overcame him, the satisfaction crippling. "Sher...SHERLOCK" John yelped, before collapsing beside the man whom drained him so. They barely moved enough after that to squirm closer together and to climb under the duvet before they fell fast asleep.
They awoke the next morning in each other's arms to the sun climbing through the window, when then Sherlock seemed to have some sort of epiphany- and of he went again.