This is the unexpected second chapter. Inspired by and dedicated to the fantastic starrysummernights. Darling, I wish you could know how much your kind words mean to me.


It had been two weeks. Two weeks of Sherlock pressing against John, of rolling his hips and "accidentally" thrusting his erection against John's thigh. It was driving Sherlock insane. He wasn't terribly experienced at being in a relationship, but he had thought he was sending clear signals. John probably thought what he was doing was unconscious; he was far too chivalrous for his own good.

Sherlock opened his laptop, pulling up a search engine and typed in the words "how to tell a man you want him sexually." He was surprised at the sheer number of results. Although, if all men were like John, it was no wonder women needed advice. He absorbed page after page, concocting a plan that would send John the right message.


John roared his approval as the team scored, clapping Lestrade's shoulder as they watched the rugby match. He looked over at Sherlock, noting his boredom, and wondering why he had even decided to accompany him to the pub. Despite John offering every time he met Greg for a match, this was the first time Sherlock had accepted.

"Another beer?" Greg offered, standing up.

"Sure," John replied, handing over his empty glass.

"Sherlock?"

"No, thank you," Sherlock smiled, but it was insincere. John watched as Greg threaded his way through the crowded room, heading for the bar.

Turning back to Sherlock, he asked "Not that I'm complaining, but why did you come tonight?"

"I was bored," was the flat reply, "though it's not much better here."

"You're free to go home, if you want."

"On second thought, I'll have another drink after all," Sherlock left John at the table, returning shortly with both Greg and a fresh pint. John watched as Sherlock drained his glass, wondering what was going on. Sherlock stood, heading back to the bar.

"What going on with him?" Greg voiced the question John was thinking, concern in his voice, "Did you two fight or something?"

"We didn't fight, and I have no idea what's up." Sherlock took that moment to reappear, having traded his beer for whiskey.

"You're going to regret that later," Greg nodded at his glass.

"I'm fine," Sherlock snapped, settling back into the seat next to John. They turned their attention back to the game, John starting when he felt Sherlock's hand on his thigh. John reached down, entwining their fingers, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. He almost spat out a mouthful of beer when Sherlock's fingers accidentally brushed his cock, and John moved their hands toward his knee. He knew that Sherlock didn't mean to do it, but it was becoming very trying to not take advantage of him. Greg and John sat entranced by the game while Sherlock watched the other patrons of the bar.

"I'm getting another drink," Sherlock said suddenly, standing up and hurrying away. Greg just looked over at John with raised eyebrows, who shrugged in return. When Sherlock returned, he sat next to Greg, which confused John. Had he done something to upset Sherlock?

John's heart froze when he saw Sherlock lean over, whispering something close to Greg's ear, making the older man laugh.

"Come on, it's time to go," John said gruffly, standing up and putting his jacket on.

"But the match isn't done yet," Greg protested.

"Text me with the results," he said, holding Sherlock's coat out for him. They hurried out into the cool night air, Sherlock's hand on the small of John's back.

John had a hard time controlling his voice. "What the hell were you doing in there? Flirting with…" he trailed off as Sherlock leaned down, licking a long line up his neck.

"Mmmm…" he whispered, "I love your neck."

John was speechless for a few moments, complexly flummoxed. "Are you wearing cologne?" he was finally able to say, voice higher than normal.

"Do you like it?" Sherlock murmured against his ear.

"We're getting you home. You're drunk," John led Sherlock down the street, making quickly for their flat.

John barely had enough time to walk through the door before Sherlock pressed him against the wall, capturing John's mouth with his own.

"Wait, Sherlock," John had time to pant as the taller man assaulted his throat, "You're drunk, we should go to bed…."

"I am not drunk, John," Sherlock said, peppering kisses along his jaw.

"Bullshit."

Sherlock propelled himself back, demonstrating his sobriety by walking a straight line. "See? I am not drunk." Sherlock returned to John, pinning him against the wall, placing a light kiss on his lips. He took John's hands, placing them on his own waist as he assaulted John, delving into his mouth. John could taste the bitterness of beer still on Sherlock's tongue as they kissed lazily for a moment. He was brought up short by the tightening of his jeans. John knew they needed to stop; he didn't want to force Sherlock.

"Sherlock," he said, voice tight, "We should just go to bed." Sherlock stopped, looking down at John, confusion apparent.

"Why?"

"I'm tired," John looked away, he knew that if he kept looking at Sherlock he wouldn't be able to keep control of himself.

"Fine," Sherlock said quietly, and pushed himself away from the wall, leaving John to compose himself before following.

They readied for bed, dancing around each other in the routine they had become accustom to in the two weeks John had been sleeping in Sherlock's bed. He climbed in, waiting for the detective to finish brushing his teeth. Looking up, he found Sherlock standing at the side of the bed, obviously uncomfortable. Eyes softening, John smiled, lifting the duvet and shifting over slightly to make room for Sherlock.

"Well, come on then," he invited. Sherlock stayed standing, shifting from foot to foot and not quite looking at him. John was immediately concerned, "What's up?"

"We should stimulate each other to orgasm, John."

John couldn't help it- he barked out a laugh before he regained control of himself. Sherlock's face fell and he sank onto the edge of the bed, back toward John.

"Don't be like that, Sherlock, you just surprised me. Are you sure you're ready?" he sat up, moving behind Sherlock. John nuzzled the side of his neck, pressing kisses through the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

"John, I have been ready. What do you think I've been doing for the better part of a week?"

"Oh, uh, I just thought it was an unconscious reaction…"

"I am the master of my own transport," Sherlock said haughtily.

John arched an eyebrow, "Oh, really?"

"Of course," he replied, sounding less sure of himself.

"Turn around," John ordered. Sherlock obeyed, shifting one leg up onto the bed. John cupped his face, kissing him slowly, drawing Sherlock's tongue into his own mouth and sucking gently. Sherlock whimpered, hands coming up to brace against John's chest.

"Do you trust me?" John asked, locking Sherlock's eyes with his own.

"Yes," Sherlock said, anticipation lowering his voice an octave. John's fingers found the hem of Sherlock shirt, pressing gently against his skin. His fingers felt electrified; he could feel Sherlock quiver with just this simple touch. John flattened his hands against the strong muscles of his back, smiling against Sherlock's lips as he felt the muscles of his lower back flex. He knew he could name them, but right now he could only concentrate on the heady feeling of Sherlock pressed against him.

Sherlock's hands moved from John's chest and moved toward the bottom of his own shirt, hands trembling. He plucked at the hem briefly before John took charge of his hands, moving them back to his waist.

"Let me," he ordered gently, and lifted the shirt over Sherlock's head. He directed Sherlock toward the center of the bed, pressing him back against the pillows. John shifted and straddled Sherlock, breath catching as he felt the promise of Sherlock's erection against his inner thigh. He ran his hands down the planes of Sherlock's chest, just barely skimming his skin. He shivered slightly as John pressed wet, open-mouth kisses along his neck.

John sat back, drinking in the sight before him. Sherlock's lips were parted and slightly swollen, a temptation too much for John. He braced himself on either side of Sherlock's head, dipping to capture his lower lip between his teeth, growling slightly. Sherlock's hands came back up, grasping at John's shirt.

"No," the older man ordered, "Let me do this. Hands on the headboard." Sherlock's eyes widened. "Do you trust me?" John asked again, he wanted to make sure Sherlock was comfortable with what they were about to do. He nodded, hands reaching up to grasp edge of the dark wood. John smirked- he was going to enjoy making the genius lose control.

John recaptured his lips, exploring his mouth thoroughly with his tongue. As they kissed, John's hands skimmed lightly over Sherlock's pectoral muscles. He smiled against Sherlock's lips as he felt the muscles dance under his touch. His hands moved lower slowly, teasing with each sweep down. John finally sat up, pulling his own shirt over his head. He lay back down, pressing their bare chests together.

Sherlock's hands released the headboard, pressing against John's back. John sat up, breaking Sherlock's hold.

"Headboard," he ordered, using his Captain Watson voice. Sherlock immediately obeyed, lips parting as his breath hitched. John filed that fact in the back of his mind; perhaps one day they would try role-playing.

John licked a line up from Sherlock's collarbone, ending with the soft skin below his ear.

"Are you ready to beg yet?" he asked, tongue tracing the shell of Sherlock's ear.

Sherlock swallowed and took a moment before responding. "No," he said stubbornly.

John grinned against his neck, biting down gently, then soothing the mark with his tongue, making Sherlock gasp. John switched sides and repeated the process, leaving matching marks on either side of that glorious neck.

As he worked his way slowly down Sherlock's neck, his fingers found the waist of his pyjamas. Mouth quickly replaced fingers as he traced the waistband, pressing butterfly kisses along the hem.

"Up," John ordered, hands gently directing Sherlock to lift his hips, removing that last barrier. It was John's turn to bite his lip as he sat back on his heels, memorizing the sight before him. He had imagined what Sherlock would look like bare, but the reality had turned out to be better than his speculation. Sherlock's impressiveness was more of length than width, his cock as long and graceful as he was.

John grin was predatory as he ran his hands up Sherlock's legs, feeling the muscles twitch underneath his palms. He watched as a bead of pre-come leaked from the head of Sherlock's cock, licking his lips unconsciously. Sherlock watched from lidded-eyes, breathing heavily. John could tell he was trying not to give in, and he leaned down, licking up Sherlock's inner thigh, fingers brushing lightly against his sensitive perineum. He watched Sherlock carefully, eyes focusing on the teeth worrying at his full bottom lip while John brushed teasing fingers along the crease of his hip.

"John, please," Sherlock begged. It seemed he had finally had all the teasing he could take.

"Hmm?" he asked, sounding far too innocent.

"I need…"

"Tell me, Sherlock. What do you want?"

"I want…" he trailed off as John pressed kisses to the inside of his thigh.

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"Please…suck my… don't make me say it…"

"Shy, huh?" John smirked, "Do you want me to suck your cock?" Sherlock nodded, blushing, and John took pity on him, licking a long line from base to head. He gasped as John wrapped lips around his cock, hollowing his cheeks as his tongue rolled expertly around his swollen head. John reached down to release his own erection as he wrapped one hand around the base of Sherlock, adding slight pressure as he sucked.

"Oh fuck," Sherlock swore suddenly, and John understood. He sat up, hand pumping as Sherlock exploded, coming with a force that impressed John. Sherlock arched his back, muscles twitching as he rode out the waves of his orgasm. John reached down, hand circling his own cock as he pulled one-two-three times and followed Sherlock with a shout, collapsing against him.

"Master of your own transport, huh?" John said wickedly after a few minutes, smiling in his post-orgasm haze. It seemed Sherlock was still coming down from his high, gasping and staring at John with a dazed expression. They lay there for several minutes, relaxing as the endorphins flowed through them, slowly trailing off.

"Ugh," John said, rolling off Sherlock, "I forgot how sticky this was." He sat up, glancing over at the detective, who was still laying there, eyes unfocused. "Joining me in the shower?"

He propelled himself off the bed, laughing at how fast Sherlock moved after him, beating John into the bathroom.

"Perhaps round two?" the detective called, turning around and giving John a devilish grin. "It would seem that I owe you."


The line "We should stimulate each other to orgasm" is from the mind of starrysummernights, though I wish I could take credit for it...