John sees Sherlock very little over the next few weeks, spending extra hours with patients and getting back to the flat just in time to see the consulting detective getting into a cab and disappearing onto the trails of whatever case he's working on this week. He could say it's a coincidence that they seem to come and go just at the right time to miss each other but he would be lying as he sits in Speedy's, waiting.
Some nights he's too tired to wait, however, and finds reasons to avoid Sherlock when he makes it upstairs to find the detective sitting in his chair, reading a newspaper or playing the violin. Showers become a little longer, he goes to sleep sooner, but eventually he knows that what Sherlock walked in on will have to be spoken about. They're grown adults after all, and the explanation is simple. Or not simple. John is unsure what exactly the state of the explanation is because it still doesn't make sense in his head, his interest in sex never quite venturing to the male side of the anatomy before.
Perhaps Mrs. Hudson knew more than John believed, or perhaps she just likes to play it fast and loose with her daily smoothers. John thinks that perhaps it's the latter as he finally gives up on the waiting game one evening, ascending the stairs to the flat as he hears the old woman laughing to herself. He makes a mental note to give the land lady a good check-up the next time he's free as he closes the door behind him, the sound of her laughter being replaced by the quiet of his own flat.
"Sherlock?" His search for the detective is met with silence as John's eyes scan the room, finding everything in its typical place. The doors to the restroom and Sherlock's room are open as usual, and John lets out a quiet sigh of relief at the thought of not having to deal with the detective tonight, the past few days of busy work bringing down his energy as he trudges off to the bathroom for a shower.
He makes it a quick one, toweling his hair off before grabbing his robe from the hook on the back of the door. The flat is still silent as he makes his way up to his room, turning the light on only to find himself grabbing his chest and kneeling over, trying to calm his startled nerves.
"Jesus Christ Sherlock, what the hell are you doing in here?"
Sherlock is sitting in the middle of John's bed with his back against the headboard and his legs crossed at the ankles. His eyes are closed as he rests his laced fingers over his lap, obviously not as startled as John currently is.
"You've been avoiding me since your masturbatory activities in my room." Only Sherlock can make a sexual act sound so scientific and John can't help but roll his eyes at the detective, surprised that he even knows what the word means. He doesn't exactly appear to be the type wanking it every night while searching through porn videos of busty babes or even twinks for that matter. Not that John knows what gets him off other than four serial suicides and a note. Perhaps he can have his own name added to that list, the thought fleeting as he shakes his head and returns his attention back to the matter at hand.
"I haven't been avoiding you, I've been busy." They both know it's a transparent lie, but John isn't willing to surrender that easily. Sherlock doesn't have to say anything, the look he's giving John speaking loudly as he clears his throat and takes a deep breath.
"You're attracted to me John, you have been for some time but I suspect that you just recently realized it. You've been looking at an increased amount of porn on your laptop, predominantly blondes with long hair which is a change from the short haired brunettes that you used to enjoy. I suspect they remind you too much of me, and you're in the process of trying to convince yourself that you're not gay while trying to figure out if I am."
"Are you?" The words slip out before he can stop them but Sherlock seems unfazed as he slides off the bed, the buttons of his dress shirt straining against the fabric and drawing John's gaze to them. It's not subtle, but neither is the increase in John's respirations as he finds Sherlock standing close enough that he can feel the other man's body heat invading his space.
"Is this how you imagined it John? Did I have you against the wall, touching you, making you moan?"
"Oh god yes," John's breathing is coming out in deep rapid succession, his eyes closed tight, his hands limp at his side as he suddenly finds himself backed against the wall, the fabric between them suddenly too much.
Sherlock feels John's erection rub against his clothed crotch as he takes another step forward, grinding his hips into the older man and eliciting a deep moan from somewhere deep in his chest. He whispers in John's ear to open his eyes, the other man complying as he finds Sherlock staring at him intently, his hand slipping between them and under John's short robe, palm rubbing against his erection in slow deliberate movements.
"Is this it John? Is this what you want?" It's almost as if Sherlock is tempting John, wanting his flat mate to take control of the situation, and the thought only proves to make him more aroused, his cock feeling thicker than usual as Sherlock finally wraps his long fingers around him.
Their staring battle is becoming heated as John forces himself to hold the gaze of the other man, his hips bucking ever so lightly into Sherlock's hand as he wanks him, his hand smooth as it slides back up his shaft, his thumb rubbing circles on the tip, spreading the pre cum before sliding back down in a tight fist.
John feels himself reaching the edge with each passing second but he isn't quite ready to give it up yet, not with a simple wank, and he finds himself finally challenging Sherlock as he moans "use your mouth", a smirk playing on the detectives lips almost as if he knew what John was going to say before John could even formulate the thoughts himself.
He expects Sherlock to object, to tell him that he's only willing to play into his fantasy so much, but no words are spoken as Sherlock sinks to his knees, fist still encompassing John's shaft as he comes face to face with the head, his tongue flicking out for a preemptive taste. That one touch alone is almost enough to send John over the edge, his hips bucking forward and his cock rubbing against Sherlock's lips. Hands press against his hips, his ass against the wall as he's held firmly in place to prevent further unwanted movement, Sherlock taking a deep breath through his nose before he fully envelops John's cock in the warmth of his mouth.
Teeth scrap ever so gently along the underside of John's cock as Sherlock pulls back, the move calculated, almost as if it had been practiced. The thought of one of Sherlock's experiments consisting of him deep throating certain phallic fruits and vegetables doesn't help John's current attempts at staving off his orgasm any, his hands finding their way to the curls of Sherlock's hair as he finds himself moaning the detectives name.
When a hand slides from his hip to cup his balls he knows his time is limited, significantly so as he feels his body stiffen. Sherlock knows it to, can feel it in the pressure John is putting against the hand still pinning him against the wall, trying to fuck his mouth into oblivion. His resolve holds steady though, doing the fucking himself as he feels the tip of John's cock hitting the back of his throat, his nose being tickled by the curled hairs brushing against it each time he deep throats the older man.
John is waiting for the moment that Sherlock starts gagging, feeling himself slipping deeper into that skilled mouth with each passing moment, but it doesn't happen and quite frankly he can't be bothered by the thought any longer, his fingers unintentionally pulling at the curls grasped within his fingers. The action causes Sherlock to moan, the vibrations being transmitted through John's shaft as he feels his cock pulsating, ribbons of cum disappearing within the confines of Sherlock's throat.
It takes several moments to catch his breath, to convince his legs to continue holding his weight as they tremble, and he almost expects to find himself in another fantasy when he opens his eyes, instead finding Sherlock pulling himself up to his feet, wiping the corners of his mouth and straightening his suit.
"Sherlock, that was-" he can't quite find the words to describe it, but he imagines he doesn't have to, Sherlock looking at him knowingly.
"Yes, well then, I suppose now that we've got that out of the way you can stop this rubbish about avoiding me. We've got a case John, two bodies and a full skeleton, Lastrade is wai-"
"Did you just give me a blow job so that I would work a case with you?" Sherlock is cut off suddenly by the angry accusation, John's face turning various shades of red. The question is met with a sarcastic roll of the eyes as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world, and how dare John not realize that this is exactly something that the detective would do?
That thought makes him even more heated, that he didn't see this coming in the first place, and he finds himself pushing the detective out of his room, Sherlock looking almost confused as to why John is mad in the seconds before the door slams in his face.