Um…yeah, I don't even. Though I got the requested 'coming untouched' in there ;)
I'm gonna put this down to too much caffeine and J-pop. XD
John had always preferred altitude. Even as a kid, he had unfailingly picked the top bunk bed if the situation arose, and sometimes ended up in childish fisticuffs if said bunk was in dispute. He just felt intrinsically safer when he was higher up. It had taken him a good few months to stop distractedly fretting about his office at the surgery. His ground floor office. He triple- checked the window locks when he packed up for the night and occasionally lost sleep over the idea of crackheads breaking in at 3am.
His association with Sherlock had, for all its virtues, done absolutely nothing to reassure him about the general goodness of humanity as a whole. He now found himself suspecting innocent people more often than he felt benevolent toward known wrongdoers, as he would have done in the past.
"'Benefit of the doubt,'" Sherlock had once scoffed, near the beginning of their acquaintance. "You're far too trusting, John. Far too…'nice.'"
"Yeah, well, somebody's got to balance you out," John had sullenly replied. "Obviously killing a stranger in cold blood for you doesn't count."
"…Technically I never asked you to do that," the detective had said thoughtfully.
"Starting to wish I hadn't done it?"
There had been a lengthy, pressing silence. "…No. I might have been…I couldn't be sure that I was actually, you know…"
"'Right?'"
There had been a nondescript huff, and John had been very gratified to see a telling, rosy bloom and a discomfited expression on his friends' face.
Now, he flicked through a hefty stapled booklet of dull-looking print-outs (what a waste of paper) regarding their practice's rules and regulations in accordance with current government standards, with no doubt at least three miniscule additions to differentiate it from the last quarterly one. It was nearly 1.30pm, and he had waived going home early in favour of using a couple of hours to catch up on his paperwork, timesheets and referrals, which he sorely needed to do.
Truth be told, most of the 'paperwork' was mostly in the form of garishly-coloured charts and huge documents with confusing titles on his computer. It was times like this that he wished he was a self-proclaimed 'Techno Fairy. I mean Wizard,' like Sherlock (Sherlock had been drunk and 'juggling' a single USB at the time).
White-hot, sizzling sun was drenching the room, and John tilted his rickety monitor away from the most piercing rays, tutting irritably. Taking a swig from the scuffed, lukewarm bottle of water on his desk, he tried to focus on his computer screen once and for all and stop getting distracted by soft, mini-tornadoes of heated dust motes.
When, a few seconds later, a sharp rap sounded on his window, all his suppressed paranoid fantasies about doped-up intruders sprung to the fore and he seized his paperweight instinctually. He caught the sight of familiar, stunned green-grey eyes and exhaled, replacing the heavy ornament back on his desk.
He undid the latch quickly, but Sherlock roughly shoved the window open with a bang before he could make any further move.
"What are you still doing here?" Sherlock challenged him sharply. "You said you'd be out early because you have to pick up a cake or something. I was waiting," he added in a quieter tone.
"Cake?" John racked his brains for a second. "Sherlock, that was my sister's birthday. I said that seven weeks ago."
"Then you're a bit late for the festivities, aren't you? Never mind cake now. We need to talk seriously."
"…Like this?" John winced, glancing out at the woefully inadequate car park outside his window, overflowing with badly-parked vehicles. He didn't think he could pull off an urban Rapunzel scene.
"Fine. Move," Sherlock said brusquely, shooing John until he could vault through the window and land elegantly on John's office floor.
"You're insane," John muttered fondly, eyeing the bedraggled detective. At least he was sort-of dressed for the weather – white shirt with rolled-up sleeves, along with his usual dress trousers. The veins of his arms and hands criss-crossed his sun-warmed white skin and pulsed visibly with every heartbeat. John took his eyes away from them to be surprised by his flatmate's cold, accusatory glare. "What? What have I done now?!"
"I'm breaking up with you."
John's mouth dropped open and he gaped, his face crinkling with utter confusion.
"…Excuse me?"
"It's not me, it's you. I think we should just be strangers. It's not working out. It was mediocre while it lasted. How many ways am I supposed to say it?"
"What, you mean like…a couple breaking up?"
"Add 'you're far too dense for me to tolerate' to the list."
"We're not a couple!"
"That's more like it. Glad you took it so well."
"Sherlock, we were never a couple!" John shouted and stared, truly blown away by his flatmate's bizarre behaviour. There was quirky, and then there was actually unhinged.
"Well, no, if you insist on being pedantic. I thought we could skip all that…stuff," he waved his hands airily, "and just get to the end. Which is now."
John gave him a searching, unsettling look, and promptly took his pulse by grabbing his thin wrist and refusing to let go when Sherlock squirmed. He stood slightly on his toes to look into Sherlock's aqua eyes, and placed the back of his other hand against the detective's forehead to take a rough temperature. It seemed from his admittedly-cursory examination that the only obvious substance Sherlock was on was his own peculiar brand of loopiness.
He let go of Sherlock's slim, white wrist and watched as his flatmate unconsciously rubbed a thumb across the sensitive skin. He figured the safest way to go about this was to play along with whatever hair-brained theory was behind Sherlock's belief that any of this made sense.
"So…you think we should break up. We should cease to be a…a romantic, sexual couple?" John confirmed tentatively, making sure he understood that part, at least. Trying to ignore his own blushes at vocalising those words in front of his presumed-asexual friend, did nothing to halt the birth of further self-conscious reddening on his throat and sternum, which he could sense by the uncomfortable heat it was stoking. He couldn't stand that particular reaction.
"Yes!" Sherlock answered happily, seemingly relieved. "Yes. And it can be just like before and I won't have lost my mind."
"Don't speak too soon," John murmured darkly. "Look, seriously Sherlock…let's pretend for one second that you're a genius and I'm an idiot," - at this Sherlock pulled a face - "and explain it to me as you would a child. Please." He accentuated his ending plea with a cautious grin and hopeful eyes.
Sherlock pouted slightly, and physically recoiled a little in the face of his doctor's tempting entreaty, before grudgingly giving in with a small sigh and a tired eye-roll.
"I fell in love with you yesterday and I didn't want to."
Much later on, it would occur to John that such a pivotal announcement should have really merited more than the tiny, breathless "Oh," that he managed to respond with, and which he followed up with dumbfounded silence.
Sherlock cocked his head at his doctor, gauging his reaction, and continued blandly. "I know. It really was most inconvenient. I went to a vault in my Mind Palace looking for details on European dignitaries and tripped up on your striped jumper. I nearly knocked myself out on the Swedish over-60's drawer. Mrs. Hudson scolded me for my sullen inaction, so I decided to come here and break up with you."
"Y…Um…if it's so troublesome to have my clothes lying around in your Mind Palace, you could always just clean up a bit," John quipped, trying for humour. It sounded as flat and awkward as it felt.
"Don't talk rubbish John, that would mean wiping you out completely. You may be the worst thing that's ever happened to me, but you're still the best thing too."
The doctor huffed a laugh that was bit tight and damp, and he knuckled his indigo eyes before clearing his throat.
"Right. Blimey. This is not how I saw my day going when I woke up this morning."
"No-one's prescient John. Not even me."
"…So you want to break up with me because you can't think properly."
"Yes."
"Because you're in love with me."
"Yes."
"And you want to forgo all the fun stuff in between actually becoming a couple and breaking up?" The suggestiveness was subtle yet deafening.
"Y-es." The hesitation was absolutely microscopic but John picked it up nevertheless.
"Well, if I'm gonna be heartlessly dumped by someone I wasn't even seeing, I'm going to demand a goodbye kiss."
"…Maybe not a good idea?" There was a mini panic flickering in Sherlock's aqua eyes.
"I'm damn well getting my own way over this, you bloody lunatic. You're an insufferable ex-boyfriend and I'm going to make this as uncomfortable for you as I feasibly can."
John eyed Sherlock challengingly as he said this, but still didn't actually make a move, in case Sherlock was legitimately repelled by the idea.
The detective appeared to short-circuit slightly, eyes unfocussing and lips parting minutely. It tended to happen when he was overwhelmed by conflicting data and his own corresponding reactions.
John felt a little sorry for him, and touched his hand lightly to try and regain his attention. "Breaking up with someone doesn't necessarily stop you from loving them."
A few blinks, and Sherlock was back with him, looking determined. "I'm willing to give it a try."
"Well, that's your prerogative. Go on then."
The little furrow between Sherlock's brows that was just begging to be prodded appeared, and his cupid's-bow lips tightened in puzzlement. "Go on what?"
"Give me a goodbye kiss."
"Um…"
"Okay, then give me one good reason why not."
"…Because I might like it," Sherlock admitted. He averted his stubborn gaze out of the window, wincing at the bright afternoon sunlight and prickling heat. The intense radiance was picking out gingery highlights in his ruffled, glossy black curls, and the faintest imperfections in his white skin.
"I should bloody well hope so. After all, we were a couple for such a long time. For all of about minus two seconds, in fact."
A hefty sigh from the detective.
"…Fine. Perhaps I was being…a little unreasonable." Sherlock cast his pale eyes briefly, inscrutably, into John's before steeling himself and leaning down for a quick peck on the lips.
John flinched in pleasure at the alien sensation, but retained enough wherewithal to ready himself when the reactive synchrony of Sherlock's muscles told John that he was pulling back. He tested his flatmate with an insistent extra smooch and found no resistance at all, though there was a split second of indecision on the detective's part. Sherlock's hands remained by his sides and his body was tense, but he was slowly relaxing, the longer that John suckled indulgently on his closed, sun-warmed lips and hummed encouraging little sounds.
Slightly irked that he could coax no further movement or any sound whatsoever from the detective, who was barely reciprocating, John broke the rather one-sided kiss. He moved back only far enough to be able to focus on Sherlock's blush-stained face, his embarrassment painted like exquisite red ink on virgin porcelain.
"Sorry," John offered sheepishly, hoping he hadn't pushed too far, though unable to extinguish the secret smug thrill that maybe he had.
"No! No, it's…fine," Sherlock replied instantly with a half-second of eye contact, before looking down and clearing his throat. The bloom on his high cheekbones made his crystalline aqua eyes look even more startling, practically radioactive.
"Good."
"Can you…" Sherlock started uncertainly. "…Can you do that a bit more?"
"Are you going to kiss me back this time?"
"I'm a bit out of my depth here, John," Sherlock reminded him snappishly, looking adorably affronted.
"Sorry, sorry. Me too. First time with a bloke, and everything," he shrugged, chuckling softly.
"…It was okay for you, though?"
"Very okay, Sherlock."
"Really?" Sherlock seemed genuinely surprised.
"You have the most kissable mouth on the planet."
"O-oh," came the feeble, wide-eyed response.
"Yeah, 'oh,'" John grinned reassuringly, before cupping a hand behind Sherlock's head and pulling him down gently, but firmly, into a kiss. His other hand settled on Sherlock's hip, and the resultant muffled "Mph!" of revelation from the taller man was glorious.
Jesus Christ, Sherlock was in LOVE with him. Fuck.
John wasn't about to start questioning what his flatmate might actually classify as 'love,' not when the man himself was making sweet, breathy little noises and beginning to grope blindly at his backside with startlingly strong hands. He'd rather not know what Sherlock perceived as love, if it was any different to his own interpretation – caring about another human more than oneself. He'd felt like that about Sherlock from the very start.
John was barely touching Sherlock, twiddling a few fingers in the baby-soft hair at the base of his skull, and slowly thumbing at his prominent hipbone. Nevertheless, the man was a livewire, goose-bumped yet hot under John's fingerprints, desperately vocal yet barely raising his voice above sighs and tiny groans. There was a definite, full-body jolt from the detective when John penetrated his mouth and started shamelessly plundering his tongue.
The vicious grip that Sherlock's large hands had on John's backside tightened into actual pain, but he didn't dare cease or even slow his eager invasion of Sherlock's blood-hot, delightfully wet and responsive mouth. He was ignited even further when the detective started pumping his hips optimistically against John's stomach, sucking sloppily on John's tongue, making deliriously arousing noises. He was very hard.
John panted excitedly at the incredible response, biting his own lip in wonderment when Sherlock pulled back with a hiss, before burying his face in John's neck and shuddering. John marvelled at the taller man's intense reactions to such minimal stimulus – he himself was only barely starting to physically respond, still soft for the most part. He wondered dizzily at Sherlock suddenly scrabbling at his wrist, before he realised that the detective wanted to hold his hand. Grabbing the hot, fumbling hand protectively, resulted in a deep-toned groan of relief.
John moaned in shock and winced as Sherlock's considerable full body weight was suddenly on him, the taller man shivering and huffing sticky whispers into his neck repeatedly. A few violent spasms that nearly jerked John to the floor and a strangled, high-pitched whine were needed before it finally dawned on John that his flatmate was having an orgasm. And it was hands-down the most erotic thing he had ever experienced.
Sherlock stabbed his hard, clothed cock painfully into John's stomach a few times, his fingernails digging viciously deep into John's palm and lower back respectively. The hot, wet exhales that exploded against John's throat were soon chilled by the heaving gasps that were fuelling Sherlock's climax.
John soothed him constantly with a drunken dialogue of sheer awe and cooing reassurance, supporting Sherlock's heavy weight stoically and smooching random bits of overheated damp skin, stiff collar, soft curls, anything he could reach.
"…God…I've never…wow…Sherlock, so beautiful…Jesus…"
After a few trembling, steaming seconds, Sherlock bravely pushed himself back upright, self-consciously wiping the back of a hand across his mouth as he swayed just a little on his feet. His entire face was a delicious wet, rosy pink, and he looked absolutely exhausted. He met his doctor's gaze, which somehow made John look like he didn't know whether to cuddle him, worship him, or fuck him through the floor.
Sherlock licked his cupid's-bow lips and blew out a long exhale that made the curls on his forehead briefly dance up into the now sex-scented warm air. He eyed the clinical wipes and tissues on John's desk. All things considered, there were worse places to be soaked in lukewarm bodily fluids than a doctor's surgery.
"…Maybe…on reflection…we should give our relationship a second chance."
John grinned. "That's the first sensible thing you've said all day."
I try and set the scene for filth so it's not just shoved in there (as it were) and end up with one and a half chapters of total randomness XD Ah well, TBC imminently :D