2.
John was at it again. This time they were out to lunch, Sherlock was munching on honey chicken and John was drooling over asses. Sherlock was getting a little tired of this perving, but revenge would have to wait. John had met a nice French couple who knew just too little English that they might like Sherlock. They were going to meet them for dinner later. Sherlock stood up.
"Where are you going?" John asked, worried and guilty.
"Oh, just to do a little shopping, I'll see you at the restaurant later." Sherlock waved a hand airily and put a fiver on the table. John knew something was up then.
"Hello, John," was the high, feminine voice that called out to him. He looked up and immediately wished he could sink through solid floor into the core of the earth where it was hotter than his flushed face.
Because in front of him, was Shirley, Sherlock's female alter-ego. The one they kept to the bedroom.
He – she – strutted up to John, Basille and Aveline with a sweet pink smile on his face. His hair was straightened into a sweet little bob; he wore a tight long-sleeved, sequined top stuffed with enough fake boob to make any (straight) man jealous of John and a short skirt. He'd shaved his legs and donned some flat strappy shoes (because if he was any taller, he would lose his prettiness). He wore subtle fake lashes and blush that rounded his cheekbones.
He looked like a woman.
The French couple looked confused for a moment, however they must have come to the conclusion they misheard John when he'd said 'boyfriend' as they made their introductions to Shirley kindly.
As they sat down, John hissed in Sherlock's ear.
"What the hell do you think you're playing at?" to which Sherlock replied, "I'm wearing a g-string."
They ate happily enough, Basille and Aveline having 'bangers and mash' and John and 'Shirley' sharing spare ribs. However, spare ribs are quite messy, so Sherlock excused himself to go to the bathroom.
And when he returned, lo and behold, John found himself holding a black g-string.
"Now I'm not wearing anything."
This was getting ridiculous. John had been attempting to discourage his erection the whole dinner, but when Sherlock wrapped an arm around him and snuggled him tight, he lost the battle. Big time.
John tried to excuse them and say goodnight to the French couple, but Sherlock held him down, stroking his leg. Higher, and higher, and higher, and higher, and hi- that knuckle just grazed his cock. That was it. John stood slowly, bidding farewell to Basille and Aveline, and Sherlock followed, smiling politely and earning a kiss on the hand from Basille.
They caught a cab, so John couldn't really yell at Sherlock for cross dressing and causing him to be uncomfortable throughout the whole of dinner. Sherlock went first up the stairs and John caught himself stopped on the second one, staring upwards. When he clumped up the stairs, Sherlock was already in his room.
"Sherlock!" He called angrily.
"Go wait on the lounge, John, I'll be out in a moment."
And he was out in a moment.
Wearing heels, no shirt and a skirt.
John was over and out. Sherlock straddled him, trailing bright red kisses down his neck. John snaked a hand up Sherlock's smooth legs and fiddled with his sac as Sherlock thrusted into air, lipstick and mascara smudged and mouth open wantonly.
John leaped up at this point, pulled off his pants and bent Sherlock over the table, heeled feet spread, skirt still on.
John ran his hands down Sherlock sides and found a prepared entrance awaiting his sex. Just the thought of Sherlock preparing himself for this twisted his gut delightfully. They were both already close, Sherlock thrusting into the table as he waited. John pushed himself in and pulled back Sherlock's head by his straightened hair.
"I'm going to fuck you so hard," John insisted, and lived up to his promise.
Later, lying on the couch, Sherlock insisted that John had deserved it. John mentioned that he'd have to make Sherlock jealous more often, but the look on Sherlock's face made him rethink it. Next time, the revenge might be horse's head in his bed…