The Body, Chapter 3
"Sherlock? Are you home?"
John's voice echoed up the stairs from the front door. Sherlock was sitting in the living room buried in his Mind Palace, but John's voice was one of the few sounds that could recall him to the world around him. John's voice today held an unusual note. A tremor? Yes, and his footsteps on the stairs were uneven. Bad day then, very bad.
Sherlock leapt off the couch and went into the kitchen to fill the kettle and switch it on. Tea. John would want tea. Better not make it, but get everything ready for John to go through the calming ritual of making tea himself. Two mugs, one with a splash of milk the other with sugar, two tea bags. Biscuits? Sherlock had a quick look through the cupboards, but no biscuits were to be found.
Then John's voice came from the couch, tired and still with that tremble which Sherlock could not recall hearing more than a few times before. "Sherlock? Could you come here for a minute, please?
Oh dear. John was always more polite than Sherlock himself, but this formality was new. It suggested that John was using the framework of social convention to stop himself from falling apart. This was very bad. It was time to bring out the heavy weaponry. Sherlock strode into the living room and picked up his violin. This was the only way to help John back to sleep after one of his PTSD nightmares, so perhaps it would work to settle his mind after his terrible day. Sherlock started playing one of John's favourite Bach pieces.
"Sherlock, stop. Please, I… I need… Do you have any experiments going?"
Sherlock stopped playing and blinked at John for a moment before putting the pieces together. "I'll let you owe me an experiment for later this week. What do you need?"
"I don't really know," John looked almost on the verge of tears. "Would you just come here and cuddle for a bit?"
"Of course, John. You only needed to ask." Sherlock put the violin back in its case and slid onto the sofa next to John. He opened his arms and John was instantly in them, half lying across his lap and resting his head against Sherlock's chest. Sherlock closed his arms around John and held him as he wept.
The storm was intense, but brief. Soon John was pulling away and wiping his eyes. "Shall I make us some tea?" he asked, apparently rather self-conscious about his breakdown in front of Sherlock.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Sherlock wasn't sure what he would say, but knew that it was the right thing to offer to listen.
"Nah, it wasn't anything in particular. Just a lot of everything. I feel better now." John headed into the kitchen and flicked the kettle on again. There followed the usual reassuring sounds of John making tea. Then John reappeared carrying two mugs. He set them down on the coffee table and flopped back onto the couch, this time at his usual distance from Sherlock.
"OK, so how many hours of impersonating the dead do I owe you now?"
Sherlock gave him a stare. "None."
It was John's turn to stare. "I thought we had an agreement to trade favours?"
"Well, yes, but you haven't asked me to do anything sexual yet."
"Doesn't cuddling on the couch count?"
"No. That's not a sexual activity."
"Wait, I don't think I understand." John was wrinkling up his nose in his usual adorable attempt to think through an issue he found difficult. "So you mean you are prepared to cuddle anytime?"
"Yes."
"Really?"
"Honestly, John, what is so difficult to understand about this? Sex-obsessed as you are, I'm sure even you would not define cuddling on the couch as sexual activity?"
"No, but… I didn't think you were, well… into that."
Sherlock shrugged. "I wasn't. But now… with you… I don't mind."
John sat up a bit more and ran his hands through his hair. "I think I'm going to need you to set some ground rules about this… relationship."
Sherlock nodded.
"Is this a relationship?"
Sherlock shrugged again, rather uncomfortably. "You have more experience in this area than I do. Would you say it is?"
John huffed out a laugh. "I dunno either. I guess it is if we want it to be. We live together, work together and if we're going to cuddle on the couch on a regular basis then yes, I suppose I'm going to call it a relationship."
"That's the first question answered then. Next?"
"What is it exactly that you don't like to do?"
"Well, it isn't that I actively dislike anything – I haven't tried most of it, never been interested. But I confess I don't like the idea of anything… wet." Sherlock was blushing now.
"So, um, mouths or anything requiring lube would be what you consider 'sexual activity' but anything with clothes on is not? Is that a fair generalization?"
"I guess so," Sherlock looked unsure for the first time that John could remember.
"OK, how about we leave it at 'dry and with clothes on' and if you don't like anything," John shot a sly glance across at Sherlock, "or if you decide you do want something else you just let me know. Other than that we can stick to our original arrangement."
Sherlock nodded.
"Just one other thing," John added. "I'm used to a certain amount of tongue kissing." He grimaced. "Sorry, that sounds awful. What I'm trying to say is that if I open my mouth or try to open yours it's just a kind of habit. I'm not trying to pressure you at all. Remind me if I'm doing it and I'll stop."
There was silence in the flat for a moment as they both digested the implications of the conversation. Finally Sherlock spoke. "So, since you owe me an experiment was there anything else you wanted? I'm prepared to… extend my boundaries of experience."
John pursed his lips in thought for a moment. "How about we start right where we are, with some more cuddling on the couch and let me think about it. I'm sure something will come to me. Er, so to speak."
After several minutes of closed mouth kissing and hands roaming over (completely clothed) shoulders and chests Sherlock hummed into John's mouth. "Mmm, I like this."
John couldn't help himself. He pulled back just far enough to glance down and check Sherlock's trousers. Still flat.
Sherlock sighed. "I didn't mean that. John, if you are waiting for that to happen as a measure of my enjoyment you might as well stop it right now. I like kissing you but I'm not sexually excited by it." Sherlock paused for a moment, then added, "And I don't need a visual check to know that you are."
John blushed. "Is that, um, OK?"
Sherlock kissed him lightly, "Of course it is. I want to please and relax you. Tell me what you need."
"I think I'd like to lie down in my own bed and maybe you could, um, finish me off with your hand? God, it's embarrassing to just say it outright like that."
"I don't see why you should think so. Being precise in your requests is more likely to produce the desired results."
"I guess so, it's just so different from all the other relationships I've ever had."
"The ones that have all ended, you mean?"
"Yeah, thanks for pointing that out."
Sherlock's shrug said it's true, but all he said verbally was "So, shall we go upstairs?"
The change of venue caused them both to draw back a little and the atmosphere was awkward as they sat on opposite sides of John's bed.
John finally broke the silence with "Maybe we could just cuddle and kiss for a bit and see where it goes. I mean, since you liked that before."
Sherlock lay down on the bed still mostly clothed, having only removed his suit jacket and shoes. He opened his arms and John fitted himself into them, lying half across Sherlock's chest. John kissed Sherlock lightly across his cheekbones and nose and then down to peck him on the lips. They kissed for a while, and Sherlock could feel John's interest rising again against his belly.
He decided Lestrade's advice had been very useful and made a mental note to thank him later. Given John's reaction to the idea of Lestrade being involved at all, preferably out of John's hearing. He closed his eyes, the better to concentrate on his sense of touch and tried to 'go with the flow'. He decided this was a good time to start stroking John's erection. Outside pants or not? Well, John had asked for a hand job so that was probably implied consent for the removal of pants.
Sherlock slowly reached down and lowered John's trouser zip, then flicked open the button. John lifted his hips to allow the trousers to slide down enough to give Sherlock better access. Good decision then. He stroked John through his pants and noted the material getting a wet patch. Definitely a good decision. He slid his fingers into the back of John's briefs to suggest removing them also, and John groaned with agreement.
"Uh, Sherlock? Would you mind taking your shirt off? I feel a bit weird being stripped while you are still practically completely dressed."
"Of course, John. If that would make your more comfortable." Sherlock sat up momentarily to remove his shirt while John did the same. John also took the opportunity to remove all the clothing on his lower half, leaving himself completely naked to Sherlock's gaze. He looked a little self-conscious, but more interested than embarrassed overall.
They lay down together on the bed again, and this time John was definitely interested in picking up the pace. His kisses were more insistent now, with little flicks of his tongue over Sherlock's lips although true to his word, not with enough force to open Sherlock's mouth. He took Sherlock's hand in his and guided it down to his leaking erection, sighing when Sherlock wrapped his long fingers around it.
"Mmm, I like this." John repeated Sherlock's words from earlier in the evening. "Kissing and your hands on me. Do you even know how erotic you are?"
Sherlock shrugged uncomfortably. "I've had people try to 'pull' me, as the saying goes. Both men and women on occasion. I've always pretended I didn't know what they were hinting at."
"Well, I'm not hinting, I'm telling you outright – you are the most gorgeous thing I've ever had in my bed. Now I know, I'm not letting you go."
"I'm not going anywhere, John."
"Promise? Promise me that you won't go anywhere I can't go with you?"
"I promise."
"Ah, yes, touch me just like that…" Sherlock was speeding up his strokes and adding a little twist at the end of each one to focus pressure and pleasure around the frenulum and head of John's cock. John was making helpless little thrusting motions with his hips, which he didn't seem to be either fully aware of or fully in control of.
"Kiss me again now." John gasped.
Sherlock kissed him hard and long, fully on the mouth, while stroking John firmly with one hand and gently cradling his balls with the other. Then he reached back a little further and pressed on the sensitive spot behind John's balls, and John was groaning into his mouth and coming all over his chest.
Sherlock continued to stroke John gently until he flopped over on his back and groaned again. "Oh God, that was good. I needed that. However many hours I have to spend pretending to be dead, it was worth it."
Sherlock wrinkled his nose as he looked at the mess on his chest and started to get up. "I'm going for a shower, then how about we go out for dinner?"
John looked up from where he was lying and grinned. "Sexual activity and then dinner? Is this getting to be a habit with us? It isn't normal, you know."
Sherlock sniffed. "Normal is a dryer setting John. You have ten minutes, then we're going to a new Italian place I want to try. Oh, and you owe me two hours of experiment time."
"You got it."
"Yes, all over my chest, which is why I need a shower! Do try to keep up John." Sherlock grinned and sauntered out of the room in the direction of the bathroom.
John flopped back down on the bed and wondered what he had got himself into. He was in a relationship with an asexual genius who measured the success of sexual encounters in hours of experiment time. He grinned. Ah well, normal was boring anyway.
