He might reach over and turn on the lamp to his left Sherlock realised, suddenly horrified, but John didn't. He sighed, clearly extremely frustrated and let his head fall back resting on the back of the couch exposing his throat as if enticing Sherlock out of the shadows.

The detective swallowed thickly, very aware of just how quiet the flat seemed now and watching fascinated as John sighed again and let his hand drift from where it rested on his stomach to his still exposed penis and there it stopped, squeezing just a little. Sherlock felt his whole world begin to fall away as John mimicked his own action perfectly, still and quiet hand wrapped around his cock. Then John's hand began to move, smoothly and slowly, stroking himself root to tip. Sherlock watched wide eyed, heart thundering in his chest, it was a wonder John couldn't hear it. He couldn't stop himself, he moved his hand too, matching his flatmate's rhythm awkwardly inside his trousers. John brought his other hand down to gently touch and hold his balls and Sherlock felt a deep buzz inside himself reverberating through his whole body. He was shocked at his own actions, not because it was so wrong and dangerous, he was past that now, but because he'd never thought he had it in him to be so incredibly aroused. The sight before him was effecting him in ways no one and nothing else ever had and he suddenly found himself regretting his staunch avoidance of the sexual world and his flippant dismissal of his now tingling body as nothing other than a transport. This was intoxicating. He moved his fist fasting, changing rhythm again to match the good doctor's. John had dropped his head forward but still his eyes were tight shut. He was jerking himself determinedly now, sweating slightly and his lips parted, his breathing hitching every now and again. The hidden genius found himself struggling to match the now frantic pace with his clothing still in place but it was impossible to unfasten his belt without the sound alerting John to his presence. He slowed his movement but maintained his grip pinching the head slightly as he let the sound of John's now ragged breathing go straight through him. John was losing himself, applying more pressure and breathing hard as he sped up until finally he stiffened and let out a juddering breath and shot his load all over his date shirt. Sherlock's mouth hung open, so enraptured was he with the beautiful mess of a man before him that he wanted desperately to out himself right there and stumble over, touch John, taste, beg him to touch him the same way. But he didn't. He just watched transfixed as John came down slowly from his orgasm, wiped his hand on his shirt and picking up his phone and keys where he'd dropped them, and started to leave. He stopped though, before he reached the door gazing into the kitchen, and Sherlock watched closely to see what had grabbed his attention. John shook his head slowly and let out a quiet mumbled laugh. "You could at least have done some dishes Sherlock" he said quietly "And we need more milk."

Had John known he was there? Sherlock watched his flatmate leave and heard each step as the doctor climbed the stairs to his bedroom and closed the door behind him. It was then that Sherlock felt himself tip over the edge, although he remained completely still. Pleasure coursed through him and rolled through his body like liquid fire. He felt his hand wet with his own ejaculate and watched panting in the light of a passing car as a dark damp patch spread down the right leg of his trousers. Or perhaps John had just been talking to himself?

The End. xx

Thanks for reading my first attempt at fanfiction! I really hope you enjoyed my story. I have a good few other ideas currently working their way onto paper so if you liked this, keep any eye out for my future works or give me a follow :) If you have any comments or ideas about my story I'd really love to hear them so please please please review if you have a spare moment. Thanks again, love you all xx