Title: Union Jack
Disclaimer: seriously? do you think I own the awesomeness of Holmes?
Rating: T
Pairing: H/W
Warnings: implied gay sexing; established relationship; pillow abuse
Summary: fill for sherlockbbc_fic prompt - John fucks Sherlock so hard some nights, that he has to bite down on his pillow to avoid screaming (in pleasure) and scaring Mrs Hudson in the flat below.
/
It's after the sixth one that John finally has to ask.
"Sherlock, why are you making weird faces at the telly? It's not even on."
The consulting detective scowled at him from his knee-hugging crouch in the armchair.
"I'm not making faces. I'm attempting to dislodge drebris from between my first and second mandibular premolars."
"You have food stuck in your teeth?"
"Thank you for paraphrasing what I said." It was amazing that he didn't choke on the sarcasm. "But you're wrong."
"Huh?"
"It's not food."
John sighed wearily. An experiment, of course.
"What did you do?"
"I didn't do anything. It's what YOU did!"
"What did I have to do with anything?"
Sherlock's face tinted a curious shade of pink.
"You are a very good shag. Especially last night."
The silence was deafening. John tried to follow this jump in the tracks fumbling all the way.
"...er, thankyou? But how does my shagging you have to do with-?"
"You'r too good at it. That is why I have debris between my teeth."
"What-?" John sputtered. Sherlock responded by throwing the Union Jack pillow at him, hitting the doctor in the face.
He plucked it off indignantly, but his eye was caught on a peculiar tear in the stitching. It looked like-
"Sherlock, why are there bite marks in this pillow?"
Sherlock just stared at him. John sat there looking between the ruined pillow and his roommate for about a minute before an image flickered in his mind's eye.
Last night. Sherlock bent over the sofa. Fingers digging into the cushions. Face planted in the pillow, so Mrs. Hudson and her girls didn't hear them as he came like a freight train.
"...Oh."
"Yes."
John's face was burning.
"Ah, um. I see." He forced himself to meet those cat-like eyes with what little dignity he had left.
"So, do you, er, want help with, uh..." He motioned at his mouth. Sherlock sighed with relief and bounced out of the chair to loom over him expectantly.
"Yes, much obliged."