John knocked back another shot of gin. He coughed as a bit evaporated in his mouth and wafted up his nasal passages. His eyes watered. He needed liquid courage. Tonight was the night!
Tanqueray? More like Tangque-gay. Gay sex, with my flatmate. I can do this. I can do this. A bit more. Yes. That's right.
John poured one last shot, he spilled a bit on to his hand, it evaporated immediately. It was especially dry gin. He'd be sloshed in no time flat.
Oh fuck. What bout Sherlock? Oh... I should have got him drunk with me. Shit. It's not too late.
Sherlock walked through the front door with perfect timing.
"Sherlock!" John stumbled over and threw his arms around his flatmate. "Drink!" He pulled at Sherlock's forearm to drag him into the kitchen.
"You have had quite enough."
"No, silly, you... You drink." John slapped Sherlock's back.
"I'm not letting you have sex with me in your state."
"Who the fuck told you I wanted to have sex?" John took an uneasy step backwards, near tumbling over his own feet. "Oh... you deduced... You... sexy... deducer..." John ran a finger down Sherlock's chest. "Deduce me." John pulled Sherlock into a bear hug and held him tight.
"You're drunk." Sherlock said shortly.
"Wow... that's brilliant! You're so right." John sighed into Sherlock's chest.
"John, I told you I wasn't going to have sex with you."
"Sherlock! You can't, it's been so long. My dick will explode." John whined.
"Like it did, not two days ago?"
"No like... boom" John mimed an explosion.
"We agreed I would help you with your non-sexual desires."
"It's j-just buggering, it's not sexual."
"No... it is entirely sexual, it is the definition of sex. It is anal sex!" Sherlock shouted. "You should be in bed." Sherlock sighed.
"Yeah, I should." John placed his face against Sherlock's chest. "Wiv you."
"This isn't very becoming of you John."
"Have you coming... all over the place... fuck you on the... fuck... ceiling."
"You would have me on the ceiling? How is that even possible?"
"Suction cups." John snorted. Sherlock shook his head.
"Bed."
"Oh God yes." John allowed himself to be dragged by the forearm up the stairs to his room. Sherlock opened the door and walked John to the bed. He gave John a gentle shove on to the mattress. John began removing his trousers immediately while Sherlock turned and left the room, slamming the door shut.
John looked down at his trousers, then at the door, then back at his pants. He furrowed his brow, he was disappointed. He grabbed his mobile. He tried calling Sherlock's phone. No answer. He stood up and opened his door.
"Sherlock!" He shouted down the stairs. "Sherlock!" He waited for a response. "Sherlock!" He shouted louder. "Oi! Sherlock!"
"What?" Sherlock sneered, peering out from the front door. "All of Baker street is sleeping and so should you! You'll wake the dead with your shouting!"
"You're not sleeping." John pointed out.
"Fix your zip John, you're... you're all but hanging out." John looked down. His trousers were undone and half down his arse. He decided to pull down his underpants as well.
"There! Now I'm hanging out as well." Sherlock looked away from John.
"Go to sleep! We'll discuss this in the morning when you're of sound mind."
"My mind's making plenty of sounds. Now sex!" John shouted.
"You'll wake Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock hissed.
"SEX! SEX! SEX! I want me some gay sex!"
"Insensitive." Sherlock jeered as he slammed the front door, locking it.
"Ah fuck..." John stumbled down the stairs. He started pounding on the front door. "Sherlock! Open up! Come now, this isn't funny. My dick's hanging out! Hey! Sherlock!" John started furiously pounding on the door and started kicking it with his foot. The bottom of the door began cracking in. John kept kicking at it vigorously.
If I bust it open enough, I can crawl under the damn door. Unlock it, and let myself in.
"John! Stop it this instant!" Sherlock yelled through the door.
"Lemme in! I just want to have sex! Is that so difficult to understand?" John pulled up his pants and fastened them. "There! I'm all together! Now come out and face me like a man."
"I may have a height advantage but you would use brute force to manoeuvre me into a compromising position. Then you'd have me on the landing. My apologies, but I'm not having my first experience with a belligerent drunkard!"
"A drunkard?" John raised his voice. "I'm... I'm not an alcoholic!" John slammed his fist on the door.
"You're also not gay!" John heard Sherlock's footsteps move away from the door. John pressed his head against the door. He felt a sour pang in his stomach.
"Sher-Sherlock." John clutched his stomach. "Sherlock!" John shouted and pounded a fist on the door. "I'm gonna sick." John's head started spinning. His memory lapsed and there was a pool of vomit on the floor in front of him, next to the door.
How did that get there?
John wiped the corners of his mouth. His nose stung from bile. John took a seat with his back to the door. He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He started to drift off.
Sherlock abruptly opened the door and John fell backwards. Sherlock pushed a bucket and scrub brush to John and dropped an old towel on his chest.
"Clean that filth up." Sherlock hissed. John nodded his head. He reached for the scrub brush and his memory failed him once more. He awoke at the bottom of the steps, the door was wide open, and his head half hanging out on to Baker Street. He coughed and looked himself over. His knees were soaked in water, his finger tips were wrinkled. He checked his watch twice, unable to make out the time.
The... it's two? Three? What's... fucking Roman numerals.
A dark figure swooped down at him and John tried fending him off with feeble slaps to the predator's chest.
"John! John, quit... It's me damn it!" Sherlock's form came into clear view. John was brought to his feet, he began shivering against the cold night's air. Sherlock slammed the door closed behind him. The room started tilting and John tried to keep his balance as the room spun upside down. John fell to the floor, hitting his head hard on the wood floor. John started to moan loudly. "John, you need to get to bed." Sherlock knelt beside John and shook his shoulder.
"Take a fucking hint! I don't want sex with you... fucking queer." John kicked at Sherlock's leg. "Y-you forced me into this!" John shut his eyes and cringed at the pain in his thigh. "Ah... fuck." He clutched on to his leg. Sherlock rubbed a hand on John's upper arm in attempt to soothe him. "Don't touch me." John sneered. John started to tear up. "I just wanted a girlfriend, why? Why did you have to fuck everything up?" John sobbed on to the floor.
John blacked out once more. He awoke on the sofa. Sherlock held out a tablet and a glass of water. John took the pill without question. He gulped down the precious water. He had never had such an unquenchable thirst. He emptied the glass and handed it back to Sherlock. John started to sit up.
No hang over? How is that... Oh... Still drunk.
John leaned forward and ran his fingers through his hair.
"Shit Sherlock, I didn't mean to get... get so sloshed." John's abdominals clenched and he started to shake. He had a slight buzz and his body was starting to rebel against the lactic acid build-up and hypoglycaemia from the alcohol oxidation. He was going to have one hell of a hang over later. He deserved it. The way he tried to throw himself at Sherlock.
Oh God and what I said to him about wanting a girlfriend. Smooth John.
John threw his head back on to the sofa. Sherlock brought him another glass of water. John greedily gulped the second glass down. His stomach was starting to feel uneasy, not exactly nauseous but it didn't feel like hunger either. Sherlock took a seat next to John. John leaned on to Sherlock and placed his head on his shoulder. He let out a sigh.
"It's me isn't it?" John placed a hand on Sherlock's knee.
"Yes."
"I'm the reason I can't... couldn't get a girl." John let out a heavy sigh. "Had nothing to do with you. It's all me, me, me. I'm so fucking stupid." John buried his face into Sherlock's neck. He took it in a heavy breath, trying to absorb all of Sherlock's smell. It was the one spot on Sherlock that smelt purely of him. Essence o' Sherlock. He emitted such sweet pheromones, he absolutely reeked of liquid sex. John felt a stirring in his lower abdomen as he inhaled.
John's lips grazed Sherlock's neck. He began to nuzzle in closer and leave small kisses on Sherlock's shoulder.
"John, stop" Sherlock said, he began breathing harder and John increased the intensity of his kisses. Sherlock's eyes rolled back as John latched on gently and began sucking at his neck, his tongue darting out to lick at the love bite he was creating. John's hand began caressing Sherlock's inner thigh as he passionately attacked Sherlock's neck.
Sherlock's mind was whirling with arousal, he couldn't think straight. This frightened him. He pushed John away. He turned to face John. John's eyes were lust blown and they shook slightly from intoxication.
"Unh, Sherlock please." John ran his fingers tantalizingly up Sherlock's crotch, and cupped his bulge. He began stroking him through his trousers. Sherlock held back a moan. His mind couldn't form the words to tell John to stop, that he was drunk, that this was wrong. John leaned forward, placing a knee between Sherlock's thighs, and brought himself down within an inch of Sherlock's face. He brought his lips close and brushed them against Sherlock's. "Please." John said breathlessly.
John pressed himself closer to Sherlock. John brought him in for a soft embrace. His lips barely grazed Sherlock's, yet Sherlock could feel a jolt coursing through his entire body. He could feel John's clothed erection grinding against his hip. Sherlock's breathing became laboured. John removed his hand from Sherlock's crotch and began running his fingers through Sherlock's hair. He pulled him in closer and began kissing him with more vigour.
John's leg brushed against Sherlock's groin as John rocked his hips against Sherlock. The brief inconsistent friction was agonizing. Sherlock grabbed John's arse with both hands and thrust his hips forward onto John's leg to provide more beautifully satisfying friction. John moaned into Sherlock's mouth and started panting heavily.
"God you're beautiful." John said staring into Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock lost his breath and his vision blurred with passion. He crushed his lips against John's and immediately thrust his tongue in to meet John's. His heart pounded in his ears and his cock ached for release. John ground more urgently into Sherlock's hip. John broke off the embrace and once more latched on to Sherlock's neck, his fingers tightened in Sherlock's hair.
It was all becoming too much for Sherlock. He bucked his hips up and clenched his teeth at the sensation of John's tongue and teeth at his neck. Sherlock lost his breath and his vision became fuzzy. A wildly amazing sensation grew inside him. A shock coursed through his spine as he felt a hot wet release. His breath hitched. He let his hips drop.
He was awkwardly aware of the sticky, wet ejaculate in his trousers. He was suddenly withdrawn from the situation, he felt out of his own body as John continued to move against him. He let out a puff of air. John removed his lips from Sherlock's neck and whispered into Sherlock's ear.
"Was it good?" Sherlock gave a small nod. John brushed his lips against Sherlock's ear. "Good." John pressed himself off Sherlock and gave him a look over. He noted the welt on Sherlock's neck, he brushed his fingers against it proudly. John grinned at Sherlock's trembling form. "I'm gonna finish up in the shower, join me when you're ready." John placed a hand on Sherlock's chest and leaned in for a chaste kiss.
John pushed himself up and stumbled a bit to the bathroom. Sherlock lay on the sofa, still breathing heavily. He shifted his hips and felt the wet spot once more. He rubbed his hands against his face and held them there a moment. He groaned into his palms. What had just happened? John was so... He couldn't even start to understand how John turned him on so much.
Was this how he was with women? Who would ever turn John down when he was so irresistible? The way he felt, the ease of his movements, he was incredible. Three continents Watson. Of course. He was sex on two legs. An unassuming modest doctor, with moves that would blow anyone's mind. Sherlock suddenly felt used.
John just wanted to get off, have a shag. Sherlock was available. John would have ground up against anyone or anything in his state. What made Sherlock special? Why did Sherlock even care? He shook his head. This wasn't healthy. He must swallow his emotions and not be upset with John's promiscuous behaviour. Sherlock was just one of many and he felt it. A lump formed in his throat.
He convinced himself he wasn't upset. He decided a change of clothes was in order. He stood up, brushed himself off, and made way for his bedroom. He passed by the bathroom door that was wide open. He tried to look away from John who was lathering himself up with soap after he had furiously got off in the shower. Sherlock sighed. He realized he had stopped in place and was staring at John through the frosted glass.
Sherlock blinked and turned away. He debated joining him. He was a sweaty mess and the sticky state of his underpants was driving him mad. He stripped in the hall and made way for the shower door without giving it a second thought. He slid in behind John and pretended he didn't exist as he shut his eyes and moved his head under the water stream. The near scalding water felt amazing over his spent body. He felt John's hands spider there way across his obliques. John drew Sherlock in for another kiss, his fingers gripping the sides of Sherlock's abs.
Sherlock couldn't pull himself away as hard as he tried. He felt like gel in John's hands. John pulled Sherlock in closer and Sherlock placed a hand against John's chest. John pulled away and looked up at Sherlock.
"Absolutely gorgeous" John said brushing away Sherlock's wet matted hair.
"You're just telling me what you think I want to hear." John drew Sherlock in for a hug and wrapped his arms around tight. He pressed the side of his face against Sherlock's wet chest and breathed a heavy sigh.
"You're brilliantly beautiful. Takes too much liquor to have the courage to tell you so. I'm sorry." John gave Sherlock a tight squeeze and rubbed his face against Sherlock's chest. He began to sway, dancing to imaginary music.
"You're still very drunk."
"Just a slight buzz."
"I should have never-"
"You know you wanted to." John chuckled. John was absolutely right. Sherlock had never wanted anything more when he was caught up in that spectacular moment. He felt warm in John's arms. The nagging doubt in the back of his mind was momentarily quieted. He felt John start to doze off, he held on tight as John started leaning more into him. Sherlock turned off the water and John groaned sleepily.
He lead John by the hand out of the shower. John shivered as Sherlock brushed himself down with a towel. He wrapped the towel around John's lower half and lead him to his bedroom. John fell heavily on to the mattress and Sherlock pulled out fresh underwear out of his dresser and slid them on. He looked back at John who had drifted off into sleep. His towel had fallen off and he was perfectly exposed. Sherlock smiled to himself at John's... cuteness...
Sherlock's seed of doubt came back full force. John would never do this sober. They'd have to be piss drunk to have any type of sexual relationship. Sherlock sighed, not knowing why he gave a damn anyhow. The thought of sex made him uncomfortable. He could have gone his entire life without another person sharing his body. Sherlock pulled on his pyjama bottoms and looked away for a moment.
Gorgeous, beautiful, brilliant. John complemented Sherlock as if he was a woman. Sherlock felt deep resentment for John's statements. John hadn't meant to hurt Sherlock's feelings. He didn't know Sherlock's deep torture about being compared to a girl. Sherlock had only recently grown into his body and become more manly. Or androgynous at the least.
He was absolutely despised in his secondary school for being remotely intelligent. The children saw every one of his accomplishments as a boast. The viewed him as a self-absorbed bastard. They picked at anything they could. His childhood nickname became an insult. Girly Sherly. After some time and once the children became improperly educated in sex, Sherlock became a gay slur. They picked on him in the school yard, at first just shouting obscenities. Barring him from any social activities. All of the students picked up on it and they became relentless in badgering the feminine looking boy.
Even the young lasses from the sister school down the road knew about Sherlock and his supposed reputation. Some regarded him with hostility, others sought to have him over for slumber parties. Sherlock began to more and more shy away from girls, only affirming his school mates' suspicions.
Sherlock began to rebel against the onslaught of homophobic remarks. He'd lash out at anyone who would call him gay. He'd notice subtle attributes about the students in his school, he'd listen in on their conversations, and before long he was able to throw back any insult that was thrown at him.
"You only resent me because your daddy left, because he decided... he just doesn't love you."
Sherlock had effectively scared off the majority of the school from bullying him. They hated him from a far. He found it worked well on his teachers as well. They'd call him out to humiliate him when he wasn't paying attention and he'd mention their wife's affairs or their incestuous encounters and he'd be immune for the rest of the semester.
He was a constant habitant of the head teacher's office. The man was over worked and constantly drinking black coffee. His hands shook whenever Sherlock was around. He had stopped handing out punishments because he knew the Holmes family and the power they had over the school. Sherlock would grin smugly and spend his obligatory sentence, near everyday, in his office. Scouring through old textbooks, absorbing university level material.
Sherlock grew to like the power he had over the school. Of course he knew what people said behind his back, but he was immune now. He felt completely at ease in the head teacher's office among all of his scientific journals and odd knick-knacks. It was cozy. The head master was the closest thing he had to a "friend" at the school. He was deeply saddened by Sherlock's presence but did great work as Sherlock's advisor, getting him squared away for uni. Even perhaps indirectly inspiring him to take up Chemistry.
"Holmes. The more you bar yourself off from society, the harder it will be to coup in the real world." His head teacher told him one day.
"I don't need people."
"You're only setting yourself up for failure young master Holmes." It was then that Sherlock decided he would no longer make his visits to the head teacher's office daily. He'd simply skip out of school whenever he was in trouble. It was simple enough, he just walked off the campus, went for a long stroll, and waited for his brother to hunt him down.
However, his lashing out and constant outbursts bit him back hard. Five new students joined his class, five golden haired tan boys, all footballers and wildly popular from the instant they stepped foot in the halls of Sherlock's school. They were instantly drawn to Sherlock who was weak prey. They'd swarm him after school and start up the all too familiar homophobic jokes. Everyone found it humorous once more to pick on young Sherlock. They stopped caring that he knew every bit about their home lives.
Then with two words, Sherlock's abuse went from verbal to physical.
"Fucking Mormons." was all Sherlock had to say, when he was tossed to the ground and beat mercilessly by a chorus line of well placed kicks from the golden boys. His ears rung with "Girly Sherly" and his face burned with anger. Every time he tried to get up, he was shoved back down. He was beaten into submission. He curled up into a ball and refused to cry. It all ended with the five boys taking turns spitting on him and leaving him in the front lawn, an absolute mess. He was bloody and bruised and unaware of his brother standing over him.
His brother lifted an eyebrow as he gazed down at his younger brother.
"I see you finally got the beating you deserve." He sneered. Sherlock went absolutely feral and threw himself at his brother trying to land a blow across his snide face. He wanted to beat the posh out of him. Mycroft stepped to the side and swept Sherlock off his feet with his umbrella. Sherlock had the wind knocked out of him when he hit the ground, he lay in shock for a moment.
"You're supposed to help me. You're my brother damn it." Sherlock cried.
"You say that as if it should mean something." Mycroft offered the handle of his umbrella to help Sherlock up. Sherlock smacked it away and got up on his own. He wiped away his tears. Then drew his older brother in for a hug. He sobbed into his brother's waist-coat while Mycroft rolled his eyes.
After little convincing, Mycroft had him pulled out of school. He finished his last years with a tutor. He spent all of his time away from his peers and settled into being more and more anti-social. Any hope he had at making friends was lost and when it came time to leave for uni, his socio-pathic lifestyle was set in stone.
Sherlock snapped back to attention as John became restless in bed. He had rolled over on to his stomach, his hips were slightly elevated causing his round arse to be sticking up in the air suggestively. Sherlock had never noticed John's bottom before. It felt good in his hands earlier but now getting a full view, caused him to have feelings.
He pushed away his arousal and shook his head. He walked over and covered John's back with the comforter. He placed a hand on John's covered bum and lingered a moment. He pushed away before his mind started racing with ideas.
It wasn't a sleeping night for Sherlock so he retreated to the kitchen to work on other experiments. Ones not involving his flatmate.
