"Sherlock-"

"John, listen to me-"

"No Sherlock, you listen to me. These are not spots, not 'I might die' spots. These are just moles. Moles, Sherlock."

John was still blushing at the situation, and Sherlock looked surprised. He acted like if he had been surprised.

But what the doctor didn't realize what the fact that his hands were still on Sherlock's body. His right hand on his left bony hip and his left hand on his penis.

Sherlock felt seduced by the touch of his flatmate. He was wearing gloves, yes, but he could feel the warmness of those medical hands. And it was making him hard... under John's touch.

"But it looked dangerous to me! I was looking at my penis this morning and-"

"And what have you been doing to look at your penis and find out this moles? Sherl-"

"It was my morning erection and-"

At the sound of the word erection John felt something hard under his left hand. His thumb could make him feel blood pressure. Something wrong was going on under his left hand...

When John glanced down at where his hands were resting on his eyes widened on surprise.

Sherlock's erected penis was being held by his hand. Hard.

Sherlock. Penis. Hard.

The realization of it made John jump from his seat, taking a few steps back, looking surprised.

His flatmate changed his position from the sofa and tried to calm the doctor. John's face was pale, and his mouth was the exact replic of an 'o'.

"John."

"Sher-Sherlock! What are you doing?"

"John-"

But the doctor grabbed his coat and rushed down the stairs, leaving Sherlock alone in the sitting room, naked, watching him leave through the cold glass of the window.


He couldn't remember how much he walked, but it must have been a very long time because his leg was hurting him again, and the shops weren't the same he used to remember from at least ten blocks around Baker Street.

His mind was still processing the past events of that afternoon. First, his flatmate naked looking at himself in his room. Second, poor Mrs Hudson witnessing that scene and now he was quite sure she was going to smile and smirk at him in a very suggestive way 'I knew you didn't need two bedrooms'. And finally, the last thing he could have ever imagined was making Sherlock got hard.

He found looking at his own reflexion through a shop window. Thinking about Sherlock made him blush like a schoolgirl- what?

He was blushing for Sherlock Holmes? The man who claimed himself as a sociopath, the only consultive detective of the world? Something must feel wrong. He couldn't think of him in that way. He had a girlfriend (or something like that) and a life. The sudden events of that afternoon was threatening the foundations of that life?

Was Sherlock Holmes more than a flatmate for him?

He turned on his heels back to Baker Street. The bravery of the soldier was going to be proved.


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