John almost broke his kneecaps as he tripped over one of the detective's errant shoes and went crashing to the floor. Swearing loudly he tried to struggle back up again only to tangled up in a jumble of clothes, sheets, cutlery and other objects that had no place being in a bedroom. After shaking off one of Sherlock's shirts that had gotten coiled around his leg, John straightened up and took in his surroundings.
It was strange being inside Sherlock's sanctuary, the one place that John could never follow him too. Sure, he had stood in the doorway twice, hovered awkwardly behind the closed door and lurked in the hallway when the detective had been inside. Not that he was counting or anything. Everything form the state of the art sound system to the massive double bed seemed to be top of the range stuff and way out of John's price range. He had a strong suspicion that most of the furniture was Mycroft's doing as Sherlock would quite happily sleep on the floor if John would let him.
John sat down on the bed and bounced up and down on it experimentally. Nice firm mattress he noted. Next he flopped backwards rolled around onto the sheets. God, they smelt like Sherlock. That strange mix of cinnamon, tea, chemicals and something John couldn't quite put his finger on. Rolling over he grabbed one of Sherlock's pillows, stuffed his face into it and inhaled. Mmmmmm. Without even realising he was doing it, John began to grind his hips down into the mattress. Being this close to Sherlock but not actually touching him was driving his senses crazy and he began to thrust his hips harder into the mattress. Suddenly he came to back down to earth. This wasn't right; this was demeaning and degrading to use the bed that Sherlock slept in as some kind of masturbation tool. Scrambling off the bed, his face burning with shame, John attempted to make the bed back up the way it was before. Sherlock was going to know he had been in here, he just prayed the detective would never be able to figure out what John had almost done all over his nice posh sheets.
John moved over towards the relative safety of the bookcase that occupied the far corner of the room. Hopefully checking out the condense of Sherlock's bookshelf would help him ignore the throbbing erection that currently making itself known between his legs. It didn't escape Johns notice that the books in Sherlock's bedroom were neatly put away in alphabetical order, unlike the books in the living room that were spilling out all over the place. Frowning in annoyance he was about to pull one of the volumes off the shelf before he chided himself mentally. Sherlock probably had every particle of dust memorized and would know instantly if something had been disturbed. Glancing up an ornate silver photo frame nestled neatly amongst the mounds of books had caught his eye. Curiosity got the better of him this time and he reached up and plucked the frame of the shelf.
In the photo was, quite frankly, one of the fattest ten year olds John had ever seen wedged into a leather armchair. A thick thatch of hair adorned his head and he was wearing what appeared to be a rather tight school uniform. Sherlock hadn't been kidding when he said that Mycroft had been a bit over weight as a child. Perched in his vast lap was a very small toddler with piles of dark curly hair and a little buttoned nose. John smiled to himself as he held up the frame for a closer look. Toddler Sherlock, who could have been no older than two, was wearing a pair of Thomas the Tank pyjamas with matching slippers and was snuggled against Mycroft's chest, sucking his thumb. Looking closer John could see that Mycroft was actually reading his little brother 'Treasure Island'. John smiled to himself; clearly at some point the Holmes brothers had gotten along just fine. Sometimes John forgot that Sherlock hadn't just sprung up from the ground, fully formed and just like everyone else he must have had a mother and father. Who and where they were now John was doubtful that he would ever know. Still, it was nice seeing a little window into Sherlock's childhood. Sherlock was so guarded in regards to anything that required an emotional attachment or investment and John didn't feel it wise to ask about his parents, mainly because he was worried that perhaps it was too painful for Sherlock to discuss. Plus he didn't think Sherlock would appreciate him snooping about in his bedroom. Placing the photo frame back carefully he glanced around the room feeling a fresh bout of nerves kick in. If Sherlock suddenly returned home he would never make it back to the living room without being caught.
Moving away from the bookshelf he glanced back around the room. He still couldn't put his finger on why he had come in here. It wasn't like Sherlock was going too set out a condom and a bottle of lubricant on his bedside table. John fidgeted uncomfortably. The idea of Sherlock sleeping with some random stranger was making his head ache. Sherlock needed, no deserved, someone that could see past the pretty packaging, the fitted suit and all that ridiculous hair. He needed someone that could look past the façade Sherlock put and see the vastly more fragile and vulnerable person underneath it. John scowled suddenly; Hugo was probably one of those blokes who were only interested in getting his leg over for the evening. A quick shag and then you get shoved out the door. This thought made him feel decided uneasy. What if Hugo just got what he wanted for the evening and then just ditched Sherlock? John didn't think that Sherlock had enough emotional experience, let alone sexual experience, to be able to cope with something like that. How was John supposed to deal with that? In all honesty it would have been better for all involved if Sherlock had just stayed in with John and watched Total Wipeout.
Shaking his head, as if he could force out all the negative thoughts and feelings of unease, John moved around to the rest of the room. It amused him slightly that Sherlock's bedroom was an odd juxtaposition of being obsessively neat and looking like a bomb had gone off. A variety of clothes were strewn across the bed; shirts, a security jacket, trousers and strangely enough, one of Johns jumpers. The top two draws of the chest of draws were wide open with their contents spilling out onto the floor. John knew he shouldn't, he had always prided himself that out of the two them he had always respected Sherlock's privacy, but his hand was already inching towards the top draw…
In his mind John tried to tell himself that he was just doing Sherlock a favour, even if he was rooting around to see if the detective had any condoms secreted away in his bedroom. It was highly doubtful that Sherlock would keep condoms in a normal place like a top draw anyway. They'd probably be kept in a jar somewhere or stashed inside a book. Not that John was interested in where Sherlock kept his condoms. None had ever materialised in the bathroom cupboard in all the time they had lived together so John had just assumed that Sherlock must keep them in his room. Well, that was if Sherlock even owned any. John really hoped that he wouldn't have what was bound to be a very long and awkward conversation with Sherlock about the importance of safe sex. The top draw was mainly filled with underwear; Sherlock seemed to favour a simple tight brief. John rummaged a bit further towards the back until his fingers closed around something soft. Pulling his hand out he found a pair of black silk briefs clenched in his fist. His breathing faltered slightly as he ran the soft the material through his fingers. At least this, in some way, proved that Sherlock was a little bit interested in sex. Wasn't the rule with black silk underwear that you didn't buy it unless you wanted someone else to see it? John could feel a familiar heat pooling in his groin and he immediately shoved the underwear into the back of the drawer. He desperately tried to ignore the fact that what he really wanted to do was lie down on Sherlock's bed, get his cock out, wrap Sherlock's underwear around his erection and wank until he came all over the silk material. He shifted uncomfortably as his erection began to make itself know again.
He was already cutting a very fine line between Helpful Flatmate and Creepy Flatmate that fondles the unsuspecting flatmates underwear. He couldn't go around getting off on Sherlock's underwear like a dirty pervert. John suddenly had a mental image of himself being carted away by police officers as news camera crews surrounded the flat, informing the public that 'The Lurker' had finally been caught and Sherlock in floods of tears telling a reporter "I thought he was just an ordinary flatmate, I didn't think he'd go through my underwear draw!"
This was a mistake; he should never have come in here in the first place.
John bolted from the room and ran up the short flight of stairs to his bedroom and locked the door, as if this would prevent the sudden surge of realisation hitting him. He paced up and down his room, a strange mixture of anger and frustration stirred through his veins. Trying to convince himself he had Sherlock's best interests at heart just wasn't going to work anymore. This whole being just friends business could never work when John so clearly and desperately wanted more. Perhaps the worst feeling of all was that he had probably by now lost his chance at ever having a relationship with Sherlock. He had been so stupid! Sherlock had been right there under his nose for all these months but he had just pushed any feeling he had aside. When it became clear that Sherlock was, shall we say, rather innocent when it came to things of a sexual nature John had forced himself to not think of his flatmate in that way. It wasn't fair on him or Sherlock to expect something from the detective that he could never give. Or at least John thought he could never give. He should have just told Sherlock how he felt from the start. Even if Sherlock hadn't reciprocated his feelings John was certain that he wouldn't just cut John off and end their friendship completely. It wasn't like he went round thinking inappropriate thoughts about his flatmate all day long either. He had only ever thought about Sherlock once when he wanked and after the deed was done he felt so ashamed he had pushed the detective to the very back of his mind. Sherlock deserved more then to just be John's mucky little fantasy. It wasn't that John even minded that Sherlock appeared to have no knowledge when it came to relationships, it was more that he felt ashamed with himself for even thinking about Sherlock in that way. When it came to Sherlock, John had all ways adopted a look but don't touch policy, it was just now becoming apparent that others didn't seem to want to follow this rule.
Throwing himself down on the bed John heaved out a heavy sigh, suddenly he felt like he wanted to burst into tears. Sherlock was the best thing that had ever happened to him and now he was going to lose him to some posh public school boy with a silly name. There were times when John thought, just for a split second, that Sherlock might feel the same way about him. But if he did why had he gone on this date with Hugo? Why didn't he just stay in with John like they normally did? Cursing himself, John wished he had said something sooner, months ago in fact. When Sherlock had come down the stairs all dressed up John should have taken hold of him, sat him down and told him how he felt. At least then it would have been out in the open and Sherlock could have made a more informed decision about his date. If only Sherlock had known, then John wouldn't have had to resort to snooping around in his underwear draw like a crazy person. He felt a bolt of heat flash to his groin when he thought about the silk briefs he had found. His mind started to wander as he thought about that lovely plush arse covered in silk, what he wouldn't give just touch it just once. The thin cotton of his underwear was doing nothing to conceal the erection that was currently straining against the material. Maybe he could touch himself just one more time? His hand was already starting to brush against the straining mound of flesh between his legs before he pulled his hand back like he had been burned. Disgusted with himself, John rolled over onto his front and fought the desperate urge to just hump the mattress into oblivion. It wasn't right thinking of Sherlock in that way. Closing his eyes and breathing deeply, John tried to force all thoughts of a silk underwear clad detective out of his mind.
John jolted awake to the sound of his phone ringing. Fumbling around in the darkness he found the switch for his bedside lap and turned it on. Squinting hard at the clock he saw it was half past three in the morning, how had that happened? He had only shut his eyes for five minutes. Aware that his phone was still ringing loudly next to him, John grabbed hold of it and looked at the screen. He didn't recognise the call but the same number had rung him over twenty times since he had been asleep.
"Hello?" He mumbled groggily.
"Am I speaking to a Mr John Watson?"
"Yes, who is this? Do you have any idea what time it is?"
"I'm calling from Kings College Hospital; we've got a patient here that's asked for us to contact you."
John groaned loudly to himself and flopped back down onto his bed. Why couldn't Harry just stay of the booze like she promised she would?
"Look, just tell her I'll be down to pick her up in the morning. Give her a chance to sober up before I can start shouting at her."
"Her? I'm sorry sir but I think you must be mistaken. It's a Mr Sherlock Holmes that's been asking after you."
John sat bolt upright, a sick feeling of dread passed through his body.
"What's wrong with him? Is he ok?"
"He'll be fine but he's been asking after you. I think it would be best if you could get down here quickly sir."
"Tell him I'm on my way," John said as he quickly ended the call.
Without giving it a second thought John rammed his clothes on at lightning speed, not caring that his jumper was on inside out and that he had two different types of socks on. Grabbing his keys, phone he paused briefly to scribble a note to Mrs Hudson just in case she came in in the morning, and all but ran out of the front door.
*waves sheepishly* Sorry this has taken me so long to update but I'm currently in the process of moving to a different part of the country and starting a new job. I'm back up to speed now though, hope you all enjoy chapter four! xxx