John knocked sharply three times on the small, chipped door of the old apartment block. The wallpaper in the corridor was peeling and greyed, and gave the impression of a sad lost place with no hope or happiness. He'd felt a similar feeling a few months previous, when sitting on his own in 221B Baker Street, wondering why his best friend had left him. Lisa Thomas opened the door dressed in a nightgown with her hair pulled messily into a bun. She had dark circles under her eyes and was clutching a chipped mug of coffee.

'I thought you weren't going to speak to me about the case.'

'I wasn't, but then you published a story anyway.'

'I'm sorry, I have a lot of work to catch up on.' She began to close the door, but John stuck his foot in the way.

'I can hear Jeremy Kyle on the TV in the other room. The microwave is on too. Very hard at work it seems. Fancy sticking the kettle on? It's been a long journey.' He walked into the tiny, dark apartment and sat on the mottled armchair in the corner. It was damp and stained- the entire room made him feel uncomfortable and he yearned for the sanitary kitchen and the speckless living room of home that Sherlock cared for so much.

'Why can't you leave well enough alone? I haven't done any wrong; I'm just telling the world the facts – that's what a reporter does.' She passed him a watery cup of tea in a dirty mug, and he decided to very subtly edge the cup behind the chair when she wasn't looking.

'It's not whether people know about the case or not. It's how you know this information.'

'I listened in on some police reports. It really wasn't that difficult.'

'Miss Simmons, who was on her way back from a party in Brixton, was attacked on her journey at around 1am on Sunday morning. The cause of death was a blow to the back of the head by a brick. Miss Simmons' family had recently had an explosive row which left them torn apart; so her family have not been ruled out as suspects. We weren't even aware that she had been at a party the night before. Her family mentioned nothing about a row to us; in fact, they seemed to be quite happy from what we were told. How do you know all of this?'

'I have my sources.' She sat on the arm of the chair, and John noticed the hem of her nightgown sliding up her leg slightly. 'Now if you don't mind- I'd rather be left alone. Unless there is anything else you needed?' She rested her hand on his knee.

'I could get you arrested for withholding evidence you know.' He gulped and focused on a crack on the ceiling- distracting himself from the ticking nails dragging along his thigh.

'Oh no, you don't really want to do that do you?' She pursed her lips and attempted to look innocent and sweet. John just noticed that she looked sad. 'Can't we think of a way to ignore this whole silly business?' She dragged her hand lightly across his crotch and undid the button on the top of his jeans. He exhaled, unsure of how he felt about the situation. She was attractive- he could see that- but the prospect of this sneaky woman tossing him off purely to protect her own reputation did nothing for him at all. He opened his mouth to protest but was silenced by hers; lips working viciously against his which were fighting to stay closed. She straddled his hips on the armchair and he attempted to push her off- however in the struggle all his hands seemed to do was grope her boobs further. There was a sharp knock on the door and then a click as it was opened.

'I need to see your phone Miss Thomas, it's extremely important. Also, I must ask you to take your hands off my doctor.'

She threw herself off and stormed towards Sherlock, who was already flicking through her phone. 'Excuse me. I don't think it's proper manners to invite yourself into a lady's home and search her personal belongings.'
'I also don't think it's polite to force a man into sexual contact he clearly doesn't want, but you seem to have that covered already.'

John felt violated and strange- like a child who'd expected a lollipop but had received an empty stick. A rotten empty stick. Covered in acid.

'Nothing, damn.' Sherlock threw the phone carelessly onto the table and picked a stunned John up from the chair, dragging him out the door.

'Is that it then? You're going to search my phone and then leave me?'

'Oh on the contrary. Lestrade and some others from the force will be over soon to arrest you for withholding evidence. Good day.'

'Where did you go?'

John realised that his shirt still had three buttons undone, and suddenly felt very exposed. Sherlock's legs were hopping up and down in the back of the taxi and he was restless.

'I had to go and visit Pentonville again. I got another text from Moriarty.'

'Anything interesting?'

'Only frustrating. I asked the guards and each one said that he had all of his belongings confiscated when he turned himself in. He doesn't own a phone.'

'But…he texted you?'

'Or someone impersonating him.'

'Did you have him searched? Maybe he snuck a phone in.'

'Oh, he volunteered for it.'

'But you do think it's him?'

Sherlock glanced at John as if he was an idiot. If he wasn't used to it, he probably would've been offended. However he just sighed and let the man explain his thoughts.

'Of course it's him. It might not be directly, but he definitely has some form of connection with the person. The initials at the end and the way he writes- the rhymes. No random impersonator would be able to match that so accurately; he must have had some contact with them. In one text he called me boring; only Moriarty would know the association with me and that word.'

'Maybe the reporter is connected? That'll be why she knows all those facts.'

'Exactly why I asked for her to be called in for questioning.'

'Let's hope Lestrade isn't subjected to the same treatment that I was.'

Sherlock exhaled audibly through his nostrils and rolled his tongue around in his mouth before speaking. 'About that. We need to make some rules.'

Rules, yes, exactly. That was what he'd planned to do at the start- but he got…distracted.

'First things first. We know that I won't be partaking in any sexual activities when on a case. Also, for the period of my learning- you will only be working with me.'

'You mean I can't have sex with anybody other than you?'

'Intercourse, foreplay- anything under the sexual umbrella.'

This didn't bother John. Recently there wasn't really anybody he'd wanted to have sex with other than Sherlock- however he wasn't about to let him know that.

'That's completely unfair- first you say I'm not allowed to do anything with you whilst we're on a case and now I'm not allowed sex with anybody else?'

'John, when I first experience things sexually I will expect the best level of satisfaction from you. I will only be happy with my efforts if you are enjoying yourself, and the chances of that are heightened if you've been frustrated for a long time. Understand?'

'I understand, I guess. Does this mean-?'

'STOP THE CAR.'

The breaks were slammed and Sherlock disappeared from sight, darting down a nearby alleyway. John passed some change over and nodded apologetically to the driver, then followed without hesitation. He turned the corner and Sherlock had his head on his arm, leaning against the wall. As John approached, he hit the wall with his other hand and shouted. Nothing in particular, just a strangled, pained noise that caused John to pause and take a step back.

'Sherlock? What-'

'I saw her, again. This is the THIRD time I've seen her John, she was right there.'

'Who? I can't help you if I don't know what you're talking about.'

'Alicia Simmons. She walked right down the road and into this alleyway, I swear it. I saw her walking around on the day of the murder too, and again outside Pentonville.'

John glanced around but there was no-one else in sight. He hadn't seen her at the murder site either- unless you counted her dead body. He zipped up his jacket; the wind was biting cold and the winter season meant that it was already dark, even though it was about 4pm. 'Maybe we should just get you home. It's cold and I don't think you've eaten or slept in days.'

'You don't believe me, do you John? I swear it, I saw her. I wouldn't mistake something like that, I really wouldn't.' He had gripped John's shoulders and was scanning his face rapidly with his eyes, which looked hurt and scared. The last time he'd seen the man so distressed was when he thought he spotted the enormous hound up near Baskerville- however this time was different. In Baskerville, the idea of a mutated hound was at least feasible. The idea that he could be seeing the body of a dead girl wandering the streets of London was enough to strike genuine terror into his expression. 'I'm so sure I saw her. We need to tell somebody. Lestrade- maybe he could help. Did you see her John? When you came round here?'

'I didn't see anybody Sherlock. I'm sorry-' Sherlock's knees crumbled and he began to collapse, shaking violently. John immediately caught him on his way down, holding one hand under his head for support.

'My mind is betraying me. The one thing I have been sure of my entire life and it's showing me things that aren't there. But she WAS there, she was practically tangible and I-' he slid the palm of his hands behind John's ears and kissed him viciously. 'Distract me John, and quickly. I can't be thinking about this. I don't care about the rules anymore, just distract me.' He pulled him into another kiss, and John's entire body ached to lean in for more- but he forced himself to resist.

'Sherlock, you can't do this. If you're only kissing me to get your mind off other things then I can't allow you to do that, I'm sorry but-'

'John there has been nothing else on my mind other than kissing you these past few weeks-now if you don't mind, I have thought of a reasonable excuse to act on those desires.' He moved from John's lap to his knees, and unzipped his jacket.

'If you're sure, I don't want you doing anything that you'll regret.' John's nose was resting against Sherlock's, and their breath was making white mist in the very faint glow of the street light around the alley corner.

'It's what I want. Honestly- I need something to take my mind off everything that has happened today, and you're the perfect distraction.' Sherlock stood and extended his hand to John, who took it gingerly. Before he could ask what was happening, he had been pushed against the alley wall and has having his neck gently caressed and licked by Sherlock Holmes. His erection appeared through his trousers at a worrying rate, and after feeling it pressing through to his thigh, Sherlock was very aware of it too.

'Tell me what you want me to do, John.' He licked and kissed under John's earlobe, his breath hot on the trembling man's neck.

'I don't want you to do anything you don't want to.'

'I want to learn, I'll do whatever it takes.' John's shoulder jerked as Sherlock tugged down the collar of his shirt and began planting soft, gentle kisses along his collarbone.

'You've been doing some research.'

'I watched some videos. I didn't want to embarrass myself on my first try.' He dropped to his knees and John gasped in anticipation, ashamed of letting his excitement show through so easily.

'Sherlock, it's the middle of the afternoon and we're in an alleyway. Wouldn't you prefer to get home first and-'

'We're in the moment. You're aroused. I know every odd and end of this town and I promise, we won't be discovered.' His fingers traced under the rim of John's waistline and he unbuckled the heavy belt- tugging open the button on the front of John's jeans without a moment's hesitation. John tilted his head back and bit his lip, short jagged breaths reminding him that he was alive and awake.

'Tell me if I do anything wrong. I only aim to please.' Sherlock ran his hand over the outline of John's cock through his underwear, following the length all the way to the tip before tugging down the waistband and grasping it in cold hands. John began to swear under his breath but was cut off as he suddenly felt intense warmth replacing the hard coldness of Sherlock's fingers. He glanced down and gazed at his cock, which was being tongued professionally by a man who he'd once called his best friend. Sherlock sucked the tip of his erection into the wet heat of his mouth, his tongue flicking over the tip and teasing the rim of his head gently. Using his hands to steady John's hips, Sherlock moved his mouth to press kisses along the shaft of John's cock all the way down to his balls; Taking each one in his mouth and stroking them with his tongue before licking a wet stripe over the vein on the underside of John's cock until he once again encased the head of the erection in his lips.

John couldn't hold back anymore- he began to moan and subconsciously move his hips so that he was further in Sherlock's mouth.

'Anything I can do to improve?' Sherlock's face was sweaty and pale, and his hair was messy where John had entangled his fingers into it.

'A-a bit wetter, if you can. It's good though, really, it's…' he trailed off. His entire body felt fatigued and weak, but in a gloriously pleasant way. Sherlock spat on his hand and began to work John's cock once more, following every stroke with his mouth. Moving his head down, Sherlock concentrated on taking more and more into his mouth, playing with the heavy weight of John's cock on his tongue. He moved his head forward as he felt John's hands entangle in his hair and pull him closer- until John hit the back of his throat. John was aware of himself muttering and groaning, but even he wasn't aware what on earth he was saying at that time. The pleasure was otherworldly, and his legs were beginning to give out underneath him.

'S-sherlock, I'm going to…oh fuck. I'm going-'

'Would you prefer me to swallow? What would please you more?'

'Swa-' he gulped and threw his head back, feeling his entire body tense up as a wave of ecstasy washed over him. Sherlock's mouth stayed round his cock the entire time he came, and he felt a faint tingling as Sherlock's tongue cleaned up the mess he had caused. He slid down the wall to the floor and regained his breath, trembling from the aftershocks of the orgasm.

'How was I?'

'Just…give me a minute. Please.'

'That doesn't sound very promising.'

In John's mind, he couldn't believe that that had been Sherlock's first blow job. It was of almost professional standard, and John's body could barely function for the next few minutes. He began to adjust himself while Sherlock walked to the other end of the alley and phoned for yet another taxi. Once he'd put the phone down, John regained the use of his limbs and stood by his side, facing the floor.

'If you must know, I'm quite confident that you just gave me the best blowjob I've ever received.'

'Good.'

'If you want, I can brief you through some tips to help you perfect it for next time. Maybe I can even demonstrate-'

'Back to work tomorrow.'

'Oh, so we're just…you're just going to…'

'Back to work.'