CHAPTER 10. THE PERFECT DRUG
Sherlock ignored his brother's last text, instead he savored the pleasant feeling of his own arm draped over the unconscious blond. John's head was resting on Sherlock's knee, the warmth of his breath through the jean material shot a rather delicious tingle up Sherlock's thigh. In response he found himself petting the soft blond hair, marveling at how right it all felt.
They reached his flat all too soon, and he waved the government goon slash cabbie off. Opting on half carrying half walking the younger man up the stairs to the flat himself. The pair teetered towards the couch in the middle of the large living room, a sharp knock on the door alerted Sherlock that Mycroft had located John's wallet.
"Wait here." Sherlock commanded easing John onto the leather couch.
"Sure. Why not." John giggled. Sherlock could see that John's eyes weren't even open, John was close to passing out completely. An odd feeling of disappointment struck him at this thought. He pulled open the front door irritably expecting his brother to be on the other side.
Thankfully it wasn't his brother just a government crony standing at the door.
"There you go sir. Wasn't difficult to find. The account was frozen before it could be used." Sherlock nodded taking the soft well loved leather wallet, "Will I be escorting Mr. Watson home?" Sherlock only slammed the door on the agent without a reply.
That wasn't nice. What would mummy say about your manners? I see your new friend is in the Last year of his residency. How sweet he wants to be a surgeon. Well mummy would be proud. "-MH
The younger Holmes pulled John easily to his feet, deciding the blond would feel more comfortable on the bed rather than wake up with stiff muscles on the couch.
That and some perverse part of Sherlock wanted to saturate the scent of honey and spice onto his blankets and pillows.
Why are you telling me this?-SH
The younger Holmes pondered if he should remove John's trousers and checkered shirt. Both items of clothing were covered in blood and the filth from the alley floor. And of course it wouldn't be comfortable sleeping in trousers and a shirt. Another text from Mycroft interrupted his inner debate.
Because if he's going to be supplying you with narcotics dear brother I will have all hopes for a license and career pulled, and the only employment he'll find will be janitorial. -MH
Stay out of my business.-SH
Sherlock deleted the correspondence, discarded the mobile on the bedside table and set to work carefully removing John's converse.
"Thanks." John sighed a small grin playing on his bruised lips. "You're too sweet." Sherlock snorted at this.
"I do believe you're the first person well besides my mummy to say this to me."
"You have a good heart." John's hands came to still the fingers working at unbuttoning his shirt, his blue eyes capturing the gray.
Like spring settling over winter except wasn't it supposed to be the other way around?
"I have been reliably informed I do not have one." Winter tried to ice over.
"Idiots." The spring offered warmth, before heavy lids slammed shut.
John released Sherlock's cool hands his own body going lax, he allowed himself to be undressed. First the blood stained checkered shirt then the white t-shirt underneath, were discarded.
Sherlock had John laying back on the king-size bed with feet still dangling over the side. He started to undo John's jeans with surprisingly unsteady hands. He swore irritably at himself for acting like a horny teenager. This wasn't the first time he undressed a stranger, except those nameless faces weren't worth remembering. But John is?
It was true, for some mystifying reason, John was quickly building his own space in Sherlock's mind palace.
The dark haired addict swallowed trying to keep himself from allowing his willowy fingers to trace the blond trail of hair running from the center of a broad chest disappearing under the waistband of John's jeans. The addict's long fingers wished to dip just beneath the waistline of those infuriating jeans. A barrier between him and his prize.
Instead he busied himself with thoughts of other things. Like if he had any coke hidden away, a stash Mycroft hadn't found yet, somewhere in the flat.
Except his gray eyes fell back onto the figure in his bed. He did have to admire John's flat torso, deducing silently that John commits himself to several sets of sit ups every morning.
The addict tried to concentrate once more on possible hiding places, instead his mind was overridden by the itch to outline the hard flesh that was John's, the strong craving to move his palms over the flat surface past the young Doctor's belly button further down. Imagining the feel of John's hot flesh coming alive, hardening under his teasing ministrations.
"Woah, you haven't even bought me dinner." John giggled snapping Sherlock from his perverse musings. Glassy spring blue eyes watched a red blush burn the dark haired man's cheeks.
And to Sherlock's surprise John sat up rather quickly his hands holding firmly to Sherlock's narrow waist. "Your turn." The young Doctor started to run his hands over the soft material of Sherlock's dark shirt. Clumsy fingers attempted to unbutton the barrier between him and his champion.
"I do believe you are trying to seduce me." Sherlock murmured pushing the hands away he climbed onto the bed straddling John's waist his own capable fingers hastily removing his shirt, pushing John back onto the soft bed.
"Am I? I was just trying to even up the playing field." Sherlock allowed his fingers to deftly move over John's broad chest. Enjoying the encouraging intake of breath from the man beneath him.
He gave into the compulsion to trace cruel circles around two very erect pink nipples. He continued to run his slender digits through the soft down of chest hair. Only to move on at a brutally slow pace, trailing lightly over bruised ribs. The addict then cataloged the fingerprints and other painful discolorations on the young Doctor's well toned arms.
John rolled his hips upwards grinding against the man straddling him, causing both of them to groan in pleasure.
"I don't think you're in the right frame of mind to be encouraging me Doctor." Sherlock whispered huskily bringing his lips down to nip at John's ear, an action earning him a small whimper.
"You're so beautiful." John murmured his blue eyes blinking back sleep.
"And you are my heroine." Sherlock whispered into John's ear, running the tip of his tongue expertly over the lobe.
"Oh, god." John hissed his hips rolling upwards against Sherlock in response. The dark haired young man felt a tightness growing in his own trousers, not to mention John's stiff muscle starting to become more and more noticeable.
"You're drunk it wouldn't be fair to continue." Sherlock started to climb off, he needed to stop before this went too far.
Not that he cared, but something in him warned John would. His drumming heart and the rush of blood to his crouch protested, crying out that it was already far too late for that.
"Says who? And I feel perfectly sober." John moved to pull off his own jeans. Sherlock watched torn between wanting to take what John was offering or just walking away.
Instead he managed to find some form of self control, despite the drumming of blood to his cock fogging all rational thought. He held his breath and concentrated on the task at hand. Hooking his own arm under the back of John's knees he swiveled the shorter man's legs onto the bed easily.
He smiled at John's choice of briefs. Red, really? Oh, the delicious implications of it all.
John's breathing was starting to even out, but his semi hard dick remained. It took another deep breath, to continue, and the scent of honey and spice bombarding his senses wasn't helping him keep a clear head.
Feeling a bit guilty he snatched up a pair of blue silk pajama bottoms he'd discarded earlier in the day and changed out of his constrictive trousers. He felt less like a reprobate with pajama bottoms on. Trying to choose between a cold shower, or maybe having a good wank to release some of his frustration, his eyes fell back on the cause of all this discomfort.
The young Doctor looked so much younger asleep. Sherlock wished to run his hands through the blond hair, to east the lines of pain that creased John's forehead, to kiss the skin around the deep purple staining his slightly swollen lips. Taking note of the violet hue over a rounded cheekbone, concluding that even this damaged tissue called for close attention. For lips, and hands for words that mean nothing but promise and seduce, the gray eyes wished to lock onto the blue to feel the warmth of spring once more then be done with it.
The addict worked to force the erotic visions of John lying underneath him as he kissed and licked every injury, moving onto biting and sucking everything else. He could picture John's face twisted in pleasure, his throaty grunts and groans, his breathless cry for more.
Sherlock's musings were interrupted by the sudden vibrating of John's phone from the bedside table, the screen flashing the name Harry.
Oh this is going to be interesting.
Sherlock answered the call, a woman yelled drunkenly without waiting for a greeting. "Johnny you twat! How am I supposed to get home? I was only borrowing it. S'not like you were needing it. You tight ass! And who the hell was that bitch anyway?"
" I' m sorry John Watson is unavailable at this time. I can have him call you back at a more convenient time." Which would be never if I had my way.
"Fuck off! Put that coward on the phone!"
"I would but after being pummeled by some Neanderthal he's a bit unconscious." At that point it was impossible to keep the snarl from his voice.
"Whatever!" She nearly shrieked and then hung up, and without asking about her brother's condition or questioning the fact that a stranger answered his phone. Sherlock disliked her immediately.
"You're so beautiful." John whispered, surprising the irritated young man . The bedside lamp cast the near empty room in soft shadows, creating an intimate ambiance.
"That would almost mean something if you weren't so drunk." Sherlock whispered. To his surprise the intoxicated blond caught hold of his hips and pulled him down onto the bed.
"I want to keep you close." John breathed heavily turning into the hypersensitive skin of Sherlock's neck.
"This is probably a bad idea you aren't exactly sober." Sherlock's voice came out grating. God you're going to make this hard.
"This is cuddling." John whispered into Sherlock.
"I don't cuddle." Sherlock growled in frustration, he tried to roll out from under the surprisingly solid Doctor, his own body betraying him by not putting too much effort into it.
"It's fun." John sighed heavily pinning the thinner man down tangling his shorter leg with Sherlock's longer limbs.
"I don't think so-" why did he sound so breathless.
"You just haven't been shown how." The young Doctor only snuggled closer.
Sherlock could feel the soft hair that covered John's legs, through his own silk pajama bottoms. The feel of John's naked skin against his own embraced and confused the dark haired addict, causing unnamed emotions to flood his mind palace. A word came to him, it seemed to organize the chaos of his emotions, to calm the flutter of papers and files being tossed about by the violent winds of sentiment. Mine.
John sighed happily. Sherlock didn't trust himself to reply, the assault of John's scent on his senses, the warmth beside him, around him all of it only stirred him to hold tighter.
He brought a possessive arm over John's shoulder, turning himself slightly on his side surprisingly finding this a comfortable position. Mine. John agreed by tightening his hold , his lips murmuring something incoherent into Sherlock's chest.
Another warm flush shot upward to the addict's already racing thoughts, not to mention the knot growing in his stomach. Somehow he managed to pull the duvet over them both, and the soft humm of John's breathing rocked the usually restless addict into a peaceful slumber.