A/N: I really love this story. Egypt has always interested me. I'm happy Johnlock translates into every AU ever! All this porn again...geez, the boys can't keep their hands off of each other in this one.
Sherlock had beautiful bed head. His hair was tousled in every direction and his sleep coloured cheeks were...adorable. Maybe one day he would have the courage to tell Sherlock that. Would it be playfully? After a good shag? John licked his lips at the thought of actually having Sherlock around him or the other way around. Although a quick toss on the sand had been nice, John wanted to explore the younger man on a less grittier surface.
"Watson, try and stay focused." There was no bite in Sherlock's words and if John wasn't sure he was imagining it, he would almost guess affection too.
"Sleep well then?" Before he could think better of it, John glossed his hand over the front of Sherlock's hand.
"Remarkably well." Sherlock smile lingered for a moment. He decked his hand through his curls making them even more unruly.
John wondered if it was a dream. There was a blanket of calm around them in the early morning air and a tight feeling of contentment. It would have been nice to wake up to that tousled head of black and kiss it. His arm wrapped around Sherlock's waist, brushing fingers along his hip. Contentment. The younger man was a hurricane and John found the thought of being his calming anchor a curiously pleasent.
"Come, Watson. I find that once I have given into one vice, my body demands another."
John's cheeks flushed.
"I hope they have fresh coffee ready." Sherlock turned around and made his way to the main tents. Leaving a stunned John in his wake.
John most definitely did not release a disappointed sigh.
"So they're practicing their mumming techniques. Why? To what end?" Sherlock muttered to himself. He had been going around in circles and John had stopped offering any sort of advice.
It was true that none of it made any sense. Why did the murderer feel a need to practice amateur skills on real people or to practice at all? And why here? Not in the city were there would be a bigger pool of people unless...
"They needed the book, didn't they?" John said mostly to himself.
"Yes, do please try and keep up." The words were sharp but there was no sting in them.
John rubbed his neck and stretched out his stiff muscles. He and Sherlock had been in the main chamber for over an hour looking for something that still might remain that could give them any hints on who the murderer had been.
"If we put aside the logical than there is a myriad of other possibilities, even though they are improbable." Sherlock steepled his hands under his chin and frowned.
"Logical?"
"There seems to be nothing logical behind the half made mummies and the stolen book." Sherlock continued. "I hate to even consider it..."
"Reincarnation." John couldn't believe it himself. Was there actually someone killing people for some sort of mystical and otherworldly end.
"But who? Why? If they were trying to bring back a pharaoh, they would just need his body. There would be no need to make new ones. They are honing their techniques for the real task. But why kill someone only to bring them back again?" Sherlock said.
"Another soul."
Sherlock's eyes peeked open in interest. "Um?"
"Reincarnation deals with a soul that has been reborn. What if they're trying to, I don't know, use a human vessel to bring back a soul that hasn't been reincarnated yet." John scratched his chin. "Mind you, this is all ludicrous."
"Yes, yes it is." Sherlock closed his eyes again. "Still it is an interesting thought, Watson."
John wore a smug smile as he continued to work and Sherlock went back to silently contemplating the unknown.
Sherlock's mouth was insist and needy in its demands. There was no question to John giving in to it, still he couldn't believe how quickly his body was always willing to do whatever the younger man demanded from him.
It still shocked him that Sherlock pursued him so relentlessly. John was under no allusion that Sherlock couldn't do better than him. He wanted to ask if it was because he was the only man within a radius of hundreds of miles, but John found that he really didn't want to know the answer. Other than the fact that it sounded extremely needy and insecure. So John decided he would enjoy it while it lasted and wouldn't be hurt when Sherlock's interest eventually faded.
John had had a fair inkling of what Sherlock had wanted when he had asked to check for something in his room on the Sudan. The younger man had barely waited a moment before pinning John against the closed door. It seemed that he wasn't the only one who didn't want to go a single day without touching the other man.
With Sherlock's leg opening John's own, his thigh brushed up against his half-hard cock.
"I normally find it intolerable when others offer their opinion. It's so obvious, why would I need any help?" Sherlock's eyes were dark and his voice was husky against John's ears.
"You have a strange way of trying to complement someone." John's voice was low and he almost didn't recognize it as his own.
"I don't find your offerings of help to be annoying, quite the contrary. I want you with me, want you..." Sherlock paused and John felt a tongue at the side of his mouth. "Want you, with me, I find your presence relaxing. I can almost think better with you there. You make a fine sounding board, Watson."
"Always willing to serve." John said while releasing a gasp as Sherlock's thigh rubbed up against his hardening length.
"Are you?"
It sounded like Sherlock was asking for more than just then just another sexual liaison, more than just one moment in time. John didn't want to say too much, show how in over his head he already was- drowning his every sense in the other man named Sherlock Holmes.
"You'll just have to find out."
"I'm not a patient man." Sherlock nipped at John's lower lip.
John let out a chuckle. "I would have never guessed."
"Enough talking."
Their mouths met again and John brought his hands up to twist his fingers through the soft curls. His palms slide down his back and came to rest on his back. Fingers pressed and Sherlock tilted his head to deepen the kiss. Sherlock's tongue was hot and needy, seeking out every part of John's willing mouth. Pulling his head back, Sherlock let out a shaky breath.
"I want you inside me. I need to feel you, John." Sherlock's panted out.
John eye's widened. His heartbeat picked up and he could feel blood rushing to his cock, making it harder, pressing up against his trousers. He wanted to...so badly. But it just didn't seem like the right time. Even though he had been daydreaming about it earlier, it seemed too rushed, even for them. John wondered if Sherlock even knew what he was asking for.
"No." John was firm in his answer; he didn't sound angry.
Sherlock let out a whimper.
John's resolve crumbled only a little. "I will press my fingers up inside you. Finger your tight hole and make you come like that." To prove his point, John let his hand linger further down Sherlock's back to cup his arse. John's fingers creeped up between his cheeks and fingers brushed up along the material of his trousers.
"Yes, yes. That will do nicely. Please." It wasn't begging, but Sherlock's words came out in a rush. John wanted to see if he could make Sherlock beg, now that they weren't on the hot desert sand, he could rid the other man of his clothes.
"Clothes. Off."
Sherlock nodded and after lowering his suspenders, pulled his white shirt over his head. John kept his hands to himself as Sherlock continued to strip off all of his clothes. After stepping out of his trousers and pants, he crawled over to the bed and stretched out on it.
John took a moment to admire the sight before him. Sherlock was flushed and his cock pressed up hard and pink against his flat stomach. There wasn't a scar or blemish on his body, although there was still a nice purplish mark around the eye John had punched the day before. I'm going to leave another mark on him. There were thick black curls and John licked his lips as Sherlock widened his legs in invitation. He didn't have to be told twice.
John threw off his shirt and quickly pushed down his trousers. He crouched down onto the bed and kneeled between Sherlock's legs. Grabbing a pillow, John placed it under Sherlock's arse. Long fingers brushed up against his wrists and John brought them to his lips to press a firm kiss onto them. Sherlock sighed in contentment and wiggled up closer.
John's hand came to rest on Sherlock's knee and he lifted the leg up so that it was bent. Placing a kiss on the inside of his knee, John smiled when he felt Sherlock's body jump minutely under his touch. For some reason, Sherlock hadn't been expecting the tender touch. Who else has he been with? It mattered little. Besides I'll make sure he always measures them to me. John took pride in his skills in pleasuring his partner and Sherlock was going to be no exception.
John brought his mouth to Sherlock's inner thigh and began to suck. Sherlock's hands tangled and pulled John's short hair as he sucked and nibbled. John continued until he was content that there would be a red mouth shaped mark that would remain for at least a week.
John made eye contact with Sherlock and made sure that the younger man saw when he put his fingers in his mouth. John had lubricate in his own room but he was in no mood to get up. Besides he could use it next time. Next time. John licked his fingers, letting them slip in and out of his mouth as his tongue traced over them. Sherlock groaned. Content with reaction he had elicited, John worked his slick hand over Sherlock's thick length.
His cock bobbed up and John felt it pulsated under his hand. John let out a groan and tugged up a few times. Sherlock's hips bucked up and John's hand moved down to the base. His hand continued to work its way down until he cupped one of Sherlock's balls. John pulled lightly and Sherlock opened his legs further.
Sherlock's hole was hot to the touch and tighter than John had ever thought possible. He let his fingers leave a sticky trail over it as he lazily ran them up and down and then in small circles.
"God, John. That's-" Sherlock groaned out.
"What do you want?" He knew exactly what Sherlock wanted, but he had planned on making the man beg.
"Please, John." Sherlock whined. He tried to push his body down on John's hands but the other man pulled away just enough.
"What do you want?" John paused after every word.
"Please, I need you in me, John. I need your fingers inside me, feeling every part of me."
John's mind almost overloaded at the wanton words tumbling from Sherlock. Biting his lip to contain an explicative, John finally pressed the tip of his finger into the tight hole. Sherlock's hands bunched up the covers and he hummed as John pushed his finger in until his knuckle brushed up against his skin.
After that, it was quick work for John to fit two fingers into the younger man. Sherlock's body pressed up and down and he began to fuck himself on John's fingers.
"God, Sherlock. If you could only see yourself." John panted.
Sherlock's head was thrown back and John's eyes raked over the flushed skin. John brushed his fingertips up and found the bundle of nerves that made Sherlock moan out in pleasure.
"Yes, that!" Sherlock hissed out.
Sherlock's cock slapped up against his stomach as he continued to press down on John's fingers. Pre-come glistened the top of it and John dragged his fingers over the top of it. He brought the come to his lips and tasted the saltness of it on his tongue.
Wanting to feel more of Sherlock, John brought his hand back to it and started to pump Sherlock's cock.
"John." Sherlock body lost itself in the rhythm of John's fingers inside of him and the fist dragging along his length. "I can't- John, I'm so close."
John stared unblinking. "Come for me, Sherlock. Just like this."
Sherlock's entire body shook with the power of his orgasm. John hummed as Sherlock tighten around his fingers. Thick come peppered Sherlock's chest and John was overcome with an urge to lick it off. Without another thought, John bent down and dragged his tongue through it.
Sherlock propped himself up on his elbow and groaned at the sight.
"Watson, what are you-?"
John chose to ignore the question as he licked a strip across Sherlock's abdomen, mixing come and saliva. Sherlock's hand cupped his neck and brought their lips together.
Sherlock's fingers wrapped around the John's cock and he remembered about his own ignored erection.
"Let me handle that."
Sherlock's hand pushed John down onto the bed until he was laying back. With one fluid movement, Sherlock took John's pants off and threw them down to the floor. Sherlock lowered his head and his plush lips parted to take John into his mouth.
The smile plastered on John's face was embarrassing. He couldn't seem to keep the sides of his mouth from lifting up every time he remembered how plaint and needy Sherlock had felt under him. His hands still tingled with the soft supple skin that his finger nails had raked across. Sherlock Holme's body was a drug and John was slowly becoming addicted to it.
The peaceful evening air was suddenly cut ripped open at the sound of a blood churning yell. John's head whipped up. He knew that yell all to well, except it had been years since he had hear it. It was a sound of man who knew he was going to die...and it had sounded like Sherlock.
John didn't know that he could still run so fast. The yell had come from the direction of the tents and John ran up to Sherlock's tent. He threw open the flap, not really sure what he would find there.
Sherlock was huddled up on his bed and a snake was at the foot of it. John gasped at the sight of a horned viper slithering around the sand. It was deadly poisonous and John searched around fruitless from something to kill it with. Just as he was about to give up and take the risk of being bit by stepping on it, another person joined John at the entrance of the tent.
Mycroft's umbrella tip lashed out and a blade cut the viper in half. It gave one final jerk as its body stopped thrashing. John paid Mycroft no attention as he ran to Sherlock.
"Are you all right? Tell me your all right!" John didn't wait for a reply and began to frantically search Sherlock for any sign of a bite.
"John, I-"
John's hands stilled as his eyes caught sight of the inflamed area on Sherlock's right leg. There were two puncture holes and they was already deep bruising around the area. Sherlock jerked his leg away when John's fingers brushed up next to the swelling.
"It bit you." John's eyes stared unblinking at the wound that would most certainly mean death. "Oh, god. Sherlock, it bit you."
Sherlock's hand reached out and covered John's clinched hands. His palms were already clammy and John shivered at the touch of it.
"Dr. Watson, go get your medical kit from your tent." Mycroft's voice was clear and steady. John jumped at the sound of it, he had totally forgotten that the other man was there.
John continued to stare unmoving at Sherlock's pale face. A sweat had broken out on his brow and John knew that the boy would probably already have a burning fever as the venom raced along his veins infecting every part of his body.
"Dr. Watson!"
John jumped and turned to face Mycroft. The older man's face was set in a hard, emotionless mask. "Please retrieve your medical bag."
John nodded once, to afraid to try and speak. At that moment, John wasn't sure that he could. His entire throat was constricted and there was a huge lump blocking it. Releasing a shaky breath, John looked at Sherlock one last time before standing up and heading to his tent.
As a precaution, John had brought anti-venom for many of the common and not so common snakes they might come into contact with during their dig. But there was no anti-venom for horned viper poison. He had never felt more powerless as he grabbed his medical bag and ran back to Sherlock's tent.
John tried to clear his mind and concentrate on only the main issue of providing Sherlock with the medical attention that he needed. It's not Sherlock. It's someone else. A faceless solider, another comrade wounded who needs medical attention as the bullets fly. John was proud that he was able to at least put up the veneer of calm.
Mycroft had Sherlock laying down on the bed when he returned to the tent. Mycroft stood motionless in the corner, giving John all the space that he needed. John felt grossly inadequate to handle the situation. Giving himself a mental slap and gritting his teeth, John bent down to do what he could for his dying friend.