Note this chapter has been edited slightly.
Warning this chapter contains scenes of a (gay) sexual nature!
Sherlock wakes to find John snoring quietly in his ear. Were it anyone else Sherlock would find this irritating, unbearably annoying even but somehow the wheezy breathy noise John makes is adorable. Achingly comfortable in his sturdy embrace Sherlock quickly drifts back to sleep with John's breathe tickling the back of his neck ignoring the icky stickiness in his underwear and the fact that somehow during the night he has ended up being the little spoon.
When at last they do get up, John like a proper gentleman (the sort that in days gone by would gallop in on a gleaming horse, his sword draw at the ready to slay the beast and save the day motivated by righteousness rather than monetary reward and would accept no remittance more than a proper cup of tea and a biscuit) the sort of prince one is hard pressed to find nowadays, lets Sherlock shower first and prepares a late breakfast for them both.
Sherlock barely glances at the newspaper that is devoid of murders, robberies or mysteries before passing it over to John. He hardly touches his tea and just nibbles at his toast but either John is used to this behaviour or still unbelievably happy as a result the activities of last night to comment.
Taking another tiny bite of toast Sherlock smirks as he recalls the way John had rocked his clothed manhood against Sherlock's thigh, shamelessly desperate for the friction and release. And oh the feel of John's rough skin against his cock as those short fingers rubbed and caressed him thoroughly is permanently etched into his memory. Feeling himself grow hard beneath his silk dressing gown Sherlock swallows the last of his tea. A slight blush rises to his cheeks as he formulates a plan to deal with the uncomfortable swelling in his pants.
"I can't" he thinks shifting slightly to ease the pressure building in his lower regions.
"But John's right there!" moans another treacherous part of him, the part that ignores the hundreds of other things Sherlock has planned for today and begs to feel the euphoric release of another orgasm. Sherlock fiddles with his butter knife as a fierce internal debate rages inside of him. He could… no that would be far too ridiculous, even for him. Maybe? No definitely not. Then again John hadn't had he? Yes well it would only be fair to return the favour and well what better time than when the two of them were freshly scrubbed, with nowhere to be until eleven… besides the experiment the night before had been a rousing success allowing the two of them to connect on an even more personal level. Decision made he slinks underneath the table and crawls over to where John sits.
Utterly absorbed in the paper John has yet to notice Sherlock's disappearance. Sherlock could still back out, pretend to have been merely recovering a dropped utensil and John would be none the wiser. Sherlock could try this some other time; there should be plenty of opportunities in the future after all. Besides John doesn't mind abstaining from sex, he had after all been celibate when Sherlock and he had first become acquainted.
But then again Sherlock thinks of the lonely nights to come when John dutifully returns to war. The two of them have less than four days left together and the desire to touch, to catalogue the different sounds John makes and store them away in his mind palace, as treasures that can be kept and re-examined during those torturous empty nights is unbearable.
Perching on his knees Sherlock reaches a shaking hand towards the hem of John's baggy jogging bottoms tugging it gently down, thankful that the table between them prevents John from watching his latest attempt at seduction. The stale stuffy air is flooded by the smell of John's minty shower gel. Gripping the table leg with his free hand to steady himself Sherlock slips his dominant hand over John's flaccid cock and starts applying the same attention John had given him the night before.
Finally cottoning on to Sherlock's plans John lets out an indignant squeak in surprise and drops his jam covered toast on to the floor. Startled by the noise Sherlock jerks upright banging his head lightly on the wood above him. For a moment everything goes quiet, so quiet that Sherlock can hear his heart hammering in his chest. Above him the newspaper ruffles and a John lets out a stifled snort that Sherlock cannot place. Surely John was not opposed to this? Sherlock frowns, things seemed so much easier in the erotic novels Molly had lent him for research purposes. He pauses momentarily to rub a hand against his lover's leg. As if sensing his uneasiness John eagerly spreads to allow Sherlock better access to his private bits. As he does so understanding hits Sherlock, John had made a sex noise.
Pleased to be the source of such melodic sounds Sherlock resumes his ministrations wondering what sort of faces John may be making as his member reacts happily, swelling to a magnificent size. Sherlock shifts closer eager to examine John's shaft in detail pushing John's legs further apart for better access. John shudders as Sherlock's warm breathe flutters over his leaking tip.
Impulsively Sherlock leans in to kiss John's foreskin. Encouraged by the deep moan it elicits from John, Sherlock widens his lips, guiding the tip into his warm moist mouth. The sensation is strange but not unpleasant and definitely one Sherlock could get used to. Sherlock doesn't need to see John's face to know how flustered each little lick and kiss makes him for Sherlock's name is a mantra on John's lips. Sherlock runs his tongue over the soft red flesh, one hand still pumping the John's base pressing the palm of the other into his own aching hard on. The concentration and coordination involved is startling but Sherlock files that thought away for later feeling edge of orgasm creep over him.
John fists the linen tablecloth indicating his own climax to be near. Sherlock recalls the hours of practice spent sucking on strawberry ice lollies and runs his tongue seductively along John's thick prick undoing John completely. John screams his name and Sherlock follows moments later, his chest tightening at the way John had called his name as if he was the only one in the world who mattered. Sherlock tries not gag on the salty seed that floods his mouth, letting what he cannot swallow dribble down his chin.
Licking him mostly clean Sherlock gently tucks John back into his trousers before crawling out from underneath the breakfast table. Next time, he thinks he will let John thread a hand through his dark curly hair as long as he promises not to pull at the sensitive roots.
Somewhat unsure how act now he had completed his task (porn seemed to end once the participants had reached their climax) Sherlock grabs a conveniently placed napkin from the table and begins to wipe at his messy face heading in a hopefully causal manner towards the bedroom for a change of underwear.
He's barely begun to cross the room before John captures him in a loving embrace, turning him around in his arms in order to wipe a pearl cum from his cheek of and kiss his swollen puffy lips. Somewhat dazed from the experience Sherlock notes that John's lips taste of raspberries and crumbs. But before Sherlock can settle in John's embrace his phone alarm chimes to remind him of the engagement he had arranged weeks ago.