Prompt 13: Want
smut-ish
Sherlock wanted a lot of things. He wanted Mycroft to stop spying on him via cctv, wanted Lestrade to fire Anderson and Donovan preferably in front of him, wanted the criminals of London to be a bit more inventive, wanted Mrs. Hudson to accept that she was in fact his housekeeper. All of those he would sacrifice however if he could have one thing. John. It was an alien sensation for him he would admit but he definitely knew what it meant. John was perfect for him, and he was already there, living together meant he had seen him at his worst and also been there at his best.
It seemed simple enough, and Sherlock would love nothing more than to reach across the table and press their lips together, John would gasp and he'd take the advantage of his mouth being open to explore it with his tongue. Then he'd be across to the other side of the table and John would be against the wall, hips pushing against his, fighting to remove his trousers and Sherlock would smirk and snake his hand down and then John would be moaning and begging him to do more and he would oblige and they would both be naked all of a sudden and he'd push John down into the soft rug in the living room. Slowly but surely he'd loosen him up until both of them were writhing and then he'd fill John completely, making both of them want to scream with pleasure and maybe one of them would and John would beg him to go faster and he would and he'd be moaning John's name into his mouth and then John would tighten around him and the noise of his name flying from John's lips like a prayer would tip him over too and they'd lay together on the floor until they decided that maybe a bed was a better option.
It wasn't as if he had anyone to ask about what to do. Mycroft was a no go obviously, and Mrs Hudson would be too squealy for a serious conversation to take place. That left one option only and he didn't like it one bit. Molly was doing it again, watching him. She had stopped for a while, and Sherlock had hoped that it was for good but alas there she was again, lurking in the doorway. "Molly if you're coming in come in, you're wasting valuable oxygen in both rooms if you simply stand there between the two." He was feeling skittish, it seemed a bit redundant to get dating advice from someone who was always single but he was clutching at straws here. The internet had been no help, with 50/50 odds on positive outcomes. Unfortunately the blabbering woman before him was his last chance. Just perfect.
"Molly. If you keep quivering like a lost puppy you'll knock the glassware right off the-" there was a tinkling crash as sure enough the glass shattered on the floor. Sherlock hopped down and sat by the pile of shattered glass and began picking up the tiny fragments. Molly sat the opposite side and they worked together in silence for a while. "Molly? You know something of rejection, yes?" Molly grimaced and nodded, hair falling in front of her now red face. "Well then I need some information from you. Would rejection really ruin mine and John's friendship? I mean I don't want to lose it but at the same time if what all those teenagers magazines were to be believed it would affect me in some irreversible way" In hindsight he should have led with something of along the lines of "Oh yes I like John" but it was a bit late for that now, Molly was already staring open mouthed at him.
"Molly?"Molly opened her mouth and closed it again like a fish, the pieces slowly clicking together in her head. She could see it now, the way Sherlock looked at John. It was the same way she looked at him sometimes. And while personally she didn't want to say for hope that one day Sherlock would feel for her, she knew that it would be a crime to keep them apart. "You'd have nothing to worry about Sherlock. John feels the same way, trust me." Sherlock stared at her, reading her every minute movement. She wasn't lying. Interesting. Very interesting. Well now that he knew... Maybe he could see exactly how far he had to push to get John to admit it. Of course he could always just ruin it all by blurting out his thoughts. Which is exactly what he ended up doing.
It was a few days after the Molly conversation and Sherlock had not yet slept, a new case was just about to finish and he needed to be awake. That would have been fine, but the downside to sixty eight hours awake was that his already flimsy filter seemed to become entirely useless. That's how, while perched in his chair and staring at John in the kitchen in a towel Sherlock had moaned loudly. John, concerned as ever for his friend, was up almost immediately. "I'm fine John. Just thinking about buggering you into the table." If Sherlock had been less focused on two other important topics he would have registered the intense embarrassment that coursed through his blood. He was busy however with a case and he hadn't been lying when he'd said that he was thinking about buggering John into the table. The towel was not helping matters at all, neither were the small translucent beads of water rolling down his chest.
John looked just as shocked as Molly had, and a bit more embarrassed than she had been. "I'm sorry what? What did you say?" Sherlock sighed. "I said, and I know you heard me, but I'll just clarify, that I was thinking about buggering you into the kitchen table. And perhaps the floor after, maybe the counter, every surface in the flat really." He was up now and strutting over to John who was frozen at the table, tea long forgotten. Sherlock ran his finger along John's jaw line, watching as John's pupils blew wider still as he shivered into the caress. "I often think about that, us. How you would scream my name for everyone to hear, and I would make you John, don't doubt that for a second" He whispered, tongue licking a long line up his neck. "I tend to get what I want John, and what I want, have wanted for a long time, is you." Sherlock was looking into John's eyes now, waiting for permission to do all he had envisioned. John tilted his head up wards and their lips met with force, each trying to experience everything at once. The tea was pushed off the table and yes the mug had been one of their last few but as Sherlock put it "No one else is going to be allowed in for a while anyway, we have to christen the whole flat!" For once a household task Sherlock would actively participate in, and was he participating. John wasn't exactly sure how but his towel was long since gone and Sherlock was only wearing his shirt, but even that was open and likely to fall of any moment. Sherlock was as good as his word. He stepped on his phone a couple of times before kicking his pants under the table, where he proceeded to have sex with John.
Much to the mortification of Greg Lestrade, his number was on speed dial. He could now attest to the sexual prowess of both Sherlock and John, if the volume of their shouting was any indication. He hung up very quickly and went for a pint. It might have only been ten am, but this time he really needed one.
A/N well I still have exams and I'm still procrastinating so have 3 more for good measure and enjoy some angst because I realised there wasn't nearly enough of that, I'm sorry in advance for those of you who hate that