High Horse
It was grim determination that got John through college maths, yet the equation in front of him was simple enough:
Sherlock + Horse = John Sort of Hung Like One
So to speak. If we're being candid. A wee bit tactless. But oh so god damned truthful.
And John hadn't seen it coming. You never do, do you—the arrival of a new kink? But the proof was here, right in his lap, a raging hard-on as big as a horse. So to speak.
He'd been fine when they got to Great Scotland Yard, home of the Met's mounted police. And really he'd been fine watching Sherlock explain—with the help of a sleek black mare—how the jewel thief had employed as her get-away-car a get-away-steed.
But then Sherlock got on that dark horse and he'd looked so damned princely and strong and kind of small—a whole confusing array of delicious—that John begged a chair damned quick, sat right the hell down, and prayed no one had seen his beauty of a boner.
Well someone did, of course, and his initials may or may not be SH. All John knows is about a week later his sweetheart gave him a provocative gift, one never meant for any steed: specially-fitted reins, a bridle, and a bit. Oooh baby.
Random Nexus inspired this 221B. When she saw the teaser for season two she swore the boys were on horses. The image made both of us briefly speechless, sort of flaily. Queue porn. Of course. Always queue porn.