A/N: There is some naughty stuff in this chapter. ;) Enjoy, and as always, please read and review!

The next few weeks passed by fairly quickly. The day that followed the press conference, Sherlock had taken on a small-but-interesting case from a client. It didn't exactly warrant a blog entry on John's part, but at the very least it seemed to keep Sherlock occupied and in good spirits. A bored Sherlock Holmes was a frightful thing, and John was glad he would be spared that particular torment for at least a few days while the case was in progress. Sherlock solved the case in its entirety by Thursday. After he delivered his findings to the client, John was thoroughly impressed by what he had discovered with so little to go on.

"Child's play," Sherlock had said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "The solution was exceedingly obvious, John."

After that, a few more cases had popped up in Sherlock's inbox and they were off again. They weren't all that exciting, generally—mostly regarding some manner of theft or the typical open-and-shut incident regarding a missing person who wasn't missing at all and merely didn't want to be found—but it gave Sherlock something to focus on, and that was a blessing. John's assistance wasn't needed for much of it, so he resumed regular shifts at the surgery, filling in shifts where he could for fellow doctors if they ever called out due to illness or other personal reasons. John sometimes wished a more interesting case would come up, like a political scandal that needed sorting out or even a murder (as terrible as that made him feel). His skill set hadn't been needed for Sherlock's recent cases, for the most part, so he soon found that he was the bored one for a change and not the detective.

Sherlock saw this one afternoon, and naturally he made it a point to mention it. He always had a habit of being so very blunt.

"If I didn't know better, John, I'd say you're itching for a new case just as badly as I am," he said calmly in that deep baritone, softly sliding his bow over the strings of his well-loved violin. There was a little grin twitching at the corner of his mouth.

John chuckled softly and glanced up from his laptop at the man, having been in the process of replying to a few emails from friends whom he hadn't seen in quite some time when Sherlock spoke. "I would be lying if I said I wasn't. Hell, I'm half hoping Mycroft will walk through that door with a big, fat file under his arm related to some big political crime he wants you to shed light on for him."

Sherlock scoffed at that. "Even I'm not that bored."

"Coming from you, that's really something." John sent the last email before shutting his laptop and setting it aside with a little sigh. "You don't have an experiment, either?"

"I finished the last one; haven't come up with another one just yet, so for the time being, I am stuck with nothing to do yet again." Sherlock was staring at him in a rather pointed manner, almost expectant. It was a look that John had only seen a few times over the past couple of weeks, and it brought a grin to his face. He leaned back into the sofa cushions in a manner that was distinctly inviting and even with the distance between them, he could clearly see Sherlock's pupils dilate.

"If you're so bored, then get your arse over here." He didn't normally flirt like this, but their time had been monopolized by other things over the past couple of days (Sherlock's by a case and John's by his job at the surgery) and they hadn't gotten a whole lot of time to themselves. Now that they were both free, John had a few ideas on what he would rather do than simply sit around and wait for another case to come up that he would hopefully be able to help with. Sherlock got the hint very quickly and stood up, walking over to the couch and moving to straddle John's thighs. He liked doing that for whatever reason. John assumed it was because he enjoyed the closeness and intimacy more than he felt comfortable saying, but no matter the reason, John liked it.

He smiled up at the detective and set his hands on Sherlock's thighs to keep him where he was as he leaned in and captured his lips in a slow kiss. Sherlock returned the kiss willingly, his full lips moving in sync with John's. Sherlock was developing quite a fondness for kissing, John was pleased to note. Several times over the past few days, when they each had a spare moment, they would engage in some rather heated snogging. It still hadn't gone beyond that phase, and John was completely fine with that. There was no need to rush anything; they had all the time in the world.

"John," Sherlock murmured against his lips, the sound of his breathy voice going right down to the doctor's groin. God, that voice… It did such sinful things to him, caressing not only his ears but also dancing across his skin like little static shocks and making him shiver. He knew very well that Sherlock knew exactly what his voice did to him, but that generally only made him talk more. He groaned softly against Sherlock's lips when he felt him shift slightly on top of him, bringing his hips closer and lightly rubbing against his crotch. He tensed, his prick already stirring with interest. There was no way in hell Sherlock couldn't feel it pressed against him: he was teasing him on purpose.

"Sherlock," he warned breathlessly, gripping his thighs a bit tighter with both hands so that his fingertips dug into the fabric of the detective's well-tailored trousers. "Don't." An embarrassing noise escaped him—almost a squeak but not quite—when one of Sherlock's hands slid between them to rub right between his legs.

"It's been over three weeks since that night, John. I don't want everything just yet, but… I want to do something." The look in his eyes was so earnest that John could do nothing but give Sherlock silent permission in the form of a little nod. His cheeks flushed as Sherlock started rubbing him in earnest through his jeans, soft little huffs of pleasure escaping into the continued kiss. This continued for several minutes before John grunted and rested a hand over Sherlock's, stopping its movement. Sherlock frowned at him.

"Alright, okay, look… I'll let you touch me, but these—" He gestured to his jeans, a sizable bulge visible where Sherlock's hand had just been rubbing. "—have to go. It's uncomfortable like this."

Sherlock immediately set to work unbuttoning and unzipping John's jeans, getting off of his lap onto to pull them down his legs along with his pants. His lower half now being completely bare to Sherlock's gaze, John knew his face must be bright red by now. He had never been so exposed in the detective's presence before, and it made him feel a little self-conscious. His cock wasn't any smaller than the average bloke's, and size didn't necessarily matter, but he couldn't help but shift uncomfortably on the sofa either way. Sherlock did something then that John had only fantasized about: he knelt on the floor between his legs and took his erection in-hand, stroking it slowly but firmly.

"Oh, God," he moaned, tipping his head back and shivering with bliss. "Sherlock, that's…"

The detective brushed the pad of his thumb over the head of John's cock at the beginning of every down-stroke, giving a slight twist of his palm at the top with every up-stroke. For someone who had only ever touched his own in this way (and that was a rare occurrence), he was doing a very good job at figuring out just what John liked. His surreal eyes flicked up toward John's face for a few moments, taking in everything he saw there. The doctor's face was flushed a deep shade of pink; his breathing was heavy and somewhat laborious.

Blushing: caused by a dilation of the capillaries near the surface of one's skin and therefore allowing more blood to flow to those areas. Breathing heavily: the heart-rate has increased due to sexual arousal and is necessitating a greater oxygen intake.

Sherlock was cataloguing John's reactions very carefully, storing the information away in his mind palace for use at a later date. His eyes focused on John's prick once more, watching as he tugged the foreskin back slightly to show the glans and revealing a drop of pre-cum shining at the tip. He licked his lips and found himself wondering what it would taste like. He decided to find out. When John's head was tipped back again and he couldn't see what Sherlock was doing, the detective ducked his head and pressed his tongue lightly against the tip of his cock.

John jumped at the sharp and sudden spike of pleasure.

"Sherlock! W-what are you…?" John gasped, eyes wide as he looked down at the man. He hadn't expected anything like that to happen at all, and now that it had, he wanted more. What would that Cupid's-bow look like wrapped obscenely around the head of his cock? The aforementioned organ gave a particularly insistent throb at that thought process. "Nngh…" Sherlock pulled back, balancing the taste of John's pre-cum on his tongue for a few moments.

Surprisingly sweet, but not overly so… Well, he did eat an apple for breakfast this morning, so that might have something to do with it.

"Do you want me to stop?" Sherlock asked with a surprising amount of calm, his own cheeks flushed and his lips moist from when he had licked them. He was quite a sight, and the fact that his hot breath was washing over John's sensitive glans was not helping in the least.

"A-ah, oh God, no… but Jesus, Sherlock, you have to warn me next time you want to do that," John breathed with a slight laugh. "And here I thought you were just going to give me a hand with this."

Sherlock cracked a small grin at the pun. "I am; just not literally. You stare at my mouth often enough, John, so I thought this method would be more satisfactory for you." He flicked his tongue over the glans once more before taking the tip slowly into his mouth and applying the slightest bit of suction. As the minutes passed, he gradually took more of John's erection into his mouth, bobbing his head back and forth and occasionally pulling away to tease the frenulum with the tip of his tongue. Every time he did this, John would utter the sweetest of moans that would go straight down to his cock, and he would groan quietly around him in response. His own trousers were starting to feel tighter than usual around his groin thanks to the erection he was now sporting and he brought his free hand—the one not supporting the base of John's cock—down to lightly palm himself through the black fabric, his muscles going taut at the contact.

At some point, John's fingers found their way into Sherlock's hair and grabbed at it, occasionally tugging at the soft, curly strands when the detective did something particularly amazing with his tongue. For someone who had never done this before, Sherlock was marvelous at it, and John truly hoped it would become a regular occurrence. Glancing down, he noticed Sherlock rubbing himself through his trousers and smiled slightly at the sight. Maybe when Sherlock was finished with him, he would let John return the favor. At a particularly hard suck, John groaned loudly and arched his hips forward slightly, his breathing becoming heavier and a bit more erratic.

"S-Sherlock… ahhh… So close… I-I can't… If you keep that up, y-you're going to get a mouthful…"

Sherlock didn't pull away. In fact, he took John in as deeply as possible without gagging, sucking harder and dragging his tongue up the vein on the underside of the heavy shaft each time he pulled back. He lightly grazed the shaft with his teeth on the way back down, not pressing hard enough to cause any damage; only enough for John to feel them.

That did it. John gripped Sherlock's hair tighter and cried out as he came, shuddering as he emptied himself down the detective's throat. Even when his orgasm had ended, he continued lightly shaking on the sofa for another couple of minutes, panting heavily and slowly loosening his grip on the dark-brown strands under his hands. Sherlock moved his head away and slipped his mouth off of John with an obscene, wet noise, swallowing a few more times to make sure he got everything. Semen had a very odd consistency to it that he wasn't overly fond of just yet, but he was sure he would get used to it in time. He rested his forehead against John's thigh, panting softly himself as he shifted his hips.

He was still very hard, and his trousers felt so tight now that it almost hurt. Thankfully, John was not a selfish lover by any means. He smiled down at Sherlock and took a few more moments to catch his breath before speaking: "Your turn."

Sherlock lifted his head to look at him, frowning. "You don't have to return the favor, John. You're not obligated to do so; I can handle it myself."

"Obligated…? Sherlock, I know I don't have to, but I want to. Now, come on. Get up here." He got up and pulled his pants and trousers back up, his legs still feeling a little shaky after what had to be one of the most intense orgasms he had ever experienced. He waited until Sherlock was on the sofa before kneeling down on the floor between his long legs and setting about removing his trousers. He slid them down to his knees along with his pants and was stunned by the sight of his naked cock. It was a bit longer than his, but not quite as thick, and it was perfect.

"You're staring." Sherlock's voice was matter-of-fact and a tad smug, and sure enough, there was a little smirk on his face when John looked up at him. He chuckled and lightly smacked Sherlock on the thigh.

"Stop being such a cheeky bastard; you're ruining my concentration," he chided playfully. The doctor wrapped his fingers around Sherlock's shaft and gave it a few experimental tugs before leaning in and taking the tip into his mouth, mimicking to the best of his ability what Sherlock had done to him. If the low moan was anything to go by, John assumed he was doing well in that regard. He slid his mouth further down Sherlock's cock as he got more comfortable doing so, dipping his tongue past the foreskin occasionally to play with the tip of the glans and wondering if Sherlock was as sensitive there as he was.

As it turned out, Sherlock was twice as sensitive.

With the lightest touch of John's tongue on his glans, Sherlock's hips bucked forward and he cried out, his eyes wide and his hands moving to scrabble at John's shoulders. That sound would be enough to fuel John's dreams for weeks to come, he was fairly certain. The doctor forged on, repeating the movement of his tongue on the tip of Sherlock's cock; the detective whimpered.

"J-John, wait… Stop," Sherlock gasped, resting a hand on John's head and trying to push him away.

John did as requested, pulling away and looking up at Sherlock with a concerned frown. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Sherlock murmured huskily, panting. "It's just… too much right now. It's a little overwhelming."

John's heart sunk, but he did as Sherlock asked and moved to sit beside him on the couch as opposed to kneeling on the floor in front of him. He could tell that Sherlock was embarrassed, and his expression softened as he wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"Sherlock, don't worry about it. You don't have to force yourself," John reassured him.

"It's not that; I want you to do it. It's just… I've never done it before."

"I know. The sensations are unfamiliar to you, and that makes you particularly sensitive to touch. We can try this again at a later date, but if you want, I can just use my hand for now. That should be okay, right?"

Sherlock swallowed heavily and nodded, blushing as he turned his head to look at John. He smiled faintly. "Yes… That should be fine." John took hold of Sherlock's prick a few moments later, and the detective bit his lip softly as he started pumping it. He had masturbated before, but somehow it felt different when John did it. It felt better. He panted quietly at the numerous sensations overwhelming his senses, hips sliding forward a bit on the couch to give John more room.

"Good?" John inquired with a shy smile, twisting his palm a bit over the head before sliding it back down. The shiver that went through Sherlock at that was so erotic, John was certain he would already be hard again himself if he were fifteen years younger.

"Y-yes…" Sherlock tipped his head back and groaned, eyes fluttering closed. He was already so close. He could feel the muscles in his abdomen tightening, a slow, borderline-uncomfortable heat coiling inside him. A minute later, with a cry of John's name, Sherlock let go and spilled all over the doctor's hand, his hips jerking a bit as he rode out his orgasm. For a short while after that, his mind was uncomfortably yet blissfully quiet. It was a tad disconcerting to him, since his brain was constantly buzzing day in and day out. He was vaguely aware of John getting up to grab a tissue, cleaning his essence from his hand before nonchalantly tossing it into the waste basket near the sofa.

John sat down beside him once more and smiled, leaning in to press a little kiss against the corner of his mouth.

"Feeling better?" he asked hopefully.

Clearing his throat once he thought he was capable of coherent speech once more, Sherlock nodded, an almost drowsy sort of smile on his face.

"Much better, yes. Thank you, John. That was… good," he finished lamely, cheekbones still stained pink as he lifted his hips to pull his pants and trousers back up. John followed suit.

"I don't know about you," John began, "but I think that was a very effective way of getting rid of boredom." He knew Sherlock was still itching for a new case, but at least for the moment, John couldn't care less about cases. If he could lounge about their flat in a daze after having such a mind-blowing experience with Sherlock on the sofa, he would be quite happy.

The two men jumped slightly at the sound of Sherlock's phone ringing a few minutes later and John watched as the detective moved to answer it. The ringtone was undoubtedly Lestrade's, which meant that Sherlock may very well be getting a new case. He could only hear Sherlock's end of the conversation, but if the nearly visible excitement thrumming through the detective's veins was anything to go by, Lestrade had just given him some very interesting details about a crime scene. Perhaps his skills of deduction were rubbing off on him after all.

Sherlock hung up after getting all the information he needed to find the crime scene and he grabbed his coat and scarf, putting them on.

"What did Lestrade want, then?" John questioned, hoping for some details on where they would be going.

"Case," Sherlock answered vaguely, wrapping his scarf warmly around his pale throat.

Accepting that that was all Sherlock intended to tell him at the moment, John got up and put his jacket on before eagerly following the taller man out the door. He only hoped he was able to focus on the case at hand without his mind drifting constantly to memories of what Sherlock had sounded like during orgasm.

Those sounds and images would surely bless his dreams for days to come.