Sherlock hates movies. They're predictable. Dull.
He liked TV, though.
No, no.
He liked Doctor Who.
He liked Doctor Who a lot.
He had every episode of Doctor Who on DVD.
Every episode.
John didn't mind. John liked Doctor Who just fine.
But sometimes John didn't like Doctor Who.
These were times when Sherlock would get in one of his bored, depressed moods and he'd pop in his DVD's and watch as many episodes as it took for something entertaining to come along. And that meant they'd watch Doctor Who for weeks at a time.
"Sherlock, honey, can we turn off Doctor Who for a minute?"
"Why?"
"We just haven't talked in a few days, and I miss you." John's face was now next to his, which was pressed against the Union Jack pillow on the couch.
"We'll talk later. I like this episode."
"You like every episode."
"You're right."
"So, can we pause it for a little while? I want to talk to you."
Sherlock's stomach automatically turned when somebody said that to him, "About what?"
"Just about your day."
"I did nothing, John."
"I know, but I still want to talk to you."
There goes his stomach again, "Stop, John. Your making my stomach ache."
"I'm sorry. Can we turn off Doctor-"
"NO, John! No, leave me alone!"
John sighed and kissed Sherlock's cheek, "Ok, I'm sorry. I love you."
For three more days Sherlock did nothing but watch Doctor Who. John eventually got him in the bath and washed everything, and at the end he tried to rub a couple of things, but Sherlock resisted.
"No, John. Please I'm in no mood."
John left him alone. Sherlock came out of the bath only to watch Doctor Who, then Sherlock would go to bed with John and wake up before John, and when John found him he'd be watching Doctor Who.
John tried everything. He tried to cook Sherlock all of his favorite meals, he tried to find a nice mystery for Sherlock to solve, he tried to be naked as much as he possibly could in the hopes that Sherlock would like what he saw. But he didn't like any of it. He just laid there and watched Doctor Who.
"Sherlock, you're choosing Doctor Who over me."
"Do you want me to continue to live, John?" John nodded. "Then leave me alone and let me watch Doctor Who."
John was at his ends with having no attention from his love. Finally, he came home from work one afternoon and decided he was going to do just what he'd want Sherlock to do: try to be sexy in front of him.
John wasn't very good at it. He didn't have that obvious sex appeal that Sherlock had. Sure, Sherlock was sexually attracted to him, but to actually be sexy for Sherlock was going to be difficult.
John was embarrassed when he came out of the bathroom to reveal himself, hard as rock, to Sherlock. He didn't expect much, but it was worth a shot, and his shot was making him almost too bashful to produce any good results. But he got there, oh did he get there.
John came out of the bathroom and sat on the edge of the sofa that Sherlock's feet were on.
"Sherlock, I just want your attention for a few minutes."
No reply.
"Just for a few minutes, please, baby."
No reply.
So, John did what he wanted to do best at that moment: he began to touch himself. Sherlock caught on in no time.
"John? What are you doing?" He looked over at John and watched. At first, he watched only half interested, then John gained his full attention and he turned over onto his back, revealing the growing bulge in his sleep pants.
"You like this, then?" John asked, not breaking his pace for a second.
"I…I think so." Sherlock squirmed uncomfortably.
"Do it."
"Do…it?"
"Or I will."
Sherlock didn't move. He watched and let his bulge grow.
John grew impatient. "Take your pants off. Now."
Sherlock took his pants off, but still didn't touch anything. John moaned and moved his arm faster.
"Touch, Sherlock. Now."
Sherlock's long, soft fingers ran their way up himself, then down again, about five times as John watched and was practically drooling. He wanted to watch Sherlock come undone so badly.
"Harder, Sherlock. Do it."
Sherlock wrapped his long, soft fingers around himself.
"Stroke, Sherlock."
And boy did he stroke. John couldn't remember a time Sherlock stroked himself that hard, ever. In less than five minutes, Sherlock was coming undone all over his stomach, and John trailed directly after.
John collapsed on Sherlock's chest and his hands went to Sherlock's hair.
"Are you ok, babe? Are you all right?" John asked Sherlock over and over.
"Yes, I'm fine. I'm fine."
John covered Sherlock's neck and face in kisses. "I just miss you, Sherlock. I hate when you're like this. I want you to be ok all the time."
"I know, I see you try and I'm sorry I can't be normal like you."
"Me? Normal?" John honestly began to laugh, "We're abnormal. Together."
Somewhere in the television, a Dalek blew up in another galaxy. Sherlock reached for the remote and shut it off without taking his eyes off John.