Tuesday

The next morning, the alarm clock went off at eight o'clock and John opened his eyes and smiled at the quietness and the golden morning light of his bedroom. He got up, showered, shaved, got dressed, prepared breakfast and sat on the living room with his laptop and his coffee and toasts… exactly as he did every day.

However, that particular Tuesday, when his flatmate stepped in the sitting room (stretching lazily, as he had noticed how John used to look at him when he did so), sat on his armchair and then he was thoroughly ignored by John. Sherlock raised a brow but, before starting to feel annoyed, he noticed that John was ignoring even his own breakfast: his toasts lay on the plate, forgotten, and his cup of white coffee was frozen in his hand, half way towards his mouth.

"John?"

The doctor raised his eyes to look at him, startled, as if he hadn't noticed before Sherlock's presence in the room. The detective moved pointedly his brows, urging for an answer. John cleared his throat, realised that he had been about sipping his coffee and finished that action. His friend rolled his eyes, impatient.

"Alright", John said, at last, nipping his lower lip. "There are forty comments on my blog this morning."

Sherlock cocked his head, but said nothing.

"And", John added, "all those comments are about a video someone has uploaded to YouTube. A video with us… eh… having 'sexy times', it seems".

Sherlock frowned, but still said nothing. John abandoned his careful tone and raised his voice, feeling his anger taking over.

"A video with us having sex, Sherlock! Aren't you going to say anything?"

"Is the manip any good?"

"What?!"

"I said: Is the manip any good? Don't make me repeat myself, John; you know how I hate it. As we have never had sex, this is obviously a manipulation done by one of the moronic fans of your blog. Therefore, this is ultimately your fault, insomuch as you were the one who had the asinine idea of writing an idealised version of our cases and induced an inordinately amount of people to follow our deeds and become what you would call 'our fans'. You really have no right to complain when they come out with a manipulation of our faces on some porn video and it finishes running free on the internet."

"What?!", John repeated. Sherlock deepened his frown, and the doctor realised he was parroting. "Sorry. I mean, are you suggesting that it is my fault? Seriously, Sherlock…!"

"Have you watched it already?"

"What?!"

Sherlock placed his mug on top of the empty breakfast plate with much more force than the necessary, his mouth a tight line.

"Sorry, sorry! But, really, do you want to actually watch it? I don't think that it's…"

The detective reached for John's laptop with a fast movement.

"Oh, for Christ's sake, let's finish with it! We have a thief to catch today, remember? We cannot lose more time with this nonsense."

Sherlock's nimble fingers flew over the keyboard. John got up and came nearer his friend, resting his arms on the back of Sherlock's armchair. As soon as the detective typed "Sherlock Holmes" on the YouTube searcher, a video called "Sherlock Holmes and his blogger having sex" appeared on top of the results, smashing down the painful two minutes long interview he had conceded to the BBC2 after one particular famous case. That made Sherlock blush in anger. John hid his grin behind his hand and coughed.

"Well, it was easy to find. I should have done it yesterday. Come on, click on it: as you say, let's finish with it."

Sherlock did it.

The video was filmed, with an utter lack of imagination, on a bedroom.

"That's not my bedroom. Not yours", Sherlock stated.

"What, were you afraid the video came from Mycroft's recordings?", John smirked, leaning next to his friend's head to have a better view of the screen.

Sherlock's eyes widened, but then he turned again his attention to the video and seemed to relax.

"And that's not my body. Look at those abdominals! This man is too thin for those muscles, don't you think? I'm better shaped than that".

John was too busy staring, open-mouthed, as a man with his face straddled a naked almost-Sherlock and snogged him thoroughly. His face, he thought, but a body at least ten years younger than his, and much more toned and tanned. After a minute of kissing, the pseudo-John started to rub against pseudo-Sherlock's hard prick, and John couldn't help to notice with envy the length of his counterpart on the screen. His own length, however, began to throb and harden, as envious as his owner of the actions of the false John. The Sherlock on the screen (beautiful, sensual as a cat, sexy as hell) moaned, and the Sherlock that was sitting just inches from him snorted. The false John lowered his body to pepper his partner's smooth chest with tender kisses, slowly, and the real John felt a most definite heat on his groin. He readjusted himself as carefully as he could, but Sherlock seemed oblivious to his reaction, engrossed on the laptop screen with a disdainful smirk on his face.

"Look there, John, behind my neck! I can see where they have cut and pasted my face. Can you see it?"

What John could see ('OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod') was pseudo-John pushing pseudo-Sherlock thighs open and up, hanging on mid air, and starting to rub two fingers over his hole, with movements that were more taunting and sensual than real strokes. But after a moment, the tip of his index entered his partner's body, and John groaned in unison with the Sherlock on the screen. Absolutely embarrassed, he closed his mouth tightly, noticing the glare from his friend but refusing to acknowledge anything, his eyes set firmly on the screen.

"There's no need to watch the rest of it if it makes you feel uncomfortable, John. I think we have got the idea."

"It's not really that long, Sherlock… But as you wish, of course. Are you embarrassed by it?"

"Embarrassed? Sex is only physical stimulus and responses, nothing to feel embarrassed about. Moreover, those- he signalled the laptop on his knees- are not you and me having sex.

As his eyes followed the direction of his signalling index, though, got completely caught on the two fingers that pumped inside his counterpart's body, while his own false face moaned loud and writhed from side to side. There was no further discussion about stop watching the video.

"God, this manip is amazing", John commented, "look at your face there!"

"The range of expressions is not very ample", grunted Sherlock, frowning again, trying to keep his aloof façade in place. "They must have cut them from a range of public appearances, but they all have been very short, only seconds each time."

"There was that press conference in May, remember? You didn't talk much, but you sat at the table next to Lestrade for half an hour, and they broadcasted most of it on BBC4."

Sherlock bit his lower lip, watching entranced how the false John on the screen grabbed one of the other Sherlock's legs, put it over his own shoulder and positioned himself in order to penetrate his partner.

"…Right", he answered at last. "Yes, I've recognised some of my expressions from that press conference."

Both of them watched in silence as the pseudo-John started to thrust into the pseudo-Sherlock's body. The angle give them a good view of the man's ass (taut and hard), and his testicles dancing rhythmically with his pumps. John noticed that, now that the man's face was hidden, it was more evident that it wasn't him: the hair was blonder, with only a few grey threads on his sideburns, and his back was beautifully muscled and powerful. He had never been like that, not even in his army days; his own body was more compact and lean, with evidence of muscles on his arms and legs, but it was obvious that the man on the screen went regularly to a gym.

A minute later, the false John placed the other leg of his partner over his other shoulder, bending him and obscuring the view of the screen Sherlock (John felt a little disappointed). The hypnotic speed of his thrusts, though, made for the lack of vision. After a few moments, however, they changed positions: pseudo-Sherlock rolled over and lay on his knees and forearms and pseudo-John didn't waste any time in penetrating him again from behind. John was sweating by now, his erection was starting to be too painful to be confined inside his jeans, and he couldn't understand how Sherlock could be watching it with such detachment and restraint. He peeped furtively to his friend's groin and ha! There it was! Sherlock's hand was covering it, and John would bet his dog tags that there was an erection. His bet was guaranteed when he felt Sherlock shifting on his armchair, his hand still on his lap.

But, come on! Even Sherlock had to be affected; even though it was not them, they had a nice close-up of a huge cock ramming against the other man's hole, balls dancing a prestissimo right now, the muscles of the man's back and bum moving appealingly, and Sherlock's digitalized groans and small cries filled the sitting room of 221B Baker Street.

It all ended very fast after that: the false John gripped his partner's cock, and just a few strong pumps made him come, at the same time that he pulled out from the false Sherlock's body, took the condom out and came over his friend pale lower back. John could almost smell the mixed cums. He realised that he was staring the now black screen with his mouth open. He closed it and licked his lips.

"Wow. That was…", he started, but didn't know what else to say.

Sherlock sighed and changed again from 'full screen' mode to normal size.

"Almost 1500 views at the moment. Alright, we have to decide what is to be done. We can just ask the user, 'ilovesherlockandjohn', how original, to remove the video, or we can denounce it to YouTube."

"Right". John adjusted himself, but he was sure his prick would have imprinted the mark of the damned zip until the next day. "I would rather just ask. If they don't remove it in twenty four hours, then we denounce. What do you think?"

Sherlock nodded. Despite his normal tone of voice, his cheeks were still flushed.

"I'll leave you to it. I still have to shower, and I want to see the rest of crime scenes today."

He stood up carefully, placing the laptop on John's armchair, aware of not facing his friend while he did it. John watched him disappear through the bathroom door with a smug grin.

The rest of the day was more or less as planned: they visited the four flats that they couldn't see the day before, John made pictures, Sherlock analysed the possible entry points but, as these flats were entered some days ago, he couldn't find much new information. They popped in to Barts on their way back home, to pick up the outcome of the mud analysis.

John saw his friend, Mike Stamford, as his huge body approached him and greeted him with half a hug. Mike looked stunningly happy.

"Well, John! I think congratulations are in order!"

The army doctor felt his whole face blush. The video. Mike Stamford, of all his friends, had to have seen the bloody video.

"It wasn't us, Mike. That video is a fake, a manip."

Mike winked, mischievously.

"Whatever you say, old chap."

John turned, looking for Sherlock, but he obviously missed every comment about them being a couple. John sighed, patiently, and invited Mike a coffee in the Hospital cafeteria, provided he skipped that topic. Sherlock didn't need him to cope with the lab assistants, after all.

At dinner time (veg lasagne from Tesco), Sherlock was grumpy because the mud outcome had been too generic to isolate an area of origin. John still believed that the security company was involved, and Sherlock grunted, got up from the kitchen table, and refused to talk during the rest of the evening, staring moodily to the laptop (his laptop, for a change). John counted up to ten, breathing deeply, and then proceeded to clear the table, wash the dishes and sit next to his flatmate with his own laptop. It was barely ten o'clock when he got bored and said goodnight, carrying his laptop upstairs with him.

Once alone, he remembered the video again. He checked it: it was gone. Fine. He sent a whatsapp to Sherlock letting him know the news, received a plain 'OK' as answer, and nested in his bed to read for a couple of hours. When he finally turned off the light, half asleep already, he thought that, in fact, it was a pity the video had been removed. He would have liked to watch it again.