I am deeply sorry it has taken so long to get back to this story. Rest assured that, while my progress may be at a snails pace, I WILL NOT give up on this. I will always come back. Thank you for your patients.

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Later that evening, as John lay once again in Sherlock's abundantly comfortable bed, he gazes up at the ceiling, considering doing a bit of that RECON that occurred to him earlier. With a self deprecating laugh he closes his eyes and lets his imagination drift.

Acknowledging that this is going to be a slow process, John tries to remember if he ever thought about sexually exciting himself with his female organs. The results of his little trip down memory lane is not very encouraging.

Yes there were times, when his female biology asserted itself; that he felt a cavernous ache within. A relentless deep yearning to be filled all the way up, and for that urge he had purchased the dildo. But it rarely came out of the box and baring that he couldn't ever remember exploring anything else. When John became aroused he got an erection. Which he used till he came, spilling useless ejaculate. He never looked for another means of getting off as that one worked so well!

And truth be told, John had always felt a bit uneasy about his unusual situation, like he must have done something wrong to be punished like this. Logically he knew this was not the case, after all, what could he have possibly done wrong, from within the womb, to have earned this?

That too is a problem, his long held personal view that he is a freak, or cursed, that has stood well in the way of him learning about himself for decades!

Wryly shaking his head, John realises his psyche is having none of it, even going so far as to incite his subconscious into fantasy. Almost grimly he steals himself for a session of exploration.

Thanks to his first lover he knows the woman's body well and he sets about to see what is similar about his version. Gently he cups his flaccid cock and balls, holding them to the side slightly, with the other hand he rubs gently at the lips of his labia as a shudder runs up his spine and his cock twitches.

Feeling a shock of surprise John's fingers run all the way back to the shortened perineum, then he reverses course and presses in a bit more insistently. His cool finger tips slip between the moist lips and flounder for a moment in the hot, wet, crevasse, till they come up against the anterior wall of the vagina and slip wetly further forward. John knows he's pressing on the inner walls of the labia and the hidden "legs" of the clitoris, swiftly moving over the area his urethra would have been in, to bump up against the hood of his clitoris proper.

Not prepared for the sensation, a grunt is wrenched out of him as his cock fills staggeringly quickly. Arching his back and resolutely ignoring his male appendage he shudderingly sets about using his standard "melt the woman's mind" pattern of stroking and circling. In a jangling rush John is filled with a relentless fire in his veins. Legs twitching without his consent he feels the bizarre sensation of the soles of his feet burning along with the tension and ache that is centred in his vagina.

Distractedly John wonders if he'll ejaculate, or if this is purely a sympathetic erection. Right on the heels of that thought his other hand, seemingly without his consent, meant to be holding things out of the way so he can explore a bit, starts up a ragged rhythm of stroking.

Feeling like his spine is trying to snap back in half an aborted wail escapes him as the sensations of heat and tension work him over, wringing out every last drop of pleasure, till John's not sure it can feel any better than it does. Till it does. In one second he hears Sherlock at the door of the room, and his mind, instead of shutting down in embarrassment, revels in showing the wild lust of his masterbation. Looking back over his shoulder at Sherlock, he tips over the precipice coming in rough groans and down right filthy moans of his flatmates name.

He knows they will both regret it afterwards as being too much, too soon, he knows Sherlock will probably go hide with Mrs. Hudson again, but as it is happening he cannot bring himself to care. In those few milliseconds he imagines Sherlock becoming aroused too, he envisions his friend coming into the room, helping him with his dildo and in a second pulse of blinding orgasm he wishes desperately for himself to be impaled on both Sherlock's cock and the toy up in his cupboard.

As he comes down, he notes the ejaculate all over his torso and the slamming of the flat door, yet before the shock can settle in, John Hamish Watson vows he will some day see his wish come true.

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Sherlock had only been in his mind palace for a few minutes when his awareness was ripped back out. Unsure what captured his attention, he quickly scans his senses for what happened in the last few minutes. Standing he walks slowly into the kitchen, his transport drawing him toward exactly what he was thinking about; John.

In a flicker of an eyelash, Sherlock is aware that it was a sound that roused him and with a lengthening stride, he moves toward his room and the man he is now worried about. Sherlock spends the intervening seconds imagining several situations where John has hurt himself, falling out of bed, knocking against the night table, or dresser, till he is spurred on by a painful-sounding, broken off sob.

As his hand is already turning the doorknob and pushing the door open, his brain, helpfully, reminds him of the last time he walked in unannounced, as well as dumping the sensory input he's been ignoring front and centre. For one heart-thundering second, Sherlock stands there dumbly as he processes it all at once, his eyes coming on-line last.

Whilst he was approaching the room, the sound of a body moving restlessly could be heard, shifting about in his sheets. *MINE* his brain claims and he can't be certain what the declarative applies to! Incidental sounds, his brain verifies as, grunts and a quick gasping rate of breath, are cut off as suddenly most of the motion on the bed stops, allowing the faint squeaks of the bed itself to be heard as the mattress shifts about gently. The analytical centre of Sherlock's mind offers a conclusion, John has locked up the majority of his muscles in a sharp arch, his arms the only things moving at all.

This is when the visual inputs finally pushes through the clamour in his brain; John is hunched sideways, away from the doorway, leaning upon all of the pillows, the duvet pooled around his feet as though kicked away. His right leg is bent at the knee, foot on the mattress close to his haunches, but splayed wide, jerking minutely outward in response to the frenetic motion of both (*BOTH* his hindbrain shrieks) hands.

Sherlock's eyes close without his consent and as he takes in a shaky breath he swears he can taste the sent of seminal fluid in the air. Eyes flashing open he tilts his head down a fraction, opening his mouth wider, lips furled back, to take in more of the scented air so he can verify his suspicion. But instead it allows the escape of a quiet moan as John looks over his shoulder, straight into the wide, dilating eyes of his detective. John's half-lidded eyes, boring into his own, seem to be lit from the inside, the hormones in his blood lending him a fevered, bright eyed aspect.

In a haze Sherlock watches as John releases his bitten lip and moans his name (*HIS*) as John's hips unlock and pump smoothly three or four times. Then the trace scent hits him like a wall, on top of the moaning of his name, and Sherlock blushes so hotly and fast he feels faint. *ESCAPE* his brain is screaming as he takes in the fact that John has ejaculated, looking at him, whilst moaning his name.

Loosing track of his transport for a few moments Sherlock is suddenly back in his Mind Palace staring blankly at a perfect replica of his room. Jolting himself into movement he walks around the bed to stand at the opposite bottom-corner of the bed, fully facing John and his hidden hands. Everything in front of him is blurry, but as he calms his breath and lets the image he saw in the doorway extrapolate for him, the position of John's visible limbs and the angle of his posture, all tells the story. He watches as the image slowly crisps up, seemingly drawn in by the mathematical equations he sees hovering in the air verifying each line. Only to be struck mentally silent and still at the sight of John's right hand, thumb stroking his clit, fingers hidden away *inside him* his left clenching his cock as the ejaculate is forcing the tip to flex and flare in it's efforts to burst forth.

The sound of a door slamming centimetres away yanks him away from the image and into the real world to a funny falling sensation in his gut. Trying desperately to slow the galloping breath rattling through him, Sherlock focuses on the closed door in front of him, the flat door...he is in the stairwell with no knowledge of how he got here. Trying to battle the burning inside he turns to walk down the stairs only to hear his ears traitorously whisper the memory of John's moans.

Drawing close to the stairwell he leans up against the newel post for support, staggering and falling heavily against it, his head light and swimming with oxygen deprivation. Sherlock hears a whimper pass his own lips as he releases the breath he had been holding and the world swims. Not being able to tell up from down, his sole focus is now on the heat in his groin and the fact that he can actually FEEL his pulse in the heavy thundering of his erect organ.

Slumping down on the top step he falls back to lie on the landing looking up to the stairs above him for answers. The heavy twitching calls his attention away and he laughs humourlessly at the fact that, not only can he see his erection standing away from him, but he can see it flexing with each pulse of lust in his veins. Not quite sure what he planned on doing about it he shifts to reposition it in his pants, slipping a hand in to shift it into a less painful position.

Never before has he reacted so viscerally, not even the last time with John, that time he had been flaccid with mortification by the time he hit the bottom of the stairs on his way to 221A! Reaching under the pants to end the strangulation the Y-fronts are attempting on his turgid flesh, Sherlock is again rendered dumb by the electrical pulse through him in that simple slide of fingers on his skin. His hand not stopping reaches out and grasps his member, but the sensation alighting his veins with crackles of eroticism alters the instructions to said hand and instead of tugging it free and leaving he roughly pumps into his fist once and then with a quiet hiss his over-sensitised glans produces ejaculate for almost a solid minute.