Thank you for all the lovely reviews, this chapter will be a bit longer and might have some action, you'll have to read and find out!
Chapter 3
It had been 6 days since John had told Sherlock that he didn't like him 'like that'. The truth was eating him up inside, and it was becoming unbearable for him. He tried his best to hide it, but it was becoming more and more obvious every day.
But tonight, everything might change. He had a date with a lovely girl called Laura; he had bumped into her while getting coffee for Sherlock at the morgue and they had started talking.
John finished his coffee and placed the mug in the sink, next to a growing pile of used test tubes. He sighed and leaned over the edge, thinking of what to do next. He would have a shower, get changed, and then meet her at the pub. Yes, good plan Dr Watson.
He pulled out a new top and a pair of jeans with a reasonable jacket and set it down on his bed. The shower curtain was damp as he moved it across the bath; Sherlock must have showered earlier. Actually, come to think of it, where was Sherlock? He shook his head. Now was not the time to think, and his mind was cleared as a hot stream of water travelled down his back.
He massaged his arms and shoulders and legs, working the gel into every pore he could fine, trying to rinse himself of the bad memories that continued to haunt him. He gathered some shampoo in his hand and lathered it into his sandy hair, washing it out moments later. He shut the shower off and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist.
Back in his bedroom, he quickly dried the rest of his body and shoved a new pair of underwear on, pulling his jeans over the top. He grabbed his shirt and tugged it over his shoulders, careful not to stretch the material out of shape.
He patted it down carefully, smoothing out any creases made. The material was snug on his figure, hugging him softly. He went to grab his jacket, but it wasn't on the bed. He checked on the other side of the bed, in case it had fallen down, but it hadn't. It wasn't under the bed either. Nor was under the duvet. Where the bloody hell could that have gone? he asked himself.
He walked slowly back into the front room, checking every inch of floor space as if some miracle had occurred and his jacket had sprung itself from the position on his bed and into the corridor.
"Sherlock, have you seen my-" John stopped in his tracks.
Sherlock was sitting, cross-legged on his chair, violin bow in hand, wearing John's jacket.
"Yes John?" Sherlock asked.
"That's my jacket."
"You do astound me with your deductions sometimes," Sherlock replied sarcastically.
"That's my BLOODY jacket!"
Sherlock rolled his eyes, clearly irritated by John's repetition.
"Give it back now, please," John ordered.
"What for?"
"Because I'm going out in 40 minutes, and I need to wear that jacket."
"Honestly John, find another jacket. Or better still, just don't go out."
John was glued to his spot, stuck somewhere between screaming at Sherlock and walking right up to him and ripping the jacket from his shoulders.
"Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to my room. I have some, um," he coughed awkwardly, "business to take care of."
"No, no, hang on a second," John stood up and marched towards Sherlock. "Give me my jacket."
"No."
"Fine, then I'll take it from you." John lunged toward Sherlock, grabbing his shoulders and yanking him backwards.
Sherlock yelped and tried to smack John's hands away, but it was to no avail. Johns grip tightened as he tried to pull the material away from his body. Sherlock wiggled and writhed under his grip, until John gave up.
"Sherlock..." John said slowly.
"What now, John?" Sherlock replied breathlessly.
"Are you - are you ticklish?" John asked, failing to hide his smirk.
"I, um, I might be," Sherlock stammered.
John went to grab at his sides again, determined to torture the consulting detective until he gave up his jacket, but Sherlock was too quick. He dived down the hallway and into his room, slamming the door shut and falling back against it.
"If you want your jacket back," the baritone voice said, "you're going to have to come and get it."
"Sherlock, stop being such a dick! I have a date that I don't want to be late for, just give me my jacket now!"
No reply. John rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine," he said to himself. "He asked for it."
He slammed himself into the wood of the door, and felt Sherlock spring from where he was sitting. John pushed harder until the door opened, where he snuck in and confronted the man.
"Give it to me. Now." John's voice echoed in Sherlock's ears, making him shiver.
"I don't want to." Sherlock's childish side was trying to shine through.
"Fine, we'll do this the hard way," John grabbed Sherlock by the shoulders and pushed him onto the bed so that he was lying on his stomach. He placed his knees over Sherlock's calves and carefully removed one shoe.
"Oh God, no John, please no!"
John didn't stop. Instead, he pulled she black sock from Sherlock's foot, and cradled the front of it.
"Last chance to give me back my jacket," John raised his hand, poised and ready to attack the sole of his foot.
"No!" screamed Sherlock.
"You asked for it!"
John's fingers brushed every inch of skin lightly, teasing it softly. Sherlock moaned and writhed and laughed and wriggled. This had never happened to him before, and he wasn't sure if he liked it.
John didn't give up, stroking his toes and pinching the ball of his foot, he continued to torture the tall man below him until Sherlock jerked his legs.
John flew off him and landed in the space next to him, a little dazed. Sherlock wasted no time on regained the upper hand, straddling John, gripping his wrists and throwing them above my head.
"Enough," the detective whispered darkly.
John gulped and nodding, not interested in his jacket anymore, but instead of the amazingly shaped lips that Sherlock had.
Are they soft? I bet they're soft. And moist, but not too moist. Just perfect. I bet they're smooth too, like his fingers, oh God his fingers. Why do I want to taste him so badly? I am straight! Really John, you're fantasising about you're flatmate, and you are still trying to convince yourself that you're straight. Well, I am. Ha, not anymore...
John stared into Sherlock's eyes, consumed by the pools of mystery and lust in them. He couldn't look away, and didn't want to either.
Sherlock couldn't believe the position he was in. He could have John Watson right now, on his bed, if he so wished. But he couldn't do that, could he?
Just kiss him already! The tension here is unbearable. No, I can't kiss him, he'll be mad. Yes, but he might like it as well. What have you got to lose? Except your friendship, the laughs, the companionship, and more than likely the man you love. Oh, sod it all!
Sherlock titled his head to the side, lowering it slowly and closing his eyes. John closed the gap between them, lifting his head up from the pillow slightly.
Their lips met John tried hard to suppress a moan. Sherlock was the first one to move, slowly moving his lips against John, coaxing him to follow suit. John complied and their mouths moved in unison, savouring each other.
John's tongue snaked out of his mouth and gently touched Sherlock's upper lip, enticing a moan from him. Sherlock's tongue darted out and met with John's, and the two muscles danced together, tasting, touching, feeling.
John ground his hips into Sherlock, causing the man to gasp and pull away from the kiss. He trailed kisses down John's jaw line, making the doctor arch his head into the pillow. Sherlock attached his mouth to the area of exposed skin and tickled it with his tongue, teasing his lightly.
He pulled away from John and observed him. Flushed face. Swollen lips. Pupils blown. Bulge in erogenous zone. He smirked to himself.
"So, Dr Watson," he leant over John's face, still holding his hands above his head.
"Do you still want your jacket?"
I'm so sorry that this took so long to do, I've been working on a biology project, but I am aiming for one chapter a week at least. Let me know what you think, constructive criticism is always welcome! Thank you you beautiful people, much love xo
AN: I have two ways this could go- John and Sherlock get busy and I will write my first ever smutty scene which I am dying to do!
Or I could have John leave, go on his date, realise he's made a mistake and come home to Sherlock, which might end in a smutty scene, you'll have to find out!
Let me know which one you want xo