A/N: Huge thanks to my lovely readers for giving me helpful feedback on the previous chapter. It gives me courage to continue...

Warning: Masturbation.

Disclaimer: Still not mine.

Beta: Jarri Scythe - she has the patience of a saint!

Shake the Disease - 4

His head was thrown back, eyes closed tight, looking more pained than pleasured, and I felt the pulsing between our bodies, followed by a warm wetness.

He took a deep breath, opened his eyes and said, "I think I just experienced an orgasm."

I gave a startled half-chuckle, "Sherlock, you've had orgasms before."

He shook his head slightly, "They weren't like that. That was...unexpected."

He was squirming underneath me.

"John, let me up."

I got off of him and he immediately sprang from the bed and began rummaging through a drawer.

I sat back on my heels on the bed, a bit puzzled, "Well, what did you think was going to happen?"

"I...can we talk about this later? I really want to wash up."

"Er, ok."

"I'm sorry if I got you dirty, you'll probably have to change as well," Sherlock said as he quickly exited the room.

A moment later I heard the shower running again. I heaved a sigh and looked sadly at my still-tented pajama pants. What do I do now?

It was all a bit awkward. I felt like I did at sixteen when after my first blowjob the girl ran from the room to spit and gag and then brushed her teeth with embarrassing vigor.

Relationships are not his area.

I felt the front of my pants and they were a bit damp. Doing so caused my hand to brush against my still aching need. Oh well, if Sherlock's in the shower, I probably have time to take care of this and I need to change pants anyway...

I stretched out on the bed, in the space recently occupied by Sherlock - it was still warm from his body.

I shut my eyes as I pleasured myself, replaying the feel of Sherlock's body pressed against me, his moans, his hands pulling me close, his open, eager mouth. It still came as a bit of a thrilling shock to me when I thought about how I was the first one he'd ever allowed such access.

It didn't take me long, with my already high state of arousal. I came with a satisfied moan, opened my eyes, and found Sherlock standing by the bed watching me.

"Christ! Sherlock! What are you doing?" I gasped.

"I, I was coming back to bed."

"Why'd you sneak up on me like that? You scared me half to death!"

"I didn't mean to, you just didn't hear me."

"You could've given me some kind of warning."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Am I supposed to announce my intent to enter every room before I do so?"

He handed me the box of tissues.

"Thanks," I mumbled as I took them and cleaned the hand that had been in my pants.

"I'm sorry, John. I should have realized you were...I really don't know what I'm doing in these situations."

"I know, Sherlock. It's the same for me, really. It's ok. It's all...fine."

We gave each other an embarrassed smile.

"OK, uh, I guess it's my turn in the bathroom," I said as I got up and started looking for a fresh pair of pajama pants.

"Sure," Sherlock said a bit distractedly.

I turned around and saw that he was examining the sheets suspiciously. I rubbed my face and resigned myself to a lifetime of late night bedding changes and/or always getting the "wet spot."

"Sherlock, what are you so worried about? You put eyeballs in the microwave!"

He straightened up and looked a little embarrassed.

"This is different," he insisted.

"Why?"

"I can't sleep with the idea of millions of sperm wriggling and slowly dying around me."

I groaned inwardly, now I never would be able to, either.

"I'll be right back," I sighed.

I didn't take another shower; I just washed myself up and changed my pants before I returned to the bedroom. Apparently, the sheets had not been soiled since Sherlock was in the bed when I returned.

I crawled in beside him and turned out the light.

I reached over for him and he snuggled up against me with his head on my chest. I kissed the top of his head and asked, "Are you ok?"

"Yes."

"Did you enjoy...what we did?"

"Yes. It just wasn't what I expected."

"How so?"

"I didn't anticipate feeling so out-of-control. That was a bit...unnerving. I'm sorry I ran out on you like I did. I forgot that lovers are supposed to...reciprocate."

"It's ok. I should have realized that it was going to be a different kind of experience for you, than what you're used to, ah, doing… on your own. Don't worry about it, next time will be better."

Sherlock stretched and yawned then said sleepily, "Hmmm...I look forward to that."

I kissed his temple and said, "Goodnight Sherlock."

"Goodnight John."

The next morning we were awakened by Sherlock's cell ringing. He picked it up and said before answering, "It's Lestrade."

"Hello?" he answered, his voice still thick with sleep.

I put my head under the pillow; I wasn't ready to face the day quite yet.

After a moment Sherlock poked me, "John, wake up! Lestrade wants to know if we can come out and look at a body."

"Do I have to come?" I grumbled from under the pillow.

"John, get the pillow off your head and let me know if you're coming or not."

"Oh, bugger!" I groaned, realizing that Sherlock had just thoroughly outed us to Lestrade.

"Stop grumbling! Are you coming or not?"

"Yes, yes, I'll come." Might as well get it over with.

I didn't bother saying anything to Sherlock. It was pretty clear that he did not intend to keep our status a secret and I didn't want to add to his insecurities.

In the cab on the way to meet Lestrade I found myself staring at Sherlock as he played endlessly with his phone. It was a wonder to me that under his brusque, cool exterior he was actually insecure in many respects. I supposed it was a defense mechanism. In many ways, he was still the eleven-year-old boy who had shut himself off from the world after his mother's murder.

How had I managed to get past all that? Why had he decided to let me, of all people, in? It was a mystery quite beyond my ability to solve, but I wasn't complaining. Being with him was making me happier than I had been in a very long time.

We got to the crime scene (a very dirty alley behind a seedy club) and Lestrade greeted us in much the same way as he usually did, except that he never met my eyes.

He led us over to the body and then stood back behind me while Sherlock walked around to the other side of the victim. It was a young man, probably in his early twenties, and the cause of death seemed fairly straightforward, there was a gruesome slash through his neck. I gave Sherlock an approximate time of death of five hours previous.

Sherlock then began looking over the body more closely while I stood and watched. After a moment Sherlock stood up and snapped at Lestrade.

"Good God, Lestrade! Do you need a toilet? Your fidgeting is driving me mad!"

I turned around to see Lestrade looking sheepish.

"Sorry," he said, "just, ah, a bit nervous I guess."

"Well do your St. Vitus dance somewhere else so I can catch your murderer for you."

Lestrade slunk off, looking abashed.

After a moment Sherlock sighed and announced he was finished. We ducked under the crime tape and found Lestrade with Donovan and Anderson a bit down the alleyway.

Sherlock said it was a crime done by the victim's drug dealer, probably because the victim had stolen drugs or money or both. Sherlock even gave Lestrade a name, saying the wound was consistent with the knife the suspect was known to carry.

"And how does anyone but a junkie know this information?" Anderson asked with a sneer.

I looked over at Sherlock and to my surprise, he actually flushed slightly, glanced at me, and quickly looked away. For once, one of Anderson's barbs seemed to have hit home.

My protective instincts kicked in. Despite Sherlock's recent slip, I couldn't stand for him to be mocked by the likes of Anderson. It was a comment made of sheer spite, based on no evidence on that weasel's part.

"Oh, I don't know Anderson," I said, trying to channel Sherlock's usual condescending attitude, "maybe Sherlock knows because he happens to be an expert on crime in London? Which, apparently, is more than we can expect from some employees of Scotland Yard."

There was a moment of silence, when Anderson, Donovan, Lestrade and Sherlock all stared at me. Then Sherlock turned to Lestrade.

"Is there anything else you need me for right now?"

"Erm, no, I guess not. Why?"

"John and I have some urgent business to attend to. Ring me if there's anything else. Come on, John."

Sherlock grabbed my arm to drag me away.

"What is it, Sherlock?" I asked as I stumbled a bit.

"I need to get your clothes off… as soon as possible."

We weren't nearly far enough away. Lestrade's giggle followed us down the alley.

To be continued...