(An awkward Molly encounter and SMUTSMUTSMUT! WOOOO!
And for the record, I love all my readers, and desperately want to take all my reviewers out for texting and scones! Thank you all!)
JOHN WATSON:
"Kiss me."
Sherlock is sitting in the lab at St. Barts, eyes focused on the microscope. Samples of the bomber's blood had been sent to the lab by the police this morning, and as Sherlock entered the cab he decided he needed to check the genetics of the men involved before rushing off to what I was mentally referring to as "Yellow soil" neighborhood.
Personally, I am beginning to feel rather claustrophobic. Sherlock seems to be assuming that my kiss is evidence that he has been successful at wooing me, and is now handling his obsession with the efficient logic he uses for cases; thoroughly and methodically (Marriage? God no!). However, he also seems to be getting agitated that I am not "on demand" for him, even after the first half hour of our supposed 'relationship'. I turn my back to him, irritated that his order for a kiss is so similar to the orders he gives me to text a criminal or hand him a book less than two bloody feet away. I am aware that occasionally if he asks for something without making eye contact and I do not respond immediately he'll forget my presence for a half hour or so anyway, and for now am mildly gratified when he does.
Molly comes into the lab with a cheerful smile and two cups of coffee. "Here you go John!"
"Oh, good, thank you," I murmur, turning away a bit. If Sherlock is possessive enough to suggest marriage ten minutes after I kiss him on the chin, I am wary about interacting with anybody until we have time to discuss this further. Especially Molly, as I rather like her; she's a nice girl.
I wince slightly as the true motive for the coffee makes itself known. Molly bustles over next to Sherlock cheerfully, and sets the cup down. There are ten seconds that are a little like dragging fingernails over a chalkboard.
She is just about to walk away with her usual small 'okay' when Sherlock, with impeccably bad timing, comes back to consciousness, and flicks only his eyes up at me with an insistent glare.
"Kiss. Me." He says in a mildly threatening voice.
Molly flushes bright red, and probably without really thinking things through, leans over with a swish of her lab coat and gets him on the cheek.
The strangled grunt of irritation as his eyes widen with alarm is priceless; Sherlock Holmes almost literally falls off his stool. I cover my mouth to strangle my laughter out of respect for poor Molly, who is backing towards the door, still in shock, both at the demand and the result.
"Molly!" Sherlock is faking rather nicely. It's impossible not to be kind to Molly, really. I have gone out of my way to methodically brainwash him into realizing this. "You snuck up on me a bit there."
"Oh! Ummm, sorry. But then who…" Her gaze flicked from Sherlock to the only other breathing person in the room...
3… 2… 1…
"oh… Ooooooohhhhhh…" She is laughing. "Oh God that's wonderful. It makes sense, he follows you around everywhere!" She backs away grinning, and almost falls over backwards getting out of the room, probably to go hide in a closet and cry. I sigh and rub the bridge of my nose when she is out of the room.
Sherlock stands up and looks over at me. Even from across the room there was a slight downward slant to his gaze. I grimace and meet his eyes. He hooks his hands together behind his back. "Dr. Watson. Kiss. Me."
I stick out my chin in definance. "I don't think so, no."
I find out that if Sherlock Holmes walks towards you with THAT look on his face you feel very. Very. Small.
"Why not?"
"For God's sake, it's not like me tossing you a pen Sherlock! If you want me to kiss you, you have to ask!"
"Fine." He almost spits out, raising his eyes to the ceiling. "John Watson, kiss me, please baby please."
His voice is dripping so heavily with sarcasm I can practically see it running down his chin. I shake my head and duck under his arm and head toward the door of the lab.
"John!"
Don't say anything, keep walking.
He grabs me by the collar of my coat and pushes me away from the door, against a wall. "Ow, shit Sherlock!"
"John, I can't think! I keep going over and over the same thing again and again, and then I think of you. I can't WORK, unless you kiss me. So kiss me damn it, or stop giving me that belligerent look so I can kiss you."
"What, so do you think that every time you kiss me you're going to get an epiphany?"
His jaw tightens in irritation. "Only when I'm aroused."
Well, how could I refuse that then?
I nod slightly, and he breathes with relief and a soft moan, and lurches into me like an awkward teenager. At first he just seems to be struggling to latch on, his lips move over my face and are a little too wet, he's trying to find my lips, to find some sort of purchase, and for a moment I decide that Mycroft must be right, he is a virgin. I reach out to his shoulders to steady him and slow him down, take it slow John, he's… he's…
He finds my mouth, and almost snarls with satisfaction as our tongues slide together, grabbing my shirt and using it to push me up against the wall again so my head knocks against it. At this the other hand drags up my back and his fingers lace tightly into my hair. His kiss is perfect, all mouth and lip with no teeth, and he makes deep but breathy moans as he attempts to push himself into me, to overwhelm me. Initially I feel my body giving in to him, going limp, but I force myself out of my haze and bite his lip in return. He sighs in satisfaction as I assert myself, roughly shoving his body against me and starting to rub a very prominent erection slowly up and down against my thigh.
Oh god. Being gentle is right out then. I rock into his body and knock him backward into a chair which he doesn't quite sit on before stumbling to the floor. He almost leaps up again, but my military training trumps even the great Sherlock Holmes' boxing ability, and I throw myself down on him, sitting on his chest so he can't get up. "Sherlock." I gasp down at him. "That was NOT virginal."
He grins smugly and crooks an arm behind his head. "Problem?"
"God no"
I lean down, languidly, and take my time sucking and biting a mark on his long white neck. He is completely silent except for a gasping moan. "So," I murmur. "I have you too turned on to work, do I?"
"John." I zero in on the frustration in his voice with intense satisfaction.
"Listen. I am going to do something for you, and when we (eventually) get back to the flat, you are going reciprocate. Understand?"
He nods, straining his hips against me. I get up, and push him over to the counter, motioning him to sit up on it, and fumble with his belt and pants. I'm not entirely sure if I'm going to be good at this, I've never handled a man before. But as I slide him into my mouth as far as it can go until I gag softly against it, I feel his legs stretch. When I look up he is leaning over me, his sharp eyes staring as if I'll vanish if he blinks. Gently, he moves my chin and strokes the junction between my lips and his flesh before gasping and leaning back against the wall.
Maybe this will be easier than I thought.