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"Do you come here often, Doctor Watson?"
John grins. "Please, call me John."
The man across the table grins back. "Do you come here often, John?"
John shakes his head. "No. I've only been here a few times since I moved to this block."
"How long have you lived here?"
"Couple years, just after I got discharged from the military."
"Why did you get discharged?"
John shyly looks down at the table. "I got shot."
The man nods. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"Don't be. It was a long time ago. Now I'm here and it's ok."
"What made you move here?" the man asks.
"I found a flat mate. Well, a mutual friend introduced us. I've lived with him since."
"Is the flat mate… your husband?"
John nods. "How did you know I'm married?"
"Your ring. Well, the absence of your ring."
John glances down at his ring finger. "He's like that, too. My husband. He just…notices things. He's very good at it. I don't know how he does it and I probably never will, but he's very keen and wise."
"And that bothers you?" the man asks.
"Why do you ask?"
"Because you wouldn't be here, with me, so close to your home if there wasn't something about him that bothers you."
John shrugs. "I just need a break, that's all. And he needs a break."
"Where is he now?"
John shrugs. "I don't know. He could be anywhere. Could be in this pub for all I know."
"Does he usually follow you on dates?"
"This is the first time I've…gone on a date…since we've been married. But before we were married, yeah, he followed me on dates."
The man nods. "Possessive man?"
"Very."
"And that's what bothers you?"
"A bit, yeah. But he means well. He just wants me for himself."
"Don't you feel the same? Want him for yourself?"
"Of course. I don't want anyone to touch him or look at him or anything."
The man grins. "You sound like the possessive one."
John smiles. "I can be, I'll admit it."
"So your husband," the man starts, "Do you still love him?"
John nods. "I'll always love him."
"And yet…you're here."
John nods, then sips his drink."
"What do you love about him?" the man asks.
"Everything. Everything about him. He could be perfect."
"Could be?"
"In my eyes," John says, "He is. To the world he's a monster, evil, an alien. Everybody hates him and he thrives on that. He…he lives to be hated. Because that means he does his job well."
The man nods. "What does he look like?"
"He's gorgeous. He's tall and pale and…just beautiful. He's got sharp cheek bones, crystal blue eyes, raven curls, long, creamy limbs. His body is to die for. He's just so fucking…hot."
"Hot?"
"Yeah. He's hot. That's what I thought the first time I saw him. He was so hot."
"Hmm," the man takes in the information. "So you always wanted to fuck him?"
John nods. "Since the first time I met him until I fell in love with him. I just wanted him so badly."
"And after you fell in love with him?"
"I wanted to make love to him."
The man nods. "And what is it you want to do to me?"
John leans forward and gazes into the man's dark eyes. "Anything you tell me to."
The man nods. "Let's get out of here, then."
He slips out of his chair and offers a hand out to John. John takes it and lets the man pull him out of the pub.
"My place, or yours?"
John thinks that over. He knows Sherlock isn't home. And it is closer. "Let's go to my flat."
The man nods and follows John to 221B.
John unlocks the door and lets the man go in first, then leads him up to his home. Once in the living room, the man glances around the room.
"Nice," he observes.
"Yes, I thought so."
"Is that a…human skull?"
"It's a friend," John says. "Well, I say 'friend'."
The man looks disturbed, but he shakes it off. "What would you like to do, then John?"
John steps close to him. "You tell me."
The man hesitantly touches John's cheek. To John's surprise, John doesn't pull away. The man takes it as an 'ok' and places his other hand on John's hip. "I want you to fuck me," he breathes out.
John nods. "Anything," he says, taking hold of the man's hips and leading him towards the bedroom.
On the way there, John thinks twice about fucking someone in his and Sherlock's bed. Sherlock would know, he'd see and figure it out. Instead, John presses the man against the kitchen table. He glances over the man's shoulder at the mess.
"My husbands a…scientist," John says.
The man nods.
John steps around the table and pushes everything off in one swift motion. The man gasps at the clanging and crashing glass. John resumes his spot against the man and begins to kiss him.
It's awkward at first, as if neither know what to do. Their tongues slowly glide together and after a few head position changes, they get a rhythm and snog furiously. John breathes heavily and grinds against the man.
Then John sets to work removing the man's jeans. It's awkward, again, but soon the man's nude from the waist down.
"Uh…shirt?" John asks.
"Oh, right," the man says, pulling his t-shirt over his head.
John works on his trousers next. He's wearing the same thing he usually wears, so the man begins to unbutton John's shirt. Once he's fully nude, he pushes the man onto the table and retrieves the lube from a kitchen cabinet.
"You keep lube in the kitchen?" the man asks.
"You'd be surprised at how much we need it, and not just for sex."
The man nods and feels John press a slick finger against his hole. He slowly exhales and John pushes in, delicately opening the man up.
"Are you ok?" John asks over and over.
"Are you always this concerned?" the man asks after the fifth time.
"I'm a doctor, I get worried."
"You're a doctor, you should know when too much is too much."
"You're good, then?"
"Yes," the man says, grunting as John adds the third finger. "Just do it, go ahead."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, John, fuck!" he shouts in frustration.
"Ok, sorry," John replies, slicking his cock and taking his stance between the man's legs.
"Uhm," the man says, "Have you got…"
"Oh, right," John says. "Of course, I'm so sorry."
"It's no problem," the man says, watching John disappear down the hall to the bathroom.
When John returns, he tears the condom packet open and slips it on, then re-lubes his cock and slowly pushes in to the man on the table.
"How's that?" John asks once he's all the way in.
"Good, it's good." the man breathlessly says. "Whenever you're ready."
John gives the man time to adjust, then slowly begins to thrust into him. It feels good, but John doesn't feel all that satisfied. He suddenly wishes for it to be over quickly.
The man below him hardly makes any noise, unlike Sherlock. Sherlock is usually loud and lyrical, but this man is quiet. John's not sure he likes it.
John amps it up soon and begins to thrust with wild abandon. Finally the man lets out a long, low moan and begins coming on his stomach. The sensations on John's cock makes John come, though it's dissatisfying.
John doubles over onto the man's chest and catches his breath. "Are you ok?" he asks.
"I'm fine," the man says.
John lifts his head and rests his chin on the man's chest. "I didn't like that," he bluntly states.
"Why do people suggest role-playing as something that 'spices things up in the bedroom'?" Sherlock asks.
"You're the one that said it would be a good idea."
"You're the one that agreed."
"I didn't know you'd be so…eerily good at it," John says.
"Eerily?" Sherlock asks.
"It was creepy how different you were. I didn't like it. You asked why I got discharged from the army!"
"You said I bother you!"
"Everybody knows that you bother me!"
Sherlock begins to laugh. "Ok, next time, you get to be someone else."
"I don't want there to be a next time. That was just creepy."
"Did you forget about me?" Sherlock asks.
"No. I almost stopped and demanded you be you. And what did you do with my wedding ring?"
"It's in my pocket. I thought we weren't going to be married."
John kisses Sherlock's chest, then stands straight up and pulls Sherlock with him. "Well, there will be no next time, got it? Though I do feel as though we did it wrong. Usually people just dress up or get wigs. Men always talk of having fantasies about red heads."
Sherlock's face perks with interest. "Hey, there's an-"
"NO!" John snaps. "No more role-playing!"
*I just thought it would be funny if they were horrible at role-playing.