COVER ART-the brilliant anyrei1 has created fantastic cover art for The Marksman. It can be seen on her Tumblr site (Google anyrei/Tumblr) it is also posted on my site as well. Sherlock is other-worldly beautiful. John is looking right at Sherlock; it is so moving. Seriously. And James Moriarty is positively sexy..
Warnings-just the usual adult topics and swearing. Oh wait and SMUT. This Chapter rated M for smut. Just saying. For those who could do without the smut, never fear. You can safely skip this chapter without losing any plot.
Chapter 29
Captain John Watson had broken his promise . He was in Helmand working on a highly sensitive mission, and instead of concentrating on his mission, Captain Watson was deliberately and with malice of forethought trying to distract his partner, Captain Holmes. Part of John was embarrassed and disappointed in himself. The other part was thrilled to be ripping off his uniform out in the scorching sun beat down, warming his tanned skin.
Captain Holmes finally meandered up the nearly dry stream bed. As usual, the handsome git had forgotten his helmet so his curls blew every which way in the gusty breeze. As usual, he was nose deep into his mobile phone, which must have been getting a surprisingly good signal, considering that they were in a combat zone. The army marksman couldn't help but be distracted by the hand-tailored, tight-fitting uniform that strained across Holmes's lean, muscular physique.
John stepped out from behind their armored vehicle. He was wearing only his new red silk pants, his boots and his L115A3, which he had slung over his pumped up shoulder. Yes, Captain Watson had done twenty push-ups just before the arrival of his team-mate. His well-defined muscles gleamed with sweat under the brilliant golden sun. John Watson just hoped he wasn't too distracting.
Captain Holmes looked up and said dismissively, "Oh, you've forgotten your side arm. That rifle is no good in close quarters combat."
John sighed and turned back to the vehicle. Of course he couldn't distract Captain Holmes; he was on a case, for God's sake. John hung his head in shame and frustration, guiltily palming his personal firearm.
"Mmmmm," rumbled a low voice, sounding like far off mortar fire. Captain Watson slowly turned around, careful not to dislodge his sniper rifle.
Warm lips kissed the soldiers bare neck, and they gradually, sensuously made their way up to the corner of his jaw. A tongue lapped at the skin under his ear.
The army marksman moaned at the touch and couldn't help thrusting into his own hand.
"God, John…God," Captain Holmes breathed into his mouth. "God, let me…oh God, let me." The soft lips caressed his lips, which parted eagerly.
Captain Holmes pulled both of John Watson's arms up over his head and held them in a vice like grip. His other hand had begun to stroke John through his pants.
"Oh, fuck!" cried John, bucking so hard that he knocked Captain Holmes over and woke himself up.
Shite! God. John panted heavily. He threw his head back into the pillow in frustration. Why the hell did he have to wake up? That was his best damn dream he'e ever had.
"Sorry, John, I didn't mean to startle you," said the World's Most Distracting Detective. The detective, who had torn off his clothes on the way up the stairs, crawled back on top of his partner and returned to palming his manhood and kissing his lips. "Shh, it's fine John, just let me touch you. I have to touch you.
He took John's lower lip and began to nibble.
"Wait…wait, what about my sidearm?…and I thought…I thought no sex… during a mission... or, um something like that," John stuttered in between the kissing and nibbling.
"As usual, John. You have completely disregarded my instructions," said the detective, straddling the blond.
"How? Me? I was up here sleeping!" said John, who then groaned as he felt Sherlock's hot, heavy erection rub against his. The kissing continued apace.
"Yes, but you've completely infiltrated my Mind Palace. Everywhere I turn there are reminders of you, and it's completely distracting. It's ridiculous," rumbled Sherlock, his voice vibrated in John's mouth.
"And then, you were making the most delicious, distracting noises in your sleep," accused the detective, biting down and then sucking on John's lip.
"Sorry. I…i shouldn't distract…you...Do you want me to leave?" asked John, who wasn't thinking very clearly with a second tongue entering his mouth and a second dick caressing his dick.
"Idiot! I don't want you to leave. That would be even more distracting. No, the only thing for it is to fuck you senseless. Then maybe I'll be able to concentrate."
"Oh. Okay...You...you said fuck," muttered John. "Fuck...Oh, God. Stop Sherlock…Just stop."
Sherlock growled and shook his head, but he stopped.
"Sherlock. Just…hold it for a second or two. I can't last…not if we keep this up," said John swallowing and staring at the long sculpted body looming over his. "You, you said you were…going to fuck me senseless."
"Oh. No. No, John I didn't mean..." said Sherlock, who was leaning on one arm now, caressed John's rough cheek. "No, we don't have to do that until you're ready. In fact we never have to do that, John. Not if it makes you uncomfortable."
"No! I do…want that," John swallowed nervously, but cocked his head once and nodded to himself. "I do want it, I want you to take me, tonight, right now.
John pushed up onto his elbow, "I want…you…" he pursed is lips and nodded at Sherlock, "you...to take me, please." John clutched the taller man and dragged him down onto himself.
"John, are you sure. There's no rush..." said the detective studying his beautiful distraction.
"Yes. Yes there is. I mean...I just want it, Sherlock," said John. "I want you. Yes, I'm a bit nervous, but I want you. Do you want me to beg? Then I'm begging…"
"God, no! You don't have to beg," said Sherlock who was incredibly hard now. John Watson wriggling underneath him and begging was the hottest thing he'd ever observed. And then Sherlock whispered, "Keep begging."
"Please," said John. His voice was hoarse with want, and he thrust his hips up, looking for the friction which he had stupidly put a stop to. "Please I need you, to take me, Sherlock… I want to feel what it's like. I want to feel you in me…"
His words were cut off as the consulting detective bent down to ravage his mouth. The blond eagerly welcomed his tongue, wantonly sucking on it and drawing a low rumble of pleasure from the brunet.
John was focused on the taste and smell of Sherlock Holmes. He was riveted on the tongue sliding across his tongue. His hands luxuriated in those soft curls. He didn't notice Sherlock opening the lube.
Suddenly, he felt cold slippery fingers sliding between his buttocks and around his entrance. They began to massage directly over his opening, gently caressing but not penetrating.
Sherlock's returned to nibbling John's swollen lips. The former doctor, breathing heavily, kissed back. Sherlock sucked in John's lip and bit down, as he penetrated John's entrance with a finger.
John gasped loudly.
"Are you alright?" asked his partner.
"Yeah, good. I'm good. It's just..." John paused, to lick his lips and force himself to relax. He breathed in and then out. "I'm good, don't stop." Then John remembered that the begging seemed to really turn on the detective. "Please, don't stop. Please, I need you…I need you… in me."
Sherlock's lips smashed down painfully and passionately. It was less of a kiss and more a devouring of John Watson. And the whole time, Sherlock gently, persistently prepared his lover.
John was nuzzling the top of Sherlock's head, both of his hands were tangled in the dark curls. The brunet had left John's lips swollen and tingling. He was now ravishing John's neck, leaving more marks of his passion.
The second finger had barely made a difference to John. Oh, but the third one burned, and yet left a fire smoldering inside John. He'd never felt this way before. The feeling of Sherlock's digits inside him had set a fire burning; it was overwhelming him and consuming him.
He tugged gently on those ridiculously sexy curls, bringing Sherlock's face back up to him. Their dark, blown eyes met and John pulled his lover down for a kiss. It started slow but grew. Now sliding his lips over Sherlock's, then sliding his mouth across a sharp cheekbone and back into the hair, breathing in Sherlock's scent.
Sherlock's fingers were moving in and out slowly, and it wasn't enough. John's hips rolled; he moved himself up and down on the fingers. He kissed and bit the tender, stubbled skin just in front of Sherlock's ear. The ex-soldier relished the rough burn of stubble against his lips, and he relished the burning deep inside him.
John was tight, so Sherlock tried to take it slow, but John pushed for more, writhing on Sherlock's fingers. It set every one of Sherlock's nerves on fire. The taller man found himself rutting against his lover. John bit him and Sherlock groaned.
His long musician's fingers searched, curled and then found their mark, John arched his back and he cried out a garbled "Sherl-oohhhck!"
Sherlock found John's sweet spot again and electrified his soldier once more.
"Oh God, oh God, please…ahhh. G'd…please" babbled John, reaching down to touch himself firmly moved John's hands back over his head.
Sherlock withdrew his fingers; John sobbed at the loss and the burn. He began begging for real now.
Sherlock was more than hard enough already, but stroked himself thoroughly with lube. The taller man lifted John's leg up, nibbling behind John's knee and along his inner thigh tasting salt and musk. He carefully probed John's entrance, holding John's hips still, because he feared that the blond would impale himself too quickly.
"Please, God, Sherlock. Please just do it. You have to…please. You have to be the first. You, i want you..." John begged.T
Then Sherlock slowly, slowly breached his defenses.
"Oh God!" cried John again, fighting to breathe in spite of the burn. But of course, John knew how to breathe. Just take a breath in and then out. John breathed and relaxed, and the burn slowly subsided just a little.
Sherlock gradually filled him. Filled until John couldn't take any more, and he almost wanted it to stop. But he also felt an ache that needed to be touched, to be filled. He needed to move. Sherlock had to move.
It seemed to take forever to enter the hot, tight space that was John. John cried and begged for more and pleaded with Sherlock to stop and then asked for more. And then Sherlock was inside, completely surrounded by John, who slowly started to undulate beneath him.
"John, are you ready?"
"No. Yes. Yesss. God just fuck me. You have to be the one, you have to be the one, please," yelled John without filters, without shame.
Sherlock began to rock, bringing himself partway out, and then back in and then out. And already he was biting his lip, holding back his climax.
John wriggled down at the end of each thrust, desperate to be filled. Sherlock lifted John's hips up further and surged forward hitting John's sweet spot.
"God….agggh" cried John his head rolling back.
Sherlock thrust harder. He was all sensation now, only feelings and instinct. And he was part of a greater whole. God! He was part of John. And John surrounded him and writhed under him, coming apart for him.
The brunet knew they were both close. They were joined together, and they would be coming together too.
"Touch yourself John," growled Sherlock, 'I want to see you come for me,"
John stroked himself, pushing up into his hand and then driving himself down onto Sherlock as the tall man watched.
It was the sexiest thing Sherlock could imagine, "Oh God, John," he thundered, "Yes."
He pistoned into his lover. Sherlock's hand rode over John's, and they stroked John together. The blond arched his back and keened softly. Ecstasy built inside where Sherlock filled him, it spread and burst free.
"Je..sus. Ahhh, Sherrrllllockkk," John cried and screamed. And he was coming over their joined hands.
The brunet cursed as he watched his lover come undone. Only a few thrusts later found Sherlock riding out his own climax. He pushed in several more times; groaning John's name and milking out his bliss as his hands squeezed bruises into his lovers hips.
Sweaty curls were plastered on to his forehead, and the tall brunet sat slumped, panting between John's legs. John was gasping, almost whimpering, his eyes were tightly shut. Sherlock worried that John was in pain.
"John are you okay…did I hurt you?"
"Okay? Nah…we shot right past okay…We went straight to…wow…I'm great… I mean you're great…yeah brilliant. Thank you. Thank you for being th… this. Thank, oh God...No matter what, there'll always be this," John sighed.
"Hmmm?" asked Sherlock, coming down slowly off of his high.
"Hey…Sherlock…we'll, we'll always have Paris." John giggled between panting heavily.
Sherlock almost smiled, bemused at this lover who laughed and smiled after sex. Sherlock's previous encounters had not involved giggles and smiles. They hadn't been…happy encounters, not like with John. John was happy, because of him. And that made him happy. He smiled at his blond soldier.
"This might burn, John. Hold my hand, John," said Sherlock. He twined their fingers together, kissed John's knee and then slowly pulled out. John's eye's widened and he sucked in a deep breath. "That usually burns a bit, but it's done now," said the detective, planting more kisses on his lover.
The younger man lowered his partner's leg and rolled over. He leaned on his elbow and hovered over the blond.
"This was indeed, brilliant, John Watson, You are brilliant, John Watson," purred the detective as he laid his head on John's chest. "You are quite, unforgivably distracting, but then you somehow manage to clear my mind wonderfully. I think I already see things much more clearly."
"The question I need to answer is, why was Van Coons given so very little time to respond to that threat before he was killed? What didn't he have, that the killer wanted?" said Sherlock, his hand running idly over the hair on John's chest.
John blinked at the change in conversation but tried to follow along. "Mmm," agreed the blond nodding.
"Why?" continued Sherlock. "If I knew that, then I could find the killer. And that is another fascinating thing here, the killer is someone who is able to get in and out of a locked flat or office, several stories up."
Falling back asleep, John only hummed a soft response, "Umm-hmm."
"Now that my mind is clear, John. I recall that you said something rather odd as we engaged in intima…John?" asked the consulting detective. "John, I believe you are snoring, and there is something we need to discuss."
"Imporshleepin" said John.
"John we need to discuss this 'first' business and what's with this 'we'll always have this, we'll always have Paris'? What are you talking about?"
"um..qra...mmm" said John.
"I see," said the consulting detective. Obviously he would have to wait. He should, Sherlock thought, go back to the couch. On the other hand, he could probably enter his mind palace while watching over John. He covered them both up with the heavy comforter.
Sherlock Holmes thought briefly about the case and then about how to nail down this Moriarty. Then he pondered the question of John Watson. Why was the man so distracting, and if Sherlock was the first, who was supposed to be second?
A/N Thank you for waiting patiently and then reading this fic. Thank you for following and favoriting. (Yes, thank you once again. But I really do know that favoriting is not a real word… Sherlock.)
Thank you to everyone who reviewed Chapter 28:EJ12212012, Erenem, anyrei1, QuietTime, The Happiest, 107602, DrGregor, k8ec, SamuelE8688, dana-san, deanine.
Disclaimer I do not own the rights to SHERLOCK because if I did I can assure you that there would be serious JOHNLOCK (as in kissing, not just teasing) in Season 3. (and Season 4 and Season 5...)