Me: John and Lestrade

InvisibleBlade: Sherlock

Warnings for this chapter: Greg being a dick, Sherlock's inner turmoil, men going at it, rough sex (and I mean rough), John actually cooks breakfast, and Sherlock being a tease.

Enjoy!

Chapter 4 – Play Before Work

Sherlock whimpered and froze to the spot, afraid to even breathe. John's head whipped toward the door, the blood draining from his face. Lestrade was in their flat, both John and Sherlock were buck naked in the shower, and Sherlock was incredibly aroused. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, John swore to himself. He let go of Sherlock and stood up, peeling the shower curtain away to look at the door.

'Boys, I know you're here! I can hear the shower running! Now where-' Lestrade's voice cut off as he seemed to come to a realization. If John's face could get any paler it did in that moment. Lestrade knew. John looked to Sherlock, hoping to see something on his lover's face that would reassure him that Lestrade didn't just figure out where they were and what they had been up to.

Sherlock felt like throwing up. He looked stony faced towards John. John was as pale and terrified in looks as Sherlock was feeling. Seeing John's face he shook his head and mouthed 'drug bust' and 'say something.'

'What do you want me to say, Sherlock?' John whispered forcefully. '"Sorry Greg, you'll have to come back with your pretend drugs bust later because Sherlock and I have been shagging each other senseless and we'd rather not see anyone right now"?' Sherlock's jaw locked and he glared at John. That would be a low blow. John surely wouldn't go there. He pleaded with his eyes for him not to. His mind was a screaming battlefield and eventually Sherlock couldn't take it any longer. He turned away from John and pressed his flushed cheeks to the cooling tiles, resigning himself to taking safety in his skull despite the war going on.

John saw the fear in Sherlock's eyes and regretted saying everything. Sherlock had already turned away from him so he spoke to his back, not wanting to touch him in case he lashed out.

'Sherlock, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that,' John explained. 'I wasn't being serious. I was being sarcastic. I didn't mean what I said, and I would never actually reveal our relationship in such a dispassionate, impersonal, and impractical way. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.' He paused to look at the bathroom door again. He could see Lestrade's shadow pacing in front of the door. Good god, he was waiting for them. John gulped and turned back to Sherlock's rigid figure.

'I'll go talk to Greg, Sherlock. And I won't tell him what happened between us. That's something for both of us to decide to tell everyone when we're both ready. I… I'm sorry, and I love you.' Sherlock heard John speak but the meaning of those words were snuffed out like a candle flame. This was his mind's way of coping and as bad as he felt about it he was too far into his mind to even mutter a reply. John swallowed and left Sherlock to his thoughts. He grabbed his towel and quickly dried himself off, wrapping it around his waist before opening the door to be greeted by a glowing Lestrade.

Oh god, it's worse than I thought, John grimaced.

'John!' Lestrade cried, slapping John on his good shoulder. 'I um… I came over because I had a case for Sherlock, but I didn't realize you two were… preoccupied.' Greg smirked and John's face remained perfectly stony.

'Yes, thank you Greg, but we're going to have to respectfully decline your request,' John ground out.

Meanwhile Sherlock was slipping into a downhill spiral. He was falling further and faster into the cavern of his own mind. He felt numb and was only barely aware of the pounding of water on his skin and loud, almost angry voices from outside the bathroom.

'What do you mean you have to decline?' Greg demanded. 'You two always take on my cases!'

'Today we don't!' John retorted. 'Today we are taking the day off because… because…'

'I know why you're taking the day off,' Greg smirked. John's mouth fell open in shock, his fists curled in anger, and he was thisclose to socking Greg on the jaw. If he wasn't a god damn officer he would have. Instead he stood up in his soldier stance and growled, 'I want you to leave. I want you to leave right now and the next time you have a case I want you to call us first. No more barging in unannounced. Now go!'

Sherlock gripped at his hair, tugging his head down onto his hunched knees. He wanted to shout at the raised voices, to tell them to just shut the hell up. His mouth on the other hand refused to open. He wanted to hit the tiles until his hands were bloody and raw but they stayed firmly clenched in fists. He wanted to cry but the tears didn't fall.

Greg clenched his jaw shut, swallowing down any retort he may have had. He turned and stalked from the flat without a word, slamming the door shut behind him. John sighed in relief but his body remained tense. He could have handled that better, especially with Sherlock.

Shit. Sherlock! John's brain screamed at him. He dashed back into the bathroom to find Sherlock curled up into himself, his hands clenching his hair tightly. John turned off the water and kneeled down beside him, still afraid to touch Sherlock as he was so emotionally unstable.

'Sherlock? Sherlock, love, are you alright?' John whispered softly. 'It's alright now. Greg is gone. I told him to leave. Now, please, come back to me.'

Sherlock was vaguely aware that the shouting had disappeared, and that there was a far pleasanter voice beckoning him to come back to reality. Sherlock found the frightening truth that no matter how he tried he simply couldn't force his mind to return. He began to panic but none of that rose to his surface. On the surface he was blank.

'Sherlock?' John was extremely concerned. Sherlock's face was completely blank, he was trapped inside his own head again. 'Sherlock, you're scaring me,' John pleaded. 'Sherlock?' Now John was scared. He didn't want to lose Sherlock to his emotionless head again. Not after what they'd just been through. So he did the only thing he could think of. He pulled Sherlock's head to him and kissed him thoroughly. For a horrible moment in time Sherlock thought he was under attack but his senses soon told him this was far from the truth. He was being kissed. It wasn't a terribly nice kiss. Whoever was kissing him was making it harsh and urgency filled. He blinked when he realized it was John and pulled back, finally able to move.

'I thought you were going out to see Lestrade?' Sherlock muttered. John nearly cried in relief. Sherlock was talking. He was talking. He'd come back, and he was a little disoriented, but he was back.

'I already did that,' he smiled at his lover. 'I kicked him out because he was rude and disrespectful.' John caressed Sherlock's face, forgetting about Greg. He was just happy Sherlock was back.

Sherlock smiled weakly. 'I would have killed to see his face.' He then looked into John's eyes and took a deep breath. 'I know what you said earlier… about you wanting to fuck me later but…' he nuzzled at John, 'I don't want to wait.'

'Oh god me neither,' John agreed. He pulled Sherlock's back to his and kissed him passionately, a different sense of urgency in it than the previous.

'Not here,' Sherlock tusked, pulling back from the kiss. 'If I remember correctly your promise involved a mattress.'

'Mmm, yes it did,' John hummed. He stood up, his towel dropping at his feet, and he pulled Sherlock out of the shower. He dried his hair quickly with the discarded towel, then dragged Sherlock down the hallway to his-their-room where he deposited Sherlock on the mattress and climbed on top of him, kissing him passionately again. Sherlock wrapped his lanky legs around John and hummed into the kiss. This was all a little gently for his liking however and so he bit John's lip, drawing blood.

John moaned at Sherlock's aggressive bite and pulled away, his lip sliding from Sherlock's teeth with some difficulty as Sherlock had such a strong hold on it. John licked his lips, tasted blood, and looked down at Sherlock, his eyes dark with desire.

'So it's going to be like that, is it?' he smiled darkly. He didn't give Sherlock time to answer as he grabbed hold of Sherlock's hair and pulled his head to the side, exposing his neck and pulse, and licked from his shoulder up to his ear and back again. He ground himself down on Sherlock's cock, already hard with anticipation, and bit down on Sherlock's pulse point hard enough to leave a rather deep love bite. Sherlock's eyes clouded over. It hurt. His neck felt like it was slowly been torn apart by John's skillful teeth.

His mind was pounding with an intense desire, but John may have been correct about how they should have made time to recuperate. The detective's body felt totally washed out, with every muscle in his body turning to mush, and every bone feeling as though they were old and rusty.

'I can sense your reluctance, Sherlock,' John said against Sherlock's neck. He licked at the bite he'd given him, soothing it with his cool tongue. 'Well, not reluctance so much as you've realized how worn out you are and that maybe we should take a break before I fuck you into the mattress.' He moved so he was laying on Sherlock, chest to chest, his arms crossed under him, and he looked into Sherlock's face for confirmation. 'I can wait to give you your reward for a little while. I can make you some breakfast if you want. Are you hungry?'

'Yes,' Sherlock said with a wicked grin. 'I'm hungry. For food, no. However." Sherlock wriggled his hips underneath John and lunged towards, sinking his teeth into John's shoulder. John yelped in surprise when Sherlock bit into his shoulder but it quickly turned into an 'Oh god, yes.' He ground himself down on Sherlock, their cocks rubbing against one another. John placed his hands on Sherlock's shoulders and pushed him off, his teeth scraping against John's skin.

'This is supposed to be your rough fuck, Sherlock,' John said, his voice thick with want. 'So, let me fuck you roughly.'

'Oh please, go ahead.' Sherlock spread his legs, waiting impatiently for things to begin. John grinned devilishly. He leaned in to whisper in Sherlock's ear, 'Don't be afraid to be vocal, Sherlock. Let me hear you,' before capturing his earlobe between his teeth and gnawing on it. He then moved down Sherlock's torso and slathered his tongue over one of his nipples, biting hard around it so his tongue could continue its work. Sherlock began to pant in excitement, thrilled about John exploring his body with the curiosity of a kitten.

'Oh, hell yes,' Sherlock growled. John growled around the bite he'd left and sat up to grind himself down on Sherlock's cock, lunging down to sharply bite Sherlock's other nipple, rather loving Sherlock's reaction.

'Jjjjjjohn.' His voice deepened, vibrating with a strong urgency. He was already so close again.

'That's it Sherlock. Say my name,' John said, his words dripping with want and need. He moved down Sherlock's body, snatched the lube from the table, and kissed his way across Sherlock's body until he was positioned between Sherlock's knees. He looked up at his lover, pupils blown, mouth agape, and smiled. He placed a gentle kiss to the inside of Sherlock's thigh as he scrambled to open the lube. He nipped at the underside of Sherlock's knee as he coated his fingers with the gel. He looked up at Sherlock again as he finally slid his slick fingers into Sherlock's quivering entrance. Sherlock's eyes practically rolled into the back of his skull. He let out a loud bark and pushed downwards, forcing John's fingers to slide further.

'Oh my god, John,' he grunted ecstatically.

'So eager,' John chuckled. 'You're still so open from the last time I had my thick cock up your arse. You're desperate to have it again, aren't you? To have me fill you up, stretch you, claim you.' John eased in a fourth finger so that Sherlock was practically fucking his hand, using his thumb to draw circles around Sherlock's balls. 'You're so beautiful, Sherlock. Open and vulnerable. And you're all mine,' he punctuated with a sharp bite to Sherlock's thigh.

'Yes, John. All yours.' Sherlock rocked back and forth. 'Can I have you now?' he moaned. 'Please.'

'Ooo, yes,' John purred. He removed his fingers and slicked up his cock, positioning himself at Sherlock's entrance. He snaked his hands up Sherlock's legs until he reached his knees, gripped them hard, and said, 'Let's see how flexible you are.' He then shoved Sherlock's knees up to his shoulders while shoving his cock in his arse with surprising force, his thrusts unrelenting and unforgiving. Sherlock wanted a rough fuck? He was damn well going to get one.

Sherlock's eyes quite literally rolled into the back of his skull as wave after wave of pure pleasure rolled through him with such force that his mind actually felt as though it was combusting. His breathing became so ragged it almost hurt and his body shook so vigorously that it looked as though he had been possessed.

John watched Sherlock intently, observing his reactions. When John fucked him sharp and fast Sherlock's body seemed to shake so hard he looked like he was having a seizure. But when he fucked him deep and hard his entire body nearly arched off the bed and he made the most delicious sounds. So John attempted to try a combination of the two, fucking him fast, hard, and deep. He gripped Sherlock's legs tightly, his pace becoming austere and merciless. He could hear the headboard smacking against the wall with each thrust, every now and again hearing the bed scrape across the floor only to slam against the wall with such force that the paint chipped and showered down around them.

'So is this what you wanted, Sherlock?' John grit out between thrusts, his breath so ragged his lungs burned with the exertion. 'Is this rough enough for you?'

Sherlock's mouth opened but no words came out. Instead a range of barks, moaning, and groaning rolled from his tongue. He was so close right now he couldn't think of what to say. This was far rougher than he'd imagined by far. The bed shook beneath him and it felt as though John was literally slamming himself against him. John grinned devilishly. He pushed down on Sherlock's legs until his knees were resting on the mattress, leaning over him as his thrusts became erratic. God he was so close. And Sherlock was so close his entire body was shaking. Wanting to get them the release they both so desperately needed, John let go of one of Sherlock's legs and grasped his cock, pumping it in time with his thrusts. Leaning closer to his rather debauched lover he growled out, 'Now scream for me, Sherlock,' as he thrust into him hard and deep and twisted his hand around his cock in the way he'd found Sherlock particularly enjoyed.

The intensity of the thrust and John's hand wrapping around his own throbbing member turned out to be the detective's tipping point. Heeding John's words he screamed his lover's name. The scream was a terrifying noise and if the said noise hadn't been coming from his mouth he would have mistaken it for the sound of someone being murdered. John screamed right along with Sherlock, thrusting into him a few more times before he found his own release, spilling himself inside Sherlock. With one final shout of Sherlock's name John collapsed on top of him with a harsh slap.

Sherlock lay there, limp as a new born lamb. A whimper escaped his trembling lips and he screwed his eyes shut, praying that his body would make a quick recovery though he highly doubted that would be the case. John lay on Sherlock's heaving chest, panting. His entire body ached, his lungs burned, but he had never felt more satisfied. He started giggling against Sherlock's chest, nuzzling his nose against his chin.

'That was... Amazing,' he gasped out. 'Jesus. Wow.' He heaved one more giant sigh before he managed to gather enough strength to raise himself up to gauge how Sherlock was doing. 'How're you feeling, Sherlock?'

Sherlock exhaled. 'Exhausted and in agony - but I suppose that's to be expected. Most of all though I feel ... Fantastically loved.' John grinned and pressed a tender kiss to Sherlock's lips.

'Sorry about all the agony. I've never explored that part of myself before. I... I was a lot rougher than I... Than I normally am during this sort of thing.' John swallowed. He hadn't wanted to bring up that he'd done this with only women before, and he thought Sherlock might be able to take some rougher play. 'Maybe... Maybe next time we should have a safe word handy? Just in case things get a little too intense or painful.'

'It's fine,' he panted in exhaustion. 'I think I can handle it. I'm just not used to being fucked, let alone so roughly.' His lips quirked upwards. 'Though I've always had this fantasy that you'd ride me so hard I can't walk for about a week. I believe that fantasy is now complete.'

'Mmm,' John smiled. 'Glad I could be of service.' He rolled off of Sherlock and lay beside him, still panting slightly but not nearly as hard as before. He closed his eyes and breathed, relaxing. He could feel paint chips under his back and grimaced. He really had done a number to the wall, not to mention Sherlock's arse. He was going to have to learn to control himself. But Sherlock mentioning his fantasy had John thinking of his own. He hummed and smiled, the image playing in his mind like a mini movie. 'You know, I've got a fantasy of my own, Sherlock. And I would love if we could try to fulfill it someday.'

'Oh, do tell,' Sherlock purred, wriggling his eyebrows seductively. John laughed at the sight and rolled over to face Sherlock.

'In my fantasy, you're bent over a microscope in the kitchen. I'm reading the paper or typing up the latest case when you accidentally blow something up. Maybe I've had a stressful day at the surgery or you've just been especially aggravating that day, but I snap and start ordering you about to clean up your mess, in full-on Captain Watson mode. You've heard me shout orders before, but none towards you, and you stiffen. You turn towards me and your eyes are dark, and you tell me to order you to do something again. So I do. I order you to drop to your knees and you nearly collapse as I walk over to you, your eyes watching my every move.' John paused to suck in a breath, closing his eyes as the fantasy took over him. Sherlock sucking him off without using his hands, only allowed to use that skillful mouth and tongue of his, John carding his fingers through Sherlock's hair, not really pushing him but just to feel Sherlock's hair traveling through his fingers.

'You suck me off, only allowed to use your mouth, and god Sherlock you're fucking brilliant at it. But I don't want to come down your throat, I want to fuck you into oblivion, so I stand you up and rip your clothes off your body. Mine are gone soon too and I turn you to face the table, bending you over it and spreading your legs, gazing upon your magnificent arse.' John bit back a groan at the image, knowing what it looked like now only added to the fantasy. His body moved closer to Sherlock unconsciously, wanting to be nearer to the man who had supplied so many beautiful fantasies over the past few months. 'I open you slowly, my fingers reaching deep inside you, teasing you into submission. And you're making such delicious noises and I can't wait to be seated fully in you. So I don't waste any time and I shove my prick in you roughly, loving how you cry out in pain and ecstasy. And I fuck you on that table, holding you down as I pound into you, ignoring your cock until I decide you get to cum. And when you do you bring me with you and it's fucking glorious.'

John opened his eyes and stared into Sherlock's, breathing deeply and listening to the hammering of his heart in his ears. 'That is what I want to do to you, Sherlock. And there is so much more, but that right there is what I want to do to you right now. Take you into the kitchen and fuck you over the table, disrupting all your experiments but not being arsed to care.'

Sherlock's eyes twinkled as the image John had just placed in his mind danced in his every thought. 'I find your captain mode extremely sexy.' He snuggled up against the army doctor, taking a huge whiff of his beautifully oaky scent. 'However, perhaps it would be best to give my arse a break. You've really done quite a number to it.'

Sherlock exhaled. 'Perhaps it would be best to wait anyway. That way it will be more spontaneous and that anger will be real. I'm quite looking forwards to having angry sex.' John nodded in agreement. He really had done a number to Sherlock's arse, and Sherlock had spanked the living daylights out of his earlier. Maybe a break was in their best interests. And the idea of angry sex intrigued him as well, and he grinned maliciously at the prospect.

'It's probably mid-afternoon by now Sherlock. We should probably get up and eat something, regain our strength. Plus we still have dinner to go out to as well.' He kissed Sherlock chastely, not wanting to stir either of their cocks. 'Now get dressed and I'll make you something special.'

Sherlock groaned at the prospect of getting up. 'Not going to happen. Anything below my groin has been rendered useless.'

John smirked but let it slide. 'Then I'll bring the food to you. Or,' he paused, the idea making him grin playfully. 'Or, I could carry you out to the sofa after pulling some clothes on you. And then you can watch me cook for you.'

Sherlock licked his lips. 'Sounds delicious ... and I don't mean just the prospect of food.'

John grinned and rolled off the bed. He rifled through Sherlock's clothes, pulling out a pair of pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. He grabbed some of Sherlock's clothes for himself and pulled on the too-long bottoms and pulled on the shirt that actually fit quite nicely. He then stalked over to Sherlock, clothes in hand, and grabbed him by the ankle. He pulled him closer so his legs dangled off the edge of the bed and stuck each leg into the bottom's pant legs, yanking them up so they sat over Sherlock's hips. The t-shirt went on a little easier as Sherlock was at least able to move his arms. Once that was one he took Sherlock's face in his hands and kissed him, nipping his lower lip as he pulled away. He looped one arm under Sherlock's legs, the other around his shoulders, and lifted him up bridal style, adjusting his hold once Sherlock was securely in his arms.

'Shall I make you breakfast now?'

Sherlock was ecstatic as he lay spread out in John's arms. 'Oh most definitely.' He nuzzled his chest. 'I wuv you,' he laughed. 'I really do.'

'I wuv you too,' John smiled, nuzzling Sherlock's nose with his own. He carried him out the door and into the living room, placing him gently onto the couch so he could see the kitchen. 'Now is there anything specific you want to eat? Other than me, of course,' he smirked.

Sherlock winced ever so slightly as his arse came in contact with the sofa. He considered John's question for a moment.

'Pancakes,' he grinned.

'Pancakes it is,' John grinned. He kissed Sherlock's forehead and walked to the kitchen. He grabbed all the necessary ingredients and set a pan on the oven to heat. As he beat the ingredients together he began to hum to himself. He was just making the notes up as he went, and he rather liked what he was humming. He stole a glance at Sherlock and smiled.

'Beautiful,' Sherlock smiled back. 'And the humming is of equal beauty.'

John blushed at Sherlock's words and continued his song. He flipped the first pancake with a flourish that would have made Delia Smith proud. As it cooked he rummaged around in the fridge for something to have with the pancakes and was surprised to find fresh fruit. Mrs Hudson must have been shopping and bought them some groceries. Bless her heart. She might not have been their housekeeper but she certainly took care of them like one.

As the last of the pancakes cooked John turned on the electric kettle to make them some tea. He grabbed a tray and began setting plates and utensils on it, grabbed the jars of honey and sugar from the cupboard, and their matching mugs from the sink. He put two bags of Earl Grey in one mug and poured the hot water over it, letting them steep for a few minutes before he transferred them to the other mug, letting them steep for a considerably less amount of time. He knew Sherlock liked his tea just a touch weaker than he liked his coffee, and he also took a spoonful of milk and a teaspoon of honey. He set the mugs on the tray and flipped the last pancake, cooking it until it was a delicious golden brown. He gave them each four pancakes, set the fruit in a bowl in the center, and turned off the oven before he left for the living room. He brought the tray out to the living room and set it down on the table by the sofa.

'Sit up,' he told Sherlock as he sat on the arm of the sofa by Sherlock's head. Sherlock hissed as he struggled to lift himself up into a sitting position. He wrinkled up his nose. 'Blimey,' he muttered in discomfort. John wriggled between Sherlock and the arm of the sofa, letting Sherlock rest against him to keep himself upright. He handed Sherlock a plate of pancakes and grabbed the other for himself.

'I got honey and sugar in case you wanted them on your pancakes,' he said, spooning honey on each of his pancakes. 'And I made your tea just the way you like it too.'

'Thanks dear,' he said in a surprisingly domestic voice, kissing John on the lips for a brief second before pouring honey all over his pancakes and slowly sipping at his tea.

John smiled against the kiss before it ended and watched as Sherlock drowned his pancakes in honey. John sawed off a section of his own with his fork, popping it into his mouth and humming at how delicious it tasted. His thoughts drifted to last night, how frantic and hurried the events had been, and here they were eating breakfast on the sofa like a perfectly normal couple. They had been fucking each other like animals and suddenly it had calmed down and they were having breakfast, calling each other terms of endearments like 'love' and 'darling'. The domesticity was shocking but not unwelcome, and it would probably be like that all the time. Periods of fast and hurried fucking followed by the calm after the storm, so to speak. And that was probably as close to normal as it would get at 221B, and John was perfectly fine with that.

John's free hand found its way to Sherlock's curls and began stroking them languidly. They were still damp from the shower they had taken earlier (and he used that term loosely as they had dirtied themselves up again so soon afterwards it was pretty much moot) but had dried enough that they had a bounce to them. John smiled as he ate another bite of his pancakes, stabbing a strawberry on his fork and popping that into his mouth as well, enjoying the combined tastes.

'So, what shall we do between now and dinner?'

Sherlock thought about it, humming happily as he chewed on the pancakes, enjoying how the honey swirled across his tongue and soothed his throat. Something that was much needed after some of the events that had occurred.

Licking his lips he said, 'Well we should probably see what case Lestrade had for us.' He wrinkled up his nose. 'But there's one conversation I don't want to have.'

John groaned at the memory. He really didn't want to have to face Lestrade after that, but he knew Sherlock needed a case. Why else would he have been experimenting with homemade drugs? He sighed and laid his head against the back of the sofa, staring at the ceiling.

'Okay. Okay, we can go see Lestrade. But we aren't going to be the ones to bring it up. If he does, we can just say we don't have a comment on the matter and we just want to focus on the case. If he doesn't, well then we can breathe a sigh of relief and move on by ignoring the issue completely.'

'Or we could avoid him. If it were that important he would have left a text message. As it happens he hasn't,' Sherlock grinned. 'I can think of a few activities I'd much rather do. Like snogging you long and hard whilst rutting against you until you're begging to cum and the need for a release is painful. A release you'll get only after we've had dinner.'

John's hand paused, his fork poised in the air in front of his open mouth. His eyes were blown wide open and he was staring straight ahead at nothing, Sherlock's words dancing around in his head. He managed to lower his fork but his mouth remained open until Sherlock gently shut it, his fingers pressing lightly to the underside of John's jaw until it closed. John swallowed thickly, could feel the heat in his cheeks, could feel the blood pumping in his ears. He turned to look down at Sherlock who had a wicked grin on his face.

'I actually like that idea better,' he said, his voice deep with want. 'I really, really do.'

Sherlock chuckled darkly. 'Oh, I thought you would. Though what would sexually frustrate you more ... Actually doing that or going out on a case now that that image is in your mind?' His lips quivered into a smirk. 'Imagine it. I'd be deducing, I'd look at you with eyes so full of lust, and then maybe I'll gently touch your shoulder. Your cock certainly wouldn't stand a chance.'

John moaned and threw his head back on the sofa, his arousal blatantly obvious through the loose material of Sherlock's pajama bottoms.

'God yes,' he panted. 'Yes, Sherlock, please.'

Sherlock snorted and rolled his eyes, blatantly ignoring John's erection. 'Of course. I could do that.' He chewed on the remainder of his pancakes. 'But I'm not going to.'

John whimpered and flexed his hips, hoping to get some sort of friction from the material of his pants. Sherlock was just going to toy with him like John had done to him earlier in the shower. He didn't like being teased in such a way but somewhere deep in his mind he actually really did. Being denied release for so long gave him the most extraordinary orgasms and he moaned at the prospect of having one. He continued to move his hips, hoping to entice Sherlock into playing. Sherlock shook his head, placing his empty plate aside and swigging the rest of the tea John had made him down his throat.

'I presume this is some new dance move I don't know about,' he commented, expression amused, voice teasing and steadfast steady.

'Yes. It's called the "You Better Do Something About This Right Now Before I Attack You And Wreck Your Arse Further,"' John smirked, his hips never faltering in their movements.

'Oh, I see. I suppose that was a threat. Believe me John I do not take kindly to threats.' Sherlock sent him an 'I'm not going to do anything about it but me what are you going to do?' look.

John glared back at Sherlock with a 'challenge accepted' look on his face. As calmly as he could manage he set his plate down on the table, wincing slightly as his hard cock brushed against his stomach. Then he stood up abruptly so that Sherlock fell against the sofa with a thud and climbed on top of him before he could register what had happened. He straddled his waist and moved his hips against Sherlock's. Sherlock was able to hide the rampant lusting side of himself in his mind palace. This stopped him from moaning out loud when John began moving against him. He grabbed John's wrists.

'No,' he bit out, rolling them over so he was now in control. He lifted his body upwards, ghosting his fingers over John's arousal. 'You have gotten yourself into a lot more trouble than you would have been in now.' Sherlock grit his teeth together. 'I said that I don't take kindly to threats.'

'Then what are you going to do about it?' John challenged, rutting his hips up so Sherlock's hand involuntarily palmed his erection, moaning at the contact.

'Everything but what you want me to do,' Sherlock stated, removing his hand, and lifting his body higher so only his thighs had contact with John. He then began to kiss him heatedly, nibbling on his lower lip. John tried to put all his newfound sexual frustration into the kiss, tangled his fingers in Sherlock's hair and pulled him closer, his tongue plunging into Sherlock's mouth, biting down on Sherlock's tongue when it tried to do the same. Sherlock bit John's tongue back and growled menacingly. For that he decided to be extra cruel. His hand moved to John's arse and groped it. He squeezed and pinched and prodded with all his might.

John gasped and his eyes flew open, his hips lifting to try to get his arse away from Sherlock's cruel hands. His arse was still tender from the spanking he had received and he had been shocked he was able to sit down at all earlier. But when Sherlock's hands began stimulating the reddened flesh it hurt like a bitch. He cried out and arched his back off the sofa, his hands clutching Sherlock's hair so hard it must have been hurting him. But John couldn't be arsed to care. All he cared about was that he was in pain and he wanted it to stop.

'Say the magic word John and I'll stop,' Sherlock panted. He grabbed John's hands and tugged them from his hair before using his own hands to grope John's arse once more.

'Oh fuck!' John gasped. He knew that wasn't what Sherlock wanted to hear but it was all he could say at the moment.

'Nope.' Sherlock shook his head. '"Fuck" isn't the magic word nor is it what you're going to get.'

John grit his teeth and tried to muster the words that would end the torture. But he almost didn't want it to stop. Maybe he had a trace of masochism in him. But when Sherlock pinched him rather harshly he knew he didn't. It hurt too goddamn much for him to actually get any sort of pleasure from it.

'Sherlock, please,' he panted. 'Please stop. It hurts. It hurts so bad, please. Please stop.'

Sherlock's eyes twinkled as he moved his hand, skimming it up and down John's thigh. 'So tell me John. Ready to beg?'

John took deep breaths through his nose, calming himself as Sherlock's hand traveled up and down his thigh. Such a fucking tease, John thought. He opened his eyes and stared into Sherlock's, hoping he would see the reserve on his face and not the lust in his eyes.

'No,' he smirked. 'Make me.'

'It shan't be too difficult,' Sherlock stated, still rubbing John's thigh. He began placing kisses along John's body, slowly moving downwards. He grinned as he reached John's erection. His tongue poked out and gently prodded it, running along it swiftly. John's entire body shuddered at the minute contact. His hands gripped the sofa tightly, trying not to grab Sherlock's hair and force his face back to his crotch.

'I thought... I thought you weren't going to give me what I wanted?' John gulped between gasps.

'Oh ... I'm not,' Sherlock smirked. 'That was for my benefit.' He moved upwards, nipping John's ear lobe.

'You're a fucking tease, you know that?' John growled, his hands groping Sherlock's arse and squeezing tightly.

Sherlock grunted in pain. 'Again not helping your cause,' he hissed, sliding himself off of John and just about managing to stand.

John whimpered and sat up. 'Where are you going?' He reached a hand out towards Sherlock and managed to grasp onto his pajama bottoms.

'To get dressed. I do believe I'm in the mood for a case,' Sherlock replied, starting to stiffly walk towards his bedroom. He turned briefly to look at John. 'Don't wank it off. If you do I'll deduce it and I will be most displeased. If you manage to sustain yourself I'll reward you after dinner.' He smiled sweetly. 'Feel free to come with me but only come if you're wearing your tightest jeans.'

Another week gone. Where does the time go? We'll be back next week with some fun at the Yard ;) And then some angst thrown in because this has been quite mushy :p

See you next week!

TSA + IB