Chapter summary: John starts to see things he prefers to ignore.
Warnings: A sex scene between two men.
Author's note: Do not hate me. I know it seems things are heading to a wrong direction but don't worry - bear with me please. Apologies in advance for my mistakes. Thanks for reading and please, review!
"You mind, don't you?" John asked.
A mug with tea on his hands, his blue eyes on his brother's and toasts and jam thanks to Mrs Hudson's good heart.
The detective felt like melting inside. "What?"
"That she escaped," John said. "General Shan. It's not enough that we got her two henchmen."
"It must be a vast network, John. Thousands of operatives. You and I," Sherlock's eyes were on the papers he was reading. "we barely scratched the surface."
John nodded. "But you cracked the code, though, Sherlock. And maybe Dimmock can track down all of them now that he knows it."
"No. I cracked this code. All the smugglers have to do is pick up another book."
Sherlock got in time and saved John and Sarah. They got the henchmen, but the woman, the leader, ran away. They solved the case of the strange death of Eddie Van Coon and they got quite a generous cheque from Sebastian Wilkes. Apparently Van Coon used his trips to China to make business to do another kind of business, being a smuggler, taking those Chinese treasures illegally to England. Van Coon got a bit carried away and decided to keep something that was not his - and he paid it with his life.
"I'm going out," John said, washing his mug and then taking his coat. "Need anything from the shops?"
Sherlock turned to him. "I thought you had a date."
John pulled a face.
Oh.
Oh.
"Samantha left you?"
John rolled his eyes. "Her name was Sarah."
The detective showed no emotion whatsoever.
"Need anything?" John repeated.
"I might need something, yes," the detective stood up and picked up his coat. "It'd be better to go and fetch it myself."
The doctor frowned. "You don't like shopping."
Sherlock looked at him.
"I can get it for you."
"Oh no," Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. "I rather get it myself. You won't know which type."
They walked side by side to the nearest shop. It was a quiet Sunday morning, those quite of mornings John enjoyed far too much indeed. The side of the city was strangely deserted, no cars, no crowds moving to and fro but calmness, soft steps and noises.
Calm.
"Why milk? We don't need milk."
"You don't need milk. I do," John said as he picked up the milk. "When was the last time you ate anything with calcium? It could be yoghurt, milk, cheese -"
"Boring."
John licked his lips. "It's not boring, it's vital. You need calcium for your bones."
"Irrelevant. Besides, why would I need calcium? For God's sake, I'm thirty-two."
"It doesn't matter your age," John scolded him.
Sherlock guided John to another aisle. "Speaking like Mycroft, you. When Mother and Father died Mycroft insisted on being 'Mummy'," the detective's eyes were focused on the things he needed. "Always saying what was good for me or not."
John felt his chest ache, but soon the feeling disappeared when he realised in which aisle they were and what Sherlock was looking for.
"He still does it," Sherlock said, throwing a box of condoms and a small bottle of lube into the shopping basket John was carrying. "He should get himself a child or a dog if he wishes to own something to look after."
The way the cashier looked at them made John blush. His blue eyes wanted to look everywhere but at the box of condoms Sherlock had picked up - larger size and peach flavoured lube.
God.
Did Sherlock have a girlfriend John never knew about?
Mycroft never said a word about it.
Once they were back to the flat neither said a word. John watched telly, lots of telly, sent some emails to his sister and to some of his buds in the Army, then watched a Bond film and ate dinner alone. Sherlock said he wasn't hungry and focused most of them day on his experiments.
"Going to sleep."
"Hmm."
John licked his lips. "OK, then, er, g'night."
Sherlock said no word.
Fifteen minutes later John was in his room, warm on his bed, his eyes closed and trying to conceive some sleep when he heard voices coming from upstairs. John was used to listen to Sherlock playing the violin at insane hours of the night, or even talking to the skull...
But this time John could hear voices.
John opened the door of his room and listened.
"Are we alone?"
Sherlock shook his head, taking his blue dressing gown off. "My flatmate's upstairs."
"Sher," Victor purred. "Why you insist on living here?" the man walked towards Sherlock and pushed him until he was sitting on the sofa. "You know you could come with me. I can even get you a nice and a bigger flat than this."
The detective's eyes fell on Victor's. "I like here."
"We'll have to be quiet tonight -"
Sherlock grabbed Victor by the collar of his ridiculously expensive shirt and kissed him feverishly, as if his life depended on that kiss and even moaned.
The detective knew they were being watched.
OK.
The first thing John thought - oh, you poor innocent John - is that this man was some sort of friend.
But then John remembered Sherlock does not have friends.
The man was tall, as tall as Sherlock was. He looked important - like the CEO of some company or even like some Duke. He was slender, but he had long arms and legs - toned body. He looked like a man who could fight.
"You know you could come with me. I can even get you a nice and a bigger flat than this."
A friend who wanted Sherlock to live in a better place?
"I like here."
And then, John walked just a few steps more and then he saw him.
John saw Sherlock throwing his arms around that man's neck and kissing him, passionately.
Sherlock kissing another man.
Passionately.
And moaning.
"Fuck me, Victor."
Oh God.
"Fuck me, Victor."
Victor smiled. "I thought you didn't like me."
"I don't," Sherlock purred. "I need something from you."
"My cock?" Victor asked hoarsely, moving his hips so Sherlock could feel his hard member. "Do you need my cock, Sher?"
The detective turned to the stairs. There was no one to be seen.
"Yes." Sherlock chuckled. "My room, now."
Oh God.
John pressed a hand to his mouth.
"I need something from you."
"My cock?"
John heard Sherlock moaning again. The doctor went back to his room, as quietly as he could and closed the door behind his back. He pressed a hand to his mouth.
He didn't know Sherlock was gay.
"Fuck," Sherlock panted and thrust his hips back. "Fuck me harder."
Victor's grip on the detective's hips tightened. "Harder? You sure?"
"Yes."
The man did as he had been asked.
Sherlock moaned loudly every time Victor hit his prostate with his long fat cock.
"Your flatmate could be listening."
Sherlock chuckled. "I don't... ahhh... care... ahhhhhhh yes!"
"Did he fuck you?" Victor asked.
"No..." Sherlock breathed heavily. "Not yet... ahhh!"
Victor bent down and rested his head against Sherlock's shoulder blades. "Would you like him to?"
"Oh yes," Sherlock panted. "I want him."
"Do you like him?"
Sherlock bit his lip. "Fuck... ahhhh yes!"
Promise for next chapter: John and Mycroft have a talk. A maniac gives Sherlock puzzles to solve. John finds himself wearing a jacket with enough semtex to blow him up and the unexpected happens.