Archive of Our Own

After the two years, eight months, three weeks and six days in which Sherlock had waited for John to make a move now, waiting another hour until John came home from work shouldn’t pose a great problem. For Sherlock, on the contrary, it did. He was sick of waiting, sick of the longing glances and stolen moments that were filled with tension so thick you could almost touch it. He knew what he wanted. He wanted John, had wanted him since he had first laid his eyes on him back at St. Bart’s, and he wanted him now.

Since all his previous attempts, the slightly too tight shirts, the bespoke trousers, the fact that he always stood a little too close to John, hadn’t had any effect and yet another after case high had faded without them making the most of it, Sherlock thought now was the time to take more drastic steps towards a change in their relationship.

Unfortunately, Sherlock had never been a person to chat someone up, so he had to find a way to make John come on to him, which had proved to be a herculean task in the past. All his advances had been overlooked by an entirely oblivious John, who, in addition, was also self-contained regarding his feelings and desires, that Sherlock almost thought all his deductions about John being interested in more than just friendship had been wrong. But, of course, his deductions weren’t wrong, they (almost) never were, he just had to try a different, more direct, angle.

Sherlock had it all plotted out, had prepared everything, every tiniest detail. He just had to wait until John came home and then he would translate his plan into action. Today, or rather, tonight, he would finally know if they were on the same page, if they wanted the same thing. For Sherlock, this was his last try. If this didn’t work like he wanted it to, he wouldn’t try again to make approaches to John and would try to be content with just being friends. It wouldn’t be easy, but it would be better than to lose him altogether. For Sherlock, it was now or never, so he had to put all his eggs in one basket tonight.

When John came home from the clinic in the early evening, he knew Sherlock was still at home and playing the violin, the soft and smooth sound greeting John when he opened the front door. For a moment, he just stood there and listened to whatever composition Sherlock was playing, allowing himself to relax a bit and to shake off the clinic routine before climbing the stairs to their flat.

When he entered, Sherlock was in the living room, his back turned to the door and his violin tucked under his chin and John was surprised when Sherlock abruptly stopped playing and turned around to face him.

‘We’re going out tonight’

‘What?’

‘We’re going out tonight, so don’t get too comfortable.’

John looked disbelievingly at Sherlock. The detective had never shown a particular interest in going out to socialise and regarding the fact that even an evening at a pub with Lestrade had ended with Sherlock sulking so that John had dismissed the idea of going out to have a drink with Sherlock from scratch, he was more than only surprised by the request.

‘Why?’

‘I was told that friends do such things like going out to have a drink or two and regarding the fact that we just solved a case, I thought we could use the opportunity to go out and, well, celebrate.’

‘You want to celebrate that we just solved a case? We never did that before.’

Sherlock knew that his “reasons” were quite unsatisfying, but he couldn’t back out now, so he had to go with it.

‘Do you want to discuss the necessity of going out to celebrate another solved case with me or do you want to have a pint? Because I’m sure you’re aware of the fact that you won’t win an argument against me and the fact that your back is all tensed up tells me you had quite a rough day and could do with a little distraction. So how much more time do you want to waste with standing around and having this futile conversation when you instead could get ready to go out?’

He could see that he had won even before John opened his mouth to heave a sigh.

‘Right, I’ll just take a shower and change.’

‘I already took the liberty of picking out clothes for you, you’ll find them on your bed.’

‘Wait, you did what?’

But Sherlock had already turned around to go into the kitchen to busy himself as long as John got ready, so John just went into the bathroom to take a shower, knowing better than to expect an answer from Sherlock when he deemed a conversation finished.

Two hours later, after stopping by at Angelo’s to eat something, John found himself standing in a club in Soho. He would never have set a foot into this club on his own accord, thinking that he was too old and not fashionable enough to really blend in, but with Sherlock next to him and the clothes Sherlock had picked for him even John had to admit that he didn’t seem to be out of place here.

While Sherlock hadn’t bothered with dressing up and wore his usual attire, black trousers and a tight, burgundy shirt that made his pale skin glow like alabaster, John looked nothing like his usual, cuddly self. Sherlock had picked dark blue jeans, the tightest pair John owned, a black shirt he wasn’t allowed to button up to the collar and black leather shoes. His hair was sleeked back a bit and Sherlock could do little else than to admire the view.

He liked John in his jumpers. Although he always mocked them and told John how hideous they were, the fact that someone so dangerous and deadly could hide all his fatal potential behind a few layers of wool had always fascinated Sherlock, but seeing John like this, dressed up in perfectly fitting clothes that underlined his strong stature und masculine silhouette made Sherlock’s knees a bit wobbly.

To all the other people out there, John looked perfectly normal, ordinary and mediocre attractive at best. What a bunch of moronic prats they all were! Sherlock would never understand how they could overlook the deep blue of John’s eyes, the strength and deadly precision in every move he made or the aura of authority he built around him when he pulled rank. To Sherlock, John was perfect in his own, flawed way and he felt drawn to this man like a moth to the light. And now, illuminated by the dubious blue-ish/pink-ish lights in the club Sherlock had chosen to drag John into, the doctor looked more than just attractive, he looked dangerously seductive without even meaning to.

While the club slowly filled with more and more people, all of them looking rather well dressed, John and Sherlock downed a few pints and an occasional shot of tequila and after only an hour Sherlock regretted that he had refused to eat something at Angelo’s. The alcohol already began to slow his thoughts and he started to feel positively light-headed and sluggish. Normally, Sherlock despised the effect alcohol had on him and so he refrained from consuming it, but he guessed that today being slightly tipsy wouldn’t be too bad.

Fortunately, even John seemed to be slightly drunk, his eyes getting rather heavy and his posture more relaxed than usually. All in all, Sherlock had to admit, the evening had been a pleasant one so far. Once they both had gotten used to the novelty of the situation, they had talked animatedly and Sherlock had entertained John with deductions about the other people in the club. John had laughed at every single one of them, looking at Sherlock like he always did after one of his deductions.

With John next to him and the alcohol flowing through his system, Sherlock felt himself relaxing and without even noticing he started to move to the rhythm of the music while he stood at their bistro table. It was only when he saw the way John was looking at him that Sherlock realized what he was doing, but judging John’s impression, Sherlock was fairly sure he shouldn’t stop, so he didn’t. Instead, Sherlock decided to get another round of drinks for them and turned around to go to one of the bars. While he went over, he moved to the music, hoping that John’s gaze was following him and when he reached the bar and turned around, he wasn’t disappointed. John’s eyes were fixed on him and Sherlock smirked slightly over his right shoulder while making a show of leaning forward to order their drinks.

That was when Sherlock noticed someone next to him looking at him. To his left stood a man in his mid-thirties, his light blond hair and icy blue eyes shimmering in the flashing lights in the club. The man was about Sherlock’s height and his skin only a tad darker. He was broadly built, just like John was, but while John was more compact and strong, the man next to Sherlock looked athletic. Most people would consider this man handsome and desirable, but when Sherlock scanned him from head to toe (single, mediocre intelligent, presumably a job where he sat at a desk all the time, regular schedule), he was completely unimpressed.

The look the man was giving Sherlock spoke volumes and Sherlock didn’t even need to deduce what the stranger wanted. He was looking for an adventure, for someone to spend an exciting night with, and he thought he had found that someone in Sherlock.

‘I’ve never seen you here, who are you?’

Sherlock was just about to deduce the hell out of that idiot, when the stranger took his arm and moved and after one languid movement, Sherlock found himself with his back against the counter, the stranger leaning in so their faces were only inches apart.

‘Cool your porridge and hear me out first, gorgeous. You and I both now that none of those, well, people, are worth our attention. We’re out of their league, so I think we should just have another drink or two and then leave so they don’t get their hopes up, don’t you think?’

‘I think you should just get out my way and pester someone else with you tedious, unbearable – ‘

Before Sherlock could even finish his sentence, he looked over the stranger’s shoulder where his eyes met John’s and suddenly Sherlock thought that playing along a little longer wouldn’t hurt. Sherlock had seen John being angry before, he had seen John being furious and ready to kill, but this wasn’t all currently displaying on his flatmate’s face. There was something else, something Sherlock hadn’t seen in a long time, and it struck him like lightning. The last time he had seen this look on John’s face was when The Woman had been around and John wasn’t angry because Sherlock neglected him, John was jealous.

Sherlock realized that he still was silent and the stranger gave him a questioning look, so he changed his plans a bit. This was just about to get more exciting than he would’ve thought.

‘You know what, don’t listen to me. What's your name?’

‘Nicolas’

‘Nice to meet you, Nicolas, I’m Scott.’

Sherlock turned around when the bartender tapped his shoulder and paid the two whiskeys he’d ordered for John and himself. Then, he handed one of them to Nicolas.

‘Here, for you. Do you want to dance?’

‘I wouldn’t miss out on the opportunity to dance with you’

While they headed for the dance floor, Sherlock’s eyes didn’t leave John’s for a second and even if the detective didn’t think it was possible, the doctor’s expression darkened further when Sherlock shot him a smug grin.

As soon as Nicolas found an empty spot on the dance floor, he grabbed Sherlock by his waist and started to move and although Sherlock didn’t really hold much sympathy for him, he had to admit that Nicolas knew how to dance. He guided Sherlock’s narrow hips in slow circles to the rhythm while his hands roamed up and down Sherlock’s back. Sherlock placed the hand holding his glass on Nicolas’ shoulders while his other hand rested on small of the other man’s back. A new song with an intense rhythm started and Sherlock leaned even closer into Nicolas, their bodies now touching from their thighs to their chests, Sherlock’s head nearly resting on Nicolas’ shoulder.

When the lyrics started, they had turned far enough for Sherlock to catch John’s gaze again. Nicolas couldn’t see Sherlock’s face due to their physical proximity, so Sherlock only focused on John when he mouthed the, admittedly insinuating, lyrics for John to see. None of them lowered their gaze, so when there came a passage without any lyrics, Sherlock raised his glass to John and looked at him through his lashes, smugly smiling. It was an invitation and Sherlock was fairly certain that John had understood that.

Nicolas, still oblivious to what had happened behind his back, turned them around again and when Sherlock was able to look into John’s direction again without raising suspicion, John wasn’t there anymore and when he looked around and still couldn’t find his flatmate, Sherlock thought that John had left.

Only a moment later, there was a hand tapping on Nicolas’ shoulder and Sherlock didn’t have to look at the body attached to the hand to know to whom it belonged. John hadn’t left, then. Nicolas and Sherlock parted.

‘I take it that you have quite a lot of fun here, but I think it’s my turn now.’

‘And why on earth do you think that I would leave a catch like him to someone like you?’

Nicolas made an effort to look even taller than he already was, making a step towards John to tower over him. Any other man would maybe have shied away, but John was a soldier, so he just settled for a mild smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

‘Because I know that “this catch” here will go home with me, no matter how hard you try. Sorry to disappoint you, but you didn’t stand a chance from the beginning.’

Sherlock hadn’t a single clue how John managed it, but although he was several inches smaller than Nicolas, John’s presence was overwhelming and even Nicolas seemed to notice it and looked quite puzzled.

‘So, you’re his boyfriend then?’

‘Oh, no I’m not, nor have I ever been, but that doesn’t matter now.’

‘It doesn’t? As long as you’re not his boyfriend, there’s still a fair chance that he’ll decide to go home with me and abandon you. And I guess I’m the better choice here.’

The smile on John’s face disappeared and something hard and unyielding took its place.

‘Listen, because I won’t repeat myself. It doesn’t matter what you do, you won’t get the first price here. I’ll leave with him and you’ll stay here and have to be content with whatever you find here and I really don’t recommend to get in my way, that won’t do any good. That being said, I suggest you stand aside now so that I can take him home with me now.’

John turned around to go when Nicolas talked to him again. Apparently, the lecture had not been enough.

‘How can you be so certain about this? For all I know, he could stay here with me.’

John only laughed at that, not even making the effort to fully turn around again.

‘You know what? Just watch me. Sherlock.’

And with that, John made his way to the entrance. Sherlock still stood there, mesmerized by what he’d just witnessed. John putting another man into his place was easily the sexiest thing Sherlock had ever seen and he couldn’t help the arousal that John’s raw and masculine behaviour had brought up.

‘Who the hell does he think he – HEY!...’

That was all Sherlock heard Nicolas saying before he made his way through the dancing crowd to follow John. Once he was outside the club, he spotted John standing on the pavement a few meters away, hailing a cab. Sherlock walked up to him and was about to start talking when John shot him one daring look that made him shut his mouth immediately. Sherlock knew he was in trouble now, but somehow he got the impression that that was a good thing.

They had spent the cab ride in silence, John just staring out of the window while Sherlock didn’t dare to say a word and when they reached Baker Street, John was out of the cab the second the car came to a halt, leaving a stunned Sherlock behind to pay. Maybe, making John jealous had not been his best idea.

When Sherlock got out of the cab, John was already inside Baker Street, climbing up the stairs. Sherlock, unsure of what to say or do, followed in silence, waiting for John to do something. He assumed they would fight as soon as he closed the door to their flat behind him and Sherlock already cursed himself for abandoning his initial plan so foolishly. What happened when he entered the flat, however, caught him completely by surprise.

Sherlock had just stepped the threshold when the door slammed shut behind him and his back forcefully hit the wood of the door. John, anger still displayed on his face, cornered him, his hands to either side of Sherlock’s body, while he looked him straight in the eye.

‘What the bloody hell was all that about?’

John’s voice was raised, but he wasn’t yelling yet, instinctively keeping it down to not wake up Mrs Hudson or their next-door neighbours. Sherlock throat suddenly felt dry and he couldn’t bring himself to say something but opened his mouth nevertheless, but apparently, John didn’t really want an answer. Instead, John took Sherlock’s scarf and yanked the detective down so  their eyes were on the same level.

‘Don’t you dare to say something now. I know exactly what you did there. You wanted to make me jealous, didn’t you? Took me to this club to get me a little drunk and to seduce me or to make my seduce you and when the other bloke turned up you decided to just go with it and see how I’ll react. Is that how it was?’

Sherlock just nodded slowly, he didn’t trust his voice to come out clear enough and seeing that John didn’t want him to talk now, nodding was the better option either way. He could’ve lied, but if John saw through it, which he eventually would, Sherlock would be in even more trouble.

John, obviously satisfied that Sherlock hadn’t tried to lie, let go of his scarf and put his hand back to where it was before. He came closer now, their bodies only inches apart. Sherlock could feel John’s breath on his skin and his mind went completely blank.

‘Well, you managed to make me jealous, what do you plan to do next?’

John’s voice was calm and incredibly low and raspy now and Sherlock felt the hairs in his neck stand up. He didn’t know what to say or do, he just didn’t want to lose the heat of John’s body almost pressed to his own.

‘I just rendered the great Sherlock Holmes speechless, if that isn’t a surprising turn-up. Well, as you don’t seem to be too communicative now, do you want to know what I planned to do next?’

Again, Sherlock just nodded. His heart pounded in his chest and he feared that it was loud enough for John to hear. The doctor, however, just smiled, his eyes roaming over Sherlock’s face intensely. John looked at him as if he was about to devour Sherlock in whole, and only a moment later, he did just that.

John’s brought their mouths together in a bruising kiss and the sheer force made Sherlock’s legs go weak under him. Fortunately, John was there to hold him, and so they stood there, John pressing Sherlock to the door with his weight and Sherlock revelled in the sensation. His hands were on John’s biceps, feeling the strong muscles flex under the fabric of his shirt and jacket. John’s lips on his mouth were warm and soft and when Sherlock felt John’s tongue on his lips, he opened his mouth further to let John explore his mouth with his tongue and a new wave of arousal washed over Sherlock, making him moan deeply in the back of his throat.

He could feel rather than see John's smile while they kissed and when John pulled away, Sherlock whined disappointedly, which made John chuckle.

‘Shh, calm down, I fully intend to take this further, but let’s get you out of this monstrosity of a coat first, shall we?’

While Sherlock nodded again, John unbuttoned the coat and shrugged it off Sherlock’s shoulders before he unfastened Sherlock’s scarf. Then, he took off his own jacket and discarded it on the floor next to Sherlock’s coat and Sherlock hadn’t even time to blink before John was on him again, snogging him senseless.

Sherlock had everything he wanted now, but still, it wasn’t enough. They both were still fully clothed and Sherlock intended to change that immediately, so he raised his shaking hands to unbutton John’s shirt. The doctor pulled back when he noticed Sherlock’s fumbling fingers and chuckled again.

‘Eager, are we? Wait, let me help you.’

John took Sherlock’s hands and put them flat on his chest while he opened his black shirt. With every button that was opened, a new patch of smooth and evenly tanned skin came into view and Sherlock moved his hands to let his fingertips glide over every inch of the newly exposed skin. When he had opened all the buttons of his shirt, John just waited and watched while Sherlock memorised and catalogued the texture of his skin, feeling every strong string of muscle that normally was hidden under the cuddly wool of John’s jumpers.

While Sherlock still let his hands roam over John’s chest and stomach, the soldier brought his hands to Sherlock’s shirt, unfastening the buttons faster than he had done with his own shirt, before shrugging the burgundy coloured silk off the detective’s shoulders to join the other clothes on the floor. Sherlock’s skin was white and smooth, like marble, and touching it with only his hands wasn’t enough anymore, so John stepped closer to Sherlock to kiss along the detective’s collar bones and down his chest, bending his knees to kiss down Sherlock’s belly and along the waistband of Sherlock’s trousers.

After losing contact, Sherlock’s hands just fell to his sides and he closed his eyes, slightly scraping at the wood of the door. John’s hands and lips were everywhere and Sherlock found he never felt something like this before. Every single touch sent new jolts of electricity through Sherlock’s body and within seconds, his body was shivering and his breath ragged.

‘God, you’re so sensitive and responsive, it’s marvellous. Let’s see what you do when…’

John’s voice trailed off and Sherlock was on the point of opening his eyes to see what John was doing now when he felt how John encircled one of his nipples with his mouth, sucking slightly while he pinched the other one with his thumb and forefinger. Sherlock hissed audibly, the feeling right on the fine line between arousing and painful, while he felt how more and more blood left his brain, making him feel light-headed and drowsy with arousal.

John, still rather unaffected, continued to work his mouth over Sherlock’s chest, his mouth and hand now switching positions, when he cautiously bit down on one nipple. At that, Sherlock’s knees finally gave in when a high-pitched cry of lust left his mouth, but John, always the caring doctor, stabilized him and prevented him from falling.

‘Come, we should go to bed before you end up injured.’

Unable to control his limbs enough to move Sherlock just nodded again and slung his arms around John’s neck and the doctor grabbed his thighs to lift him up and to carry him into Sherlock’s bedroom. Once they were there, John lowered Sherlock to the bed and hovered over him before their lips met again.

Sherlock, who slowly regained control over his muscles, touched John’s strong body wherever he could reach, feeling repulsed when his hands reached the fabric of John’s jeans. Admittedly, the skin of their chests touching felt fantastic and was almost overwhelming, but Sherlock still wanted more. He wanted those jeans and every other piece of clothing gone until there was just the feeling of John’s naked body on his own.

However, when Sherlock’s hands moved to John’s belt to unhook it, John caught his wrists and brought them over his head, pinning them into place with his hand. He stopped kissing Sherlock and looked down at him reproachfully.

‘Ah, none of that. I told you that I wanted to show you what I planned to do, so you’ll wait patiently until I think it’s the right time to do that, understood?’

The tone of John’s voice didn’t allow any form of protest, but it sent a jolt of heat directly into Sherlock’s groin nevertheless and he had to swallow before he could answer.

‘Yes’

‘That’s what I wanted to hear.’

John grinned, satisfied with Sherlock being complying, and began to trail kisses down Sherlock’s body until he reached his waistband again. While his steady hands began to work the belt and trousers open, John’s teeth nibbled at the sensitive skin there, each contact of teeth with skin making Sherlock shiver and his breath hitch.

Once Sherlock’s fly was open, John pulled the trousers down Sherlock’s long legs, exposing more smooth skin and the detective’s silk boxers, which were the same colour like the shirt Sherlock had worn previously. Once the trousers were gone, John yanked the socks from Sherlock’s feet and stood on the edge of the bed for one moment, admiring the man lying on the bed, waiting for him.

Sherlock’s nearly black curls were a mess, clearly on the side of bed hair as they fell over his right eye. His body was incredibly long and lean, white alabaster skin covering taut muscles and the dubious light of the lamp on Sherlock’s bedside table made the white skin glow. He was incredibly beautiful and John was convinced, that, if Michelangelo had seen Sherlock, he would have been ashamed of calling his David the perfect man. Sherlock looked at him questioningly, his wide eyes only showing a hint of his silver-green irises because of his dilated pupils.

John could see that there was insecurity in the detective’s eyes, so he smiled at him fondly to erase any negative thought that might have invaded Sherlock’s mind.

‘God, you’re so unbelievably beautiful, I don’t think I will ever get tired of looking at you. Now that I’ve seen you like this, I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting you’

‘Then don’t stop.’

Sherlock’s voice was whispery and hoarse, but John had heard him judging by the fond expression on his face. He lowered his body onto Sherlock’s again, kissing his belly and his hip bones, pointedly ignoring everything further down.

‘Alright, I won’t, but you have to promise me that you’ll tell me to stop if you want me to, okay?’

‘Yes…’ Sherlock whispered.

The corner of John’s mouth tucked up into a smug and satisfied smile before his head went further down, now trailing kisses along Sherlock’s inner thighs. Sherlock was flexing his muscles, his body getting restless with arousal. He needed more, more friction, more of John’s skin on his own, but John wasn’t willing to give these things to him just yet, so he had to wait.

John’s mouth went up further and further, now mouthing at the silky fabric of Sherlock’s boxers, the movement making his cock straining against the silk, leaving a dark patch of precome, which John sucked into his mouth to get a first taste of Sherlock. The sheer frivolity of it was nearly enough to send Sherlock over the edge right in this moment and he could only stop himself from coming into his pants by squeezing his eyes shut and breathing deeply while John moaned at the taste.

John felt his own cock achingly hard in his jeans, but giving Sherlock what he wanted just now wasn’t an option, so he neglected his needs a bit further. He wanted Sherlock desperate with need until he remembered nothing other than John’s name, and then, only then, John would give in to his own needs. And, judging by the ways Sherlock moved under him, he wouldn’t have to wait too long.

‘John… please… I can’t… please’

That certainly was enough for John to give Sherlock at least a little bit more, so he hooked his fingers under the waistband of Sherlock’s boxers, pulling them down and freeing his leaking cock from the restraints of the fabric.

Sherlock’s breath came ragged and he hissed when he felt the cool air graze his cock. His erection was painfully hard and he desperately needed some friction to release the tension, but, seeing that John was pinning his hips to the bed, he had no choice but to wait for John to give him what he needed.

Again, John paused a moment to take in what he saw before he went down to nose at Sherlock’s length, inhaling his scent. He heard Sherlock’s ragged breath from above, felt the soft skin of Sherlock’s cock on his cheek and smelled the mix of soap and fresh sweat that undoubtedly belonged to Sherlock and couldn’t find words to express how perfect all of it was.

‘What do you want, Sherlock?’

‘John… please’

John knew that Sherlock had nearly lost all of his control and most probably wasn’t even able to answer in a whole sentence, but seeing Sherlock reduced to his needs, his transport finally taking over and shutting that impressive brain down was far too intriguing to let the chance pass. So, he asked again, his mouth close enough to Sherlock’s cock for Sherlock to feel the warm air of John’s exhale touching his skin.

‘I asked you a question, Sherlock. What do you want?’

‘I – You. Want… you.’

‘In that case, I guess I can help you out’, John said, before he brought his mouth to the tip of Sherlock’s cock for an open-mouthed kiss.

‘Oh God, John…’

John kissed along Sherlock’s shaft before he brought one hand to the base and took Sherlock’s cock halfway into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks to suck lightly. Sherlock was shaking under him, uncontrolled groans leaving his throat, loud enough for the nearest neighbours to hear. John pulled back again to lick a broad stripe along the underside of Sherlock’s length before sucking his cock into his mouth again, taking in the whole length in one go.

At that, Sherlock’s eyes snapped open, a cry of pleasure leaving his throat and John started to work his mouth over the detective’s cock, switching techniques to coax the most exquisite sounds out of Sherlock. Every time John thought Sherlock was too close to the edge of climaxing, he pulled back a bit, only kissing the tip, before taking him in again, sucking and swirling his tongue around the tip.

By the time John kissed his way up to Sherlock’s mouth again, the detective was oversensitive and desperate for release, ready to do or say anything to get what he wanted. He rocked his hips to get more friction and gasped out when his cock met John’s still jeans-clad leg. John, however, still had his pleasure in letting Sherlock wait.

‘Oh, Sherlock, still not satisfied, are you? What do you want now?’

Sherlock still didn’t have enough breath to bring himself to answer in a complete sentence.

‘Want… to touch… you.’

John chuckled, pulling back onto his knees to open the top button of his jeans. Sherlock scrambled up and came to sit between John’s spread knees, his head levelled with John’s chest. Once John’s fly was open, Sherlock’s hands were everywhere to touch whatever skin he could reach and to pull down the offensive fabric from John’s legs. When they wouldn’t go down further, John stood up, letting Sherlock pulling them down to the floor before stepping out of them.

Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed and kissed his way up and down John’s belly while he palmed John’s cock through his boxers. John sucked in a sharp breath, the long needed friction almost tipping him over the edge, when Sherlock pulled down John’s boxers as well and licked a hot, wet stripe along John’s cock.

And that was when John completely lost it. Sherlock sat in front of him, his cheeks flushed and lips red and swollen from biting them, the detective’s clever tongue lapping at John’s erection while he looked up trough his black lashes. He was beautiful, looked like the personification of sin and John was ready to go to hell if that was what greeted him there.

John all but pounced on Sherlock, pinning the wide-eyed detective to the bed.

‘Oh, you’re in so much trouble, Mr Holmes’, John breathed along Sherlock’s neck before sucking at a spot right above his collar bone, leaving a dark mark.

Sherlock’s breath hitched again. John seemed to be everywhere, including his head. There wasn’t room for anything else while the doctor above him peppered his face an neck with kisses so that Sherlock didn’t even notice how John had opened the top drawer of his bedside table to search for lube and condoms. When he had found what he’d looked for, he tossed the items on the bed next to him before hauling Sherlock up to turn him around. After that, John grabbed Sherlock’s hips and yanked them up, pushing his head down into the pillow while doing so.

With his arse up in the air, everything fully at display to John behind him, Sherlock felt exposed and vulnerable and, despite his usually nature, thought it was rather good. No, not just good, but hot as hell.

Like that, Sherlock waited for the familiar sound of the lube bottle’s lid being popped open, but it never came, so he shifted to turn his head when –

‘Ohh G –God!’

Instead of lubing his fingers and beginning to work Sherlock open, John spread Sherlock’s cheeks apart to lick a broad stripe along the cleft of Sherlock’s arse. It was a miracle Sherlock didn’t come right then and there, his whole body was vibrating as the touch of John’s tongue set his nerve ends on fire. Only the thought of John’s mouth, his tongue, there was incredibly dirty and forbidden, but the sensation of it was more than even Sherlock could ever have imagined.

The tip of John’s tongue circled his whole and Sherlock pressed back into the touch. John took the hint and the circles he drew with his tongue became smaller until the tip of John’s tongue was right in the centre of the puckered skin of Sherlock’s entrance, pressing in slowly.

Sherlock cried out and pressed his face into pillow, his fists clenching around the fabric. It was too much and, at the same time, not enough. He was right on the border of an orgasm, his whole body burning with desire and lust and heat coiling deep in his abdomen, but John deliberately avoided to give him the last nudge that would push him over the edge. If John didn’t let him come soon, he feared his body would burst.

‘Please, please John, I – I can’t. I have to – please’

John pulled back, kissing his way up from Sherlock’s tailbone to his neck while he let his hands wander from his thighs over his hips and sides, leaving goose flesh everywhere he touched. When John’s hands came to rest on his head, Sherlock felt one strong hand tightening in his curls, the other resting on his shoulder and John yanked him back so he came to rest on his knees, his body bend backwards into a hollow back.

‘That’s all you can take, Sherlock? That’s all it takes to make you desperate for release? Then, let me tell you something. I’ll have you right here now, until you don’t even know your name anymore and all you can do is beg for my mercy. I’m going to devour you, to consume you, to take everything I want from you and maybe even more and you’ll be happy to give it to me. I’m going to destroy you, Sherlock, just for the sheer fun of seeing you on your hands and knees in front of me and then I’ll put you together again to see you shatter another time. Now is the last time to tell me to stop because once I’ve started, I won’t stop until we’re both unable to move anymore. So, Sherlock, do you want me to stop?’

‘No! Please… Fuck me, please. Take – take everything you want. Please, John, just – Please’

Sherlock’s mouth had answered on its own accord and before Sherlock could think twice, John was pushing his upper body back into the mattress, settling down behind him again.

John growled, a deep and low ‘Good’ leaving his throat when he popped the lube bottle’s lid open and coated his fingers before cautiously pushing one of them in to the first knuckle, letting Sherlock adjust to the feeling.

Sherlock, however, didn’t want the time to adjust. He wanted John, John inside him, John filling him, John fucking him senseless, so he pushed back until John’s finger was completely buried in him. He hoped that John would get the hint again and would proceed faster, but what he got was the burning sensation of John biting down hard on one of his arse cheeks while he growled dangerously.

‘I am the one to decide how fast we go, so stop being a pushy prat or I won’t let you come for hours on end, is that understood?’

Sherlock only groaned and John interpreted the needy and desperate sound as a yes. He continued to work Sherlock open, inserting a second finger and slowly spreading them apart before adding a third finger and curling them. With every new twist of John’s fingers, Sherlock shivered and groaned, his exclamations a mix of variations of ‘God’, ‘John’ and ‘Please’. His cock was hanging heavy between his legs, flushed darkly and leaking precome, and every time it touched Sherlock’s leg or the mattress by accident, Sherlock moaned even louder, the want to frot against the fabric of the sheets for some friction becoming overwhelming.

And then, when Sherlock thought he couldn’t get more desperate, John’s finger brushed lightly over his prostate and his vision went white. Even the pillow his head was buried in did nothing to muffle Sherlock’s scream and John had to try really hard to hold Sherlock relatively still, the detective’s body instinctively moving to meet John’s touch while he shuddered uncontrolled. The sight of Sherlock, sprawled in front of him like that, was one of the most beautiful things John had ever seen.

While he continued to work Sherlock’s whole open, occasionally brushing over the most sensitive point in him, John talked to him, trying to ground him with his voice.

‘Do you know how gorgeous you are like that, Sherlock? Kneeling here, all compliant and helpless for me, it’s marvellous.’

‘Oh God, John…’

‘The sounds you make, so desperate and needy, better than anything I've ever heard before…’

John changed the angle of his fingers now, not only brushing over Sherlock’s prostate, but also tapping against the bundle of nerves in an unsettling rhythm, never letting Sherlock ride out the sensation before a new pulse was sent through his body. Between the brushing and tapping, he cautiously pushed at the sensitive knot, rubbing little circles over it before changing tactics again. Sherlock never got the chance to get used to one of the sensations before John switched techniques and he was sure he was about to go insane and lose all sense.

‘Nngh, John…’

‘And how you feel, you’re so hot and wet for me, your body is doing exactly what I want it to do, like it’s made for me to use it, like there is nothing else in this world your body would rather do than to do my bidding…’

‘Y-yes, only for you…’

‘…But what’s best about you is your taste. You taste so good, Sherlock. I’ve waited so long to try it and now that I have it, it’s like redemption and I don’t ever want to taste someone else like this. There’s only you, Sherlock.’

Until then, Sherlock hadn’t even realized that John’s fingers were gone, the things John had said had got Sherlock too caught up to notice how empty he felt now. He was about to whine disappointedly when he felt something pushing at his entrance, something that definitely wasn't a finger, and let out a shuddering breath when the tip of John’s cock slowly pressed in.

This time, Sherlock really needed some time to adjust to the feeling, the breadth of John’s erection stretching him more than his fingers had done. Sherlock slowly rolled his hips, showing John that he was ready now and John drew back slightly before gliding in anew, burying his whole length inside of Sherlock.

Once he was completely in, both men exhaled noisily when the skin of John’s hips met Sherlock’s arse. They stayed like this for a moment, getting used to the feeling and Sherlock couldn’t help but thinking how right all of this felt. John was fully inside him, filling him up enough to think he couldn’t take more, but not enough to make him uncomfortable, like they were made to be like this.

Then, John started to move. Slight, shallow thrusts became harder and faster quite quickly and before Sherlock had the chance to take a deep breath, John almost pulled his cock out before snapping his hips forward, their skin making an obscene slapping sound while John hit Sherlock’s prostate with the hard thrust.

Sherlock whined, his hips following John when he pulled back again before the doctor grabbed Sherlock’s hips with a bruising grip. He was sure John’s hands would leave dark marks there, mementos of what they did right now, but Sherlock found he really didn’t care. It was like John had said before, Sherlock was giving John everything he wanted, maybe even more until he reached his limits and fell apart.

In the meantime, John had settled for a cruel rhythm, their bodies slapping against each other with every thrust. Then, John changed the angle a bit, bringing one hand to Sherlock’s shoulder while the other one stayed at his hip and Sherlock could do nothing else than letting John hit his prostate with every thrust. John wanted him like this, so he would submit to it.

Sherlock’s cock brushed the mattress again und Sherlock cried out between his moans, the feeling of the fabric against his still neglected and swollen erection almost painful and Sherlock brought one hand up from underneath him to take himself in hand, if not to come than at least to bring himself some release from the touch.

He had just touched his shaft with one of his fingertips, when there was a loud slap and a burn on the left side of his arse where John’s palm had met the skin, followed by a warning growl.

‘No!’

Sherlock wanted to protest, but when he looked back, John shot him a daring look and raised his left hand again as if to make a point, so Sherlock just whined desperately. John brought one hand to Sherlock’s scalp and yanked at his curls to haul him into a kneeing position without slipping out of the detective. He was still buried deep in Sherlock, his hips meeting Sherlock in little shallow thrusts while John brought his mouth to Sherlock’s ear.

‘Look at you, Sherlock, so desperate for release. Your cock is beautiful like this, swollen and dark, I bet it even hurts a bit, doesn’t it?’

Without looking at John, Sherlock nodded, his already pink cheeks flushing even darker. He had never suspected John could talk dirty like that, but now that he was doing it, Sherlock was sure John could make him come only by saying things to him with that deep and raw voice.

The hand in Sherlock’s curls loosened and curled around his throat slightly, while John’s other arm grabbed the detective’s waist and pulled him back, meeting one of John’s hip thrusts.

‘Then I don’t want to keep you waiting any longer. Come, Sherlock. Come for me. Now!’

That was all it took for Sherlock to be pushed over the edge. His knees gave in again and he clenched around John, his body shuddering as the waves of his mind-blowing orgasm wrecked his body. Through his quivers and moans he almost didn’t notice how John bent him over again, now pounding into Sherlock with raw need as he chased his own release. Only after a few moments, the doctor’s body went rigid and he met Sherlock with erratic thrusts while he emptied himself in Sherlock before collapsing on top of him, panting loudly. Sherlock, still not fully conscious, stirred and John extracted himself from Sherlock, leaving him uncomfortably empty without John’s cock buried in him, to roll off of him and to dispose of the condom.

For several moments, they were content to stay like this, Sherlock sprawled on his stomach with John, on his back, next to him. When John was sure his voice wouldn’t come out as a croak, he turned his head to Sherlock.

‘I sincerely hope I made quite clear that you shouldn’t ever try to make me jealous again.'

Sherlock huffed a laugh and turned his head to John, grinning sheepishly.

‘If making you jealous always results in you ravishing me like this, I will happily let every man in London come on to me while you watch.’

John covered his eyes with his arm and laughed.

‘I guess I haven’t proven my point when you think making me jealous is rather fun and enjoyable.’

‘Rather fun and enjoyable? You really underestimate yourself. That was amazing, it was extraordinary. It really was quite … extraordinary.’

John only raised his eyebrows at that, the grin spreading on his face brighter than everything Sherlock had ever seen.

‘Do you realise you do that out loud?’

Sherlock just stared at John for a few moments, the conversation they just had overlapping with one they had had a long time ago in Sherlock’s head.

Then, they both started to laugh at the same time and they didn’t stop until their bellies hurt and they had tears in their eyes.