In which I mourn my life decisions. (nsfw)
“That’s an *order*, Private Holmes. Get on your knees and suck me off,” John snapped, eyes dark with desire. “Yes sir, Captain Watson! Right away, sir.” The days after Baskerville were among the most tiring, John found. Sherlock simply couldn’t control himself once John started pulling rank. John closed his eyes as his cock was enveloped in the soft, wet heat of Sherlock’s mouth. He’d found his old uniforms in the attic that morning. Sherlock wouldn’t know what hit him.
“Sherlock, for the last time, if I always have to buy the milk, I will NOT have you using it for experiments!” John was at the end of his rope. Just what would teach Sherlock once and for all? He spotted Sherlock’s riding crop resting on the mantle. He gingerly picked it up, heat tightening in his belly. “Sherlock,” he ordered, “Strip. Now. You’re going to wish I had only fucked you raw when I’m done with you.”
“Sherlock, is this really best place for this? Molly could show up any second. There are *corpses* here,” John asked, desperately attempting to fend off Sherlock’s roaming hands and mouth. Sherlock nipped at John’s collarbone, slipped his hand into John’s trousers, gripped John firmly and said, “I know. It’s so fucking hot. Why do you think I keep a skull in the flat?”
“J-John, I’m sure you know I don’t have any experience in this line of… activity.” Sherlock was uncommonly nervous, uneasily looking John in the eyes. “It’s okay Sherlock. Don’t forget, it’ll be my first time with you, so this is new for both of us.” John gingerly pressed his mouth to Sherlock’s, slipping his tongue between the detective’s velvety soft lips. “Can I touch you?” John asked, pressing against Sherlock’s wired, slender body. Voice thick with lust, Sherlock breathed, “Please. I want you.” John smiled, a faint glint of mischief in his eyes. “Then I’ll take you.”
“But why, Sherlock? Why here?” John asked, as Sherlock started undoing his trousers. “Anderson works here. I’ve made it a point to defile every place he holds dear.” John moaned as Sherlock thrust into him. “B-but, someone will catch us. We- we couldn’t have done this,” John bit back a cry of pleasure as Sherlock hit that magical spot, “at night?” Sherlock buried his face in John’s neck, sucked lightly at his collarbone and said, “No. I want him to see this. Don’t look, the window’s behind you.”
Sherlock gasped, his breath ragged with desire. “John, I need you to fuck me. Please.” John quickly undid the detective’s trousers and gentled maneuvered the detective towards the bed. “You’d better be sure about this Sherlock, it’s been too long.” AND THEN THEY FUCKED AND IT WAS WONDERFUL
“John, please, I need you,” Sherlocked murmured into John’s ear, as he gently bit his earlobe. Sherlock roughly pinned him against the wall of the lift, near to the door. “Sherlock! You’ve gone and made me hit all the buttons,” John whined, lust tinging his voice. “I don’t care, what does it matter?” Sherlock kneeled and undid John’s trousers, freeing John’s cock. “Sherlock. The door is going to open on EVERY floor!” Sherlock grinned and said, “We’ll have to give them all a show then, won’t we?”
John entered 221B carrying the week’s groceries, only to find his handsome flatmate Sherlock completely naked, standing proudly, holding the skull that normally stood on the mantle. Sherlock only had a moment to set the skull aside before John took him in a flurry of kisses, licking, soft touches, and desperately needy sounds. Between moans, John gasped, “Wh-what was the skull for?” Sherlock breathed into his ear between nips at his earlobe, “The skull gets to watch.”
“Timing, Sherlock!” John complained, between wet, sloppy kisses. “Problem?” Sherlock continued to pump his fist up and down John’s thick, hard length. “This is all very nice and I’m so glad you’re alive after all, but ‘speak now or forever hold your peace’ does NOT mean ‘make a dramatic entrance and fuck the groom immediately.’” Sherlock ignored John’s complaints and muttered, “Hurry up and come for me. The flower girl’s about to start crying.”
Sherlock searches the library intently. “Sherlock? What are we doing here, exactly?” John asks, eyes crossing at the complex titles. “Research, John. I’m looking into sexual biology for a case.” John snaps to attention, pulls Sherlock towards him and presses him into the shelf. “Really? We should toss the books and try something a little more practical.” John breathes, and kisses Sherlock in a blitz of teeth, tongue, bites and sucking. “I’m going to fuck you right here. How’s that for research?”
“Christ, Sherlock, you’re gorgeous,” John gasped as he thrust into his lithe, beautiful detective boyfriend. “Tell me how you like it, Sherlock. Tell me how much you love it when I fuck you,” John ordered him. “I—I—fuck, John, please, I can’t, let me come!” Sherlock couldn’t form a single coherent thought. “Not until you tell me.” John smiled. “JOHN! I love it. I’ll die without it. Fuck! Let me come, John!” Sherlock begged. “Fine. You have permission.” Sherlock came, harder than ever before.
Sherlock had been playing all his favorite pieces. “You know, I always did have a thing for musicians, Sherlock.” John said, watching Sherlock with admiration. “I’d deduced that, yes. I had rather hoped you’d catch on before too long.” Sherlock smirked at the doctor. “So.. what, this is your way of.. seducing me?” John said, slightly confused. “Brilliant, you’ve got it. Now let’s move on to the next stage.” Sherlock leaned down and met John’s lips gently with a kiss. “My room or yours?”
- Sent to.. I don’t even know. This one got lost among the shuffle. Lovedots, if I sent it to you, let me know?
They hadn’t even closed the door to 221B before Sherlock grabbed John, slammed him into the wall of the staircase, and littered John’s face and neck with lustful, wet kisses and love bites. “Sherlock! I’m not complaining, but… Mrs. Hudson could be here!” John said, hands gripping Sherlock’s firm buttocks. “Sod it, you could have died. I am taking you here and now,” Sherlock growled. “On your knees. Suck me off. Show me you’re alive. Please, John.” John knelt, and took Sherlock into his mouth.
Entwining his fingers in dark curls, John gently pushes Sherlock onto the bed, his other free hand undoing Sherlock’s trousers. A desperate, needy sound rips itself from Sherlock’s throat as John takes him into his mouth. John quickly pulls back up. “No, Sherlock, I told you, not a sound. Once more and I’ll stop entirely.” John ducks his head down and resumes his near-frantic sucking and licking, and as Sherlock comes silently, John thinks of how nice it is to have Sherlock keep quiet for once.
“You don’t understand, Sherlock. You may be a genius, but you’re *mine* and I won’t have you forgetting that, not ever.” John breathes into Sherlock’s neck, deftly tying Sherlock’s wrists together. “Tonight I’ll make sure *no one* ever forgets that.” John begins sucking and biting at Sherlock’s neck, fully intending on leaving bruises, as Sherlock makes utterly obscene keening noises. Teeth graze Sherlock’s neck; John demands, “Whose are you, Sherlock? Say it.” Sherlock whispers, “Yours, John.”