Dedicated to my fiancée ~
The Great Dating Game:
Sherlock decides John must be taken off the market. He will do this on his own terms and without John knowing.
Sherlock had observed many things about his flatmate John Watson over the past six months that they had been living together. How he took his tea, a single spoonful of sugar and three spoonfuls of milk, his favorite foods, curry chicken when they got takeaway and he enjoyed different alfredos on other occasions, and many other small things, like how he didn't care if his socks matched exactly and he always cut his hair unevenly in the mirror because of his bad shoulder.
The great detective also noticed the good doctor's fondness for the fairer sex. He was a bit of what one might call a "ladies man," even though he didn't look it. Maybe women secretly liked that small, abandoned puppy sort of look? Though Sherlock knew that John did possess a sort of charm, his bravery, loyalty, and kindness were what really got him the phone numbers of so many women. He did get more than phone numbers from some of them, though he never brought them back to the flat and his relationships never lasted very long at all. Sherlock knew why he wouldn't bring them back to the flat, and suspected why the relationships never lasted too long. After what happened with Sarah he probably didn't want a serious relationship.
But it had started to interfere with their work. No, it hadn't just started to interfere, it'd been interfering for some time now, but Sherlock could put up with it no longer. His patience had actually lasted considerably longer than he had thought it would. No longer, though, he must take matters into his own hands.
Sherlock smiled when he heard the knock at the door and surprised both John and Mrs. Hudson when he answered the door and actually signed for his own package.
"What's that then? Something so important the great Sherlock Holmes actually gets up from lounging on the couch to get his own package, I can hardly believe it." John put down the paper he was reading and looked at Sherlock expectantly. Sherlock smiled and shrugged.
"Just something for an experiment I'm conducting."
John decided to go to the pub later on that evening. One of the pubs he went to often enough to be recognized, but not often enough to be a regular. Going to a pub where you know everyone is pointless, especially when you're going to meet new people. John took a seat at the bar, and ordered a nice cold beer to start the night with.
Sherlock had left the flat in a rush earlier, without saying a word to John. John knew he should be used to it by now but he wasn't. At least Sherlock usually sent him a text later on, explaining where he was, what he was doing. Tonight he'd gotten no such text, no clue as to where Sherlock had left to in such a hurry earlier, except for the fact that Sherlock had been carrying a rather large case with him when he'd left.
Well, whatever. Who needed Sherlock Holmes? Definitely not John Watson. When had he finished off his drink? Time to order another.
John was chatting with the man next to him about whatever game happened to be on the telly at the time and on his third mug when a tall blonde sat next to him at the bar. John couldn't help but notice her, just his type, though a bit tall for his tastes. Natural dark blonde hair, bright blue eyes, slim, short skit accompanied by white leggings, not a whole lot of make-up, obvious boobs but no cleavage showing, a modest yet attractive woman. Surprisingly she made the first move.
"Thought you could do with something a bit better than beer." She said smiling as she handed him a drink. He took it, nodded, and smiled. John had a high alcohol tolerance level but he had just finished three beers and was about to take a glass of what looked like fine scotch from this lovely woman. He didn't want to be smashed while talking with his new acquaintance so he took it slow, though the scotch she had ordered him was one of his favorites.
"Thanks." He smiled, not sure of what to do. She was even prettier now that he was facing her, and her voice was a smooth alto. He felt something familiar about her but wasn't quite sure why. He remembered he should introduce himself. "Name's John. John Watson."
"Mary. Mary Morstan." She replied with a smile. She took a drink from her own glass, John not quite able to make out what it was. Looked like just a plain soda.
They laughed, made idle chit chat, it all went astonishingly well. John made sure not to order another drink, though, he didn't want to have too much in his system.
"I know it's rather late but do you want to grab a bite to eat? I don't know about you but I'm starving." She suggested with a smile. John was utterly surprised. He didn't feel as if he'd been particularly charming tonight and yet this beautiful woman wanted to continue to be in his company.
"Sure, though I'm not sure what'll be open at this hour." He chuckled, she giggled back. John must have been more charming than he first thought.
"I'm sure we'll find something." She looked at bit unsure of herself as they stood up, but it only lasted a second and John almost felt as if he had imagined it. She was taller than him, now that they were standing, but John didn't mind it too much. They left their money on the table, linking arms as they walked out the door, John sure that he was getting jealous stares from the other men at the bar.
They found a small Chinese takeout place that was miraculously still open, ordered food and ate it at a table outside. The night air was cool and crisp without being chilly. Still, she moved her chair over to his and made it a point to keep brushing herself against him, claiming she was a bit cold. Her flirting was modest and decent; he liked it much better this way than when women threw themselves at him. He told her just a bit about himself, she told him just a bit about herself, though it was all pretty vague on both accounts. They talked for a long time, but not about anything in particular. John found he was really enjoying her company.
"Oh my, is it that late already?" She said when he commented on the time, half past eleven.
"Do you have somewhere you need to be?" He asked, worried he had kept her for too long.
"No, not in particular, though I should get to bed soon, I have a lot of papers to grade before Monday." She said smiling. She had said she taught middle school, which she recommended he never try, it was horrendous. It couldn't have been that bad, though, since she'd been at it for a couple of years.
"Do you mind if I walk you home?" John asked innocently.
"You can walk me home, but don't expect to get farther than the doorstep. It is only our first date."
"Of course." He smiled. They got up and started walking together. John realized he wouldn't mind dating Mary; he hadn't planned on starting a relationship but plans never worked out very well for him anyway. And for just awhile he'd completely forgotten about a certain consulting detective.
When they reached the doorstep to her apartment she gave him her number and he gave her his. They promised to text, and planned on another date in one week's time. When it was time to say goodbye they shared a soft and sweet kiss on the lips that was short yet surprisingly intimate. John left light headed, and he knew it wasn't just from the drink. He might not mind taking it slow with Mary.
He started back towards the flat he shared with Sherlock, hoping the detective wasn't home yet. He'd hate to have the detective recite back to him everything he'd done that night; Sherlock would probably even mock him for just getting a kiss. Not like Sherlock had the right to say anything, he'd probably never even kissed another person in his entire life.
"So, how was it? I know you two just kissed outside the door." Irene was grinning like a cat. Sherlock knew he should have never asked Irene to help him; she'd hang this over his head for the rest of eternity. Sherlock let himself fall ungracefully to the floor with his back to the door, taking the wig off of his head as he fell. The thing hadn't itched, but it'd been getting on his nerves.
"Not only did I hear the conversation but I can see your smudged lipstick. Come on, I know it was your first, tell me how it was!" Sherlock sent her a glare, but she just glared back.
"I know where you live, and therefore I know where he lives. Do you want me to go and tell him how his dear Mary Morstan is just the great Sherlock Holmes in drag?" Sherlock shook his head. "Then all I ask is for a report. Come on, I helped you so much, that's the least you could do." Irene was leaning over the back of the couch, looking at him expectantly. Her curly dark brown hair had a hint of red in it and went just past her shoulders, though it was much longer when she straightened it. Her skin was a medium hue, naturally, since she was half Indonesian. Her apartment was a mess, as it usually was. She was wearing just a large button up shirt, her pajamas. She had an open book next to her, so she'd been reading as she waited for him. It looked like a biography of some dictator. Same Irene Adler as ever.
Sherlock coughed before speaking, using that voice all night had taken a toll on his vocal chords. "While I do thank you for your assistance, I really would rather not discuss what just happened at this very moment. Let me change at the very least." Sherlock toed the boots he'd been wearing off and stood up. Irene rolled her eyes and handed him his clothes.
"I want a full report when you get out of the lavatory." Sherlock sighed as he went, just wishing the night was over already.
Sherlock had to look in the mirror again when he got to the restroom though. He'd taken off the wig but the rest of his disguise was still in place. Even he could barely recognize himself, he was thoroughly impressed with Irene's handiwork, though he'd never let her know that. He knew Irene could pull off making herself look like a male, but he'd never expected her to be so good at pulling off the reverse. He really looked like a lady, and when he'd had the wig on it'd been even more dramatic. He touched his face one last time before washing the make-up off and changing out of that ridiculous get up. But it couldn't have been that ridiculous; it'd worked, hadn't it?
When John had gotten home he'd been relieved to find the flat empty. Though, it was also a bit worrying since he still hadn't received a text from Sherlock. Maybe he should call Lestrade; if Sherlock's on a case then Lestrade should know where he is. Just as he's thinking about calling he receives a text.
Will be home in a bit. Don't call Lestrade, he's probably asleep already.
Sometimes John was sure Sherlock could read his mind. It was a bit eerie. Actually, it was very eerie.
Sherlock had realized during his report to Irene that John might get worried and call Lestrade. That would be counterproductive. He paused to send John a text.
"Yeah, don't want him figuring out your plan this early in the works." Irene commented after he'd sent the text. She really shouldn't read his texts upside down, but he knew there was no point in trying to stop her.
"Anyway, to finish my report, we walked here, exchanged numbers, and made plans for a second date. Which means, as much as it pains me to say it, I will need your assistance again in a week." Irene waved it off.
"Yeah, sure, but you're forgetting the most important part. How was the kiss? I know it was your first." Irene's catlike grin was back. Sherlock bit back a groan of frustration.
"I'm thirty and you think I've never even kissed someone before now?"
"No, I know you've never kissed someone before now. Stop trying to avoid it, give up and just tell me. I want to know what the great Sherlock Holmes thinks of kissing." Sherlock readies himself to argue his point, but Irene shakes her head. "Kisses on the cheeks do not count, especially if they're from me or your aunt Margaret when you were twelve." Sherlock doesn't pout, but he knows his face might be akin to something like pouting at this moment.
"It didn't last very long, I had to bend down a bit and I hope he didn't notice that. I could smell the liquor on him and taste the curry he'd just had. He was warm, his lips were chapped. I don't think he did it consciously but he placed his hands on my hips for an instant. It felt like it lasted longer than it really did. I know it must have only been about ten seconds at best, but it'd been the longest ten seconds of my life. That's including the time I had to diffuse a bomb in ten seconds. His hands had been warm on my hips. His hands and his lips were the only two things touching me, yet I felt as if there was more. And…" Sherlock paused, unable to keep analyzing without going into feelings, and feelings were not very good for analytical studies.
"And?" Irene prompted, obviously not going to let this opportunity to hear more slip away.
"And then I pulled away and bid him adieu." Sherlock finished, glad he'd thought of a way to end the report without letting out his feelings. Though, these feelings were new and interesting, they were something he needed to scrutinize on his own.
"That's not what you were going to say." Irene pouted. Sherlock grinned.
"It's exactly what I was going to say, I paused for effect." Irene rolled her eyes.
"You've always had a flair for the dramatic. And with the stunt you just pulled I'm astonished you don't take up acting. You could make good money you know? I'd volunteer to be your stylist! And manager, of course." Irene had stars in her eyes already, and Sherlock didn't say anything more, she'd taken the bait, and wasn't prodding him for more information. Irene was an actress herself, mostly musicals. She was taking a break right now, only doing small gigs to keep the rent paid. She was almost too cunning for the stage, though, and pulled off quite a few acts that Sherlock kept secret from the police for her. He was just cashing in on the favors she owed him for not turning her in.
"I should really start home soon, I did tell John I'd be home in a bit." Irene frowned.
"Worry wart John. You know, I do wonder if he'd still fall for you even if you didn't insist on this ridiculous Mary disguise." Sherlock shrugged, but the statement actually did make an impact.
"See you in a week?" Sherlock asked as he put on his coat. Irene nodded excitedly.
"Oh most definitely. Get here early, I've got plans for you, babe." Irene winked, Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned towards the door.
"Thanks," he muttered, hoping she didn't hear him but knowing she did. She didn't make a big deal out of it though.
"Lock the door, I'm too lazy to get up." Irene shouted from the couch as he left. He did as he was told; pocketing the key she'd made him, wondering how long he could keep this up. He had a plan, yes, but could he go through with it was the question.
"You had a large suitcase with you when you left." John commented when Sherlock walked in through the door. Sherlock had hoped he'd be asleep by now. John was really more observant than Sherlock gave him credit for. He couldn't pause too long though, had to come up with an excuse.
"Confiscated as evidence, used it to incapacitate the suspect." Sherlock shrugged out of his coat, letting it fall to the floor when he missed the coatrack.
"Certainly was big enough for that. You look absolutely dreadful; you really should sleep at least a bit tonight." John was talking to him over his laptop; he was on one of those networking sites.
"You're chipper, seems your pub outing turned date went swimmingly." Sherlock would have grinned here, but he really was awfully tired. He slumped into his chair across from John.
"And I'd like to leave that conversation at that." John said, closing his laptop. "Now that I know you're not rotting in a gutter somewhere in London I think I'll finally go to bed."
"You really needn't wait up for me, John."
"I know, but normal people have this thing where they worry about the people they care about."
John was up and out of the room, though there had been plenty of time for Sherlock to make a snide remark. He hadn't, though. John cared about him. Irene's offhand comment played through his head. But it was impossible; John was very much into the fairer sex. He enjoyed women's company. The disguise was needed.
Now that Sherlock was alone he could review the feelings that had sprung up when he'd kissed John Watson.
Sherlock didn't get much sleep at all that night.
Mary Morstan did not have a Facebook, a Twitter, or any sort of account that John could find on any sort of site. She had warned him that she didn't get much free time other than on the weekends, and that she very rarely used her computer for things besides schoolwork. She did text, though, and he received one the very next morning.
Woke up late! Oh well, had a great time, it was worth it. ;)
John had woken up late as well, and hadn't showered or eaten yet. The message made his heart skip a beat. So it all hadn't been some kind of dream or drunken stupor, she actually did exist. He could recall most of the evening, but nothing too exact. Other than their goodnight kiss. That he could recall with vivid detail. He'd kissed a lot of ladies before, been with plenty of women over the years, but this had been something completely different. He couldn't place exactly how it'd been so different, but it'd felt right. Even though he had noticed her bending down just a bit to reach his lips.
After John had showered and dressed he went to the kitchen to make himself breakfast, but was interrupted by Sherlock, who looked like he hadn't slept at all.
"I thought I told you to go to sleep for once." John chided.
"Check the microwave." Was Sherlock's reply. John knew he'd lose any argument he made with Sherlock so he shrugged and opened the microwave, expecting some sort of horrible results to an experiment Sherlock had been working on all night. Instead he found what looked like a balanced breakfast.
"Heard you in the shower, knew you'd be down shortly, and just made it so it should still be warm. At least, what's supposed to be warm should be warm. I can't remember why I put the glass of orange juice in there. We have ice, though." Sherlock's words came out all at once; John could barely understand what he was trying to say in that jumbled mess of words. But here was breakfast, and Sherlock was responsible. John knew he should say thank you, but…
"I didn't know you could cook." John was a bit skeptical.
"I can do a great deal of things you don't know about." Sherlock retorted, there was a pause, in which Sherlock actually blushed. He then left the room in a hurry, and John knew he'd go into the next room to find the great detective brooding on either the couch or the chair. John put his breakfast on a tray, put ice in the orange juice, and went to join Sherlock, who he had not properly thanked yet. John was surprised to see Sherlock had actually left the flat completely, his coat and shoes gone. John hadn't heard him leave, but he had been in the kitchen moving things around.
John took a bite of the pancakes and immediately felt the need to thank Sherlock. They were perfect. John had seen the remnants of not so good pancakes all over the kitchen, but the ones on his plate had turned out perfect.
John got out his phone, deciding that a text would do for now.
This breakfast is amazing. Thank you. I'll thank you properly when you get back.
John finished his breakfast and did the dishes, since Sherlock had made him breakfast the least he could do was clean the dishes that had been used. This turned out to be more difficult than John had thought, though, since it looked like Sherlock had dirtied almost every dish in their tiny kitchen trying to cook. Also, there was pancake batter on the ceiling. John decided he'd save that for last.
Sherlock had stopped dead in his tracks when he'd gotten the text from John, he was about two blocks from the flat already and standing in the middle of the sidewalk. People were irritated with his sudden stop, but he'd never cared about irritating people before and he wasn't going to suddenly start caring now.
For some reason Sherlock felt heat rise to his face when he read the last part of the text. 'I'll thank you properly when you get back.' He felt foolish; this was something a schoolboy would flush up at, not a full grown consulting detective. He started walking again, hoping the cool air would help banish the heat from his face.
Besides, it wasn't Sherlock John was into, it was Mary. Sherlock hadn't accounted for this experimenter bias, though he should have. He needed to keep Mary separate from Sherlock. Because it was Mary who liked John, not Sherlock. And John liked Mary, not Sherlock.
John had just balanced himself on a clean part of the table and was wiping the batter off of the ceiling when Sherlock surprised him by entering the kitchen silently. Sherlock really needed to be noisier when he entered and exited the flat. John's balance wasn't particularly good, and it hadn't been one of his better ideas to try and clean the ceiling by standing on the table, so he wasn't too surprised when Sherlock's sudden entrance startled him enough to make him lose his balance. He began falling, only to be caught by Sherlock before his face could become intimately acquainted with the floor. Sherlock has used his body to catch John, and set him down with a small 'oof.' John was glad he hadn't knocked the wind out of his flatmate.
"Sorry about that. Also, thanks for the pancakes, but next time try not to make it so impossible to clean up after you." John pointed towards the ceiling, where there was still quite a bit of batter. Sherlock looked up at it, grabbed the towel from John, and only had to jump up a bit to wipe the rest off of the ceiling.
"Better?" Sherlock smiled smugly.
"Much, thank you."
Both of them were trying not to think about that moment where their bodies had been pressed together.
By mid-afternoon they were on a case. The crime scene was one of those singular ones, Sherlock loved them for their nuance, but they were always too easy to figure out. It felt right to be on a case again, John at his side. Sherlock knew that at least for the rest of this week it'd be like this, since John wouldn't be going on any dates until Saturday thanks to Mary.
Between cases and his shifts at the hospital the week flew by and it was Saturday once again. John was excited to have a proper date with Mary, where he wasn't already a bit drunk. They'd been exchanging texts throughout the week, it was pleasant.
This week had also been a surprisingly good week for him and Sherlock. They hadn't been at each other's throats and Sherlock's company had been very enjoyable. The cases hadn't been particularly interesting, yet they had a good time. So John was a bit surprised when Sherlock left the flat Saturday in the early afternoon without a word to John. Just when he thought their relationship was getting better Sherlock proved it was still the same. Sherlock would leave John whenever he pleased, not telling him his plans, risking his life without John there to keep an eye on him. John had thought his comment about caring had actually gotten to his flatmate, but he had been wrong.
Or had he? John found a plate in the microwave with a note on it in.
Case with Mycroft, didn't want you to have to deal with him, boring, no danger involved. Will be home late, though.
John smiled, and put his leftovers in the microwave for lunch. So Sherlock had gotten a bit better.
"No." Sherlock said firmly, frowning at Irene. Looking at the things she held in her hands with disgust.
"Realism, Sherlock, realism!" Irene shook them in his face, they even jiggled!
"There is no way I'm wearing fake breasts." Irene rolled her eyes.
"You wore a padded bra last time, this isn't much different."
"Stuffing a bra and wearing fake boobs that are going to be visible are two completely different things. There is no logical reason why I should have to show cleavage."
"There is a very logical reason why you need to show cleavage. This is your second date with John, one that was planned in advanced. You need to look like you spent a lot of time getting ready for this date, to show that you're interested in him. Girls that are interested in a guy show them their cleavage."
"I am spending a lot of time getting ready for this date, and if this is why you had me come over earlier then there was no point."
"This wasn't the only reason I had you come over earlier." Irene grinned and pulled out a razor and shaving cream.
"Ok, I assumed I might have to shave my legs, no problem there. I am still not going to wear those monstrosities."
"But I got them through pulling a favor with the costume director of my last show. Come on, they're easy to wear and look very real. They feel real, too." Irene seemed to be having fun poking and prodding them. Sherlock was reminded of her bi-curious tendencies.
"Are they really necessary?"
"Yes, if not only to prove to John that you're interested, but also because the outfit I have picked out for you shows some cleavage and it would take me hours to get another outfit picked out." Irene smiled, hoping this meant she'd won.
"Let me see the outfit. It will be the deciding factor."
After seeing the outfit Sherlock could no longer argue. He went to the shower to shave his legs and get himself nice and clean for the date.
When Irene was done with him he once again no longer looked like himself.
"I impress myself every time. I think I'll only get better at this as time goes on. How long are you planning to keep this up again? I am really starting to enjoy our Saturday girl time."
"Hopefully not too much longer."
"Too bad you won't let me take any pictures; I'd really like to keep a picture for reference. Maybe I could even get clientele and start a beauty shop for transvestites!"
"How much longer until I'm supposed to be meeting John?"
"Oh, let me check." Irene checked her watch; Sherlock had made the mistake of leaving his phone in the other room. "You're supposed to be there in two minutes." Irene looked up at him, smiling.
Sherlock growled in frustration, tearing through the apartment to find the handbag Irene had let him borrow that had everything in it. He really wished he had pockets for his phone, or that it was appropriate to keep his phone in this useless cleavage.
"That's not very ladylike! Though, keep stomping about, I like the way your boobs jiggle. You know Sherlock, I might be attracted to you as a woman." Irene joked, just standing there, not helping him look for the bag at all. Sherlock looked at her. She probably knew exactly where it was in this mess.
"You know where it is, don't you." Sherlock stared her down, she shrugged.
"Know where what is?" But Sherlock looked absolutely livid, and Irene really did value her life, so she walked over to a pile of miscellaneous things on the couch and pulled the purse out of the pile in one smooth move. "Fine, here you go. Have fun!" Sherlock slammed the door behind him, not even bothering to lock it.
"Not very ladylike!" Irene called after him. He gave her a two-fingered salute. "Touché!"
John had arrived a bit early, yes, so he'd expected to be waiting for a bit. But now she was late. Maybe she'd changed her mind? Maybe he really wasn't all that charming? Maybe she'd realized how short he was and had ducked away before he could notice her? This restaurant wasn't that far from her apartment, if he remembered correctly, so she really had no excuse to be late.
But then she walked through the doors of the restaurant and John decided it was perfectly understandable why she'd been late. He got up to greet her and notified the maître-d, who had been so smug at his being stood up only moments ago, that this was his date.
"Hello John, terribly sorry for my tardiness."
"No, don't worry about it Mary. You look great; I can wait a few extra minutes for you anytime." Mary did look quite incredible. Her hair was done a bit to the side, her make-up just a tad heavier, but not in a bad sort of way. She wore a dark blue dress that clung to her torso, long sleeves with a neckline that didn't show too much, but just enough. There was a black belt around the hips, where the skirt then flared out a bit. It wasn't a very short skit, but her long legs made the skirt seem obscenely short. Her legs were bare, but she wore black boots that reached the middle of her shins. She looked like a model out of a magazine. No, she looked better than a model out of a magazine. John was proud of the jealous stares.
The maître-d showed them to their table, where they began to have a pleasant conversation. It was interrupted when John received a text. It was from Sherlock.
How's the date going, John?
"Who's it from?" Mary asked.
"Just my flatmate. He can be annoying at times, but he's alright." John decided the text didn't need a response. He continued to talk easily with Mary, as if this wasn't only their second date. Mary surprisingly didn't ask any further questions about Sherlock, like most of the other women he had dated had. One more thing he preferred about Mary.
Irene had sent the first text like Sherlock had directed, but it was so boring. She wanted to send John other texts from Sherlock's phone, but refrained. Sherlock could think of a thousand ways to kill her using just the items in her dresser and then think of another thousand ways to hide the body.
She sent the second text at the exact time he'd asked her to.
Must be going well if you're ignoring my texts.
She was surprised to receive a reply. Sherlock had told her John would most assuredly not text back.
Bugger off. Who is this anyway? Because I know it's not Sherlock.
Irene knew she was between a rock and a hard place. She couldn't text back, that was not only against Sherlock's rules but also would only make matters worse if John really could somehow tell it wasn't Sherlock texting him. She also didn't want to text Sherlock and warn him, though, for two reasons. One, John would notice Mary receiving a text message and could easily read it from across the table. Two, Irene was kind of curious to know how this would all play out if Sherlock was kept in the dark about John's suspicions. Irene deleted John's reply permanently from the phone. Wouldn't want Sherlock finding that later.
Sherlock had gone to the restroom for just a moment, to check everything, make sure everything was still in place. It was weird being in the women's restroom, he'd almost made the mistake of going into the men's. He didn't spend any unneeded time in there, and was back at the table rather quickly. He realized he'd missed John receiving the second text from 'Sherlock,' but by his annoyed look Sherlock knew he'd gotten it. John smiled warmly when he saw Mary coming back.
"Didn't miss much, they haven't even brought our order yet."
The date was going swimmingly.
After they finished their food, John had gotten the Chicken Alfredo, just like Sherlock had known he would, they left the restaurant and walked to a nearby park. It was a small one, basically a couple of benches, trees, and a walkway. They sat down at one of the benches, at this point they were talking about the dangers of drinking and dating, but how this had worked out rather nicely.
"I actually haven't properly dated someone in quite some time." John commented, Mary gave him a surprised look.
"I can't see why not. Though I have to admit I'm not much of a social butterfly myself."
"You certainly must get a lot of offers." Mary shrugged.
"I could say the same for you." She smiled at him. John smiled back. He shrugged.
Then all of the sudden his hand was on her thigh. Now that they were sitting there wasn't as much of a height difference, so he didn't have to try so hard to bridge the gap between their mouths. They turned towards each other, mouths touching along with John's hand against her thigh. She put a hand on his good shoulder, the other hand on his hip. He put his other hand on her ribcage, right next to her breast. John was a very good kisser. They got lost in the feel of each other's mouths, lips, tongue, teeth, suction, the tastes, the smells. They reached a point where their bodies screamed to be pushed together, screamed for more contact, but they mutually pulled away. They stared at one another for a long moment, which was neither awkward nor comfortable. John smiled, stood up, and offered her a hand.
"It's almost eleven. Isn't there some rule that I have to get you home before midnight?"
They held hands on the way back to the apartment, the contact somehow infinitely more intimate than it should have been. There was no rush to get back to the apartment, though, so they stopped to admire the scenery. At one point they were walking down a quiet street and they turned towards each other a kissed again, the kiss lasting longer than their first, both of their hands intertwined, but a small distance still separating their bodies. They separated and smiled easily at each other.
Once they got to the apartment they both shifted their weight nervously.
"So should I expect to see you again in a week?" John finally broke the silence.
"Sounds perfect. Though we've already done the pub and a restaurant, any plans for where to go to next?"
"I'll think of something and text you. Or if you think of something you can text me. Let's just plan on meeting up around the same time next week." She nodded, John smiled. They kissed again, John's hands on her upper arms pulling her down towards him, his mouth in obvious control of the kiss. They broke away short of breath, smiling.
Irene was on the other side of the door and just missed being hit by it when it was opened. Once it was closed again Sherlock gave her a cold stare.
"Looks like I don't have to tell you what happened, you were looking at us through the peephole, weren't you?" It was weird to hear Sherlock's voice just after hearing him use Mary's.
"Just a bit. How could I resist? That was pretty steamy stuff. Your second kiss?" Sherlock actually grinned.
"No, my fourth." Irene's eyes went wide.
"Oooh, sounds like the date went well!"
"Very well. And I don't believe that John suspects a thing." Irene was glad she was so good at masking her expressions, and was very glad when Sherlock didn't notice that she was masking her expression. Yeah, it was better that he didn't know about John's suspicious text.
"I know you're dying to get changed, need any help?" Sherlock shook his head at went towards the lavatory. Once the door was closed Irene sighed and flopped onto the couch.
Sherlock's own body had almost betrayed him. He didn't think he would have been so physically stimulated by something so small. Yes they had snogged a bit, but nothing obscene. He was glad he'd worn those constricting shorts, not only to cover his ass literally, but figuratively as well. Most men didn't like to see their girlfriends get a hard on under their skirt. Once he was completely undressed, with those wretched things finally off of his chest, he took a very cold shower, for more than just washing the make-up off his body.
He really needed to find a way to separate his own feelings from Mary's. Somehow detach himself. Otherwise he was going to be in over his head. What Sherlock didn't want to think about was the fact that maybe he already was.
When Sherlock got back to the flat John had already gone to bed. Sherlock felt relieved, but also a bit disappointed that John hadn't waited up for him. Then he spotted a note from John stabbed into the wall.
Too tired to wait up for you. Date went very well, by the way.
Sherlock blushed, this new feeling of heat rushing to his face unpleasant but seemingly unavoidable. Sherlock actually went up to his own room for once; he even cleared off the bed a bit so he could lay down on it. He was exhausted, and was glad when his mind actually let him go to sleep.
Sherlock never just slept normally, though. His constant battle with sleep left him in a endless state of REM relapse, so that when he did sleep, his body skipped the first three stages of sleep and immediately leapt into the much needed fourth stage of sleep, and of course, the REM cycle. Another one of the reasons Sherlock was so averse to sleeping; he would have vivid dreams for the better part of his sleep cycle. Tonight these dreams focused on none other than John Watson, and they were disturbingly graphic. One was a violent death, the other was a hostile fight between the two of them, and the one that finally woke Sherlock up was them having wild sex all over the flat.
Sherlock didn't do dream analysis, he was a firm believer in the hypothesis that dreams were just the subconscious dumping randomly generated thoughts into the brain. That didn't stop him from having a slight problem in his shorts when he woke up. He groaned aloud. So this was what it was like to have one of those sexual dreams, get what some called 'morning wood.' Well, it was not yet morning but reason didn't seem to be working in calming down his body so he went to take his third shower in what had to have been less than twelve hours.
Hopefully this wouldn't become a reoccurring dream.
There was an interesting case that had them out in the countryside from Sunday to Wednesday, the both of them completely absorbed by the mystery. John had even forgotten to text Mary until Thursday, though to be fair she had also forgotten to text him.
I was thinking we could go to the carnival, unless you've thought of anything better?
The reply was almost immediate.
The carnival sounds great! :) Also, sorry about not texting, I hadn't wanted to text you until I thought of something really good. :/
John hadn't actually thought about going to the carnival, but he and Sherlock had passed it on their way back into town and it seemed less boring than going to a movie.
Once they returned from the case Sherlock realized that he hadn't sent any texts to John from Mary's phone. The next morning John texted her, though, and Sherlock thought of a very good excuse why she hadn't texted him back. He breathed a sigh of relief; he didn't want to raise John's suspicions.
The two days that followed were full of little surprises for Sherlock, though. After John returned home from his shift at the hospital he actually made Sherlock's favorite dish, no complaints about being tired, or having to actually cook instead of ordering out. Sherlock hadn't even realized John knew his favorite dish, which was an eggplant hummus with falafel.
"I didn't realize you knew what my favorite dish was and how to prepare it."
"I can do a great deal of things you don't know about." John quoted, with a mischievous smirk. Sherlock knew how to stop his face from flushing up now, he'd gotten some practice.
"Touché." Sherlock replied, and continued his meal. He actually finished off his plate, which had John glowing with pride.
Other little occurrences caught Sherlock just a little off guard, like on Friday after Sherlock had come back home from a case he'd gone on without John, who had been in the middle of a surgery. As usual, he was tired so he missed the coat rack when taking off his coat. John immediately got up and picked it up for him, and without a word helped him to his chair and checked him for injuries. Finding the small gash Sherlock had managed to get during the final chase on the inside of his right forearm, John began attending to it immediately. It was almost intimate, the way he cleaned up the wound, bandaged it. All without saying a word, no complaints or anything. The shy smile John gave him when he was through nearly did him in. His heart rate went up, he started to sweat a bit, and his pupils might have even dilated. John was a doctor; he probably noticed all these things. But he didn't make a big deal out of it; he sat back down in his chair across from Sherlock and finally asked about the case.
Sherlock enjoyed explaining the case; it helped get his mind back on the right track. Helped distract John from noticing how flustered he'd been only a moment ago. Also distracted Sherlock from noticing how flustered he had been only a moment ago.
This Saturday was, in a word, different. In two words, extremely different. John made sure to get up and ready early in the day so Sherlock could not sneak off while he was still in his room. John wasn't surprised to find Sherlock fully dressed and ready to leave, but brooding on the couch when he entered the living room.
"Breakfast?" John asked, heading towards the kitchen. Sherlock waived a hand dismissively at him.
"On a case."
"You certainly don't look like you're on a case. If you have time to brood you have time to eat, what do you want?"
"Really not hungry, but if you made tea I would drink it." Sherlock opened one eye and smiled at John, who sighed and returned the smile.
"I guess that's better than nothing." John muttered, knowing Sherlock could hear him, as he put the kettle on.
Having a case as an excuse to leave the flat on Saturdays worked very well.
Except for when there really was a case. An interesting case at that. The kind he's never been able to turn down. And now John was awake, before he could sneak off without him again. Now John would want to go with him to try and help him all day. Then John would leave him for his date, but there wouldn't be enough time for him to change into Mary and meet John for the date. Then Mary would unintentionally stand John up. If worst came to worst maybe he'd be able to make an excuse for being late to the date. But the case! What if they didn't solve the case before then?
Today was not going to go smoothly.
"So what is it today? Someone have strange coded messages show up at their door? Loose a goose that happened to have a priceless gem inside of it?" John asked, leaning on the top of the couch as he handed Sherlock his tea.
"Why do you assume I'm helping a client and not dear old Lestrade?" Sherlock gave John a look as he accepted the cup of tea.
John shrugged. "If you were helping Lestrade you'd be out of the house by now. You must have gotten an email, I can see the laptop still open on the table, and came over here to the couch to brood over the problem a bit before heading out to meet with the client." John went over to the laptop and refreshed the page. "By the way, they would like to meet you in half an hour."
Sherlock bolted upright on the couch and smiled wildly at John. "You never cease to amaze me, John. Whatever did I do without you?"
"You did exactly what you're doing now, but not quite as interesting since the skull doesn't make as many witty remarks as I do."
Sherlock begrudgingly let John come along, since the man was stubborn and Sherlock could not make a suitable argument against him not coming.
"The client wants privacy." Sherlock argued.
"That's never stopped you from letting me tag along before." John crossed his arms. Sherlock wondered if he knew that this just made him look smaller, not more intimidating.
"It's not a dangerous case, very boring as well."
"Can't be too boring if you're taking it."
"Don't want you coming along; you might get in the way."
"Get in the way of you getting hit by a bus." It'd only happened once, and the bus really hadn't been nearly as close to hitting him as John made everyone think.
"Don't you have a date tonight?"
"I have some spare time before then, might as well spend it making sure you stay out of trouble."
Every single one of Sherlock's arguments was shot down by John, and when Sherlock finally gave up John grinned triumphantly.
It was a missing cat case, but the interesting part was that the cat was micro-chipped. And the signal would fade in and out all over the city, turning up in places too far from one another for the cat to possibly travel in the given intervals. So when they finally found the cat they also found a massive amount of stolen electronics that were being carted around in a very large truck by masterful thieves disguised as repairmen. The cat had gotten caught in a box during one of their heists and fallen asleep. During the chase John had saved Sherlock from being hit by a bus, again. Sherlock knew he was never going to live this one down.
When it was over it was nearing five o'clock, the date was planned for six thirty. Time really does fly when you're having fun, Sherlock guessed. Irene had texted him no less than thirty times, only tried calling once though. She knew calling was futile, but she'd still tired. Sherlock had to get away. Luckily it was John who decided he needed to leave.
"I should get back to the flat and take a shower before my date. You coming?"
"No, flat gets boring when it's empty; I haven't bothered Molly down at St. Bart's in a while, and I've been meaning to study up on saliva temperature after death."
After John was out of sight Sherlock ran at full speed to Irene's apartment. This was about to get very tricky indeed.
"Sherlock you are impossible!" Irene exclaimed as soon as she'd shut the door behind him.
"There was a case, John-"
"No time for explanations! You need a shower, shave quickly while you're in there. Seven minutes maximum. You take any longer and I'll come in there and turn off the water. Timer starts now!" Irene practically pushed him into the lavatory. He undressed quickly and scrambled into the shower. He was still a little breathless from running over here, but he had no time to waste.
He was supposed to be meeting John at the carnival in exactly seventy minutes. It took thirty minutes at the very least to get over to that side of town from here. That gave him only forty minutes to completely change into Mary.
Sherlock tried his best not to nick himself while shaving so quickly.
Six minutes and forty seconds later Sherlock was out of the shower, drying off. Irene at some point had hung up the clothes for him to change into on the towel rack. Sherlock wasted no time, and was thankful there was no cleavage with this outfit, so he could just wear the stuffed bra again.
The instant he was changed he opened the door to let Irene in, who was waiting on the other side impatiently.
"Your hair's still damp, but you're just going to have to deal with it." Sherlock sat down on the lidded toilet and Irene put the wig cap on his head.
Sherlock was glad Irene was getting better at this every time. She was able to finish the make-up much faster this time, and it still looked perfect. Sherlock glanced himself over in the mirror, the change still just as surprising as it was the first time. He grabbed his things, shoved them into the handbag Irene had picked out, and made for the door. He had just under twenty minutes to get there.
"You're welcome!" Irene shouted after him, rolling her eyes.
John was waiting patiently outside of the carnival on a bench when the taxi carrying Mary pulled up. She was just under half an hour late. She'd sent him a couple of apologetic texts, though, so he knew he hadn't been waiting in vain. Tonight she wore a tight fuzzy peach jumper that actually looked surprisingly good on her, a pleated black skirt that almost reached her knees, black flats and white socks that were probably supposed to be knee highs but were currently bunched around her lower shins. Her hair was done in a low ponytail, her whole outfit making her seem smaller than she really was.
"Glad you could make it." John said with a playful grin. She leaned down to catch his lips in a quick kiss; someone could've blinked and missed it.
"Sorry, love." They linked arms and went into the carnival.
John was ridiculously good at the shooter games, and was banned from playing them after winning too many prizes to count, all of which they'd given to kids who hadn't won anything yet. One bear they'd given a little girl had been twice as big as she was. Mary was better at the ring toss games, claiming that she just knew which one to actually aim for in order to win. They went on a couple of rides, nothing too fast and nothing that went upside down; Mary claimed she had an upset stomach. She looked at them as if she really wanted to ride on them, though. Her upset stomach also prevented her from trying any of the fried "delicacies" offered by the carnival's various food stands. They did finally find one that served just a plain salad, after almost giving up hope. John bought himself a chocolate covered banana, which Mary had to feign disinterest in watching him as he ate it. She claimed she was just jealous that she couldn't have one as well on account of her irritated stomach.
They'd been there for quite some time, almost until it closed at ten, when they decided to leave.
"Would you like to see my flat? I mean, I'm not saying we have to do anything, and I do have a flatmate, but he should still be out. We could watch a movie or something. I mean, unless you have something better to do." John asked shyly as they walked away from the carnival's lights holding hands.
Sherlock couldn't help but be jealous of Mary, but that was irrational because he was Mary… Still, John never invited women over to the flat. And how did he know that he, that Sherlock wasn't back from St. Bart's already? As Mary, though, he really needed to agree. To turn him down when he was actually inviting her over to his flat, which he never did, but Mary wouldn't know that. But still, she wouldn't be rude enough to turn him down.
"That sounds lovely. Lead the way." Sherlock, Mary, said through the confusion.
There was something tense underlying their pleasant conversation as they walked towards the flat. Sherlock at this point couldn't tell if he was creating the tension in his mind of it was really there.
John fumbled a bit with the keys and then they were in the flat, John motioning for her to go in first, muttering something like "ladies first." Though it had sounded less polite than it should have. Or Sherlock was imagining things. Mary was imagining things, he was Mary right now.
Once Mary was standing in the living room, John shut the door behind him. And locked it. And turned towards her with a grimace.
"How absolutely daft do you think I am, Sherlock?" John's stare was cold, and precise. He wasn't messing around, the game was over.
Sherlock tried not to show that he was panicking. He knew he wasn't hiding his panic very well at all.
"How long have you known?" Sherlock managed to whisper, the charade completely gone.
"Let's start off with how I figured it out. There's this thing called deductive reasoning I've been picking up from a good friend of mine." Present tense, that's good, he still thought of them as friends. Or it was sarcasm. Actually, it was probably sarcasm.
"I meet the perfect girl for me, not the type you usually meet at the pub, she's flawless and yet for some reason she is still into me even though I go through our first whole date in a bit of a drunken haze. I know when I'm charming and I know when I'm trying to be charming but failing. I completely failed that first date." John motions for Sherlock to sit down. Not wanting to upset John any further, he obliges. John continues to stand.
"This Mary Morstan surprisingly has no accounts on any networking site there is, but she'd remarked on her disdain for them, so that isn't so surprising. But what is surprising is that when one searches for her on the internet in general there is absolutely nothing. She says she's a middle school teacher, yet not a single middle school in or around London lists a teacher of that name. So who exactly is this Mary Morstan, if she's not who she claims to be?" John begins pacing now. Sherlock regrets everything. He doesn't easily regret anything but he regrets this whole plan right now.
"What features of Miss Morstan's cannot be a part of a disguise? Her height, which is remarkable for a woman, her physical form, which is long and lanky, her shoe size, which is also large for a woman, and Sherlock, did you really think you could hide your cheekbones? The fake boobs were a nice touch, though, very well done." Sherlock would not let Irene know about that little remark, he didn't need her to tell him "I told you so" on top of all of this.
"To prove a point, today in your hurry to get to our date you've forgotten to put in the color contacts you used to mask those unmistakably grey eyes of yours. Also, when you rolled up your sleeves to play one of those ring toss games you revealed the cut on your right forearm that I had treated just yesterday. But I knew before today's date that there was no such person as Mary Morstan." Sherlock knew he should be terrified, that this could mean the end of everything he had with John; that John probably hated him for this, but Sherlock couldn't help but be impossibly turned on by John's developed deducing skills.
"To answer your question from earlier, I've known since the middle of our second date that you and Miss Mary were one in the same. Once the veil of alcohol was lifted from my eyes it didn't take me too long to piece together everything. Also, claiming you were helping Mycroft had been a mistake. You don't help Mycroft without making a big deal out of it, and I don't know if you know this, but Mycroft lets me know if you run off to help him on a case. I hadn't received a message from Mycroft at all that day. Also, whoever your accomplice was that sent the text messages only made it more obvious that it wasn't you who was texting me, and that it had to be you who was with me. When I put two and two together it made so much more sense. I only saw Mary when there was no Sherlock, and vice versa. The height, the convenience of it all, there was no such person as Mary." John stopped pacing and turned towards him.
"Sherlock, just how long had you planed on keeping up this charade? There's only so far we could have gotten before I found out, you know." John sounded disappointed in him. Sherlock felt disappointed in himself.
"I had a plan, whether or not I would have actually been able to go through with the plan is debatable, I just want you to know that."
"How long, Sherlock?"
"To the alter." Sherlock looked up at John, the guilt seeping out of his features. John's eyes widened.
"Really, you planned on jilting me, is that it? To keep me from dating other women?" John looked hurt, Sherlock didn't know how to comfort him but he desperately wanted to.
"I had planned on it, yes. But planning on doing something and actually doing it are two completely different things."
John took a seat on his chair across from Sherlock. They sat in silence for a bit; Sherlock had no idea what to do. He would just have to wait for John, either he would forgive him or he'd leave.
The minutes were grueling as they passed by like molasses, each second more worry clouding Sherlock's head, a pain filling his chest. Sherlock was made even more uncomfortable by the fact that he was still in costume, but not in character.
John finally broke the silence. "I never planned on telling you this; you usually deduce everything correctly for yourself. But I never actually got with any of those women who I met at pubs and whatnot."
"But-" All the evidence had said otherwise, John interrupted him though.
"Got very close, we'd get back to their place, things would get steamy, and then I'd slip up." Now Sherlock's brain was whirling once again, putting the broken pieces back together, creating a new image of John in his head. The image of John Watson as a man hopelessly in love with one Sherlock Holmes.
"You said my name." All the evidence came at him at once; everything he'd somehow missed hitting him all at the same time. It was almost a sensory overload.
"Freudian slip, I suppose." John commented. He got up and went into the kitchen, Sherlock's mind was going at a million miles a minute, though, and barely registered him leaving. Sherlock continued to talk aloud.
"All this time, you only went out after one of our spats, or when I deserted you, or didn't tell you something vital. How could I have not seen it?" John came back into the room with a damp washcloth.
"Take that ridiculous wig off and wipe off your make-up." Sherlock did as he was told, mumbling to himself the small details that would have helped him arrive at this conclusion sooner had he not been so blinded by his own irrational assumptions. He'd assumed that John wouldn't fall for him, assumed John was a heterosexual. He set the wig haphazardly on the floor, wiped the make-up off of his face. John was smiling when Sherlock looked back up at him.
"You've known since the middle of the second date, then. So when we kissed, you knew it was me you were kissing." John nodded, still smiling. Had he stepped closer? Sherlock felt like he was suddenly closer.
"You can take off that stuffed bra as well." Sherlock slipped out of it, awkwardly maneuvering it from under the sweater. Sherlock was sure John was closer when he looked up at him this time.
"Much better. I've been waiting to kiss you properly, Sherlock." Suddenly Sherlock's lap was full of John. Sherlock's entire world was full of John. Kissing, their lips smashing together with urgency. Sherlock clutched onto John's shirt, pulling him closer, keeping him close. John's hands were in his hair, on his shoulders, somehow everywhere at once. Sherlock's head was spinning from not only the contact, but knowing that they were kissing each other, John kissing Sherlock, Sherlock kissing John.
Sherlock realized this plan hadn't been a total failure, before this Sherlock would have never been able to come to terms with his own feelings for John. A lot of it had been acting, yes, but Sherlock had experienced feelings he had thought he was incapable of before.
"I think what I feel for you might be described by some as love, John Watson." Sherlock said when they broke away for air. John kissed his ear, which sent shivers down his spine.
"I know that I love you, Sherlock, but we can talk about feelings later." John pulled Sherlock's shirt and jumper off, tossing them to the side. "It should be obvious what I want to do right now."
"Make up for lost time." Sherlock replied with a grin as he unbuttoned John's shirt and slid it off of his shoulders along with his coat.
Sherlock was only able to stare at John's wounded shoulder for a moment before they were kissing once again, their now bare chests pressed together. Sherlock leaned into John, pushing up against him, feeling a rush of hormones and adrenaline. He was getting high off of this contact, his mind completely focusing on the feelings of heat and pleasure he was currently experiencing.
John hadn't been with a man before, but he had also never wanted anything as badly as he wanted Sherlock. He felt like he was burning, but in a pleasurable sort of way. He felt like he needed to be closer to Sherlock, even though they were flush against each other. John could feel his own hardening flesh inside of his trousers, but was a bit worried that he couldn't feel Sherlock's growing excitement against him. He realized Sherlock must have been wearing something to constrict himself, and immediately broke away and jumped off of him. Sherlock gave him a look of confusion, which turned into a look of recognition when John began taking off the skit Sherlock had been wearing. John found the shorts under the skit and tore them off, Sherlock swearing he heard John growl.
"Better?" John said when Sherlock's painfully erect member was finally freed.
"Much, thank you." Sherlock moaned. The moment was almost unbearably intimate. John had, when he'd first started to fall for Sherlock, thought he'd feel uncomfortable when confronted with male genitalia. He'd thought he'd just have to get over it, but that it'd take some getting used to.
He'd been wrong. Face to face with Sherlock's erection John felt himself grow even harder. All he wanted to do was reach out and touch it, lick it even. Looking up at Sherlock's face, the pupils grown wide, lips slightly parted open, that look of desperation, John knew he was going to have to give in to his own temptations. But release wouldn't come so quickly for Sherlock; John wanted to drag it out.
John pushed himself up to Sherlock's lips, his hands on Sherlock's bare knees. Sherlock seemed disappointed to no longer have John straddling him, but had no chance to vocalize this. They kissed passionately, biting, sucking, licking, their hands roaming over each other's exposed flesh. John refused to touch Sherlock where he obviously wanted to be touched most. Sherlock let his fingers glide over John's war wound, showing it the gentle affection it needed, sending shivers through John. John kissed his way along Sherlock's jawbone until he reached his ear, then John began nipping ever so softly at the ear lobe. This drove Sherlock crazy with want. John could feel his cock twitch with each of Sherlock's moans; he wondered if Sherlock realized how loud he was getting.
Sherlock got John's belt off and was unbuttoning his pants when John moved his lips over Sherlock's neck, his lips just barely coming into contact with skin. It lit Sherlock's nerves on fire. When John reached Sherlock's clavicle he licked his way along the bone, and then moved his lips over it lightly, his breath cooling the saliva, the sensations obviously pleasing Sherlock by the way he moaned.
Sherlock could no longer reach John's pants as John moved down his chest, now focusing his attention on Sherlock's nipples. It didn't take much to make the nipples hard and pert, John swirled his tongue over one while taking the other one between his fingers. He was rewarded with Sherlock groaning out his name, which seriously affected him. John cooled the saliva on one with his breath and then switched his mouth over to the other one, switching his hand as well.
He'd barely begun teasing the nipple when Sherlock grunted "John, please." John looked down at Sherlock's erection to see it was already leaking, Sherlock was close. John continued to tease Sherlock's nipples for another second, and then moved his lips over Sherlock's stomach, dipping his tongue into Sherlock's belly button. John then moved down, he was on his knees; he put his hands on either one of Sherlock's hips, pinning him down. He began by nipping at the inside of Sherlock's thigh, and could see his prick twitch with need.
Sherlock cried out when John's tongue came into contact with the base of his cock, biting his lip as John moved his tongue along the underside of Sherlock's prick. John kept him from thrusting by holding him down, the sensations causing so much pleasure it bordered on pain. When John reached the crown of Sherlock's cock he kissed it, and then his lips stretched ever so slowly over it, until John had the whole head inside of his mouth. The taste was sharp, bitter, and salty, yet somehow addicting.
John had just begun sucking and licking when it all became too much for Sherlock's virgin body to handle and he came hard and fast. John sputtered at first, but used his hands and mouth to coax Sherlock's orgasm along, making it last a bit longer. Sherlock's mind actually went blank, completely blank, as he rode the orgasm out, his body feeling lighter than air, but he was grounded by John. John. That's all his mind could think about. He might have screamed his name.
When Sherlock was finally able to open his eyes to look down at John he was greeted by a sight that was almost too erotic, and he hoped it would be burned into his retinas. John, on his knees, between Sherlock's legs, cum all over his face, not to mention all over Sherlock, but what was really lewd was John's satisfied smile and those half-lidded eyes. If Sherlock were a painter this would be the image he would paint.
It took Sherlock another long moment to realize John was probably in need of release as well. His body was a bit clumsy after experiencing its first real orgasm, but he still managed to get himself off of the chair and push John down onto the floor under him. John's surprise showed on his face, but his expression quickly turned to that of pleasure as Sherlock cupped his erection through his pants. The belt was off, the button undone, and the zipper was negligible so Sherlock ripped John's pants and underwear off in one smooth movement. John's member stood at attention now that it was freed from its constrictions.
With only the moonlight streaming in through the window to cast light upon John's body Sherlock knew it was all very romantic and he should appreciate the atmosphere a bit more, but at this point all he wanted was to see John cum and hear John scream his name. Sherlock kissed John fiercely as he grabbed at the hardened flesh between John's legs. Sherlock's long fingers were sinfully good at coaxing moans out of John. John had known Sherlock was good with his fingers from how well he played the violin and at this moment John knew Sherlock was playing him. And doing a magnificent job at it. Could he really have been a virgin? John knew Sherlock was equipped with the same material as he was, but still, someone who's supposed to be a virgin really shouldn't know how to jack someone else off this well.
As Sherlock continued to kiss John on his mouth, chin, cheeks, ears, and neck his other hand moved up John's chest until it was teasing his nipples and hardening them quite effectively. Though, they were probably half hard already. Sherlock made sure not to put any weight on his bad shoulder but his hand kept wandering over to it just a bit. Sherlock's fingers just barely grazing over his scar tissue turned him on much more than prodding at his nipples.
John was close, he broke away from the kiss to try and breathe properly. Sherlock saw how close he was and pumped him through towards his orgasm and moved his other hand down to swirl his index finger around the head of John's cock. John thrust openly into Sherlock's hands, Sherlock sat up a bit so he could watch as John came, feeling the pulsations in his hand before seeing the cum. John screamed his name and Sherlock knew he'd never forget the sound, it was beautiful. But if Mrs. Hudson hadn't known what they were up to before she surely knew know. A small price to pay for such beautiful music.
Sherlock pumped the cum out of John until John thought he surely couldn't have any more left inside of him. Until Sherlock stuck his cum covered finger into his mouth with a thoughtful look on his face. John knew he had more in him then. John could see Sherlock was ready for more already as well.
"Oh God I feel like some hormonal teenager, look at me!" John said smiling up at the ceiling and gesturing towards his nether regions where his cock seemed to be coming back to life.
"I can't stop looking at you." Sherlock said suggestively as he bent down to lick some of the cum off of John's lower stomach. "Or licking you, for that matter."
"Come on now…" John started but stopped as Sherlock licked his inner thigh.
"Not just yet, I want to taste your climax this time."
It took Mrs. Hudson pounding a broom under where they were currently sprawled to finally get them to calm down. She'd had considerable patience, though, since they had gotten through at least two more climaxes each and a lot of shouting and moaning. They couldn't help but laugh as their eyes met, smiling uncontrollably.
"Fuck…" John breathed.
"Yes, fuck indeed." They were covered in sweat; completely naked save a few feathers from a pillow they had busted which clung to them awkwardly. They both lay on their backs and now looked up at the ceiling; John clumsily put his hand over Sherlock's.
"Are you sure you've never done this before? You're quite good."
"Never. The internet is full of a wide variety of knowledge on the subject, though."
John chuckled; they shared a comfortable silence where they both were trying to catch their breath.
"Had you been with a man before? You preformed rather well yourself." Sherlock asked.
"Never. I never even thought about being with another man before you. To be honest, I was scared right up until the moment I saw you fully naked." John sighed happily.
"Then what happened? Because you definitely weren't scared just now." Sherlock turned his head to look at John, who looked back at him.
"I just thought 'Damn he looks good enough to eat.'" They shared a laugh, which turned into a kiss, which turned into a passionate kiss as Sherlock climbed on top of John.
"We really shouldn't get started again, we might not stop. And Mrs. Hudson…"
"Then we'll have to go on forever and do it quietly." Sherlock whispered into John's ear accompanied by a nip. John bit his lip to stifle his moan.
John didn't often get to see Sherlock's sleeping face. Actually, John had only ever seen Sherlock actually asleep once before, and he'd been too inebriated to appreciate it. John was really tempted to take a picture because it would last longer but refrained for two reasons. One, he feared Sherlock's wrath if he happed to wake up while John was taking the picture. Two, his whole body was overworked and he doubted he could get up from his place on the floor to get the camera. Also, he might have been glued to the floor; it sure felt like he was.
A blanket had come from somewhere and whenever they had finally collapsed it had somehow come to rest halfway on each of them. It was too small of a throw to really cover them completely, but they'd been so tired they had just passed out anyway. John was surprised he'd woken up first, but was really enjoying the view.
Come to think of it, the sun hitting his face through the window is what had woken him up, and it was slowly making its way towards Sherlock. John lifted his hand up just enough to block the sun for a bit longer, and was rewarded by hearing Sherlock mumble his name. John kissed Sherlock's forehead before letting the sun hit his face. This woke Sherlock up almost immediately, and for once Sherlock look confused. But it was just for a moment; John might have missed it if he had blinked.
"Next time we'll have to make it to your bedroom. I do not want to experience passing out on the floor on a regular basis."
John's phone had 3 unread messages:
You must know you're stuck with him forever now.
Also notified your family for you.
5 missed calls, 3 from his parents and 2 from his sister.
Sherlock's phone had 11 unread messages:
So how's the date going?
(3 similar texts)
Did he find out? Why haven't you gotten back yet?
Are you ok?
(3 similar texts)
Ooooohhhhh, nevermind. I know what's going on. ;) Get one in for me! Also pics or it didn't happen!
Mummy would disapprove of your methods, but will appreciate the end result. I'll notify her of John joining us for Christmas dinner this year.
AN: Thank you for reading! The main premise for this is based off of the canon story "A Case of Identity" if anyone was wondering. Also a lot of other small references to stories in the canon. (See if you can find them all!) Also, drew fanart for my own story which can be found on my tumblr: sherlockaingirl . tumblr . com / post / 6376539595 / secret (without the spaces of course). Re-uploaded this with minor edits.