First part (all in italics) by SharkayArtist: .com/art/Sherlock-Fanfiction-Scarf-280784057
John Watson threw open the door to his appartment enraged. His coat was streaked from the pouring rain outside, dribbling down and hitting the floor with tiny, dull plods. His breathing deepened in anger and he tried to wipe the water off of his face with his sleeve, but only managing to leave a wet smear.
"Sherlock!" He shouted, almost shaking the walls.
His voice echoed around the room sharply. All was silent, except for the sound of cars motoring outside.
John flicked his sleeves, groaning at the state of himself. His hair was drenched and plastered to his head and his yellow, slightly nerdish jumper was soaked through.
Peeling off his soggy coat, he made a beeline for his bedroom, his wet shoes squeaking and slipping on the wooden floor. He walked with an awkward gait, trying to keep the wet clothes from touching his skin.
"Sherlock?" He demanded, quieter this time as he approached the bedrooms. John sighed and pushed open the door to his bedroom.
He quickly changed into a new, dry jumper and trousers. He was just about to leave the room when he head his phone ringing from inside his previous pair of trousers. Frowning, he plucked the damp phone from the soaking pocket and wiped it agaisnt his sleeve before putting it to his ear.
"Sherlock." He almost spat down the phone. "Where the hell are you? I've just been walking aound for two hours in the rain-"
"John, just shut up for a minute." Sherlocks voice snapped from the other end of the phone. "I'm in the lab with Molly, I need you to come down to meet us. I've sent a cab to pick you up-"
"Where were you?" John demanded angrilly. "You said you were at the Embankment. Do you have any idea how long I was looking for you?"
"Yes, well, I'm here. I want you to come down and meet us."
John rubbed his forehead and sighed. Licking his lower lip and blinking in thought, a hard frown etched itself into his face.
"No." He said sternly. A shocked silence flooded through the other end of the phone.
"No?" Sherlock echoed, shocked. John smiled. This had got to be one of the first times Sherlock was completely clueless to what he was about to do. He savoured the moment for a little longer.
"No," He chuckled. "I think I might just stay here, make a cup of tea."
"John." Sherlocks exasperated sigh escaped into the air. "Please, come down. You're a doctor. I need your help."
"Well in that case." John played along, enjoying himself. "No."
"John." Sherlock repeated. "Just come down. What do you want me to say, I'm sorry? Okay then, I'm sorry I left you to look for me in the rain for two hours."
John mulled this over.
"Thats a start." He considered slowly, a smug grin resting on his face. "But I'm still not coming."
"For Gods sake..." Sherlock muttered angrilly from the other end of the line. "Okay, fine. I'll let you wear my scarf."
John smiled. Yes, he thought, I've pushed him far enough.
"Okay." He smiled, hanging up the phone. Well, that was beneficial. He had finally got Sherlock Holmes to act slightly more human, and had gotten to wear his scarf in the process.
John sauntered happily into the hallway and plucked the scarf off the hook on the wall.
The scarf was warm agaisnt his neck and the soft fabric tickled his face. John glowed as he left the appartment, feeling very happy in the long, blue scarf.
As he waited for a cab he tapped his foot and snuggled into the long fabric of Sherlock's scarf. It held his scent – like chemicals and aphrodisiacs and aftershave. John realised he'd never seen his dark-haired partner with stubble. The thought made him a little lightheaded – the edge of his cheek lined with black spikes would be like hazelnuts in chocolate. (John loved hazelnuts in chocolate, but not quite as much as-)
Jam… He thought suddenly, and that thought opened up a whole new realm of fantasy, and much less clean than the stubble. He imagined smearing and licking and-
The cab honked at him and the driver frowned at him. "I have other customers, y'know!" he yelled, and John quickly hopped in and told him where to go.
The drive was painfully slow. John counted all the times there were traffic lights… and lost count. At least he had time to dream about Sherlock and his strong arms, his perfect hair, his steely gaze, and – oh – how sharp his mind was! John shivered at the thought of what Sherlock might imagine, and buried himself in the scarf again with a purr.
Sherlock's aftershave was manly. Shockingly so. Why is he wearing such nice aftershave? The scent almost made him drool, along with the ideas of what he wanted to do and say to Sherlock so badly it hurt…
He looked up to see the driver glaring into the mirror at him and sat up and cleared his throat.
After an awkward conclusion to the journey (where John watched his own hands constantly to make sure he didn't slip off into fantasy again and get a little carried away) he paid the man and climbed out, offering no tip. He licked his lip before walking through the doors and making his way to the lab.
I guess if he was meeting Molly he'd need to smell nice… John told himself sadly, realising it was nothing to get his hopes up over. But then again… he did seem desperate to stress he was with Molly… And why does he need me here anyway? He said he needed my help – with what? He's normally fine on his own… Oh, stop it Watson, you're teasing yourself…
As he reached the door he peered in and saw the man leaning over the microscope where he had been when they had first met. John remembered everything about that meeting: how Sherlock had known all about his occupation, where he'd been, and the wink as Sherlock left. That wink had left John reeling, and, when Sherlock was gone, he'd had to sit down for a minute. What was it about the man that made him so bloody sexy?
The way he walked.
The way he knew everything.
The list went on and on, and John shook his head and opened the door. Suddenly he realised Molly wasn't there at all. In fact, it was just him and Sherlock. Even most of the lights were out.
Suddenly he began to wonder…
No. No, John, don't think that…
You're teasing yourself…
He would never…
But then Sherlock looked up, a slight smile on his face.
Oh yes he would.
John backed to the wall just from his gaze. It was so obvious. And he loved it. He was shaking.
Sherlock's shout of a laugh shook him even more as the man stood up and walked over to him. His gait was so even, so measured, so tantalising…
"What is it, John?" he asked mockingly; Goddammit, he knew just how attractive he was.
"You leant me your scarf," he whispered. "I should have known-"
"Known what, Doctor Watson?" Sherlock breathed, his voice growing deeper and huskier as he took each step. But Watson was too choked to reply. "Perhaps it was that you noticed the way I'm so possessive of that scarf, and yet it was just casually at home. And then I decide to let you wear it – isn't that odd? I call you here asking for your help; you could tell by my voice that I was implying danger yet I was strangely needy for you to come here. And I can tell that you noticed the aftershave – it was driving you crazy on the way here, and you struggled to keep your hands still: the veins are thinner around your whole body and funnily enough there's…" He paused to look him up and down incredibly carefully, taking in every detail. "Well, I think you realise how excited you are."
Watson shut his eyes, embarrassed and scared and pulse racing. Every syllable from Sherlock's ever-closer lips was painfully arousing, the way his perfect English voice slipped through his ears and into his body like caffeine, stimulating him.
"Sh-Sherlock," he managed, but his voice raised an octave or two at the close proximity.
"Yes, John?" Sherlock whispered in his ear, his hot breath seeping through John and making him shudder. And although he meant it as a question it sounded more like a… like a…
John gulped. "Are you sure…"
But he couldn't finish the sentence as Sherlock grabbed the scarf and pulled them closer. Just as John thought he would kiss him he stopped and smiled, gazing deep into his eyes.
"I'm sure," he told him, his voice confidant and certain and controlling. "You want this as much as I do, and you know it."
John relaxed a little. "Yes... Yes I do…"
Sherlock let his tongue touch the tip of John's lips and John drew a breath, only to make Sherlock smirk. "Say that again," Sherlock ordered.
John's lips trembled a little, desperate for his kiss, and then realised what he had said. Catching the scent of the scarf again he remembered his earlier success, and smiled cheekily. "Make me."
Sherlock's eyes widened and his smile dropped as he felt his legs give way slightly and he fought to hide the fact that he was sodding-well desperate to screw John there and then.
And so he sodding-well did.
He urgently pulled John closer and forced their lips together, persuading him to let him in and he drew the breath from him, tongues meeting frantically and met with groans of pleasure from finally being able to let themselves go. Sherlock tugged at his jumper and John threaded his hands through the thick curls and let them cling to his fingers; it felt so good. God, the kiss was intoxicating… John knew that Sherlock's kiss alone would be enough.
The jumper was thrown to the floor and buttons popped off as John ravenously tugged them open, finding Sherlock's taut chest and letting the cool of his hands flow into Sherlock's body. Sherlock grabbed his hips and pulled them closer still, exploring his partner's mouth and testing the strength of his tongue. That would be important. Sherlock's mind was whirring, as always; while John's was blank, as always.
Sherlock knew all the tricks – he had researched everything. Of course this was his first kiss, and of course he wasn't going to mess it up like the website had sworn everybody does. He bit John's upper lip and tugged slightly, heard John's deep sigh and felt his hips buckle against him. He dug his long, thin fingers into John's thighs and the sighs grew louder.
John's mind was a blur; he was feverish and desperate and didn't quite know what to do (it had been a while, and it had never been this good). Shaking and nervous he grabbed Sherlock's arms and pushed him away until they reached the table, falling back onto it painlessly although a few beakers shattered on the ground. Sherlock tipped his head slightly as he looked at the frazzled looking Doctor straddling him. He looked shocked and scared and pleased with himself, but more lost.
"Now what are you going to do?" Sherlock questioned, amused.
His vulnerability amused the detective, and he threw him off and then back onto the table, switching the odds and leaving John just as confused. But this was to Sherlock's advantage. He unbuckled John's belt and slowly – oh, so Goddamn slowly – pulled down his jeans. John trembled on the cold desk but relished Sherlock's warm hands on the insides of his legs. Sherlock leaned over him and pulled him up a little by the scarf, smiling seductively. "Could be dangerous," he murmured, gaze locked on Watson's.
"I'll come anyway," John panted and felt Sherlock jerk slightly before ripping down his boxers and beginning to suck and nip at him. John howled and his eyes rolled back, unaware that Sherlock was still watching him – but, oh, Sherlock was watching.
Sherlock had never been so close before. It wasn't natural for him. He was asexual – or so it always had seemed. Until John turned up. Now everything was covered in freakin' rainbows.
John fascinated him – his superior ignorance meant that he noticed the simple things that Sherlock overlooked. He was sweet and Sherlock's only friend – ever. So it made sense that Sherlock wanted to take advantage of that.
After all, they weren't just friends.
"Fuckyes…" John managed, his panting accelerating to dangerous speeds as Sherlock struggled to keep himself from being in the same situation. He tipped his head back and yelled, "Sh-SHERLOCK, I-"
And then he moaned loudly, not caring if anyone was around to hear, just completely lost in the climax, gasping for breath and unable to concentrate and praying to God that Sherlock didn't mind. He didn't. At the same moment Sherlock almost fell forward, eyelids fluttering, deep-throating when he didn't mean to at all, but he didn't mind at all as he swallowed the sweetness and sighed in pleasure, hardly able to stop himself, so he didn't.
As John began to calm his breathing Sherlock moved away and fell back onto the welcomed cool tiles, panting and laughing as his mind spun in a way it never had before. He looked at his open shirt and shut his eyes, as if when he opened them he'd discover it was all just the most intense, exhilarating dream, but to his delight it was real. It was all real – his feelings, his actions, his John.
He crawled next to John and touched his forehead, feeling the heat radiating from him. John giggled. "What… what just happened..?" he chuckled, half asleep already.
Sherlock yawned and touched his tongue to his teeth, savouring the taste. "We just inconveniently came, even though it was dangerous," he joked, and pointed to the CCTV camera in the corner.
John spluttered as he saw it. "Bet that'll shock Scotland Yard."
They looked at each other, grinned, and then Sherlock pulled himself up and headed out the door (leaving his shirt open).
A few minutes later he returned, tape in hand, looking so smug that he might have burst. John roared with laughter.
"This is one to keep," Sherlock told him, and walked over to kiss John again. "Come on. Let's go home."
"Uhh…" John looked at himself. "I'm naked."
"I like it." Sherlock winked.
"Really… If the cabs wouldn't accept you covered in blood they won't accept me-"
"SHERLOCK!" he gasped, hitting him across the shoulder. "I'm serious."
Sherlock pouted. "Fine then. Get dressed."
With Sherlock's eagle eyes on him John slowly dressed himself and then they headed for the door. John reached for the handle, but then Sherlock grabbed hold of the scarf and kissed him again, gently, tenderly.
"Keep the scarf," Sherlock told him. "It's very… useful."
And he pulled him in again.
They smiled at one another, and then, holding hands, stepped out of the lab to head back to their home.