This is the last chapter of Fraud, my darlings :P



"I like sex."

Sherlock announced this, as John giggled, untying his slim wrists and tossing the blue scarf away. Sherlock sat up with a groan, licking his own cooled seed from his bottom lip absent-mindedly, his expression calm, his face flushed.

"I'm glad," John answered, before going to the bathroom to dampen a flannel, then cleaning Sherlock off with doctor-like efficiency, dabbing at his long neck and almost-translucent chest. In the dim, low light, the brunette's heady sighs were intoxicating, as was the damp patina of sweat highlighting the tip of his nose and his brutally sharp cheekbones.

"…You promised you wouldn't touch yourself."

"Promises are like pie-crusts, John – made to be broken."

"…You're coming out with bollocks, and you're not even drunk yet," the doctor grinned, offering the languid detective another bubbly glass of Champagne. Sherlock sighed massively, contentedly, peering at his left wrist, where a long, shallow, bleeding scratch had been inflicted by the narrow slat on the headboard of the bed, where he had splintered the wood in a spasm of ecstasy. He dabbed a fingertip through the smudged blood, then sucked it for a few thoughtful seconds.

He accepted the fluted glass and drank gratefully. John, too, settled himself beside Sherlock on the bed and appreciatively took a few swallows from his own glass, licking his lips.

"…You broke the bed, Sherlock," John said with a straight face, though his dark blue eyes were teasing.

"The bed is totally functional. It merely has a small…discrepancy." Sherlock pulled up one of the pillows, shoved it against the broken wooden headboard, and fluffed it in place, hiding the splintered bar.

"There. No-one will ever know. At least, not until long after we have vacated the premises."

John grinned his clown-like grin. "Do you wish you'd embarked on all of this earlier? Sex, I mean."

"It wouldn't have happened if you hadn't have been around."

John smiled warmly and gave him a quick kiss on the mouth. "…You smell like a drunk," he murmured, fingers running over the sticky, sweet-smelling remnants of Champagne on Sherlock's chest.

"Well you would know. When is the last time you saw Harry?"

John's face fell into an instant visage of pain.

"…Not good?" The detective looked genuinely wary and apologetic.

"A lot not good, Sherlock."

"…Sorry," Sherlock murmured, scratching his own dark, wilting curls self-consciously.

The doctor's dark blue eyes roamed around the snug gloom of the hotel room as he gathered his resolve, licking his lips again. "…It's okay. I can see I'm going to have to educate you further. It's just a shame that being indescribably tactless suits you so well." He stroked his fingers thoughtfully through Sherlock's damp, warm hair.

"Mm," Sherlock rumbled appreciatively, downing his Champagne, abandoning the empty glass somewhere on the duvet and rolling to straddle John's bare lap, biting his full bottom lip eagerly. "Again. Please."

Not bothering to argue or to even appear shocked or indignant, John grabbed Sherlock's shoulders and slammed him down into the bed, taking him in hand and tugging at him as hard and fast as he could, biting down mercilessly on his left nipple.

Sherlock gulped out a wordless noise of shock, his grey-green eyes wide, before his doctor coaxed out a dormant, devastating orgasm in a matter of seconds. With a strangled cry, the detective shuddered sharply, pale pink lips open, eyes closed tightly. He writhed out the painful aftershocks, hazily observing the barely-hidden mischief in John's eyes. The doctor shrugged innocently.

"What? You asked for it." Without further ado, John took him in hand once again, and in two minutes, had ripped another violent, dry, noisy orgasm from the detective.

Over the next hour, Sherlock climaxed twenty-two times.


After he absolutely couldn't take any more, Sherlock batted John away with a weak, wet hand, barely able to open his eyes. He promptly grabbed the now-lukewarm Champagne bottle, half-full, and proceeded to down the remaining bubbly alcohol in one long series of swallows, his flushed, damp throat bobbing delightfully. His skin was glowing pink, a slick sheen of sweat on every inch of his sylph-like body, and intermittently, tremors and twitches could be visibly seen in the brutalised muscles of his arms, stomach, calves and thighs. His saturated dark hair looked like he had just stepped out from the shower.

John grinned, cracking the over-worked knuckles and joints of his left hand. Sherlock winced at the sound, but said nothing. Chucking the empty bottle in the bin beside the bed, he heaved in a huge breath, and then let it out in a ridiculously long, moaning sigh. John propped up the pillows behind him and sat back comfortably against the headboard, feeling wonderfully languid in the hot, sex-scented lambent light. There was no need to clean Sherlock up, as his climaxes had been dry almost from the start of the marathon.

"…Alright, Sherl?"

"…Mmmmmm." The noise came as an insanely deep, almost subsonic rumble. Sherlock made no move to relieve the doctor, who had been very hard for some considerable time, but John put this down to exhaustion rather than indifference. The detective, his head swimming and pale eyes slightly unfocussed, rolled heavily against John and hugged him with slippery arms, nuzzling into his chest with a sigh. The doctor grinned warmly and stroked his soaking-wet curls, feeling the damp heat rising from him, and his heart hammering from adrenaline. He adjusted the weighty brunette so that he could reach to pop open the second bottle of Champagne, and proceeded to chug a few long mouthfuls of it, starting to feel as tipsy as Sherlock looked.

"Are you quite satisfied? For ten minutes at least?" John needled fondly.

"Seven minutes should be ample time to…reboot."

John peered down at Sherlock's face and saw a playful grin crinkling the flushed features.

"I'm glad you're joking. My wrist will thank you."

"…I bet it's not the first time you've worked it so hard," Sherlock laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated against John's chest.

"It's the first time I've tossed off another bloke about a hundred times in a row."

"Twenty-four, John."

"Still focussed enough to keep count, were you?" John sounded a little miffed.

"Well, now we have a figure which we can aim to surpass next time. A challenge, if you will."

"Well you can bloody well wait until your birthday Sherlock, that was a special treat, don't expect it all the time."

Sherlock let out a grumpy, petulant noise, and they both huffed into breathless giggles. The detective finally pulled himself to sit up against the propped pillows, wincing and sighing under his breath at the insistent aches in his tired muscles. He took the Champagne bottle from his doctor and chugged a couple of long swallows.

"Oi, leave some for me Sherl."

"We can always order more," the brunette winked at him, proceeding to down nearly the rest of the bottle, finally pulling back from it with a giggly gasp.

"Christ," was about all that the slightly concerned but mostly amused doctor could manage. With a shaky hand, Sherlock passed him the bottle one more time and watched him finish it off in a matter of seconds.

"Getting too old for this kind of thing," John laughed, head feeling nicely buzzing and warm.

"Never," Sherlock replied in a sultry baritone, affectionately kissing him on the mouth, coaxing it open, and letting their tongues mate slowly and sweetly, without the panic of lust.

This continued for a few minutes, before John pulled back. "You know what we could shorten your name to? 'Sock,' he giggled.

Sherlock's laser-like gaze, muted now from all the alcohol, focussed on him as he narrowed his eyes. "If you ever call me Sock, I will strangle you, exsanguinate you, dismember you, incinerate all the bits and chuck the ashes in the Thames." He had a bit of trouble pronouncing the word 'exsanguinate.'

"That sounded…awfully rehearsed," John chuckled, and Sherlock just grinned fiendishly.

"By the way, John…how do you know the formula for mustard gas?"

"I don't, but I figured you would." The doctor continued to fiddle with Sherlock's glossy wet curls in slow, gentle, tugging motions.

The detective smirked, and snuggled up next to him, one hard, damp cheekbone resting on John's shoulder. He hadn't missed the delectable state that John was in, his hazy eyes flicking down to his shaft, but for now he kept talking.

"How many…men have you made love to John," came the lazy query.

"Ten…ish. Only two were…you know, proper relationships. The rest, well…"

Sherlock checked his slightly slow hard-drive. "One night-stands?"

"Indeed. Okay, I've got one for you. Who else have you been attracted to? People I might know, I mean."

One name and face sprang into Sherlock's mind, but he prudently shooed it away again.

After a few seconds of silence, John offered suggestions.


"Ugh, no."

"…Mrs. Hudson?" John grinned playfully.

"Oh yes…she's a fox," Sherlock said, straight-faced. There were a moment of tenseness, then both burst out into sweet laughter.

"…You know what you said to me earlier?" John asked, once they had calmed down. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a small sober voice asked him what the hell he was doing – he had been hoping Sherlock wouldn't bring this up, and now he himself was beginning this particular conversation. The larger, drunk part of his mind said, 'hey, whatever, what could go wrong? It's all good.'

Sherlock's reply came in a speedy tumble of slightly slurred words. "Was it Oh God John Harder Faster Oh Fuck Yes I'm Coming John!" The last word was a loud, melodramatic wail of pleasure. The doctor chuckled loudly. "Before that. In the treehouse."

Sherlock looked up at him, shrugging, an adorably idiotic look on his face. Clearly his memory cells were marinating in a sweet Champagne slumber. His hand went to start firmly stroking John, his calloused thumb working wonders around the slick head, his long white fingers and bony, blue-veined wrist hypnotising.

John sighed raggedly. "Never mind," he managed. Sherlock adjusted himself, kissing John's cheek with endless chaste pecks, whilst his strong hand pulled and twisted him relentlessly. The contrast was mind-blowing. In a minute, the doctor was writhing, his breaths coming in sharp, shallow gasps. The detective quickly took him in his mouth and swallowed his climax, allowing John to thrust into him, the long overdue orgasm wrecking him totally, his hoarse yell of ecstasy inordinately loud in the close, warm, quiet gloom.

He came down quickly, panting. "…Sherlock…you don't…have to do that if you don't like it," he offered.

"Who says I don't like it?" The detective replied somewhat indignantly, snuggling under the covers and pulling them over John and himself. "Besides, I couldn't be bothered to go find something to clean you up with. Now come here and cuddle me."

John obeyed, arms around the taller man, their foreheads touching. Sherlock let out a gusty sigh, grinning happily.

They continued to chat for nearly two hours, before John slipped into a snooze. Sherlock, heavy-eyed and tired, spoke to him in a near-subsonic murmur.

"John? Can you hear me?"

There was a small noise of assent, and dark-blue eyes opened drowsily. Without further ado, Sherlock pressed one cool fingertip to John's chest, and began tapping a short message in Morse Code. When he had finished, John's eyes widened, but Sherlock merely smirked, rolled over, and pulled the covers over his head. It was a few minutes before John fell back into a light sleep.


"Make me a cup of tea. And pass me my phone," Sherlock demanded bluntly, though his grey-green eyes were revealingly fond. Checking his watch, he noted that it was gone midnight, the dark room cosy and warm, the air tasting of sweat and Champagne. He still felt tipsy, but his head had started a thump a bit. They had dozed lightly for forty-five minutes or so.

The doctor turned to Look at him, face stern, arms crossed.

"What's the magic word, Sherlock?"

The brunette rolled his eyes in a mockery of thought, then narrowed his laser-like gaze, grinning his crinkly half-grin.


A few heated seconds of shared, playfully-vitriolic stares, then John sighed and stood up, going to the tray on the table by the door.

"Two sugars?"




John shook his head in a small, indulgent moment of disbelief, then proceeded to make two cups of tea, one of which was so full of sucrose that it barely dissolved in the hot liquid.

Whilst the water was boiling, John handed Sherlock his phone. Turning it on once again, the detective peered at the single message he had received in the time that it was switched off.

Everyone has their pressure point. Someone that they want to protect from harm…See you soon darling! Xxx 3 – M

Sherlock chewed on his full bottom lip, eyes distant as he contemplated the very clear message.

"Hell hath no fury like a consulting criminal scorned," he murmured to himself.

"Hm?" John enquired distractedly, stirring the tea.

"…Respect existence or expect resistance," came the intense mumble.

"…What the hell are you on about, Sherl?"

The detective briefly cast a sharp, peeved look at his doctor, at the apparently now-regular botch of his name. He let it slide for now.

"John, come to bed."

The doctor obeyed, passing Sherlock his incredibly sweet tea, and settling beside him, sipping tentatively at his. His dark blue eyes radiated anxiety as he saw Sherlock's expression.

"…What did he say?"

Sherlock took a deep breath, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. "I fear that we are, I believe the phrase is, 'in deep shit'."


I do hate long Author's Notes, especially self-deprecating ones, so, I'll try and keep it to the important stuff ;)

- This story WILL continue in a new Fic, so, if you would like to keep reading, do Add me as an Author :) But I need a break from writing for a bit so it won't be started for a while :P

-I will try and update regularly, as I have with Fraud :P

- The new fic will be as loving, smutty and (hopefully) humorous as this one, but there will be a lot of angst, I warn you now ;)

I want to thank everyone who has read and reviewed and PM'd (I'm hopefully not sounding like a complete wanker XD) – but I do appreciate every single response I get, it's enlightening, encouraging, and it makes me a very happy bunny XP Apparently 53,000 people have viewed this! Now if they had all reviewed…. *_* XDDD

Just a heads up, some of the guys who reviewed me have written fics that I've read and enjoyed, and I'm highlighting the authors here because you must check them out, they're bloody good! :P (Though I've only read the Sherlock fics of these dudes :D)

SkyFullOfStars, (her series are truly, TRULY epic :P Settle down, turn the lights off, open a bottle of wine, and enjoy ;) )

Criminalxxxmindsxxxfreak (I've only read the Sherlock stuff, but very, very well written :P)

My Benediction (Brilliant fics :P I adore them XD)

I Don't Know What I'm Doing (I don't know how this lady hasn't had more coverage….wonderful fics :P)

Thisisforyou (many, many great fics :P)

Mrs Marcus Volturi (Very worthwhile-reading Sherlock fic ^_-)

Team Jem Carstairs (Look no further for sweet JohnLock smut :P)

My love to all!

If you need me for anything, my email is ' emmishbells at aol . com ' :)

God knows I heard belatedly about a London get-together of Sherlock slash writers, dunno how I missed that one XP Living just down the road, I hope there will be another one XD