Authors Notes: This is my first male slash so beware haha though it's not full sex…not much sex at all, mostly just mentions of it…Anyways, any feedback you have to help me improve is greatly appreciated. And thanks to The~Doctors~Song for posting this for me . Thanks twinny! Oh and YAY! I got her watching Sherlock! Mwahahaha ^_^ PLEASE REVIEW!
Disclaimer: I don't own 'Sherlock' unfortunately…they belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and whoever else haha but certainly not me
"I need you, John."
John Watson froze what he was doing, the pig ears resting on the edge of the bag he was using to dispose of them. Those four words, so simple and innocent, had his heart racing and his cock hardening.
"Sorry, what?" his palms were sweaty and he quickly shoved the pigs ears fully into the bin, turning to his best friend. Sherlock Holmes sat in his armchair, his fingers picking at the strings of his violin and a gentle tune was filling the air. He was dressed only in a pair of drawstring pajama pants and a towel draped over his shoulders, his hair wet from his recent shower and John watched as a bead of water escaped down his neck. It travelled across his chest and it dripped down Sherlock's nipple, the other man giving off a slight shiver. John bit back a moan and shook his head, trying to focus.
Sherlock frowned for a moment before his gaze dropped back to his instrument.
"I said, I need you."
There was a pause and John took a tentative step forward, wiping his sweaty palms over his own pants. Sherlock looked him over for a long moment, his expression unreadable and he finally met his friend's eyes. Was this it? John wondered, taking a deep breath. Was Sherlock about to give him - or already giving him, for that matter, the hint that he could use to surface his feelings of affection for the other man?
John held his breath, willing his friend to say something more.
"Thank-you John. You have been very helpful."
And with that, Sherlock got to his feet and hurried up to his room without another word.
John blinked. What had just happened? He hadn't said or done anything to help him so...what the hell just happened?
Disheartened and a little miffed, John sighed and clambered upstairs to the bathroom, deciding on a nice long cold shower.
John let the ice cold water wash over his raging erection, letting off a shiver and his hands were curled against the tiles. He refused to reach down and stroke himself, hoping that the water would do the trick. How could he have been so naive to think that Sherlock would ever return his feelings, especially since Irene Adler entered their lives? He had tried desperately for months after he had realized how much he cared for his arrogant, self-centered friend to forget about him by dating countless women, but it was getting tiredly familiar.
Susan, his latest date, was coming around for a movie tonight and he hoped that she would be enough to distract him from thoughts of Sherlock but John knew that wasn't likely.
He sighed and dropped his head back against the shower wall, hard. Why was he even having these thoughts about Sherlock? Every time he closed his eyes, all he could imagine was Sherlock behind him, inside of him, pounding him into oblivion, their pants and cries of ecstasy filling the room they were in. The places changed with every fantasy; sometimes he was bent over the table in the kitchen, or pinned against the door, the both of them too aroused to make it to the bedroom. John's favourite fantasy was in the back of a cab, Sherlock's hand inside his pants, bringing him to orgasm while the cabby drove on unaware.
This really wasn't helping to think of these fantasies, John groaned, stroking his fingers over his cock slowly with the ghost of a touch.
Never before had he thought of a man this way, and he certainly wasn't gay...was he? Did all of these fantasies and day dreams about his best friend taking him until he couldn't walk and his whole body ached mean that he'd jumped the fence? But that couldn't be right though could it? Well, he still liked women - loved them even!
So what then? He was straight with a bendy streak in him? John growled in frustration, hitting his fist against the tiles and pain flared through it. A number of expletives streamed from his mouth as he abandoned his erection and turned the faucets off. He climbed out of the shower as Sherlock knocked at the bathroom door.
"John, is everything okay in there?" Of course he had to hear his little outburst.
"Yes, Sherlock, everything's fine...I just had a little accident is all." John said heavily.
There was a pause and John waited for Sherlock to say something else, wrapping a towel around his waist.
"Do you need help?"
John swallowed and shook his head, then realizing Sherlock couldn't see him.
"No, I just hurt my-"
The door was opening anyway, the tall raven haired man striding over to the doctor confidently.
"-hand." John finished as Sherlock came to a halt, his now shirted chest just centimeters away from the shorter man's dripping one. Silently, without breaking eye contact with John, he caressed his hurt hand, lifting it to eye level and John's heart sped up as his friends lips ran across the skin.
At that moment, a knock rang from the door downstairs and Sherlock pulled away, his face once again unreadable. He rushed from the room before John could say anything, his bedroom door closing with a slam down the hall. The doctor took a long deep breath and hastily threw on his jeans and was buttoning his shirt up as he made his way downstairs.
Susan smiled as the door opened and she ran a hand through her auburn hair. As John looked her over, he knew for sure that he was definitely not gay. She was dressed simply, in a light green skirt that ended before her knees and a white woolen skivvy that sat snug to her figure. She the slightest dabble of green eye shadow on and her lips were glossed, shimmering in the hall light.
"Evening," she smiled, tilting her head to look him over.
"Hey, come on in," John stepped aside and Susan stepped into the apartment, her eyes lingering on his slightly tented jeans as she passed him. He blushed but as soon as he had shut the door, he had her pinned against the wall, his lips attacking her pale flesh. Susan moaned, her hands bunching up in his shirt, her hips straining to grind against him. With a pop of his lips on her neck, John pulled back, his fingers dancing over the base of her skull.
"Do you think we can skip the-"
"Yes," She answered breathlessly, palming him through his pants and he moaned, impatiently sliding his arm around her. She giggled as he led her swiftly up stairs to his room, kicking the door shut behind them. He needed to reassure himself of his sexuality and in no way did he want to think that he was using Susan but in the back of his mind, he knew it was true. John ignored it and pressed back against his girlfriend, her skirt and his jeans being discarded wildly around the room. Her soft hands brushed over his thighs and he kissed her hard, trying desperately not to think of Sherlock doing those things to him.
This was ridiculous, Sherlock thought bitterly as he sat on his bed, violin in hand. He knew full well that John wanted him; it was evident in his body language- the elevated heart rate, the higher octave in his voice and the sweat that broke out in his palms when Sherlock had said those four words earlier. And just now in the bathroom, with John's erection so prominent underneath the towel and his breath hitching when Sherlock kissed his hand. It was the whole reason he had done his experiment earlier; to observe John's real feelings and desires for him. So why didn't he just take him? Truth be told, he – the great Sherlock Holmes – was scared. Not of what people would think to find out that he was bisexual; that was something that people commonly assumed and judged him for. He was scared of rejection by the man he so readily…cared for.
Sherlock shivered at the thought of having to, or even being able to care for something or someone. It wasn't something he admitted often but a certain doctor had been with him, helped him so much over the past two years and had succeeded in breaking through the walls that surrounded Sherlock's heart. The light feeling, the flutter of his heart when John brushed past him accidentally was suffocating him, almost drowning his heart in the feeling that stupid apes called 'love'. And that is what terrified him the most. Being so vulnerable and having this unknown feeling floating around inside of him, with no control over his body or mind.
He growled and threw his violin across the room. It splintered as it hit the wall and he cursed, surging off the bed to grab it and to inspect the damage. The neck of it was snapped in half and the rim of it was cracked, beyond repair. His one prized possession and it was broken, all because of some stupid emotion called love.
Sherlock could hear John and Susan giggling in the other room and it made him want to get out of the house, to go somewhere that he couldn't hear them, or better yet, get lost in the warm, secured feeling of his cigarettes. Dropping his broken violin back to the carpet, Sherlock sauntered back down the hall into the living room, moving straight for the fireplace. He snatched the wooden box from the mantelpiece, drew out a packet of smokes and began pulled one out as John emerged looking dejected and cranky and the door downstairs closed.
Carefully studying his friend, Sherlock paused with his preparations and watched John.
"She left you, didn't she?" He asked. John said nothing, slamming the fridge shut and he took a large gulp of milk from the carton.
"Why do you care, Sherlock?" He snapped finally, spinning to face his friend who looked back down at the syringe and continued preparing the cocaine. Realising the conversation was going nowhere fast, John gave an annoyed huff and dropped onto the couch, barely glancing at Sherlock as he lit a cigarette.
"I thought you were giving it up," he said quietly and Sherlock paused again.
"Why do you care, John?" He asked, mimicking John's earlier words and for the doctor, that was it. The question was open, it was out there, so he needed to take the opportunity and tell his best friend what he had been meaning to tell him for months now.
"Because I care for you, Sherlock, a lot more than I should and a lot more than I want to, but there it is. I care for you, more than a friend, even if you don't care for yourself or for me in return." John stood and made for the door, suddenly feeling tired of the skirting around the edges of their feelings as they had been for so many months. He scarpered to his room, forgetting to shut the door behind him and he lay down on the bed that not five minutes ago he and Susan had been making out on, burying his head into the pillow as he recalled her words.
"You love him, don't you?" She had asked as she pulled away from his cock, his shaft moist where her mouth had just been. John had groaned, curling his fingers in her locks, trying to guide her back to his erection but she resisted.
"Love who, Susan?" He asked, though he had a feeling he knew who she was going to say. He was pretty sure he had accidentally moaned the man's name as she was giving him head so this could lead to an awkward conversation.
"Sherlock," she said simply and he sighed. She had seen right through him; how transparent must he be to Sherlock then? There was no denying it, no use in pretending so he simply nodded and squeezed his eyes shut for the onslaught of accusations but they never came. Instead, Susan gripped his hip in a reassuring manner and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
"Tell him, okay?" And without waiting for a reply, she had left.
The edge of the bed weighed down for a moment and John rolled over, determined to snap at Sherlock but as he did, the older man's lips pressed to his and all coherent words, sentences or phrases escaped him. Sherlock's hands were on either side of his head, his fingers winding themselves through John's blonde hair, pulling him closer. For what could have been hours, they floated, lost in each other's mouths, the doctor's fingers gliding across the detective's still bare chest and hooking into his boxers.
It was like they couldn't stop, as if the minute they did, the world would end or they would suffocate without each other's lips. It felt so natural, so right that John didn't pull away; instead leaning into the kiss and Sherlock's hands moved over his shoulders, his fingers dancing over John's skin as if determined to memorise every muscle contour. Their lungs burned and finally the pair pulled apart, their eyes meeting and Sherlock's lips twitched in a smile, his breathing hard.
"What was that for?" John asked, his brown eyes scanning over Sherlock hungrily.
Sherlock grinned and pulled John's lips back to his, John's hands skimming down his thighs and he felt his friend tense. He pulled back and searched Sherlock's gaze carefully.
"Sorry," He murmured, resting his hand on Sherlock's hip safely, "we don't have to do anything tonight if you're not ready. I mean," he stammered, "I don't know if this is going to happen again. I want it to…do you, Sher?"
"I want it to happen again, John. It's just that I've never done anything like this before. With a man or a woman."
There was no embarrassment, no blushing as he said this but his voice was soft and his blue eyes were darkened as they roamed over John's body.
"Right," John said gently and sat up a bit. He cupped Sherlock's cheek and leant forward, pressing the smallest of kisses to the detective's lips. "I've never done this before either…with a man I mean…and we don't have to go any further if you're not comfortable with it but I have…uh," he gestures down to his tented boxers, blushing. "I have this to take care of, so…"
"I can watch," Sherlock said quickly and then beamed. "I mean, that's what I do best, John, as you well know. And," he brushed his fingers lightly over John's crotch, "I want you to show me what makes you aroused. Teach me, John."
John swallowed nervously but he trusted Sherlock with his life and so he sat back against the pillows and showed Sherlock exactly what he had been day dreaming about for the last several months.
Later, as they lay on fresh sheets, simply enjoying the little touches they were giving the other, Sherlock smiled, his fingers threaded through John's short sandy blonde hair.
"You know John," He started, his chest vibrating slightly with his deep voice, "when I asked why you cared about me smoking…I care for you to."
John smiled and it grew as he took in his flat mate's words. To admit anything, that especially was a big thing for Sherlock and John felt honoured that his friend…or lover now, trusted him enough to tell him that. John kissed the other man hard on the mouth before settling against him, sleep finally taking over his senses.
Mrs Hudson climbed the stairs into the boys flat, frowning when she found the burnt out cigarette in an ash tray on the coffee table and she looked around, moving into the kitchen, wondering where they were.
She could hear their voices coming softly from down the hall in John's room and curious, she made her way towards them. She poked her head around the door slightly and smiled delightedly at the sight of John curled up against Sherlock. Both men were asleep now she assumed and quietly, she pulled the blanket over them and shut the door behind her.
She had always known that the rumours that John and Sherlock had been together in the first place were ridiculous but she had also known for quite some time that what John felt for Sherlock was more than friendship. And though Sherlock would say it countless times in the future, always with some level of mock-annoyance in his voice, he was happier than he ever had been in his life all because of some stupid emotion called love.