Sherlock ran his long, slim fingers over the soft flesh of his underarm, inhaling deeply through his nose.
Surely, a few patches would suffice. Was this a three-patch problem? Or four?
John would be angry. John was always angry when Sherlock used more than one patch. But one patch was just not going to work. He would just have to be angry then. John. Fucking John. On his date.
Sherlock was lying on the couch in his dressing gown and lounge pants. He stared up blankly at the ceiling, not really noticing it, more looking through it rather than at it. His blood pumped furiously. He could feel his arms itching for the patches. That need. It made his skin crawl.
What right did John have? Going out on a date and leaving Sherlock so alone and so bored? And he didn't even date any remotely interesting women. They were all the same; tedious, idiotic, boring. Yet he chose to give them his attention. He chose going out with them over staying in with Sherlock. He chose them.
Sherlock gritted his teeth. What was John thinking? Which one was this one even? Another teacher? Or a waitress this time? All the same. Giggling, hair-flipping, flirting idiots. They used John for a meal and a few drinks. Worse, sometimes John used them back for a night. Those were the nights when Sherlock really couldn't sleep. The thought of John, naked and bare, with some woman he hardly knew pressed up against him. Making him smile. Making him moan. Making him happy. It turned Sherlock's stomach.
He hoped that tonight wouldn't be one of those nights. Though, it was shaping up to be. John hadn't answered any of his texts. He liked this girl. Sherlock had texted him five times since he had left. No response to anything. The silence was torture.
Sherlock raised his hands and steepled his fingers under his chin. He wouldn't be able to sleep until John came home. Alone. And if John didn't come home alone... Sherlock didn't want to consider it. Having to mentally picture all of the things John did with women when he came home not alone. It was too much.
What right did they have? Those women? John was Sherlock's friend. Sherlock's blogger. Sherlock's doctor. Sherlock's. John was his. Why didn't they see that? It was perfectly obvious.
Sherlock sighed and reached a long arm out towards the box of patches on the coffee table. He snatched it up and pulled out a single patch, twiddling it in his nimble fingers, discarding the box on the floor beside him. With a low growl, he peeled away the backing and applied the adhesive side to the flesh of his right forearm, drawing a contented breath from his mouth. He held the patch in place for a moment as it affixed itself to his skin. Sweet, sweet nicotine.
He could feel the patch slowly releasing into his pores. It was like a sponge being rung out over a desert. One would certainly not be enough. He reached for the box which he had so carelessly abandoned. As soon as he had a firm grasp on it, he noticed the all too familiar gait of footsteps on the stairs. Sherlock froze and listened intently.
One stride. Just one. John was alone.
Sherlock abandoned the box to the floor and turned over in a huff, facing the back of the couch, drawing his knees up to his chest. He considered closing his eyes and feigning sleep, but decided against it. He listened as the door to the flat opened, and John's voice filled the room.
"Sherlock! You a-? Ah, there you are."
Sherlock huffed slightly. His tone was less than amused.
"Yes, clearly I'm awake."
"Not going to ask me how my date went, then?" said John, moving towards the kitchen.
"Obviously not as well as you had hoped. Otherwise you wouldn't be back this early."
"It's about eleven." John called from the kitchen.
"Precisely. You don't bring women back until well after one or two."
"Why do you know that? Nevermind. I don't want to know. Just... care for a cuppa tea?"
Sherlock groaned and rolled over, stretching out just a bit.
Sherlock sat up and crossed his arms. A small smile danced across his lips. He was actually rather pleased that John's date didn't go so well. Maybe that would put him off the practice for a while. He stood up and slinked across the living room, into the kitchen. He wanted to see John and gauge exactly how disappointing the night had been.
John was reaching up, gathering the tea cups when Sherlock strode in and plopped unceremoniously down at the kitchen table. Sherlock stared at him for a second.
Slightly ruffled hair. There had been hands other than John's in it. Faint floral scent. Perfume. A twinge of red lingering on his lips. Snogging, at least. An out-turned pocket on his jeans. The condom that John always carries on a date. It wasn't there.
"Did you shag in the bathroom or the alley behind the restaurant? Either way, my my John Watson. How un-gallant of you."
John straightened his back until it cracked loudly, cocking his head slightly to the side and speaking through grated teeth, his back still to Sherlock.
"Neither, for your information."
"Oh, come on! You can't hide things from me."
John took the tea cups down, placing the tea bags in them. Two lumps of sugar in Sherlock's cup, none in his own. He turned to face Sherlock.
"I'm not." he said, crossing his arms.
"Do I need to point it all out? I can smell her as if she were standing next to you."
"So? That doesn't mean we shagged in an alley."
"The bathroom, then."
"No! Jesus Sherlock. I didn't shag her. Though I would have. Damn, I would have. I didn't have any protection."
"I can see that from the state of your pocket."
John sighed, tucking his hand into his pocket and righting it.
"The one I usually keep on me wasn't there."
"So you just snogged in the alley? Oh well, that's much better. You're practically a knight in shining armour. Sir Watson, the Alleyway Snogger."
"What's it matter anyway?" John said, turning to pour their tea from the now boiling kettle.
"Then why this conversation?"
"You are always telling me that friends are interested in the mundane details of each other's lives."
John approached the kitchen table, setting Sherlock's tea in front of him and taking the seat opposite.
"Well, yeah. I mean, I suppose so."
"You did bring it up in the first place, after all. I didn't inquire after your date. You shared the information freely."
John thought for a moment and sighed.
"Yeah, I suppose I did, didn't I?"
"Hmm." Sherlock nodded, taking a sip of his tea.
"I assume you spent the evening sulking on the couch?"
Sherlock furrowed his brow.
"I do not sulk."
"Sure, sure. Crouched up on the couch like a baby because your mate goes out for the night and doesn't stay in to entertain you. That's not sulking."
"I don't know why you insist on this dull practice in the first place."
"Yes, dating. What else?"
John rolled his eyes slightly, rubbing his forehead with his free hand.
"It's fun, Sherlock. Sometimes it's nice to get to know interesting people."
"You know plenty of people. And none more interesting than me, anyway."
John shook his head with a light chuckle.
"I suppose they aren't, are they? But it is nice, you know. To sit in a restaurant. Eat a meal. Enjoy conversation. Get close to someone."
"We do that all the time."
"No, you sit and think about murderers and puzzles while I eat alone."
"Digestion slows my mind. You know that."
"It's not the same anyway, Sherlock. That's the point. Going out for dinner as mates and going on a date are two different things."
"Well, the snogging, for one."
Sherlock arched his eyebrow.
"You go on dates to snog?"
"Well, no. I mean- yes, but- that's not all of it..."
"That is the only activity you listed that is any different from a normal dinner."
John sighed and waved a hand though his sandy blonde locks, restoring some of them to their proper place.
"It's a perfectly ridiculous practice."
"Dating or snogging?"
John hung his head over his half-empty tea cup.
"There is no convincing you, is there?"
"I fail to see how smashing your face into some random woman's is supposed to be pleasurable."
"Christ, Sherlock. I don't just 'smash my face' into every woman who comes along! It's part of dating. Getting to know someone, getting closer to them. Feeling connected."
"I fail to see its value. It seems utterly repulsive."
John paused for a moment before looking up, directly at his flatmate.
"Have...? No! Sherlock! Are you telling me you've never...?"
Sherlock was in mid-sip when he hastily put down his cup, nearly spilling a few drops.
"No, of course I have!"
"A peck from your mum doesn't count. And neither does that bit on the cheek from that Adler woman."
Sherlock fell silent for a second before clearing his throat.
"Why would I want to anyway? It sounds horrid."
John attempted to stifle his chuckles, but failed miserably. After a few moments he choked them back down.
"Ahem... sorry. I... sorry. I just didn't... I mean. Well, I suppose you're you, so..."
"And what are you trying to say?"
"Nothing! Just... that if anyone in the world didn't enjoy a good snog based solely on observation alone, it would be you."
"There is no value in it, therefore why should I waste my time?"
"Sherlock... there is value in it." John said, suddenly sentimental. "Haven't you ever...? It brings you closer to someone. It's incredibly intimate. And romantic. And hot. It makes you feel... well, alive."
"I am alive, and thus already 'feel' alive. Your argument is invalid."
"Don't you ever want to be closer to someone? Anyone?"
Sherlock hung his head. His tea cup was now empty. He pushed it at John.
"You are impossible." John muttered.
"No; I am logical."
John took the tea cup that was shoved at him. In one swig, he finished his own cup and stood, walking towards the sink. Sherlock watched John as he went to tend the little pile of dishes. Silently, he stood, slowly making his way to where John was standing. Sherlock was only a hair away from him before John noticed. He turned around abruptly, his cheeks flush.
"W-what are you doing?" John stammered.
Sherlock turned his head to the side and studied the muscles in John's face. His expression was one of surprise, certainly, but there was something more behind those eyes.
"You asked me if I wanted to be closer to someone."
"Ah, yes. That I did." John's hands were braced against the kitchen counter. He could feel his heart nearly beating out of his chest.
"Well." Sherlock stated, matter-of-factly.
"W-well?" John looked up, trying to decipher the glare in Sherlock's eyes.
"I don't like when you go on dates."
"I don't like when you come home and I can tell that a woman has been all over you."
"Well... I'm not too up on blokes so... women are kind of the only other option." John chuckled lightly.
Sherlock inhaled sharply. He straightened his entire body as though he had been struck. He momentarily winced, on instinct, but caught himself and changed his expression to a careful, blank neutral. He nodded once before turning and heading towards his room.
John stood open mouthed.
What just happened? Was the only thought in his mind.
"Sherlock?" he called.
Sherlock continued walking without so much as a pause. John pushed himself forward from the kitchen counter and raced after him, catching him by the arm in the hallway between the kitchen and Sherlock's bedroom.
"Hey," he began gently, attempting to coax him into turning around.
"What?" Sherlock whirled around in a fury.
John released his arm and took a step back.
"What... was that? In there?"
"Don't be an idiot, John." Sherlock seethed.
"I... don't understand."
"I do." Sherlock muttered, beginning to turn around again.
"Hey!" John said grabbing him by the arm a second time. "Stop that! I need to talk to you!"
Sherlock's anger and humiliation were swelling far past his control.
"What more could you possibly have to say?" he shouted, leaning forward and towering over John.
John returned the tone, glaring up at Sherlock.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
"According to modern medicine, I have a mental disorder which inhibits my social interactions; therefore, I am a sociopath. But you knew that already. So I can only presume you are referring to my currently heightened state of anger, to which I must respond, are you truly that thick?"
John gulped once, taking a deep breath.
"I mean, what was that? In the kitchen. Between... you and I...?"
Sherlock eased back a bit, slowly regaining control over himself. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at the wall, just above John's head.
"You asked me if I ever felt the desire to be closer to someone. Anyone. No. Not anyone. But someone. Yes. Someone. Do I need to spell it out for you?"
John's jaw dropped again. He attempted to cobble together a sentence, but everything was blurry and fuzzy in his mind.
"I... uh... I... didn't... umm..."
"Quite. Well, your answer was very clear in the kitchen. You are 'not too up on blokes'. So, if you'll excuse me, I believe we have both said all we need to say on this matter."
Sherlock cast his eyes downward and turned away for a third time. And for a third time, John grabbed him by the arm. But this time, John didn't just turn Sherlock around to face him. John grabbed the slender man by the waist, pulled him in, reached an arm up around his neck, and kissed him. A soft, sweet, simple peck, before John suddenly realized just what he was doing and yanked himself away, throwing himself back a good few meters.
"Oh, God. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I... shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry." John stammered repeatedly.
Sherlock stood dazed. His lips parted slightly as he inhaled, a perplexed expression on his face.
"I didn't mean to... I'm so sorry. It's just that...! Well..."
Sherlock blinked repeatedly, his brilliant mind attempting desperately to make sense of what had just occurred.
"Well. Um. I... when I said... what I said... about blokes... I didn't mean you." John's head was still down, but his eyes tilted up towards Sherlock.
Sherlock swallowed hard. He felt shaky and warm. His heart rate was steadily rising and he could feel the slight flush on his pale face.
"What... did you mean...?"
"I..." John took a step towards Sherlock, closing the distance he had created in his reaction. "I don't really... fancy men... but... you aren't exactly an ordinary man..."
"Ah..." Sherlock responded slowly, his eyes now locked with John's.
"Yeah... so... yeah. I am sorry though. About a second ago... I shouldn't have done that..."
"You have no reason to be sorry."
"I just couldn't help myself... I couldn't stand the thought of you thinking..."
"That I didn't fancy you."
"So you do?"
"I suppose... well yeah."
Sherlock inhaled. The scent of perfume overwhelmed him, and he was overtaken by an almost intense rage.
"Why, John? Why then? Why the dating? And those women? Why?"
"It's not like I was trying to hurt you! I didn't know... if you felt the same..."
"So you paraded around with a slew of women to what end?"
"To move on? I suppose. I didn't think... well, that anything could ever happen. You being 'married to your work' and all. And I mean, you've never shown any interest in anything even remotely romantic."
"But... what if I don't want you to move on? What if I want you to stay? Right here? With me?"
"Well... then I won't. Move on, that is... I'll... stay."
Sherlock smiled and John returned it. They stood at an incredible closeness, each feeling the warmth radiating from the other.
"I... didn't mind, you know." Sherlock whispered.
"Didn't mind what?" John questioned.
"Oh." John felt his cheeks go rosy.
"Not nearly as horrible as I had originally thought. Nor as repulsive. Rather, it was neither horrible nor repulsive at all. It was... nice."
"Nice..." John chuckled softly.
"I may need more tests before I can come to a firm conclusion on the matter however." Sherlock leaned in, his mouth hovering just over John's.
John smiled. "Ever the romantic."
"For you, perhaps I can learn a bit on the topic."
John licked his lower lip unconsciously. Sherlock noticed.
"So..." John muttered, barely audibly.
"Are we what, John?"
"What happens now?"
"I'm going to kiss you."
With that, Sherlock closed the gap between himself and John, taking the doctor's face in his hands and kissing him intensely. Sherlock opened his mouth readily and John followed his lead, each exploring the other with their tongues. Sherlock teased and poked at John's mouth, prodding and massaging. John wrapped his arms around the taller man's neck, one hand reaching up and nestling in the dark curls. After an impassioned minute, the kiss broke, but the two still stood directly against each other.
"Where... did you learn to do that?" John asked, smiling.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow as his only response. He then lowered his hands to John's shoulders and pushed him against the hallway wall, taking the doctor's arms and pinning them over his head with one hand. Sherlock kissed him again, harder this time, his free hand running down John's chest. A small moan emerged from the back of John's throat.
The detective broke the kiss, pleased with the effect he was having, and began licking and sucking at John's neck. John inhaled staggering breaths, his chest heaving. Sherlock's free hand found it's way up John's jumper and he clawed gently at the soft skin.
"Oh, God..." John mewled.
Sherlock could still smell that woman's perfume all over John. His John. His for certain, now. He wanted to eradicate every trace she had left on him. He started with the jumper, which he pulled over John's head before he even seemed to notice. Then he began on John's trousers.
"W-what are you doing?" John panted heavily.
"What does it look like?" Sherlock replied, unbuttoning John's trousers and tearing them away.
"Sherlock... are you... sure?"
Sherlock kissed him passionately in response. The detective slid his tongue just over John's lips, pausing a moment to nibble at the bottom one. He reached a hand down and grabbed at John's groin.
John lurched forward at the touch, reconnecting his lips with Sherlock's and tearing feverishly at the other man's clothes. Sherlock threw his shoulders back in a shrug and his dressing gown fell haphazardly to the floor. John tugged at the soft cotton t-shirt and pulled it over the taller man's head before wrapping his fingers around the waistband of his lounge pants and shoving them to the floor.
Their hands explored greedily. Sherlock pressed John back against the wall, grinding slowly against him. John groaned with each pleasure-filled press, kissing Sherlock's neck and chest. He began with his hands at the back of the taller man's shoulders, kneading and massaging downwards until he reached his pants. Slowly, he inched his fingertips past the band before taking Sherlock's bum entirely in his palms, squeezing.
"Mmm..." Sherlock moaned loudly. He grabbed at John's pants and ripped them off, leaving him completely bare. He thrust against him firmly, pressing their bodies as tightly together as he could. "You are mine, John Watson." He growled in his low baritone.
"Yes," John panted, "Yours. All yours."
Sherlock took John's sizable erection in one hand and stroked roughly, once.
"Only I am allowed to touch you." Sherlock snarled.
"Oh God...! Yesss... Just you... only you... I just want you..."
Sherlock set upon John's bare neck with fervor. John reached down and stripped Sherlock of his pants, the both of them now stark naked.
"I want everyone to know. You are off limits."
"Off limits..." John repeated, gasping.
Sherlock kissed and sucked at John's neck until there were deep purple bruises embedded in his skin.
"Sherlock... fucking Christ..."
Sherlock smirked deviously. Hearing John call his name was more than enough to make him even harder. He nipped at the flesh near John's collar bone.
"Whose are you?" He questioned.
"Yours." John responded breathlessly.
"Whose?" Sherlock taunted.
"Fucking yours. All yours. Only yours. I belong to you." John gulped for breath between his sentences.
"That's right." Sherlock answered, placing his hands on John's hips and thrusting against him.
"Oh God... fuck me..." John pleaded, clawing at Sherlock's back.
Sherlock twisted the doctor at the hips so that he was now facing the wall. The taller man sank to his knees in front of him, kissing down his back as he went. He grabbed John's buttocks, one in each hand, and massaged, gently pulling them apart. He traced a long finger around the puckered rim of John's hole, sending a shiver up the doctor's spine and making his knees weaken. Slowly, Sherlock kissed and teased with his tongue around John's entrance.
John pleaded in broken words and pants. Sherlock obliged, wiggling his tongue in slightly at first. John's pleas turned from semi-coherent to complete gibberish as Sherlock prodded around in side him. After a moment, Sherlock withdrew, taking one of his own long fingers into his mouth. He pressed softly into John, his body at first resisting the intrusion, but after a moment welcoming and beckoning him inside.
Sherlock marveled at the intensity of the sensation. He inserted his finger to the first knuckle and then to the second, wriggling slightly. He could feel John pulsating around him. Every single flinch, no matter how minuscule, created a wave of sensation. As the tension left John's body, Sherlock eased his slender finger entirely in, relishing in the feeling of John quivering around him. Slowly, he removed his finger, almost entirely, before thrusting it back in.
John's entire body was wracked with heat. He shook uncontrollably. It was all he could do to repeat the words, "More... Sherlock... God... more...!" Over and over. And the detective indulged him, thrusting his finger in and out rhythmically, then adding an additional finger and scissoring repeatedly. Sherlock felt as he struck a particular spot inside of John. His entire body convulsed at the touch. He struck this spot regularly, reducing John to groveling. John's limbs were beginning to shake.
"Oh God... Sherlock... I'm gonna...!"
With that, Sherlock removed both fingers and promptly turned John around by the hips. He was still kneeling, and was met with John's aching erection in his face, a drop of pre-come oozed from the head. Sherlock couldn't help himself as he took the whole of John into his mouth hungrily, lapping up the delicious liquid. But then, he stopped himself and stood.
"Oh, you can't be done just yet." Sherlock grinned.
John whimpered a little as he grabbed Sherlock by the neck and pulled him in for a kiss, thrusting against him.
"Ah ah ah!" Sherlock teased, pulling away, his willowy finger pointing downwards.
He stared John directly in the eye, commanding him with his glare. John immediately knelt to the floor and took Sherlock's sizable arousal in his mouth. Sherlock arched his back, feeling the warm wetness of John surrounding him. He was already quite near the edge, and had only meant for John to provide him with a little lubrication, but he was doing so well at much more.
John cupped Sherlock's balls with one hand, kneading them gently. With the other hand, he stroked from based to tip, using his tongue in the opposite direction of his stroke and pausing to suck at the head. Sherlock's hands found their way into John's sandy hair and tugged lightly. He was beginning to feel a spark of heat in the pit of his stomach, a warning sign.
"J-John...! Oh God...! Stop...stop stop stop...!"
The doctor did as he was told, returning to his feet, this time with a wicked grin on his own face. Sherlock took a moment to compose himself, to bring himself back ever so slightly from that edge. He closed his eyes and felt John latch onto him, leaving marks of his own on Sherlock's pale skin. Sherlock clawed into John's back, his nails digging a trail in scratches. John nipped in response, and pulled Sherlock back into the moment, his eyes wide and wild.
He pushed John back against the wall and grabbed his hips, hoisting him in the air. His thin frame did no justice to the muscles underneath. Sherlock lifted John with ease. John wrapped his legs around the slender man's waist, his arms around his neck. Once John was leveraged between him and the wall, Sherlock released a hand and lined his now slick erection up with John's entrance. Sherlock looked to John and kissed him. John nodded feverishly.
"Oh fuck yes."
Sherlock pushed his hips forward slightly, inching the tip of himself into John. John heaved for breath, gripping Sherlock tightly in his arms. Sherlock continued his advance, steadily pushing inwards, feeling that pulsating softness surround and engulf him. John winced and bit down hard on Sherlock's shoulder, causing a bright red imprint and faint traces of blood.
"Are you alright?" Sherlock demanded.
"Yeah..." John kissed the wound he had unintentionally just made. "Fucking fantastic... don't stop..."
Sherlock withdrew slowly, cautiously, before thrusting back in, this time aiming directly for that spot he remembered. He hit it precisely. John threw his head back, banging it on the wall, and simultaneously tightened even more his legs around Sherlock's waist.
"Oh my God...right there... do that again... oh God please, please do that again..." John implored.
Sherlock paused, just barely inside John and primed for another thrust.
"I'm the only one who knows where that spot is..." He growled. "Just me... I'm the only one who will ever make you feel like this..."
"Yes... just you. You're the only one... please... oh please, Sherlock..."
Sherlock kissed John passionately and thrust in again, faster this time, hitting John in that perfect spot. John moaned into Sherlock's mouth, giving their now increasingly fervent kisses an echo of pleasure. Sherlock grunted with each plunge, moving quicker and harder. One arm was wrapped around John's waist, the other banging against the hallway wall. Each time Sherlock rammed into John, the doctor's own erection caught between their hot, sticky bodies, being rubbed in time with Sherlock's hips.
"I'm so... so close... Sherlock... oh just a little more..." John panted and heaved, barely able to gasp out a few words.
Sherlock removed his hand from the wall and grabbed John, pumping furiously. His own thrusts were wild and desperate now. He hammered in and out of John with fury, howling in delight.
"I'm... oh fuck... I'm coming...!" John bellowed, spurting stream after stream of white hot cum. Sherlock stroked him through each wave of orgasm, feeling himself fall over the edge as well. He could feel John's body tensing and spasming around him. Before John ended, Sherlock came inside him, fiery and strong. The two were left panting as they rode their orgasms out.
Sherlock withdrew, allowing John to place his feet back on the floor, and fell to his knees. He lapped up all of the cum John had on his stomach with lustful greed, whispering over and over "Mine...". John watched with awe and adoration before sinking to his knees as well and meeting him in a frenzied kiss.
They tousled over and sprawled on the hallway floor, stretching and arching and panting and kissing. John fell to his back, attempting to catch his breath. Sherlock settled beside him, nestling under his chin, resting his head on John's shoulder. He stroked John's chest absently, wrapping their legs together. John brought his arm around and pulled Sherlock's slender form closer, leaving his hand gently on the detective's hip.
Sherlock inhaled deeply. John smelled like him now. Sweat and sex and Sherlock. He smiled at the thought, tracing his fingers over the bruises he had made on John's neck.
"Those will be popular discussion when you go to work tomorrow." Sherlock remarked slyly.
"Probably." He said, turning his head slightly to kiss Sherlock's forehead.
Sherlock closed his eyes for the brief moment of the kiss, cherishing the feeling of John's every motion.
"Well you can tell them too bad. You're mine now. Just mine."
"Just yours." John repeated, squeezing him.
"No more women?" Sherlock asked, softly pleading.
"They wouldn't compare now. Wouldn't even be fair." John chuckled slightly.
"No more dates?"
"I wouldn't dream of it. I'm all yours." John nuzzled him reassuringly.
"Good." Sherlock nuzzled back, settling into their comfortable cuddle.
"Hmm?" Sherlock responded, not looking up.
"You're mine, too."