Well, this is it: the last chapter. It's always sad to me when a story ends so I wrote some porn to cushion to blow. Seriously though, I will be writing a sequel to this. It should be up in another week or so because I cannot truly say goodbye to this little world I've created. It's a safe place I play in :)
I want to say a sincere thank you to everyone who followed and favorited this story. I've been blown away by the response these drabbles have gained. Every review has been special. Thank you.
Also, I now have a Tumblr account. A link is on my profile page, so feel free to follow me. I'll post updates to my stories there as well.
Sherlock's long, pale fingers gripped at John's hips, fingernails making crescent moons in the soft flesh as John rocked himself up and down at a feverish pace, face flushed, breathing ragged. Sherlock snapped his hips each time John sank all the way down, seating his cock even deeper, making the doctor's breath catch in agonized pleasure. Arousal tightened at the base of his spine as Sherlock breathlessly watched John chase his orgasm with single-minded determination, sweat beading on his forehead, eyes clenched tightly closed.
Sherlock moved one of his hands from John's hip to encircle his leaking cock, forcing a sharp cry from John and more frantic movement-
But beneath the sharp, almost painful spiral of pleasure was a nagging….something…that tugged at Sherlock's subconscious and refused to be overshadowed.
Grimacing in annoyance, Sherlock glanced around John's body…
And looked straight into the wide, innocent eyes of John's new puppy, sat primly and tubby at the foot of their bed.
It's dark, shiny eyes were staring at Sherlock.
And Sherlock felt very uncomfortable by it.
It was a novel feeling.
He was rarely uncomfortable, able to brazen out just about any situation he found himself in by simply not caring what others thought of him or felt about his actions. Unused as he was to being uncomfortable, the fact that he felt this way now was particularly unusual, and Sherlock didn't like the feeling. It was just a little, ignorant canine. It wasn't as if it knew what they were doing, or was judging them, or being corrupted by the performance. There was no reason to feel so awkward.
John, wholly engrossed in what he was doing (never say John Watson doesn't take his responsibilities, namely getting both himself and Sherlock off, seriously), didn't notice the change in his lover's voice.
"Oh, god," John choked, movements growing even more erratic. "Sherlock-"
"No, John." Sherlock gripped John's hips harder, forcing him to stop moving, and John's eyes popped open in confusion, his own hands tightening on Sherlock's chest where they had been braced.
"What? What is it?"
John frowned and leaned back from his hunch over Sherlock's prone body, pushing the consulting detective further inside and they both moaned. John, head lolling back, began rocking his hips in this new position, seemingly ready to pick up where they had left off and ignore the nonsensical thing Sherlock had just said.
Sherlock, though, just couldn't.
"What?" John's agitation could perhaps be excused as he'd been this close to achieving what would've probably been the best orgasm of his life. It had certainly felt that way.
"The dog. It's…staring at us."
"There." Sherlock pointed and John twisted around a bit to see. He turned back to Sherlock, amused and chuckling.
Sherlock's eyes widened meaningfully but John brushed the sweaty fringe off his lover's forehead and kissed him sloppily.
"It's just a dog, Sherlock." He started rocking again but Sherlock tightened his grip and John groaned in frustration.
"I can't." Sherlock finally admitted, rather shame-facedly. "Not while it's…right there. Judging us."
John snorted. "Judging us? It's a dog, Sherlock, it doesn't know what we're doing."
Sherlock knew he was being stupid but…it was too awkward. He just couldn't relax and enjoy what they were doing while the puppy watched. He couldn't.
He tightened his lips and stared up at John who finally huffed, shaking his head.
"Oh for god's sake." John reluctantly rose up, keening softly when Sherlock slipped out of him, and clambered to the foot of the bed, scooping up the little mongrel and gently placing it in the hallway. He closed the door and turned back to Sherlock.
"There. Can we get on with it now?"
But just as they were getting on with it, the sound of sad little whimpers began from the other side of the door.
Both men froze, ears straining to listen and yes, there it was. Plaintive scratching at the door, pathetic whimpers beginning to morph into a low, drawn out howl.
John buried his face in Sherlock's neck and moaned, circling his hips, grinding down, seemingly not to be deterred.
Another whimper sounded from the hallway.
"Shouldn't we-"Sherlock began uneasily but John caught his lips in a kiss.
"He'll quiet down in a minute." He whispered, and Sherlock's breath caught as John rolled his hips, fingers splaying out once again on those lean hips to encourage-
The low howl suddenly became sharp, high-pitched cries, accompanied by frenzied scratching at the door and both men froze again.
"Oh, Christ." John slumped atop Sherlock briefly before extracting himself yet again and trudging to the door. As soon as it was open, the puppy bounded inside happily, tail wagging and weaving around John's feet before leaping gleefully onto the bed and heading straight for Sherlock.
Pulling the covers defensively to his chest, Sherlock stared accusatorially across the room at John.
"You wanted a dog." He hissed, trying to fend the little mutt off as it lunged at his face in an attempt to gratefully lick it.