My sincerest thanks to everyone who had favorited, reviewed, and followed this story! You are all so wonderful and I am grateful for your support.
My never-ending gratitude also goes out to the ingenious Captain Evil, who has been the key to my inspiration. Kisses to you, my darling!
So here is the conclusion to our boys' wild adventure: motive and smut! I hope this meets your satisfaction :D
Sherlock nipped at his blogger's bottom lip teasingly. He was aware of no less than a dozen people staring at them, but for once the genius didn't give a damn. All that mattered was the short firecracker in his arms.
"I think we should discuss a few things," the doctor stated with a gleam in his indigo eyes.
"Mmm…and what would that be?" the detective roguishly asked as he pulled his best friend even closer.
"What I need to say to you must wait until we're behind closed doors," John whispered in his ear.
Sherlock groaned and spun around, dashing to the edge of the road. The doctor had never seen his flat mate move that quickly to hail a cab. My, my! Aren't we a little eager?
It seemed to be one of Sherlock's many talents, hailing cabs. Even at this late hour, one had answered his summons within minutes. Being uncharacteristically gentlemanly, he held the door open for John to climb in first. His motives weren't entirely pure as he was awarded an incredible view of John's arse. It took an immense amount of restraint on his part not to reach out and grab it. Later, later…as soon as we're home…
When Sherlock folded himself into the car, he took the seat next to his flat mate and sat a little closer than was strictly necessary. In a bold move, he laid his hand on John's thigh and slid it slowly upward.
That move earned him a laugh, but the doctor reached down and took those long pale digits in his hand and interlaced their fingers.
"None of that here—you have to wait," John whispered. Then a little louder, "Tell me about her motives on this one. You talked to her, yes?"
Sherlock smirked, knowing he was about to get what he wanted in very short order. Yes, the motive was just the distraction they both needed at the moment. "So it turns out you were right about the jaded lover. Dara St. Clair is her name. She met Alex Kelly several years ago at Midnight Equilibrium. It was 'love at first sight' she claims."
The doctor snorted. "Yeah—more like 'lust at first sight', I'm sure."
"Rightly so, John," the consulting detective concurred. "She's the heiress to a billion-dollar American oil tycoon. She's the one who set up the trust fund. All was going well until Alex started to grow distant about six months back."
"I'm guessing that's when he met Bryan Harper?" John deduced.
"Well done! Spot on!" Sherlock squeezed his hand in approval. "She rarely visited him at the club because she 'trusted him whole-heartedly'. Never thought he would cheat on her. He stopped calling her after his shows and she grew suspicious. So one night she turns up incognito and sees for herself that her kept lover is fawning over another man. She easily discovered who Harper was through another patron and tracked down his place of employment afterwards."
The doctor thought about that for a minute before speaking up. "So—she calls Harper at work and threatens him to make him leave Kelly alone but he informs her that they were madly in love…Dara? Is that what you said her name was? She just…snaps and closes out the trust fund and murders the supposed love of her life?"
"Yes, I suppose that's correct. Her philosophy was if she couldn't have him, no one could," the genius stated.
"And what happened? She confronted Alex?"
"Ms. St. Clair was in the audience again the night she killed Alex Kelly. She said she waited outside for him, and somehow she was able to get back in before he locked up for the night—she actually hid backstage and watched Kelly and Harper was they had sex. She waited for Harper to leave and then snuck up on Kelly with a spare g-string," Sherlock explained.
"And Bryan Harper was just a fit of jealous rage?"
"Yes—I'm positive she is suffering from a mental disorder caused by a nervous breakdown which resulted in her killing spree."
"But what about Eric?"
The consulting detective shrugged. "It was because he clearly exhibited homosexual tendencies and she saw all of the flaws of her former lover projected onto him. She simply saw it as her duty to 'correct a mistake in the world'."
John frowned and stared down at their joined hands for a moment, pondering over the whole affair. "So—what about me then? After all it wasn't until tonight that I purposely—well, you know…exhibited gay behavior."
"Ah, yes…" the genius cleared his throat in what his partner took as embarrassment. "I'm afraid that was an oversight on my part. I assumed we were looking for a male murderer…Dara St. Clair has actually been watching us while we were looking for her. She knew who we were and what we were doing. When she saw you in the group numbers last night, she decided that you needed to go as well."
"I can tell you that she nearly succeeded! If you and Greg had been a minute later showing up, she might have actually crushed my windpipe," the doctor enlightened his best friend. "I have to say—she was a lot stronger than she looked!"
Sherlock angled his body towards John's and lifted his free hand to gingerly touch the edges of the purple bruises forming along his blogger's neck.
"I'm sorry," he apologized softly. "I was careless and it put you at unnecessary risk."
"No more than usual," John retorted, the corners of his lips tugging up. "It's my choice."
"What else would you choose to do if given the option?" the detective questioned as he titled his head slightly to the side.
John leaned forward and just as their lips brushed—
"Oi! 221 Baker Street—come on!" the cabbie yelled at them. "My shift ends in five if you don't mind!"
They both looked up and realized that they were indeed sitting out front of their door. John reached into his back pocket for his wallet and handed the driver a couple of bills before he and the consulting detective hastily exited the car.
Not a word was said as Sherlock unlocked the door or as they ascended the seventeen steps up to their flat. Both men shrugged out of their coats before they found themselves standing in the middle of their sitting room staring at one another.
Neither made a move, waiting for their partner to be the first to surrender. Feeling bold, John reached down and pulled the hem of his jumper up and over his head then tossed it aside. He hadn't bothered with his undershirt when he had redressed, so he was left standing there in just his jeans. Jeans that sat low on his hips and first pair of pants he happened pulled out of his bag.
Sherlock's gaze swept over every centimeter of him and lingered on his broad, muscular chest and hem line of those bright red pants peeking out from beneath his jeans. The expression on the detective's face was one filled with such unveiled hunger and lust that John found himself being pulled toward his flat mate without even realizing he had moved.
The doctor reached up and cupped his best friend's face in his hands as he stood on his tip-toes, bringing their lips together for the third time that evening. Sherlock instinctually reached out and grabbed a hold of those tantalizing hips that had driven him mad earlier.
He moaned as John licked at the seam of his mouth, demanding entrance. Sherlock complied and was awarded the caress of his blogger's tongue as it curled around and tangled with his own. They each fought for dominance over the kiss, the passion and the heat rising steadily between them.
And then the doctor tilted his head just right to allow the kiss to deepen all the more. When Sherlock finally won control, John's tongue retreated. His blogger teasingly bit at his upper lip, causing the genius to emit a low growl of frustration before he forced his way into John's mouth. God—did he taste good! Like the honey he took in his tea…
John submitted to Sherlock's will and allowed the genius to thoroughly explore his mouth. He never remembered any singular snogging session that had felt this good before. Sure, he had found the act of kissing pleasurable in the past, but this was a whole different level entirely—this was essentially tongue fucking. And it had him incredibly turned on.
The detective would have been content to continue this for the rest of night had he not remembered what John looked like nearly naked and if he wasn't currently lacking enough oxygen to remain upright for very much longer.
They broke apart, panting heavily.
"Did you like what you saw tonight, Sherlock?" John archly asked when he could find his voice again.
"What does this tell you?" Sherlock retorted and grabbed his blogger's left hand, forcing it onto the very prominent bulge in the front of his trousers.
"Oh, God!" the doctor huffed breathlessly. "You're so hard already!"
The detective leaned in, and nipped at John's lower lip. "This is what you do to me. I can't tell you how many times I've masturbated to thoughts of you."
"Wait—" John demanded and pulled back to get a proper look at his best friend. "You think about me while you're having a wank?!"
"Odd question to ask when I've not two minutes prior had my tongue nearly down your throat. But yes, you may as well know that I fantasize about you while I pleasure myself," Sherlock informed in that silky baritone of his.
"I need you in bed, right now. I don't care which one," the doctor demanded.
Without having to be told twice, Sherlock led them into his bedroom. He resolutely shut and locked the door behind them. Then they frantically pushed and pulled at one another's clothing until at last they fell onto the detective's plush mattress in nothing but their pants.
"Red's definitively a good color on you," Sherlock complimented right before he devoured John's mouth again.
The doctor hummed in response as his hands wandered over the smooth breadth of the detective's back. For as lanky as his flat mate appeared in all those finely tailored suits, there was a finely honed expanse of muscle beneath his fingers. Sherlock's toned body was in such acute contrast to the plush, soft women John normally bedded—and he had to say that the difference thrilled him in an inexplicable way. He never really looked at other men that way, but he was secure enough to admit when another bloke was attractive. But as with everything else, there was just something about Sherlock. In this case, it left him hard and panting for more.
John reached down and grabbed one perfectly shaped buttock and squeezed as he thrust his cotton-clad crotch up into Sherlock's. The genius tore his lips away, tossing his curls back and gasping at the sudden friction. Yes—this was so much better than an act of self-pleasuring!
He followed his blogger's lead and slowly ground down against him. Sherlock nibbled down the side of John's jaw before gently tugging on the doctor's earlobe. His fingers danced over John's hardened nipples, earned him a wanton moan from his partner.
The genius then licked at the sensitive flesh just below his ear, causing John to shiver in the most delicious way possible. No other lover had ever found so many of his hot spots in such a short amount of time.
"I have to say—that is some reputation you must have. One wonders what it takes to be nicknamed 'Three Continents Watson'," Sherlock murmured, recalling what Lestrade had said earlier.
John gave a throaty laugh and smiled seductively as he angled his head a little to give the detective better access, "Mmm…it would be easier to show you, rather than tell you. Quite more enjoyable too, I believe…"
"God, yes!" his flat mate cried out against his skin. That deep baritone sent an electric pulse straight to his groin.
Without needing further encouragement, John flipped them so that he was now on top of Sherlock. Those perfect icy blue eyes blinked up at him in surprise. Grinning like the cat that finally caught the canary, the doctor slipped one of his calloused hands beneath the waistband Sherlock's pants. With gazes locked onto each other, his blogger wrapped that hand around hot, silky flesh.
The consulting detective bit his lip to keep from shouting out as John expertly stroked his erection, all the while never breaking eye contact. When he was sure that Sherlock was sufficiently hot and bothered, he released his prize and started to work off the genius' pants. When his partner was sufficiently naked, John sat back on his heels and examined his soon-to-be-lover.
Sherlock sighed in relief as his cock was finally released from the confining restrains of his underwear. Though, the longer John sat staring at him, more uncharacteristically self-conscious he began to feel. He knew what a sight he must have made with his flushed skin, spread legs, and erection standing proudly at attention. The image in his mind's eye was a rather lewd one.
"Christ…" John breathed at least. "Sherlock, you have no idea how indecently sexy you look right now…" He eyed the detective's cock like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. It was long and slender, much like the man it belonged to.
The doctor licked his lips and leaned forward to lick the vein at the underside of Sherlock's member. Then he swirled his tongue around the glans before lapping up the salty pre-cum at the slit. When John swallowed him down to the root without warning, the detective cried out and fisted both his hands in his blogger's short blondish-grey hair.
John flicked his gazed up to Sherlock. The genius raised his head and their eyes locked. It was almost too much, seeing his fantasy become reality. Those lush lips stretched around him, sucking him off. This was far better than anything he had imagined. As they continued to watch each other over the expanse of his torso, the genius saw some unnamed emotion ripple across his partner's features. It excited him yet terrified him at the same time and left no doubt about what he wanted to happen next.
"Fuck me, please! John!" Sherlock begged, still maintaining eye contact. He was hard and leaking. He needed release. He wanted his doctor to take him apart and put him back together again in the way only he knew how.
His blogger's mouth pulled off him with an obscene sounding pop. John slid back up Sherlock's body and propped himself up on an elbow to gaze down at the younger man.
"Is that what you want, Sherlock?"
Sherlock lifted a hand to John's face and urged him forward until their lips joined again. He could sense the doctor's hesitancy as that skillful tongue slipped into his mouth for a languid kiss. When they finally broke apart several moments later, his blogger rested their foreheads together and took a deep breath.
"You needn't worry, John. I won't break," Sherlock whispered. "I think you might be laboring under a false pretense—I have done this before."
John pulled back to properly look at his flat mate. "You're not a virgin?—I'm sorry. I should know better, I just assumed…"
The corners of the consulting detective's lips quirked up slightly. "No, it's fine. I never gave you reason to believe otherwise."
"When?" the doctor asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
There was an answering baritone laugh, "You know me so well, John."
The doctor leaned down and peppered Sherlock's lips and jaw line with kisses. "I'd like to know you a little better…"
The genius reached over into his nightstand drawer without looking and fished out a small plastic tube. As he held it up for his blogger to take, he replied, "Then what are you waiting for?"
John took the proffered bottle of lube and assessed Sherlock carefully. "You're sure?"
"I would have said otherwise if I wasn't."
"No—I know—I mean—"
"Oh, you're inquiring as to the positioning…" Sherlock stated as the true meaning of the doctor's question dawned on him.
"I prefer to bottom."
John's breath caught at those words. The thought that his normally overbearing flat mate was willing to relinquish control in this area kicked his libido into overdrive. His heartbeat stuttered then took off at a record pace.
Sherlock smirked knowingly. He gripped the back of John's neck and pulled his head down so he could speak directly into his lover's ear.
"Oh—you like the thought of that, don't you?" he purred. "Then let me say it again so that you are well aware of my request…"
He licked at the shell of John's ear teasingly before ordering in a low, husky voice, "I want you to fuck me, John."
The doctor moaned and fumbled to get the cap on the tube of lube open. He managed to slick up his fingers and teased Sherlock's delicate opening with the tip of his index finger until the detective was biting his lower lip and growling in frustration. Then finally, he slid in that first digit. With trained accuracy, found his lover's prostate.
The genius arched off the bed and gasped. He had forgotten how pleasurable prostate stimulation was—and in fact, it was one of the only reasons he had indulged in sex more than once during his time at uni.
John continued his ministrations, thoroughly preparing his body. By the time a third finger was inserted, Sherlock had been reduced to a writhing, incoherent mess.
When those wonderful, talented digits pulled out of him, the detective whined.
"Shh, it's alright love," the doctor murmured and patted one bony hip. "Hands and knees—come on."
It took a moment for those icy blue eyes to register comprehension. Sherlock nodded and complied with the request as John shimmied out of his red pants.
"Condom?" the doctor asked. He was a medical man and therefore was health conscious at all times despite the overwhelming lust currently fogging his brain.
Ebony curls shook back and forth in response. "I'm clean, you're clean—we're fine."
It really shouldn't have surprised him that his flat mate had known about the results of his last test, which he had only received a week and a half ago. John knew that Sherlock wouldn't lie about his results, but not using protection was kind of a big deal. He didn't mind, but what it implied at least to him…
"Yes, we both maybe clean, but going bareback is a whole other level of commitment."
"John," Sherlock chided softly, "I don't intend on ever taking another person into my bed."
Upon hearing those sincere words, the doctor's resolve broke and positioned himself behind the genius. John grabbed onto Sherlock's hips and slowly pushed his way in. The consulting detective concentrated on keeping himself as relaxed as he possibly could. It had been such a long time; he might as well have been a virgin again. That, and despite his small stature, John was rather well endowed.
Soon though, Sherlock began to enjoy himself tremendously. Before long he was pushing back to meet John. He had to hand it to his best friend—the older man definitely knew how to drive him insane.
John had purposely measured his strokes so that he only hit that fantastic pleasure spot one out of five thrusts. Neither wanted this to be over quickly, but Sherlock needed to find release. He was so close yet so far from it all at once. The genius was panting heavily and his arms were going weak from supporting his weight for such a long time.
"Lean up and grab the headboard," John instructed, out of breath. He pulled out briefly to allow them both to shuffle closer to the top of the mattress.
Sherlock was grateful to be able to stretch his back but was eager to continue from where they left off. Being aware that his legs were a bit longer than John's, he spread his knees further apart and sank back down as he felt his blogger resume his previous position behind him.
Sherlock gripped the headboard tightly as John's girth pistoned in and out of him. The hold on his hips was suddenly gone as the doctor slid his hands down the detective's arms to interlace their fingers. He could feel that broad, sturdy chest pressing against his back, slick with their combined sweat. The genius spread his knees apart just a little wider, opening himself up all the more and causing him to sink down further onto his partner's shaft. This shift in position was glorious, allowing his blogger to take him deeper.
Sherlock threw his head back against John's shoulder and moaned wantonly. How had he ever thought this was not worth his time? If his blogger was his partner, he would be content to never get out of bed.
"God, Sherlock!" the doctor cried out. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"
"I've never been so hot for someone! Never felt this good before."
"I'm—one of a—kind," Sherlock panted as he pushed back against his partner, matching John thrust for thrust.
There was a breathy laugh from behind him. "That you are. Thank God!"
"Gonna cum. Oh! John!"
The doctor increased his efforts and bit down on the juncture between the genius's neck and shoulder and they reached their climax together.
White hot pleasure the likes of which Sherlock had never known ripped through him in a devastating wake. His brain completely shut down as orgasm-induced endorphins flooded his system.
In the wake of such intense physical release, he slid down his partner's body, boneless and unable to remain upright any longer. John's strong arms encircled his waist and led them back down to the mattress.
The doctor groaned and rolled onto his back, trying to catch his breath. Sherlock was not ready to relinquish their skin on skin contact just yet. He turned over and draped himself over John, nestling his head against his blogger's shoulder. He was immediately embraced so he snuggled closer, feeling contentment for the first time in his life.
John giggled beneath him.
"What's so funny?" the detective murmured.
"Just never thought you'd be the type to cuddle afterwards, is all," John admitted as he buried his face in the silky mess of curls at the crown of Sherlock's head.
"No, quite the opposite. It's very good."
"Good," Sherlock said again, just for effect. It sent his blogger into another fit of giggles.
They laid there in companionable silence for some time before the genius spoke up again.
"I'm quite a demanding lover. I think you should know that."
He could hear the grin in John's voice when the doctor answered, "That doesn't surprise me in the least. There's nothing low maintenance about you, my dear."
Sherlock shifted a little and groaned as he realized just how stiff and sore his hips were. He was unused to such physical activities.
His blogger reached down and rubbed soothing circles on that protruding hipbone, reading his lover's mind. "Somehow," he added with a mischievous air, "I don't think that will be a problem."
"No more of those females."
The doctor continued to smile into those silky raven locks as he responded, "In case you haven't noticed, there hasn't been anyone else in quite some time."
Sherlock lifted his head to stare down into those bright indigo blue eyes. He adored John's eyes—not that he would ever admit that aloud, but he did nonetheless. They were bottomless, like the ocean and expressive yet mysterious at the same time. At this moment, they were quite expressive and the detective was positive that he was peering right into the very depth of his partner's soul. He was humbled that another person—in fact, the only person in the world who mattered—could feel so deeply for him. John's eyes told him more than either one of them could really ever say.
In a soft voice barely above a whisper, John confessed, "There's only you."
Despite everything they had just intimately shared, Sherlock blushed and smiled shyly as he adverted his gaze from the intense emotions in those beautiful orbs. The clichéd saying 'getting lost in someone's eyes' suddenly made sense to the genius. But despite this, he was at a loss to verbalize any of his own feelings.
Instead, he buried his face back in the crook of John's neck and replied, "Good."
The doctor gave a tired chuckle and wrapped his arms around his detective once more, holding him close. He understood his partner very well. That one word meant more than libraries full of sentimental, romantic love poems.
"No more stripping, either," Sherlock warned after several quite moments.
"That's a shame…was thinking that I could start offering more private performances…"
"Well, then—by all means, do continue…"