I am so incredibly sorry for the delay. Suffice it to say that real life kind of sucks at the moment, but there is definitely more to come...
John had no idea where Sherlock had gone and by the time he had collected himself enough to stagger out of the alley, the genius was nowhere to be seen. He probably should have hailed a cab considering the part of town he was in, but the doctor felt like he needed to walk. It never failed to help clear his head and he was able to just let his mind wander a bit.
So he let his feet take him where they will without consideration for the direction he was headed. John was somewhat surprised when he finally came to a stop outside of a familiar building. Perhaps there was someone he could talk about his flat mate's odd behavior this afternoon after all. And who better to give him insight than the only other person who knew what it was like to work so closely with Sherlock?
Without dwelling on the problem further, John pushed open the front door to NSY and waved in greeting to the officer manning the front desk. When he made it up to Greg's office, he was grateful that the DI was actually there—which was something he had failed to factor into this non-plan of his.
Lestrade looked up from the file in his hand and grinned at the doctor. "John! What brings you here? Sherlock lurking about somewhere?"
John unconsciously rubbed the back of his neck and answered, "Um, no. I actually have no idea where he is at the moment."
Frowning, Greg immediately noticed his friend's distress and set his papers down before motioning for the doctor to close the door. He had a feeling that this was a conversation that John didn't want the rest of the team to overhear. "What's wrong? Did Sherlock do something?"
Sighing heavily, John dropped down into one of the chairs across from the DI. Before responding, he rubbed his face vigorously as if it would help to dissipate the issue. "Yes, Sherlock—what else?"
"Was there a problem with that master…vampire, Constantine?" Lestrade wanted to know as he leaned forward in his seat.
"I suppose you could say that," the doctor answered cautiously and avoided eye contact.
Greg regarded his friend silently for several seconds before realization dawned on him. "Oh God—tell me what happened…"
John slumped forward with his elbows on his knees and stared down at the floor. "The guy hit on me, which wasn't a problem in and of itself really. But God—you should see this bloke, Greg! Could be Sherlock's identical twin…anyway…my mad flat mate went into another room to question someone else and I was in with Constantine. Well, he…um…came onto me and Sherlock walked back in and found us in somewhat of a compromising position."
After revealing this, the doctor glanced up and caught the horrified expression on the DI's face. "Oh God no! Nothing like that!" he clarified. "But Sherlock was rather cross about it, ducked out of the door into the back alley… I followed him…"
"And then what happened?" Lestrade prompted quietly after John's story tapered off.
At the furious blush that colored John's cheeks, Greg had a pretty good idea of what happened next. "So I take it that he was the one to make the first move, yeah?"
With a self-conscious laugh, the doctor confirmed his friend's assumption. "Ah, yeah. Yes, he did. Pushed me up against the wall and snogged me senseless. And, um, nattered on a bit about how all these guys fit a pattern—that they all look like him—he's right you know. But...so now he knows that I…fancy him."
The DI sat back in his chair and fiddled with his pen. "Well how about that?"
"Greg—this is a disaster!"
"How do you figure? Because as I see it, this is a good thing."
"What can possibly be good about this situation?!"
"Well, he kissed you didn't he?"
John stared back at his friend stunned. Lestrade grinned and continued, "I swear, the two of you! For being such intelligent blokes, you're both absolutely clueless. It's been obvious to everyone else around you that the two of you have been dancing around your attraction to each other for far too long. Hell—half of London thinks you're already shagging! So—as far as I can see, this is nothing but a good thing."
"I suppose you're right."
"Of course I am. I know about these things."
They both burst out laughing at that. The doctor felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He was glad that he could trust Greg with this. "Thanks, mate. I feel loads better now."
"You're welcome," the DI said. "So as I see it, ball's in your court now. You can now feel free to pursue the mad bastard however you see fit—and I'm assuming he's waiting for you to make the next move."
"I appreciate your insight, Greg," John declared to his friend. "Now we just need to get you sorted out."
Lestrade shook his head and replied, "I'm fine, believe me."
"Yeah—especially with a 'friend' like Damon, I'm sure!" John said with a grin.
"No idea what you're talking about," the DI muttered as he deflected the comment by taking a sip of his now cold coffee.
The doctor leveled him with a skeptical look. "Sure, because from what I observed, you two seemed a little friendly last night—despite the fact that he was clearly trying to pull me—means that you two have history but nothing serious…which tells me that whatever is between you it's more casual…that says…friends with benefits?"
"I think that you've been spending too much time with Holmes," was all Greg had to say in response.
John giggled and relaxed a little in his seat. "And I'm not the only one. Seems there's been a certain politician of the British government lurking about a bit lately…"
Greg rolled his eyes in response. "Oh come off it! Mycroft is just a friend."
"What? In the same way that Damon is a friend or the same way that Sherlock and I are friends? Please."
"You're reading too much into this, John," the DI warned. "He might be my best friend but that doesn't mean there's anything more than that."
"Mmmhmm. How's the weather up that river this time of year?" the doctor asked pointedly with an unconvinced look. "The man brings you dinner when he knows you're stuck in the office late working a case! He knows your favorite take-away place and what you order!"
Lestrade sighed and ran his left hand through his hair in an agitated manner but didn't say anything. John shook his head and responded, "Seriously? You know all about my infatuation with Sherlock and yet you don't trust me enough to confide in me about Mycroft? I'm hurt, Greg."
"It's not like that," the DI assured him. "I just didn't want to voice it—afraid it might be just an illusion."
The doctor thought about that for a moment. "I'm assuming the attraction is mutual, yeah?"
"A bit of flirting I suppose, and little touches here and there that aren't strictly necessary…so I would say so," agreed Greg.
"Ugh, look at us!" the doctor declared with a grin and a shake of his head. "What complete idiots are we that we go and fall for two of the most emotionally unavailable men in all of Britain?"
"Now I wouldn't say that," Lestrade defended the brothers. "Emotionally stunted, yes—unavailable, no."
"Either way, I need a drink after all this!"
"You said it, mate…"
His talk with Greg had done much to settle his frayed nerves. Feeling a bit better about what had transpired that afternoon outside the club, John finally felt ready to face his flat mate once again. Though despite that, part of him still wished that the flat would be empty when he returned home. When the doctor poked his head cautiously through the door to their sitting room and found it deserted, he breathed a sigh of relief and hung up his jacket.
John instinctually rolled his shoulders to try and loosen the tension that had built back up on the tube ride home to the flat. After marshaling his thoughts back into order, he strode with resolution into the kitchen and filled the kettle before switching it on. With a sigh he braced his hands on the worktop and hung his head to stretch out the muscles in his neck.
He was just on the verge of relaxing when just behind him there was a sudden warmth and breath on the back of his neck. "John…" that deep baritone rumbled in his left ear.
The doctor jumped and uttered a very unmanly squeak that he would swear afterwards that did not, in fact, come from him. Instinctually, Sherlock took several steps back to give his blogger some space, lest he end up with a fist in his face.
"Jesus! Sherlock! Don't sneak up on me like that!" John yelled as he turned around to face his flat mate.
Sherlock slipped his hands into his trouser pockets, his whole affect giving off an aura of nonchalance as the buttons on that damn purple silk shirt strained against the pull of his shoulders being set. It made his partner more irritated than having been snuck up on.
John crossed his arms over his chest and glared as hard as he could. A shiver raced down Sherlock's spine as he fell under that weight of that stare and for the first time, he realized how formidable the former army captain must have been staring down his troops. It did something for the genius. He suddenly felt more alive in that moment than he had in any other up to that point. Thousands of thoughts and desires raced through his mind in a matter of mere seconds and he wondered how he ever managed to live without John.
"It wasn't my intention to startle you," Sherlock purred, giving no hint to his inner turmoil. "I thought you had heard me approach."
The doctor eyed him critically and demanded, "So what's this, then? What are you on about?"
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."
"You bloody well know what I mean!" John hissed, the calmness he had felt upon leaving Greg's office had abruptly morphed into a near blinding rage. "What the hell was all that back in the alley? I don't know what to think, Sherlock! You say you're married to your work and yet you purposely destroy all of my relationships, you act like a jealous housewife when another man shows me the least bit of attention, and then you get me off in a seedy alleyway behind a club—in the middle of the day!"
Now it was Sherlock's turn to be impatient. He rolled his eyes and gestured wildly with this hands as he took a step towards his blogger. "As ever, you see but do not observe, John!"
"Oh no you don't! Do not turn this back on me!" the doctor shouted, advancing on his companion.
"Well you're the one sending mixed signals!"
"Me?! I'm sending mixed signals?! Who just tossed me off?!"
"You can't even admit your attraction to me! How else was I supposed to get the point across?"
"Umm, maybe by telling me instead of just shoving your hand down my pants!"
"Fine! Is that what you want, then?!" the younger man cried out, his face flushed and eyes flashing with that strange heat once again. "You're a bloody distraction! I should be focused on the case instead of on you! But instead of worrying about the killer, I'm concerned whether or not you're going to allow some mentally disturbed, delusional nut job who plays at being a vampire drain you of your fluids!"
A dark, warped sense of pleasure coursed through John at that particular choice of words and he responded in a low, menacing growl, "Oh yes! I bet he'd be fucking fantastic at 'draining my fluids' and I have half a mind to let him. And after I've let him drink his fill, I'd shove him face first onto the nearest surface and fuck the daylights out of him."
Sherlock barely managed to swallow back the moan that threatened to spill from his mouth at that imagery. "No you won't," he commanded with just enough force that he didn't sound as breathless as he actually was.
John took one last step, bringing him into the detective's personal space until they were chest to chest and he had to crane his neck back to look up into Sherlock's face. "Won't I?"
And that was it. There had never been a challenge more enticing than that. With a feral whine, the younger man crushed his blogger to him as he grabbed both sides of John's face in his hands. The doctor immediately boosted himself up on the tips of his toes to meet that sinful cupid's bow half way.
The older man dug his fingers into his partner's protruding hipbones with a bruising force. At Sherlock's resulting gasp at the pressure, John slipped his tongue into the genius' mouth and thoroughly explored the inside of that wet, smooth cavern.
He helplessly surrendered to the domineering force that was John Watson as he was snogged senseless. In a matter of minutes, Sherlock was painfully hard, his erection straining against his zip. He was caught completely off guard when John's warm, calloused hand managed not only to open his trousers, but closed around his throbbing cock. Sherlock mewed into John's mouth at the sensation.
"Doesn't seem so fair, now does it?" John whispered, pushing down the genius' trousers and pants.
"Fair?" the detective panted as he allowed his blogger to manhandle him a few steps backwards.
Without so much as a warning, John slid his hands around to Sherlock's plush arse and hoisted him up onto the table. The younger man struggled for a moment, trying to kick off his shoes so that his trousers wouldn't be tangled around his ankles. He had just succeeded at this when John forced his knees apart to stand between them. Sherlock grabbed a fistful of the doctor's jumper and hauled him closer in order to smash their lips together again.
John nipped and licked at his mouth as his left hand dipped back down between his legs. Sherlock was so distracted that he wasn't aware what happening until the doctor ducked to the right and made a grand sweeping motion with his arm and all the crap that was on the table went crashing to the floor. The genius winced as he heard several of his beakers and petri dishes shatter on impact when they met the tiled floor, but John was finally right where he wanted him.
"So is this what you wanted?" the older man questioned as he thrust his hips forward into his flat mate's. "Nothing as shady as a dark alleyway, but I bet you would love for me just to bend over this very table and fuck you. Take my pleasure in that tight, perk arse of yours…you'd enjoy that wouldn't you?"
"God, yes!" Sherlock gasped, desperate for just that.
Without any warning, the genius was suddenly face first on the wooden surface beneath him with his backside sticking up in the air. His cock throbbed as he felt John drop to his knees behind him and as those calloused hands kneaded both of his gluts. Sherlock's face flushed in embarrassment as his cheeks were separated exposing his most intimate parts.
Hot breath ghosting over his opening and Sherlock bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut against the sensation as a shiver racked his body.
John hummed in approval as he took in his friend in this vulnerable position. "Are you a virgin, Sherlock?" he asked softly. "Has anyone touched you like this?"
The younger man only managed an inarticulate cry in response, which was just as well because the doctor chose that moment to lean forward to lick at his rosy colored opening. He squirmed against the sensation of John's tongue lapping at his sensitive flesh. No one had ever done this to him before and it was nearly blowing his mind.
He'd only done this a handful of times, but John had never enjoyed performing this act as much as he did with his best friend—Sherlock was so responsive to his touch. And the delicious noises the detective was making turned him on all the more. Blindly, he reached for the jar of olive oil he knew had been on the table before he had shoved everything off moments ago. John nearly crowed in triumph when his fingers closed around the bottle without managing to cut himself on the broken glass.
Without stopping his current ministrations, the doctor unscrewed the cap and tipped some of the oil out onto his fingers. When he was sure he had enough, John finally pulled away. Sherlock whimpered in protest at the loss of his blogger's talented tongue.
"Shh, I've got you," John whispered in reassurance. He kissed one plump cheek before resting a slicked up finger against the genius' fluttering opening to trace at the muscle.
In a strangled voice, Sherlock begged, "Please!"
Grinning like a fool, John slowly pushed his index finger in until it was past the second knuckle. The detective's body offered minimal resistance thanks to his previous preparations. Taking his own sweet time, the doctor worked meticulously until he had added three fingers and Sherlock was stretched and pliant beneath him. Only then did John remove his fingers.
The older man stood back up and took a moment to admire his handiwork. He was quite pleased with himself, having reduced his brilliant flat mate to little more than a babbling mess. A delicate pink blush had crept onto Sherlock's ivory pale skin, making it all the more enticing. In that moment, John knew that he would never be able to live without this.
"Dear God—please tell me now if you don't want this, Sherlock," John beseeched. "I'm not going to be able to stop if you don't say something now."
"Please," the younger man whined again as reaching back to grab ahold of his blogger's left hip in an attempt to pull him closer. "Want this—you. Please John."
That was all the confirmation he needed. John fished his wallet out of his back pocket and retrieved the condom stashed there as he unzipped his trousers and pulled his cock out of its confines. He discarded the leather billfold, condemning it to the mess on the floor before he tore open the wrapper of the prophylactic with his teeth and rolled it deftly onto his straining erection. John gripped the base and squeezed hard to take the edge off as he lined himself up. Any reservations he might have had were immediately dispelled when Sherlock pushed back to meet him.
The genius let out a choked off cry as John finally entered him. Thanks to his doctor's careful preparations, it barely hurt at all. He had lifted his head to say something—he wasn't quite sure what—when John hit his prostate with full force. The words were abandoned on his tongue as he thumped his forehead onto the wooden surface below him and called out John's name instead.
It was sweaty, brutal, and fast paced as John pistoned in and out of him but Sherlock loved every second of it and his mind briefly wondered why he hadn't thought it worth the time to do this before now. That was especially true when his blogger's iron grasp held his hips hard enough to leave lasting marks on his skin. The detective had to grip the edge of the table for dear life as the power behind the thrusts driving him closer to madness slammed him into the table with every passing blow. His cock strained painfully and his bollocks were tight and heavy between his legs but he didn't dare risk removing a hand from its position.
He babbled incoherently as the intensive pleasure hammered at his body without relent.
Behind him, John gave a breathless laugh and declared, "Never thought it'd be possible to reduce you to such a mess! Had I known, would have done this ages ago!"
Sherlock gave an indignant squawk that trailed off in a scream. He fought to articulate what he needed to convey. "Cl-close!" he stuttered.
"M'too. Got you, love," John murmured. "Let go—I got you."
With those words, an orgasm so intense his brain shut down ripped through the detective with lightening hot heat.
At the feeling of Sherlock's body contracting around him, the doctor was tipped over the edge just a few seconds later. His knees buckled at the sensation and he collapsed onto his flat mate. For several long minutes, they both just laid there draped over the table, struggling to catch their breath.
When he was sure that his legs would support his weight again, John struggled back into standing position with a tired groan. After Sherlock showed no signs of further movement, the doctor wrapped his arms around his best friend's waist and pulled him up. The younger man leaned against his chest and tilted his head back to rest it upon his blogger's shoulder.
"God!" he huffed in tired amusement. "Are you always this intense?"
A chuckle answered his query. "Only when it comes to you."
"John—" Sherlock started to say, but was cut off by the distinct ringing of his mobile. He forced his eyes open, completely unaware that they had even closed of their own volition.
He scanned the aftermath of their kitchen and spotted his phone teetering on the far edge of the scarred wooden table. The good doctor, always aware of what he needed, shuffled them forward and braced Sherlock's boney hips as the genius leaned forward to grab his device.
As soon as he saw the caller ID, the detective cursed mentally. They were in the middle of a murder investigation and here he was being shagged senseless by his flat mate. He tried to feel guilty about that, but Sherlock was just too sated in that moment to care properly.
"What is it, Lestrade?" the genius demanded, his baritone slightly husky from its vocal response to John's carnal efforts. He listened intently while the DI explained a new twist in their case before he agreed to meet him within the next half hour.
"There's been another murder," he announced after hanging up the phone.
John sighed and released Sherlock in favor of attempting to straighten himself out. He discarded the used condom and tucked himself back into his trousers as his best friend gingerly bend over to retrieve his discarded clothing. The doctor winced as he saw a pained expression flash across his companion's face when he realized the extent of the damage done to his equipment.
"Sorry 'bout that," John mumbled, making a sweeping motion with his hand to indicate the mess on the floor.
Surprisingly, Sherlock laughed and shook his head. "Don't be—that was fantastic. It was nothing of importance anyway. This—" he said, gesturing back and forth between them, "was the far more important experiment."
"We should probably talk about this," John stated awkwardly.
"For once, you're right—we probably should, but later."
His blogger silently nodded in agreement.
There was something about the look on John's face that gave him pause. Sherlock gazed down at him searchingly and it was all the older man could do to keep eye contact. It was not lost on the genius that something monumental had just shifted between them and that perhaps his former soldier needed a littler reassurance.
He raised a hand to John's face and lightly caressed his jaw with his knuckles. "Don't fret, John." Sherlock leaned down and offered the doctor a chaste, but sweet kiss.
"Okay," John agreed with a smile knowing that it would ultimately be alright, whatever this was between them now. "So…another murder?"
"Yes—Lestrade thinks it's related to this case but the method is vastly different. Wants me to have a look."
"Right…well I suppose that I should get this cleaned up in here while you go do that," the doctor replied, sparing another mournful glance at the disarray of the kitchen.
Shaking his head, Sherlock answered, "Nonsense! It can wait until later—I need you to accompany me. This should also peek your interest from a medical standpoint."
"Yes, this is definitely 'a weird one'. This case just became all the more fascinating," the detective declared with a mischievous grin. "Let me just go get a fresh pair of pants and we will be on our way."
Sherlock ducked down yet again and pressed his lips to John's before he dashed out of the room.
The doctor laughed to himself and wondered about how insane his life had become. He couldn't find it in him to care—he loved every second of it.
I hope their first time met your expectations :P I do love hot, angry sex. Mmm.