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Experiment	By : Aya Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 4000 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock nor make any money off this.

Chapter List
- 1-Experiment
- 1
I don't normally write fanfiction, in fact, I never do. But every once in a while I get an image in my head and I have to write it or it won't go away and I have never had it be in someone else's world before. When I refused to write this, all other stories just shut down so I gave in and wrote it. Word for word, I spent more time on this story than any other.
I'm viewing it as an exercise in characterization and editing, in order to get over the whole freaking out about something new bit.
Read, Review and Enjoy.

He couldn't quite recall how he had ended up in that position. Likely it had started with an enquiry, which he had ignored, followed by a furtive 'confiscating' of his laptop, which he had pretended not to notice, and finally being talked into, how did he always end up saying yes to these things, participating in an experiment.

That did not, however, explain how he had ended up quite like that.

Bent over the island in the kitchen, he groaned. His hands gripped across the counter and the side of it because doing so was a better option than digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands. He gripped the counter tight, it prevented him from trying to push off and towards the person behind him, a motion which was about as comfortable as the edge of the counter digging into his hips.

Long fingered hands, cool to the touch but warming slowly, pressed against him, one on the small of his back, just above his buttocks, one against his right shoulder, pinning him to the island. The bared flesh of his back tickled each time the body behind him shifted, unbuttoned shirt grazing over his flushed skin. Heat boiled through him, making every movement all the more noticeable.

There would be nothing and then the movement of fabric, grazing over his skin. It was amazing how the barest touch could cause such a shuddering reaction. The hand pressed into his back would adjust each time the cloth fluttered across him. Each finger would press harder into his back, short fingernails barely felt. The fingers would relax, then push into his flesh again.

The hand on his shoulder would do much the same, grip him tight and then release, dig into his shoulder and then relax.

He recalled how the hand had arrived on his lower back. In those first moments of the experiment the hand had pressed there to hold him still and to test his reaction. Each tremble, each movement, shifted the core muscles in his back and the hand was there, gauging them.

The one on his shoulder was the dominant hand, pressing him downward and digging in all at the same time. He could not for the life of him recall how or why the hand had been placed there. Perhaps he had moved once too often despite the grumbled admonishments.

“Do try to keep quiet, John,” came a rumble, all movement ceasing, “we wouldn't want to wake Mrs. Hudson, now would we?”

“Maybe if you found someone else to perform your experiments with-”

“On,” Sherlock corrected as he leaned down, his bare chest touching John's back, “If I had someone else to perform experiments on, I would do so on both of you, one must always test a hypothesis to ensure that the outcome is the same. Otherwise it is not an experiment, it is for fun.”

“What, you aren't having fun right now?”

“Mild, a one, perhaps. I still don't see what's so exciting about this,” Sherlock responded, pulling away. Sherlock adjusted his hips, then thrust forward without warning, drawing a moan from John, “obviously you enjoy it.”

“There are vids-”

“Vids can only teach you so much, one needs physical practice to fully understand a concept, now hush. I am trying to concentrate.”

“You shouldn't need to concentrate.”

“Hush, John.”

“If you find it so boring you could stop!” John snapped, trying to push off the counter only to be held down as Sherlock thrust forward.

Sherlock waited for John to become quiet before he said, “your reaction is quite a bit more interesting, now hush. Allow me to concentrate.”

Each thrust was preceded by the grip relaxing, followed by a moan and a shiver. John's body reacted in a delightful way to the stimuli presented to it. He gripped the counter tighter, tried to grit his teeth to keep from moaning. Sherlock's pace was steady but soft, a slow movement that was deliberate and pleasurable but was not so involving that it gained him anything more than frustrated desire.

“P-please,” John tried to adjust his hips, only to have Sherlock press him into the counter.

“Stop struggling,” Sherlock huffed out, lowering himself again to use his full weight to pin the smaller man.

Sherlock's chest was cool compared to John's back. The different sensation brought John back to himself for a moment, but only a moment. John turned his head towards Sherlock, whose face was right at his shoulder.

Warm breath tickled John's cheek as Sherlock almost smiled, “are you enjoying this, John?”

“Yes,” John said.

“Marvellous,” Sherlock turned his face down and pressed his lips against the bare skin of John's shoulder, “skin flushed, pulse quickened, I was merely asking to verify the results.”

“Move,” John growled out, his frustration getting the best of him, “would you just move, and quickly!”

“I'm not finished,” Sherlock said bluntly.

“Neither am I,” John responded tersely.

“Oh, when you said move quickly-”

He wasn't going to say it, there was no way Sherlock was going to get that out of him. He would participate in this little experiment and wonder later if his inability to keep a relationship had anything to do with the fact that he was enjoying himself but for the moment he was simply participating.

“John,” Sherlock purred out, sounding very much like he had made a decision that John was not going to like, “why don't you tell me how you'd like this to proceed?”

He could have ended it right there, John knew that. Struggling with himself, John said quickly, “same as before. Just, maybe, a little faster.”

“Very well,” Sherlock pushed off John's back, leaving a deathly cold spot that distracted John from the slightly uncomfortable feeling that was welling up as his body caught up with what they were doing.

Sherlock's hands settled on John's hips. Pulling away slowly, Sherlock's hands rubbed John's hips, distracting the smaller man. Just when John least expected it, Sherlock thrust into him. Harder, not faster, John cried out, arching up off the counter.

Ah yes, that was why Sherlock's dominant hand had pressed into John's shoulder, holding him down. The hand returned, forcing John back to the counter as Sherlock withdrew, hesitated, and slammed into John again. John's hips bounced off the counter, settling back into place just as Sherlock thrust again. When each thrust brought a cry from John's lips, the hand from John's shoulder shifted, covering his mouth as Sherlock continued to thrust, a little faster, a little more frantic.

“Do you need some help?” Sherlock's hand shifted down John's hip, between the smaller man and the counter.

Long fingers, barely warmed from sitting on John's back, curled around him, stroking him slowly as Sherlock bent, pressing his forehead against John's shoulder. The pleasure was doubled, almost enough. John moaned against the hand.

“I'm going to-” Sherlock groaned against John's shoulder. Even the suggestion of such a thing made John shudder just as Sherlock slammed into him, the frustration, the tension, spilled out of him, “oh, John. John, I'm-” Sherlock thrust desperately into John, oblivious to the fact that John had finished, “oh, yes!” said with the same inflection that Sherlock used when he found a new and interesting case.

Sherlock collapsed against John, breathing hard.

The lovely haze was fading. Getting off was good, John would never claim otherwise, but it was finally and fully dawning on him what had just happened, what he had just done.

“Do you mind?” he said to Sherlock, trying not to let the panic change the tone of his voice.

“Not at all,” Sherlock said, pushing off of him and pulling out, “be careful. After treatment like that, I doubt you can walk very well.”

“Your experiments be damned,” John groaned, pushing off the island. He dragged his trousers back up and avoided eye contact as he did up the clasp. He wanted to glare at Sherlock to show that this changed nothing and to not give the other man the upper hand but he simply could not do it.

“Interesting,” Sherlock murmured, dropping the protection he had been so kind to use, into the trash. The taller man pulled up his trousers as he said, “slow start but good finish. I give it an eight. We should retest the result, however, to be absolutely certain.”

John managed to look up, to meet those startling eyes for a moment before he looked away again. He had gotten himself into the mess by opening his damned mouth, he wasn't about to make the same mistake twice. John let out his breath and set his jaw, forcing himself to look back at Sherlock.

“No.” he said.

“That's what you said nearly an hour ago.”

“An. Hour? I've an appointment, it started half an hour ago, you knew that.”

“At this time of night? Whatever was it for?”

“A job across the city. I told you about it last week.”

“Too bad, you'll never make it in time now.”

“You did it on purpose, didn't you?”

Sherlock ignored John's question, pulling his shirt closed, fingers dancing over the buttons with expert ease, “Shall we repeat the experiment, testing and verifying results is the only way to ensure that the outcome was the summation of the data. Perhaps this time in a bed, that is where people tend to do that. Come, up to your bedroom.”

“We are not-”

“No, of course not. Your bedroom is up a flight of stairs with you leaning as it is. My bedroom then.”

“We are not-”

“Come John, for an eight I'd walk halfway across London and with your flushed skin, raised heartbeat and inability to meet my eyes afterwards, you obviously enjoyed yourself, bodily functions not withstanding.”

“I am not gay.”

“Nor am I, it is simply an experiment.”

“That is all it is.”

“All it will ever be.”

“Do I get to do that with you?”

“Do what?” Sherlock looked puzzled.

“What you did to me, do I get to do that to you?”

“Perhaps,” Sherlock's head moved to the side ever so slightly, a motion that meant he was, at the very least, considering the idea but it was also one that he hadn't originally thought of, “I suppose the experiment would have to go both ways, otherwise it is simply your body reacting to my body and that is hardly an experiment.”

“Exactly,” wait. What was he saying?

“Wonderful, but we need to do something about your volume, wouldn't want you waking Mrs. Hudson, now would we?”

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Experiment