Hacked | By : SoftPurpleSherlockian Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 4354 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2 |
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or any of the characters and am making no money off of this story. |
A soft rain had fallen over London as John left the hospital that evening.
'flagging down a cabbie will be all but impossible', he sighed to himself as he made his way outside and started walking toward Baker Street. Besides the light drizzle, the weather was quite fair, and John was starting to question his choice of jumper.
'Should have worn the grey one today, it's lighter.' The doctor sulked as he continued on his journey 'Bloody weather man can't get anything right'.
He walked past people scrambling to collect their belongings as the rain started to fall heavier, families ushering children into waiting vehicles, women placing bags over their heads in a sad attempt to keep their hair dry, and men opening umbrellas. The rain didn't bother John, when he was in Afghanistan, he was subjected to the elements on a daily basis. It would be weeks on end before any rain fell over there, and John welcomed the droplets of water on his face like an old friend, never taking them for granted upon his return home.
Johns was snapped out of his daydream when his eyes focused on a petite, chestnut haired woman who was walking towards him. She was fairly attractive, not beautiful mind you, but she had a certain prettiness about her. She was tiny, standing no more than 5 feet tall, give or take an inch, with shoulder length hair that layered to frame her doll like face, John could imagine how full it normally was when it wasn't plastered to the sides of her face by the rain. She was too far away to make out the colour of her eyes, so John focused on her tiny, upturned nose and lips that were forced into a grimace as she wrapped her arms around her body in a hug, as if to comfort herself from the intruding storm that had swept overhead.
John fixed his attention to her light blue cotton blouse, which was clinging to her body in a way that left little to the imagination. He could clearly tell the young woman wasn't wearing a bra, and shifted his eyes to her hard nipples, that were straining against the fabric. John could feel his groin start to tighten and chastised himself for getting turned on like a fourteen year old school boy who'd just found his father's magazines!
'It's been too long since you've gotten laid', the doctor told himself, as the young woman walked past him. John let out an audible sigh and quickened his pace in his effort to get home. All he wanted to do was take a hot shower and watch some telly with a cup of tea, if Sherlock had finished with his experiment that is. John couldn't even count the number of times he had asked the detective to keep his projects out of the kitchen - that was where he prepared food for God's sake! He had kept his mouth shut about it last night, but his displeasure was written all over his face and he knew that Sherlock saw it. John had learned to pick his battles with his flat mate, and while he wasn't happy about having a pot of eyes stewing on the stove, he knew it could always be worse, so he was saving his fight for when it would be.
When John entered the flat, he wasn't the least bit surprised to find Sherlock sitting on the coffee table, with his hands folded at his face as he was lost in thought. John had long since given up trying to make any sort of conversation with Sherlock while he was in his mind palace, it was pointless, so John nearly jumped when he heard the detective speak.
"You walked home."
"What makes you say that?" John answered in response to the detective's abrupt statement.
Sherlock felt the corner of his mouth twitch upwards; honestly, John could be so daft sometimes. "You're wet John. It was a fairly simple deduction."
"I could have just gotten wet by getting out of the taxi."
Sherlock did so enjoy when John prompted him for an explanation to an obvious conclusion, and the man was happy to elaborate. "No. It takes you a mere seven seconds to get from the kerb to the flat, eleven if you grab the wrong key. The rain isn't falling hard enough for you to be that wet from simply walking from the road. That, and the fact that it's twenty-three minutes after five… a cab ride would have put you home at six minutes past. Both of these factors added together, I can only deduce that you made the trip by foot. Am I right?"
"Of course you're right you wanker, you know you are." John stated as he made his way to the laundry basket and started peeling off his soaking wet clothes.
"Had to set a wrist and pin a knee today", he continued. "Then we had a gunshot wound after lunch, the bullet was lodged right in the sternum and…" John trailed off as he glanced back towards the detective, who he noticed was watching him with interest. In nothing but his briefs, John's eyes met Sherlock's heated gaze, and he could feel the heat beginning to creep into his cheeks. He straightened his spine and cleared his throat, "I'll just, um, I mean, I'm going to get a shower. You know, erm, warm up from the rain."
Sherlock said nothing, but John could feel his eyes on him as he made his way to the bathroom and closed the door behind him.
Once in the safety of the small room, John allowed himself to relax. 'What the bloody hell was that all about?' he thought to himself, 'and why the fuck do I want it to happen again?' John pushed these thoughts out of his head as opened the shower door and turned the water on, allowing time for the water to become scorching hot. He shed his briefs and studied himself in the mirror.
John wasn't bad looking by any means, the years that had passed since his honourable discharge from the army had softened his appearance, but John still worked out regularly. It's true that he didn't have the build that he once had in his days as a soldier, but he was still fit, running all over the streets of London after Sherlock ensured some tone to his body.
John smiled at the memory of Afghanistan, the first time a recruit had muttered "Yes, Sir" in the face of his authority, he was changed. He loved it, that kind of dominance over others had shaped and molded him into the man he was today. Of course, these were all parts of his personality that he buried deep down within himself and kept well hidden. The raven haired, lanky flat mate of his tested his control on a daily basis, and more often than not, John would have to retreat to his room to keep his emotions from running away with him. There was nothing he would enjoy more than to put Sherlock in his place, but John knew that Sherlock was a fragile creature. A child in many ways, and the last thing either of them needed was two control freaks living at 221B. So John kept his mouth shut, and bit his tongue whenever the urge to chew Sherlock out hit him, which was often.
'God that man tests my patience!' John grunted as he made his way over to the shower and stepped inside.
It had been a rough day, they had nearly lost the gun shout patient, and it was only by a sheer miracle that they were able to extract the bullet fragments as the young man held on to his life. What John Watson needed right now was a distraction; he reached for the soap as images of the petite woman from the street entered his mind.
The woman was walking towards him, her eyes never leaving John's. When they were a mere inches from each other, John reached down and grabbed a handful of the woman's hair and roughly pulled her into his demanding kiss. His lips were hard on hers, a combination and crushing and biting that would leave her pretty lips swollen and bruised.
John lathered the soap in his hands and reached down to grab his cock, not quite hard, but gave it a few firm strokes and cupped his balls. Giving them a gentle tug did the trick, and his cock stood straight out as John continued to stroke up and down his entire length.
John pulled the woman into the adjacent space between the two shops, not really wide enough to be considered an alley, it was maybe only feet wide, and shoved her against the brick work of the building. His mouth leaving bite marks along her jaw line and throat, as he buried his fist in her hair and gave it a firm tug, causing a whimper from the young woman that went straight to his cock. She unzipped Johns trousers and pulled his cock out, her hands running along the length of him, taking her time to squeeze the head with her fingertips. John groaned and grabbed her thigh to straddle him as he sank into the wet heat of her pussy.
John continued to stroke himself as he thought about the chestnut haired woman he was likely to never see again. His right hand, which up until this point had been gently kneading his balls, moved behind him and he slipped a soapy finger into his arse and crooked his finger until he found his prostate.
His breath was becoming shallow, as he struggled to find release. He needed this, it had been a long day and he just wanted to relax. He started to picture his street woman in various positions, all leaving her at his mercy. He willed his mind to whip her, to bite her, to make her beg, but everything he thought of left him right on the edge, never fully sending him over into the bliss he was desperately trying to reach. John closed his eyes and cleared his mind, keeping his grip firm on his cock, and his pace steady. He was getting frustrated, as he tried to picture the young woman with welts from his belt, or with bruises on her wrists from his fingertips.
This was agony, John wanted desperately to come so he could go about his evening. It was a means to an end, and John just wanted to reach his destination. He was about to cut his losses when the heated stare from that evening flooded his memory, he allowed those blue/green eyes to invade his thoughts and could feel himself coming as he fisted his cock.
Panting, John opened his eyes. The water had started to chill so he quickly finished washing, and made sure all traces of his pleasure had gone down the drain. He stepped over to the tap and turned the water off, allowing himself to stand there for a moment longer to ponder what the fuck had just happened.
He stepped out of the shower and dried off, wrapping the towel around his waist, he opened the bathroom door and allowed the steam to spill out. Welcoming the chilled air hitting his body, he made his way to his bedroom, stopping for a brief moment to enjoy the violin music that was filling the air. John loved it when Sherlock played, it soothed him and he welcomed the calm feeling that it brought. He continued across the flat, and paused when the music hit an abrupt stop. John turned his head and met Sherlock's intense gaze, it lasted less than half a second before Sherlock returned his attention to his playing and John walked to his room.
He leaned against the door and let out a ragged breath.
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