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Perihelion	By : darkangel1210 Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 13560 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I don't own BBC Sherlock or any of the characters, nor do I make any profit from writing this. Just too inspired by the show that I had to borrow them.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
A/N: Did you really think you’d get rid of me that easily? ;-) In all honesty, it’s good to be back with the next chapter that I’ve been working on for the past month and a bit so I hope it meets with everyone’s approval. Thank you all for your comments and for being so patient with me! Real life is getting better now but I still haven’t found a new job yet so I hope you can hang on for a bit longer with Perihelion. It will be completed, I promise!
Part Seven
The first thing John became aware of was the intense heat inside his body. He knew that he was still half asleep so the feeling itself was a drowsy one, cushioned in layers of silk and an absurdly soft mattress that gave him the impression he’d been lying on a cloud instead of a bed, but he knew that those feelings weren’t the ones that had pulled him from his dreams. Focusing his mind, he established that the heat wasn’t coming from his body regulating his own temperature, nor was it from the mattress he was lying on or the quilts that were tucked in around his hips. It was coming from an outside source, the bed’s other occupant in fact, and even without opening his eyes he knew it was Sherlock. The other man was pressed along his back from neck to ankle, as naked as John was, and a firm presence to anchor him in what was an undiluted atmosphere of indulgence.
As comfortable as his body was in its current state, that very feeling was enough to give John pause in his thoughts and make him wonder exactly how it was that he came to be there. It would be wrong to say that he regretted anything that had happened between Sherlock and himself (nothing could be further from the truth of it), but at the same time John could safely say that he’d never seen this coming. He was in bed with a self-professed high functioning sociopath, who had clearly displayed no qualms for personal boundaries, and he couldn’t have been happier about it.
He thought about his life from before, when he’d been wounded and flown back to England on an army pension with a therapist who didn’t really didn’t have a clue what she was talking about, and his life now. For some reason, Sherlock had infiltrated every aspect of his life from the moment they met, deducing his recent past by the way that John had stood in Bart’s and almost everything in-between. No stone left unturned, but he’d been intrigued rather than annoyed by the flamboyancy of his new flatmate and had been desperately curious by the end to know more about the man who had taken an interest in him. Dull, boring John Watson who had nothing happening to him until the day he met Sherlock Holmes.
Months had passed since their first meeting, with John’s limp fixed on the first day, over a dozen cases solved and blogged with the detective, and a distressing number of girlfriends who had been scared off or shunned in Sherlock’s favour when the demand for John’s presence superseded his desire for a relationship that would last. And now this; the two of them lying naked together in Sherlock’s bed as though it wasn’t anything they hadn’t done before. As if John hadn’t vehemently defended his sexuality when he found out he would be Sherlock’s submissive for the evening and hadn’t had a small crisis when Sherlock found out about John’s interest in him, admittedly something that was still a surprise to him regardless of where he was now.
As if the feel of Sherlock’s morning erection pressing into his back wasn’t alarming in any way, just physical evidence of the other man’s excitement for John’s body and perhaps a future indicator of Sherlock’s intent. To have John bound on his front, legs spread, loose and open for the push and thrust of Sherlock’s fingers…
John shuddered where he laid, his fingers curling in the sheets as he thought of it happening and the vulnerability that it inspired.
When he seriously considered it, the act of being with another man and the implications of what that meant between them, as he was doing so now, John didn’t think he was gay, not really. The deduction Sherlock had made at the start of their relationship had been startlingly accurate because John wasn’t attracted to men like he was to women, but as with everything else in his crazy world, Sherlock was a different breed to anyone else he’d ever met. He couldn’t think of a single person who wouldn’t be attracted to Sherlock in some way or other, drawn into his orbit and helplessly baited by the danger and loosening of moral and ethical boundaries that the man represented. Sherlock got away with murder, almost literally in some cases (John couldn’t stop his smile of remembrance when he’d heard Lestrade ask Sherlock how many times the CIA agent had fallen out the window because he’d been stupid enough to hurt Mrs Hudson), but John supposed it did help that he got the job done in the end.
The fact that Sherlock had charisma and looks on his side (because he really was bloody gorgeous, for a bloke) were bonuses that John was only too happy to accept.
The sensation of fingertips tracing along his skin slowly filtered through the sleep-induced haze that John was still under (a direct result of a restful night), with the touch being light enough to be delicate but not ticklish, halting his mental assessment of himself in its tracks. He kept his breathing low and even, allowing his awareness to follow the fingers as they moved from his jaw-line on his right side and gently down to his arm which was exposed to the air. They paused at his hand, stroking across his knuckles before sliding from it entirely and settling across his silk-covered hip.
With almost no warning, hot, moist air breathed over the nape of his neck ahead of the lips that followed, pressing against his skin reverently before pursing on his flesh and lightly sucking, the slick slide of a tongue dragging over nerve-endings from the top of his shoulder to the sensitive patch of skin just under his ear lobe. He couldn’t stop his breath from hitching when that spot was lavished with attention, a different warmth suffusing his body and causing the length at his groin to stir under the sheets in slow pulses.
“Mmmm,” Sherlock murmured; his voice gravelly from sleep. “Good morning…”
John arched his body back against Sherlock’s, tilting his head to the side to encourage Sherlock’s affections and to provide him with further areas to explore, sighing when his hips bumped back into Sherlock’s and he again encountered the hot, thick press of Sherlock’s erection digging into the small of his back. “Good morning,” he replied, his lips tilting up at the corners when he felt Sherlock smile against his neck and thrust his hips forward against John’s skin in an attempt to find more stimulation for his own body. “Much better than an alarm clock,” John elaborated, gasping when Sherlock’s tongue slid up to the area behind his ear and licked at it.
“I know,” Sherlock said, pausing to speak the words directly into John’s ear. “Have you seen the time this morning?”
It took some effort on his part, but eventually John was able to centre his attention on the hands of the clock which were faintly glowing their fluorescence in the darkness of the room, his eyes widening when he realised what the time was. “Your alarm was meant to go off five minutes ago…”
Sherlock chuckled. “Once I knew you were asleep I turned it off. You have an unconscious habit of tensing when an alarm wakes you, so much that you carry it with you when you get ready for work.” The hand on John’s hip shifted again, gliding down over his uncovered stomach and teasing at the edge where the silk covered his groin. “You must admit, this is a much better way of waking up in the morning.”
John couldn’t help but agree with Sherlock’s assessment, reaching his right hand up and tangling his fingers into Sherlock’s curls in an attempt to bring Sherlock’s mouth back against his neck. “Can’t have a clock undoing all the hard work you did yesterday,” he said, sighing when Sherlock began laying kisses on his shoulder. “I’ve not felt this relaxed in ages.” And when he said it, John knew he meant every word.
Yesterday after his spanking, Sherlock had taken care of the soreness left by laying John face-down on their bed (was it theirs because they were sharing one now?) and applying Arnica cream to the cheeks of his arse. John, being a doctor, knew that the actual effectiveness of homeopathic medicine was still open to debate, and probably would be for years to come unless accurate testing was completed, but when Sherlock had spread the cream on with the same sensitivity from when Sherlock had been checking his nipples, John had to give it some credit. The cream had felt wonderful on his skin, leeching the heat from his flesh and soothing tense muscle that had yet to realise that the infliction of pain was over.
Not that the pain had been a punishment… No, not by a long shot.
“Speaking of which,” Sherlock murmured, almost as though he’d read John’s mind, taking his hand from John’s stomach and reaching between them until he could softly cup John’s right buttock. “How are you feeling now?”
John winced at first when he felt Sherlock’s hand on his skin, expecting more pain at the contact then what he actually received. Maybe Arnica cream really did work after all… “Not too bad this morning,” he replied truthfully, turning his head so he could look Sherlock in the eye without dislodging his hand. “Don’t know how I’m going to survive the shift today though. Sitting down is going to be interesting.”
Sherlock smirked. “Something for you to remember yesterday by.” The hand he had on John’s buttock squeezed briefly before he gently raked the fingernail of his index finger across the skin, and that did make John wince. “Hmmm, yes, you’re so sensitive now. Just the slightest touch,” another slide of that nail, God, did Sherlock ever trim them? “And you can’t help but respond to it.”
“If you keep doing that I won’t be able to sit down at all,” John said, tugging at Sherlock’s curls where he still had a hand buried in them. “I’m ok with admitting that I’ll need a recovery from this before we start anything new.”
“And what if I decided to focus my attention elsewhere?”
‘Oh, Christ, fu-!’ John barely had time to discern the contact for what it was before Sherlock’s finger made another sweep along the crack of his arse, not deep enough to touch his opening but the intent behind it was clear and God, how did Sherlock do that when John was only thinking of it two minutes ago?
“You are aware that, just because you’re a little sore in one area, it doesn’t mean that I haven’t catalogued the full range of activities that I can do your body,” Sherlock said, his voice deepening until it was almost a growl in his throat. He reached up with a hand and pulled John’s fingers out of his hair, shifting position so he could lay John on his back with John looking up at Sherlock with wide eyes.
He shivered at the look in Sherlock’s eyes as they roamed over his flesh, bared to the room when Sherlock pushed the sheets back from their bodies and leaving them exposed to each other. Jesus, the man’s eyes were something to get lost in when Sherlock looked like this. Almost translucent, fathomless…
Hungry…
“I want to own you, John,” Sherlock said, leaning over him until their bodies were touching, John unconsciously allowing one of Sherlock’s legs to slide between his so the detective could press a knee up against the underside of John’s scrotum, now drawn up tight to his groin with his arousal. “I want every inch of you laid out beneath me, trembling, desperate…” Sherlock lowered his head so when he was speaking his lips were a hairs-breadth away from John’s. “Submissive…”
“Yes,” John whispered with the hiss of the word drawn out when Sherlock shifted his knee again to gently rub at his groin, feeling his own desire rise up inside him. Dark, forbidden fantasies that flitted across his vision with a teasing seduction that made his body writhe underneath the press of Sherlock’s. “Make me, Sherlock,” he murmured, staring into the detective’s eyes and allowing a small hint of challenge to fill his voice. “Make me want to submit to you.” Contrary to his words, his legs spread wider of their own accord, allowing Sherlock to lower both his legs in the gap John was providing to bring their groins flush against each other.
“I don’t have to,” Sherlock murmured, pressing his face into John’s neck and scraping his teeth along the skin there, pumping his hips in shallow thrusts that rubbed them against each other in all the right places. “I don’t even need to force you. Your body wants to submit on its own without your intervention.”
John moaned, the sound captured by Sherlock’s mouth when their lips pressed together with a passion that shook John down to his core. The feel of Sherlock’s tongue in his mouth was a soft, wet sensation which completely juxtaposed the hard, rough edge of Sherlock’s cock rubbing against his own, the motion needy in desire, but not desperate.
When Sherlock pulled back from the kiss to look at John’s face, he knew that Sherlock had complete control of all his faculties even in the midst of what felt like an ardent make-out session and that in itself was enough to make John a little more desperate himself. He wanted to make Sherlock as crazy for this as he was, but he was still unsure as to how much he could push the boundaries of their relationship before Sherlock drew the line. How much control would he have as a submissive before Sherlock took it back from him?
“Stop thinking,” Sherlock said, sitting back in order to grip John wrist’s in his hands so he could pin John’s hands above his head, resuming their slow grind once the desired position had been achieved. “Focus on me, on what we’re doing together.”
“Not much else I can do,” John panted, arching his back to push up into Sherlock’s body so he could feel the slick slide of their skin against each other. He flexed his hands experimentally, feeling the tight restriction of Sherlock’s fingers around his wrists, and although he knew he could get out of this position if he wished, he felt no such inclination to do so. He was by no means helpless (Sherlock hadn’t tied his legs down and the other man wasn’t stupid enough to think he could hold John down like this against his will), but it suddenly struck him that that was the whole point.
It wasn’t so much about losing control to another person.
It was about giving that control up to them.
“Oh God,” John said, his words almost choking him as the realisation (something he was sure he’d had once before), lodged in his mind and body, giving him a whole new insight into the grip around his wrists. “God, Sherlock, I…”
“Yes, you understand now, don’t you,” Sherlock said, his eyes intensifying on John’s face as he felt the shaking of John’s body beneath him, flexing his fingers around John’s wrists once to remind them both of where his hands were, not that John needed any reminding. Not when the hold of Sherlock’s hands now tensed and relaxed in rhythm with the motion of his hips, a languid movement that had John panting for more. “I could tie you down to this bed if I wanted to,” Sherlock continued, his voice husky from the exertion of their grinding. “I could restrict every one of your movements until all you could do was focus on your breathing.” There was a harsher press around John’s wrists as Sherlock tightened his fingers for a second longer before releasing them altogether, leaving John’s hands where they were. “But we both know that if I want your body in a certain way, all I need to do is put you there. And you’ll stay, won’t you, John. You’ll stay just where I want you even though you know it’s going to hurt.”
John moaned desperately at the words, pressing his hands into the pillow above his head to stop them from moving because he so badly wanted to touch Sherlock; hair, face, mouth... It didn’t matter where and he was certain that the slow build of pressure in his groin would drive him mad long before he was given permission to move. “Please, Sherlock,” John whispered, using the leverage from his legs to thrust his hips up and against Sherlock’s groin, the hateful, logical part of his mind unaware of what the time was but unable to forget that he was needed early at the surgery. As much as he was enjoying himself at this moment, it would ruin the whole morning if he was taken into Sarah’s office again for tardiness.
“You don’t need to worry about the time,” Sherlock said, riding the movement of John’s body to deny them both of the friction. “The clock is incorrect.”
It took a while for the words to filter through the lust that John was experiencing but, even so, he could only stare at Sherlock in confusion. “Incorrect?”
“Hmmm-mmmm,” Sherlock affirmed, eyes alight with humour. “It’s been set an hour ahead.”
“An hour…?” John shut his eyes as another wave of pleasure flowed through him, the question stopping mid-way when it occurred to him that the clock wasn’t controlled by any radio towers, giving Sherlock the opportunity to change it as he saw fit.
“Yes,” Sherlock said and John could hear the smirk in his voice. “The time is actually twenty to six, not seven. By my calculations,” another slow thrust which made John groan, “you have an extra fifty minutes on top of the limit you normally allow yourself to get to work on time.” All movement stopped, prompting John to open his eyes to see what Sherlock was up to, but all the detective was doing was grinning at him. “We have yet to establish whether or not our shower can accommodate two people.”
John smiled at the suspicious glint in Sherlock’s eyes. “Don’t be an arse; you already know the answer to that.”
“Then let’s skip the pleasantries, shall we?” Displaying the grace that John was continually envious of, Sherlock pushed himself up from John’s body and stood next to the bed, extending a hand out for John to take, gloriously naked and completely unashamed of it.
It was a moment suspended in time for John as he looked upon Sherlock’s nudity, right from the top of his head to the base of his feet. He’d only ever been in Sherlock’s presence once before when the other man was devoid of everything but his sheet, and even then he’d tried to not look when Mycroft had stepped on Sherlock’s only barrier from nudity to stop him from storming right out of Buckingham Palace.
Now though, it was a completely different situation. He’d always known that Sherlock was fit despite his leanness, but to have it on display and to know it was on show for him was slightly awe-inspiring. Unlike John’s stockier build from when he’d been in the army, Sherlock had the look of someone who’d decided where they wanted their muscles beforehand and had placed them on their body exactly as they wished them to be. John couldn’t be jealous though; he knew Sherlock was attracted to him (one didn’t need to look at Sherlock’s erection to deduce the evidence of that) and he knew he was definitely attracted to Sherlock, both physically and mentally.
Although he had to admit to a slight bout of nerves when he saw Sherlock’s erection for what was the first time. It was one thing to have it pressed against your body in bed with a sheet covering you, but it was quite another to view it from a distance. Proportionally there wasn’t anything wrong with the size of it (in neither length nor girth in comparison to the man who owned it), but nevertheless it still made John’s eyes water when he thought of where Sherlock would probably want to put it.
He’d seen people take larger ones (having seen his fair share of anal porn involving larger-than-life penises which hadn’t been enhanced in post-production – one had to be grateful for amateur home videos), so he knew that the human body was perfectly capable of accepting something of Sherlock’s size. John just wasn’t sure if it was ok as a first time for someone like him, who’d never considered the possibility of it happening to him until he found himself in his first gay relationship. Sure, it hadn’t been on the cards when they’d first started this, but he couldn’t say for certain that Sherlock wouldn’t insist on it eventually and he wondered whether it was even allowed for a sub to take their Dom when they weren’t in a scene. Was it something Sherlock would allow or had he, like John, had no experience with it? He found it disconcerting that Sherlock could deduce his love life (or his lack of it) just by looking at him, but, to John, Sherlock’s sexual exploits were as elusive as the workings of the man’s mind and he knew he definitely wasn’t sure that he was comfortable with the idea of Sherlock being with anyone else. ‘When did that happen?’
Sherlock’s fingers closed in on themselves in front of him, leaving just his index finger loosely pointing towards John. John looked up at Sherlock’s face, worried that the other man was retracting his offer, but Sherlock merely raised his hand in front of his chest and crooked his finger, beckoning John to follow as he backed out of the bedroom to head for the shower.
John blinked at the image of Sherlock crooking a finger at him, and at the searing look Sherlock had given him before he’d disappeared around the door frame, for what must have been a full minute before hastily scrambling to his feet in a flurry of limbs that he knew looked nothing like the way Sherlock had risen from the bed just moments earlier. They both knew that Mrs Hudson was unlikely to be up at this time of the morning so John had no problem with wandering to the bathroom with no clothes on, and it wasn’t as if Sherlock held any such petty notions of modesty.
The sound of running water reached him as he headed down the hallway towards the bathroom, the faint glow from underneath the door guiding him when the lights hadn’t been switched on. He stopped outside the door and took a deep breath to gather his nerve, knowing that Sherlock was waiting on the other side. A very naked, very wet Sherlock if the sounds of water splashing were anything to go by…
Steam rushed out of the room when he opened the door, prompting John to get inside quickly before all the heat escaped from what was a medium-sized bathroom at best. Finding the door secure, he turned around to look at where the shower was and his mouth fell open; his previous guess of finding a wet, soapy Sherlock couldn’t have been more accurate, but John hadn’t been prepared for how enticing the other man would look in such a state. Even though the steam was starting to mist up the glass separating them, John could clearly see the shine on Sherlock’s skin where the water was reflected in the lights of the bathroom, allowing him to follow the trail the soap suds ran from the top of Sherlock’s shoulders, through to the dip at the small of his back and down his legs which were lightly darkened with the sparse hair decorating them. And even through the misted glass, it was apparent that Sherlock’s erection hadn’t abated at all.
The shower door opened, jolting John from his thoughts to see Sherlock half-smiling at him, his wet curls dropping down into his eyes. “Do you require a written invitation?”
“Hell no,” John muttered, sliding into the cubicle and shutting the shower door behind him, barely making sure it was closed properly before he felt Sherlock’s body press against him from behind, the sensation of wet, soapy skin sliding against his body making John moan again as he shut his eyes to better absorb all the different feelings.
“Keep your eyes closed,” Sherlock said quietly in his ear, moving them around until John was beneath the spray of the hot water.
John tilted his head beneath it to ensure his hair was soaked through, letting the water flow down his face while he raised his hands to the wall in front of him on either side of the shower head. Sherlock’s hands make a squelching sound behind him, then he felt those same hands on his neck and shoulders, rubbing the soap (Sherlock’s own brand, an orange and grapefruit scented variety which was more expensive but of a better quality than the ones John could afford) into his skin in soothing, circular motions. Belatedly, John realised that Sherlock was bathing him, working the product onto his skin with a firmness that would help to relieve any unwanted tension and it sent another wave of emotion through his body. Sherlock’s hands were like bands of steel, kneading into his muscles and coaxing them to ease their strain, clearly an effort to reduce what would be an otherwise stressful day. Even the thought of an early shift at the surgery was enough to make John wince when he knew he’d have to leave this quiet haven of hot water and relaxing massages.
Sherlock’s hands slid from his shoulders and pulled his arms from the wall, bringing them down until they were at John’s sides before he began to run his fingers along the length of them from the top of his shoulders and down to John’s fingertips. John felt his mental processes begin to shut down as the slow massage continued, a shiver of want running through him when Sherlock located sensitive areas he hadn’t been aware of before and paid special attention to them, logging the different presses and touches which made John twitch, in either irritation or need. Both reactions must have been fine to Sherlock because he was testing each area numerous times and not once did John lose the feeling that he was being taken care of, although it felt funny being an experiment when it collided with the pleasure that was flowing through him.
And Sherlock didn’t stop. Once John’s arms and hands were finished with, the man moved onto his back and, despite the awkward position, still managed to make John feel like his body was melting from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. His eyelids drooped over his vision, the release of endorphins into his system making his cock throb whilst making him want to fall asleep at the same time.
Slowly and methodically, Sherlock made a thorough sweep of his body; hips, thighs, calves and ankles were touched before Sherlock made him turn under the spray again, facing the detective so Sherlock could do exactly the same to his front.
John couldn’t find it in himself to be embarrassed at the sorts of sounds he knew he was making when Sherlock’s hands wandered from his collarbones, across his nipples (Sherlock’s fingers did spend more time than was warranted rubbing soap into the little nubs with his thumbs, swirling them round in a smooth, silky rotation that made John’s groin ache) and along his abdomen. Whimpers were definitely there, along with the usual moans and groans when a tight knot of muscle released its hold on his body, and Sherlock hadn’t told him to keep quiet so he must have been enjoying the noises which felt quite beyond John’s control.
With his eyes closed, each touch was sharper in intensity because he couldn’t see where Sherlock was looking, couldn’t see the other man’s eyes to notice whether or not he was looking at John’s face or whether he was focussed on what his hands were doing. All John knew at that moment was the liquid feel of fingers around his groin, rubbing the soap into his public hair and smoothing over his testicles before drawing the foreskin from the head of John’s shaft and lightly cleaning the receptive flesh with a touch that just made John long for more.
He really shouldn’t have been surprised when he felt the length of Sherlock’s body press up close to his and felt his mouth taken in kiss, but he still startled when Sherlock’s erection brushed along his stomach until it was pressed between them, realising with a faint shock that Sherlock was, to coin the phrase, ‘rock hard’. Sherlock’s arms wound their way around John’s shoulders and the small of his back, pulling them closer together until almost every inch of them was touching, and John did exactly what he’d been thinking about doing since they’d started this, bringing his hands up to twine his fingers in Sherlock’s hair and tugging on it to keep the kiss going.
John could feel Sherlock’s hands moving across his back where they were tracing the soap and water trails that were running across his body, stopping only when he had both hands on John’s buttocks with one cheek in each hand. John gasped into Sherlock’s mouth when he felt those fingers flex against his skin before one finger on Sherlock’s right hand slipped into his crease, pausing directly over his entrance. Once there, it gently circled the furled bud, barely skimming the edges and then pressed lightly on the centre.
It would be wrong to say that John had never been touched there by another person (he’d had prostate exams before so he’d had some experience in getting his body to accept the careful prodding on previous occasions), but this was a completely different touch. Whereas the exams had a clinical feel to them, this felt more coaxing, a gentle pressure without the sudden intrusion or the texture of latex gloves against his skin, so when Sherlock pressed down with the tip and eased it shallowly past the first tight ring of muscle, using the water of the shower as an impromptu lubricant, John’s eyes shot open as an unsteady pleasure thrummed in his blood.
“Relax,” Sherlock soothed him when John tensed at the initial push, his anus clenching around the tip of Sherlock’s finger. “Feel the way your body responds to it, not the way you’ve been taught to perceive it.”
“I’ve had prostate exams before,” John said, closing his eyes again and gripping his bottom lip between his teeth when Sherlock began to move his finger in slow circles inside him without pushing down any further. “It’s not the first time I’ve had another person’s fingers there.”
“No,” Sherlock agreed, “but this is the first time you’ve been touched there with an intimate intent.” With a slowness that John didn’t think Sherlock was capable of, he felt the tip of the detective’s finger ease from his body, now intensely aware of the way his entrance closed up around the long digit, and inhaled deeply when the finger was pressed back in to the second knuckle before his hole had a chance to fully shut.
“Jesus,” John panted, burying his face into Sherlock’s neck and breathing in the orange and grapefruit scent of the soap he’d used on them both, trying to steady his nerves when that finger began to swirl inside him again, the movement slick from the combination of soap and water which still covered them both.
“Good?” Sherlock asked, pressing his lips to John’s forehead near his hairline.
“Not sure,” John said, his body clenching in a spasm as it tried to force out Sherlock’s finger. He took deep breaths through his mouth and tried to focus on something else, like the way Sherlock’s other hand was pressed against his back to keep him upright, and it was only than that he realised that his legs were shaking with almost all his weight supported by Sherlock’s lithe frame. He pushed his hips forwards against Sherlock’s body and felt a little flush of pride when his erection, which hadn’t flagged at all, pressed itself against Sherlock’s thigh and twitched. ‘Nope, no problems there, John.’
“The body doesn’t lie,” Sherlock said, lifting his thigh a little so John’s cock had more purchase. “You’re enjoying this.”
John wanted to laugh at that, but before the sound could begin the entire action was aborted when Sherlock’s finger slipped out of him to run circles around the opening and John didn’t know whether to press back against it or squirm out of Sherlock’s reach. He’d never touched himself there in a sexual way; as a doctor he was careful of examining any signs of pain and discomfort before he decided on whether or not he needed treatment in that particular area, but this careful exploration of one of his most intimate places was undoing him and he couldn’t balance it all in his head. He trusted Sherlock with his life, had killed for the man, so why did this suddenly feel ... wrong? “Stop,” he gasped against Sherlock’s neck when the thought solidified itself and made his body tense in a very unwelcome way, his fingers curling in Sherlock’s hair when a spasm in his rectum actually hurt. “Stop, Sherlock.”
Sherlock’s finger immediately withdrew from John’s arse to cup his hip, the man’s other hand stroking along his shoulder blades as John fought to get his breath back. “Everything all right?” Sherlock asked, leaning back from John’s head so they could look each other in the eye.
John nodded, frowning inwardly at himself when the feeling passed. “I don’t know what happened.” He looked down at his own body and saw that he’d lost his erection, being only half-hard now with the ache of arousal fast dissipating from his body. He’d been enjoying himself, sharing his body with Sherlock in a new and untested way; what had changed it?
“Look at me, John,” Sherlock said, voice soft. John did and was surprised to see that Sherlock didn’t look mad at the turn of events, merely intrigued, as though it was just another puzzle to solve. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” Sherlock assured him, leaning forward to nuzzle their faces together. “It’s something we can investigate a bit later when we have more time.”
“I was enjoying it,” John stressed, wanting to make it clear to Sherlock even though he knew there probably wasn’t any need. He didn’t like disappointing his lovers and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d done anything less here, even with Sherlock’s conviction that it was something they could sort out later. “You felt good in me.”
“I know,” Sherlock said, reaching around John to turn the water off before it went cold. That done, he pulled his arms from around John’s middle and rested his hands on John’s hips, a calculating expression on his face. “We don’t have enough time this morning but we can try it again later when you come back.”
“You already know what’s wrong, don’t you,” John said, a flash of accusation in his voice.
Sherlock didn’t refute it. “I have my suspicions, yes, but you need to be an active participant before I can test them.” He opened the shower door and stepped out, reaching for a towel and passing it to John before taking another from the rack to wrap it around his middle. John didn’t know whether he should be happy or not that Sherlock still had an erection, the man adjusting it under the towel so it wasn’t tenting the fabric. When he looked back at Sherlock’s face the detective gave him a small smile, one without teeth, and prompted John to start drying himself.
“What happens if I can’t do that? Anal sex?” John asked, immediately hating himself when the words tumbled from him but unable to stop the questions when they refused to stop bugging him.
“If anal play is something that we both truly want, then we will find a way to work around it,” Sherlock said confidently, leaning back against the bathroom wall while he watched John dry himself off. “For your sake, John, please don’t worry yourself unnecessarily.”
There wasn’t anything more John could say to that except to nod and when Sherlock smiled at him again, with the action somehow full of a deeper yearning, it certainly went a long way to dispel the negative feelings that were swirling around inside his gut, especially when Sherlock looked as good as he did now.
It was only later, when he was finishing getting ready for work that John was disturbed by a loud noise coming from Sherlock’s bedroom. Sherlock had left the bathroom before John had completely finished and it had only been a few minutes later when he’d heard Sherlock rush to his own room with a lot of banging around before it suddenly stopped. Unperturbed by the lack of noise in the flat, John continued to get ready for his shift as he normally would, using the routine of getting dressed and eating breakfast to help settle his mind.
Just as he was about to put his shoes on, Sherlock came into the living room, fully dressed, and grabbed his coat from the back of the door, putting his scarf on in quick movements. “New case?” John asked, finishing the ties on his shoe laces.
“Unavoidable, I’m afraid,” Sherlock muttered, pacing in front of the fireplace and typing frantically on his phone. “I need to depart for Moscow immediately.”
While he’d been watching Sherlock pace, John had taken that moment to take a sip of his coffee and promptly ended up spitting it back into his cup to avoid getting it all over himself. “Moscow? As in Russia? Do you even speak Russian?”
“конечно,” Sherlock replied in what sounded like fluent Russian and John scowled at him, knowing that he had no way of knowing whether or not Sherlock was just waffling utter bollocks at him.
“All right, smarty-pants. So what’s happened in Moscow?”
Sherlock didn’t respond at first, watching when John stood up to fix his tie in the mirror above the fireplace and moving to intervene. “A political figure-head has gotten himself into trouble apparently,” he explained while doing up John’s tie. “He wants me to prove that he didn’t commit a murder so he can avoid a trial which can result in the death penalty.”
“I didn’t think Russia had a death penalty,” John asked, watching Sherlock’s face as the other man finished the knot and set it in the centre of his shirt.
Sherlock scoffed. “Politics is a waste of time. The murder itself is the only reason I’m going; I already know that the accused didn’t commit it but I still need to see the crime scene first hand to examine the evidence before it goes to trial.”
John glanced at his watch, cursing when he saw he only had ten minutes before he had to leave. “Do you have any idea how long it will take?”
“Examining the scene itself should be easy,” Sherlock said, finishing on his phone and slipping it into his coat pocket. “The trial itself may be trickier so I don’t expect to return until the weekend.”
John mentally counted the days. “That’s three days from now.”
Sherlock nodded. “Yes, unfortunately. The work still drives me, John, I don’t want to purposely mislead you on that account, but for me it couldn’t have come at a worse time.” Sherlock stepped forward into John’s space, sliding a hand out to circle John’s waist. “There are unexplored possibilities about you, Doctor Watson,” he said and John felt something being pressed into his right hand, a tube of some sort as Sherlock leant down to kiss him lightly across his mouth.
When they both pulled back from each other, John bought the tube up so he could see it, his eyes widening when he read the label. “‘Maximus Anal Lubricant,’” he read aloud, turning back to look at the other man.
Sherlock smirked. “I am making it a personal endeavour to find each and every one of those possibilities.”
Just as Sherlock went through the living room door, another question dawned on John that he couldn’t wait for three days to be answered. “Sherlock, wait a minute! How do you know this stuff is any good?”
“Oh please,” Sherlock drawled, coming back around the door so only his head was showing. “As if I’d let you use something on yourself that I hadn’t tested beforehand.” His eyes flicked to the bottle John still had clenched in his right hand before bringing those eyes back up to John’s face and, much to John’s disbelief, winking at him. “Quite stringently in this case, I can assure you.”
To be continued
A/N 2: Maximus Anal Lubricant is a brand sold on a website called ‘LoveHoney’. Check out the site if you want; it’s fab! (Consenting adults only, of course *wink*)
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