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Two Simple Sentences	By : IDontKnowWhatImDoing Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 3980 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or any associated characters, and do not profit from this work.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
And always...thank you for reading this and I hope it's enjoyable.
I swear I'm not trying to leave these with teasing endings and I swear this whole restaurant bit was not intended to be so drawn out but it will be finished in the next chapter. Then we can move on to some new bets.

Sherlock looked shamefully perverted, what with the sweaty brow, those long legs and lanky body sprawled out in his seat, a hand down his trousers going at it as if he were a teenager locked in the bathroom after finding his dad's porn mags. But even with Sherlock in such a state, John was just about to win this insane bet by telling him to stop. All too soon a waiter or manager would be flagged down by the persistent gentleman two tables away and John didn't want to think about the trouble Sherlock, and quite possibly himself, might end up in.
That's when Sherlock, oblivious to the world or at least to all the things that John was not oblivious to, moaned the words that stopped John dead in his tracks. "John...it's okay."
Now those words could have held a whole number of meanings. Meaning such as 'John…
-it's okay if you tell me to stop.
-it's okay if you don't and I end up in jail for exposing myself in public.
-it's okay if I embarrass the hell out of you enough that you want to hide under the table.
Christ, it wouldn't have surprised John if those words meant 'hey why don't pull out your own cock and join me in this mad fun'.
But the breathless, moany way they were said, and with the words that quickly followed, John knew exactly what they meant and that changed everything.
Sweet lord almighty, when he heard that deep voice sob out that next sentence, John's mind tilted sideways.
"John…you don't have to."
The unhappy gentleman to their left. His dinner companion, who hadn't helped with hailing an employee being too preoccupied with mumbling, 'how utterly disgusting,' and apparently finding Sherlock's activities so utterly disgusting she couldn't take her eyes off him. The maître d' who was just now escorting a couple to the empty table between them and the elderly couple. All forgotten. None of that mattered, nothing else in all of creation mattered but Sherlock's wanton exhibition and the memory of those words.
It was the god damned sexiest and most lovingly way possible to have your partner jack off in front of you. To a memory of one of the first days of their new relationship, of their first shower together, of the first time in his life that John was about to put another man's cock in his mouth.
But more so because it was a perfect moment when Sherlock said something so simple yet it unintentionally spoke volumes. A moment in which John knew from that point on he would never feel hesitant about their relationship, never care about no longer being John 'I'm not gay' Watson. Words that made him want to do any and everything to him and with him, and words that struck so deep in his heart he knew he would never love anyone as much as he loved Sherlock Holmes.

So their first shower…that in and of itself was hand down an entertaining experience. Or hands up and down and everywhere in between.
The hot water felt invigorating on his overworked muscles. Sherlock's dripping wet, warm skin rubbing up against his own felt electrifying. The steamy sight of Sherlock standing under the shower head, dripping wet from the hot water pouring down over him, made John feel ways he would never have imagined feeling for another man just a few weeks before, good ways, very very good ways.
Sherlock's deduction that the new lovers needed to take a shower together after almost twenty-four hours of barely leaving the bedroom was, as with all of his deductions, brilliant. Though with the amount of washing that was applied, reapplied and 'oh goodness I think I missed a spot' re-reapplied to the others body, one would think they had spent twenty-four days getting sweaty in bed instead of twenty-four hours.
John thought it was entirely reasonable from them to spend nearly a day in bed. Having survived the seven most confusing weeks of his life, Sherlock's hapless attempts at flirting, and his own laughably poor attempts at denial once he was able to pinpoint Sherlock's bizarre behavior as the worst go at flirting in the history of flirting, going at it like randy teenagers for almost twenty-four hours was inevitable. And there was no doubt after they finished excessively rewashing each other, they would be spending the next full day back in bed. Maybe longer thanks to Sherlock making it utter impossible for John to refuse his request of calling off work for the rest of the week. When a bare arse naked Sherlock scampers about the flat looking for your phone, and bounds back into bed like a playful child, holding out the mobile with the sweetest grin, saying 'Call now so you don't forget'; there isn't a snowballs change in hell of refusing.
But even without his plump arse running through the flat, John would never have been able to say no, considering how patient his new lover was. Sherlock, being more than reasonable and sky-rocketing straight up to unselfish restraint, made no complaints about spending those hours holding back while John got over the idea of rutting naked in bed with another man. John might have finally accepted that he was indeed in love with his flat mate, and unquestionably found him drop dead sexy but his mind hadn't yet given up the battle, wanting to over think about said rutting and just about everything else having to do with making out with his male flat mate.
Denial might have lost out, but an entire lifetime of preference wasn't so easily forgotten. When the fire storm of raging desire that had built up the last few weeks was unleashed, it wasn't enough to prevent all that over thinking, so they went about working their way slowly to their much needed shower. Slowly only in progression because slowly certainly wouldn't be the word to use for how their mouths, hands and bodies collided together once they got all that troublesome confusion out of the way.
After the monumental moment when John stopped being a selfish twit and admitted his love for Sherlock, things got a bit heated, just a bit heated, a bit like the fire of a thousand suns heated. The clash of lips and tongues was frantic, fiery and ravenousness. Gradually, between a frenzied need for clothing to be removed, they worked their way through the flat to the kitchen, while hands and lips roamed every newly exposed piece of flesh. By the lengthy amount of time they reached Sherlock's bedroom, all items of clothing except pants had been clumsily removed, not wanting to break the connection between them even briefly to avoid tripping out of trousers.
It was when they ultimately worked their way to Sherlock's bed, grinding and writhing body to body with only a pair of cotton and silk boxer shorts separating them, that John's over thinking mind started doing that annoying over thinking thing again. So for many, many hours there was only affectionate cuddling, playful tickling, some much needed sleeping with limbs entangled together and an abundant amount of fondling, and in due course finally arriving at that aforementioned completely naked rutting.
While John stumbled along getting used to the idea that he was irrevocably romantically involved with his best friend and trying not to do all that over thinking about getting it on with him naked in bed, Sherlock's patience was deserving of an award. And one more progression forward in their sweaty activities proved Sherlock's skill with his mouth deserved a gold medal. It also provided a good reason for two sweaty and come covered men to need a shower.
So yeah…that shower.
John was on his fourth try at getting Sherlock sparkling clean. Soapy hands gliding across already thoroughly washed body parts; hand playing over limbs, chest, and parts that throbbed at the enjoyment of being cleaned, repeatedly cleaned in a very vigorous manner.
Sherlock, for his part, also showed signs of enjoyment from John's efforts to get him cleaner than he had ever been in his life. He back pressed against the wall, moaning beautiful moans while John's soapy hands stroked his cock…worked on getting him clean. Sherlock was gripping the shower curtain tight with one hand while the other cupped to the back of John's neck.
They were locked in another of those fiery kisses, tongues desperately wanting to make up for lost time. Those delightful moans coming from Sherlock were inflaming him much more than the hot water and John had one of the wonderful not over thinking moments.
John realized he had been severely lacking in his attempts to get Sherlock's legs and thighs completely washed a fourth time. Keeping his hand on Sherlock's cock, he slid down to kneel on the tub floor before him. There was an odd mix of sounds when John ran his other hand up Sherlock's leg to his inner thigh, another beautiful moan along with the sound of the rings scraping across metal as Sherlock's grip on the shower curtain tightened.
John looked up at the sounds and saw Sherlock's head tilted back against the wall, water raining down over him. It was a divine vision before him. Sherlock's hand, the one not threatening to pull the shower curtain off, was running down his chest across sinewy muscles and smooth pale skin, a pinkish hue from the heat of the water. His chest nearly hairless except for a faint trail of fine dark hairs under his belly button getting slightly thicker as they met with the hair around his groin. Sherlock continued sliding his hand down his slick chest until he reached a sharp hip, then he pressed his palm into the wall. Oh hell yes, he was unquestionably drop dead sexy.
John lightly kissed Sherlock's thigh and a small tremor coursed through the muscle. Kissing higher and higher, Sherlock was keening softly, his thigh trembling more. Traveling up and up, those keening sounds turn to pleasurable whimpers when John added small bites. His lips neared Sherlock's rigid cock, now direct before him. He had seen his share as a doctor but Sherlock's cock, as with every other part of his body, was perfect. Having spent the last of those few hours touching, stroking and feeling every bit of Sherlock's cock, John status as a doctor wasn't the only reason he felt qualified to make that statement.
Planting a few more delicate kisses closer, gripping his cock, Sherlock was making delightfully needy moans. Both his legs were twitching and shaking in anticipation. With all the patience and holding himself back Sherlock had done, and the amazing orgasm he gave John with his own mouth quite recently, John told his mind he was going return the favor right then and there.
Now it would have been nice if his mind was in complete agreement but no, it was still being a pain in the arse. John's lips were almost touching Sherlock's cock when his mind tried to force thoughts to the surface, thoughts such as…'you're about to put a man cock in mouth, is this a step you're ready to take?…there's no going back from that.' John attempted to wrestle that thought to the ground, and gave it a shift kick while it was down but in the process he hesitated.
A minor indecision. An almost imperceptibly pause. A hesitation that Sherlock picked up on immediately. Shuddering under the hot water, his muscles taut and strained, the shower curtain dangerously close to being ripped right off its rings, his entire body yearned for John's lips. But that hesitation, that minor falter, caused Sherlock to gasp out, "John…it's okay."
John, his lips still a hair's breadth away from his cock, looked up into Sherlock's eyes. He was looking back down at him, his mouth working open and closed trying to form words around his ragged breathing and he spoke again…
…
"John…you don't have to."
The last sound to pull his attention away from Sherlock's lewd and erotic display of masturbation was the forgotten fork falling from John's hand to land loudly on his plate. After that, John heard and saw nothing but Sherlock reliving that moment.…
…
With every inch of his body crying out for John's lips to encircle his cock, Sherlock awareness of that hesitation supersede all his want and desire. Before John's over thinking mind could get back into the fight, before he could think at all, Sherlock stared back into his eyes and panted out one more sentence.
"John it's okay...you never have to."
John's battling mind lost the war entirely.
No more battles, no more doubts, worries or hesitations.
A simple sentence that said so much.
His wonderful Sherlock, who before their shower gave him the most amazing blow job he had every experienced, the best orgasm in his life, not pulling away when he came, swallowing his release, his perfect Sherlock was willing to go without any reciprocation. But John knew that sentence meant so much more. The quite often selfish Sherlock was willing to forgo whatever acts made John uncomfortable for the entirety of their relationship.
John also knew from then on, he would be willing to do anything for his Sherlock.
With no more faltering, no hesitation, not even a single teasing kiss, John slid his mouth down Sherlock's cock
- 7
- 8
- 9
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Two Simple Sentences