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Guilty Pleasures	By : CodyMThomas Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 8167 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or content associated with BBC Sherlock, I am merely playing with them for my own amusement and make no money from this fic

Chapter List
- 1-Guilty Pleasures
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 6-6
- 7-7
- 8-8
- 9-9
- 10-10
- 11-11
- 12-Chapter 12
- 13-13
- 7
- 8
- 9
Of all the times for Anderson to decide to be observant... John had been struck too speechless by Anderson's sudden hostile confrontation to get a word in edgewise, and really, what could he say? Especially since the man was right. He had never been one for lying or deceptions, in fact the men in his unit had often called him 'Honest John', both as a nickname and as a military joke on how dangerous he could be even though he didn't look the type.
It didn't help matters that Greg had come in during the middle of it all and was looking at him with a confused and wary look on his face, and Sherlock seemed like he was about to go after Anderson in order to do something very foolish, but as he tried to follow Anderson back into the crime scene and possibly add Anderson's name onto the list of victims, John caught Sherlock's arm and held it firmly, not letting him pass, and his eyes begging the determined consulting detective to let it go. Now Sherlock was glaring at John with a look that he couldn't really determine the meaning of. If he had thought the man capable of feeling the emotion, he would have almost described it as shock. Sherlock finally backed down, snatched his scarf and hastily wrapped it around his neck, then turned to leave with a disgusted look on his face, a calling of 'Coming John?' and a dramatic flare of his coat as he stormed out the door. John was about to follow him when he was stopped by Greg catching hold of his wrist.
"Hang on, what the hell's going on? Did you really hit Sherlock like that?"
John shook his head, well he hadn't HIT him, that much was true. "No, I didn't hit him. It... it really did happen during sex, on accident, things got a bit carried away."
"Right. Okay I'm going to let this slide because Sherlock isn't hurt and I know he bruises like the dickens. But still John, I need to warn you, just as your mate Greg alright? You need to be careful. Rough sex toes a bad line with the uppity ups. Technically the law says anything which leaves a mark beyond 'transient or trifling' is illegal, and you can't consent to it. It counts as assault and you work around a whole lot of cops. Most wouldn't do anything unless Sherlock complained about something, or he ended up in hospital, but a few would, and that's not something I ever want to put you through. So be careful with him alright?"
Blushing and just desperate to get out of there, John hastily nodded his agreement and all but ran after Sherlock in his haste to get away from his embarrassment. Sherlock had gotten so ahead of him he couldn't even see him, and even when he made it to where Harcourt would be waiting to take them back, it was still a few moments before John spotted Sherlock, glowering spectacularly and tucking something into his pocket.
The way back was tense, near volatile, and somehow, scared? Sherlock was an absolute mix of such conflicting emotions that John truly couldn't say anything. And while John wanted to ask, since he was a huge believer in not beating around the bush or saying one thing and meaning another, he also did not want to have this discussion with Harcourt playing witness to what John could tell was going to probably be an amazing row. By the time they got to Baker street John was praying for Mrs. Hudson and all of the neighbors to not be at home.
Mrs. Hudson must not have been home because he had barely closed the front door when Sherlock let loose and pinned John back against the wall.
"Why did you stop me? Why wouldn't you let me go after that ignorant, pathetic, whimpering, whining, stupid, dunderheaded moron and make him take those dreadful words about you back? WHY? Why would you let him insinuate that you-"
"I didn't want you getting charged with assault of an officer and carted off to jail because it would have made Anderson's fucking DAY! And it's not insinuation when it's true Sherlock."
"WHAT?! He no less than called you an abusive lover straight to your FACE and you-"
"What else would you call it Sherlock? I may not have hit you with that mug, but it's still my fault you got that bruise and the ones that are hiding under your clothes, and all the others I've given you before! That's what intentionally hurting another person repeatedly is called, Sherlock, it's called abuse. So I'm not going to call them a liar when someone calls me on it! "
"No! John you aren't-"
"Apparently I AM, Sherlock, even if I never meant to be and I don't know why I am. But I don't run away from my mistakes, and what I did yesterday definitely counts as me making a terrible mistake. I hurt you, and it isn't the first time I've done it. Believe it or not Anderson was trying to do you a favor, wake you up to reality, and part of me is praying that you will actually listen to him and throw me out."
"Are you mad? Why would I throw you out? I've told you before I'm not afraid of you!"
"Well you should be! There is something dark and vicious inside of me Sherlock, something that is threatening to destroy everything I want to protect and am charged with to keep safe. I know how to save you from almost everything else, but I don't know how to protect you from myself! I can't leave you, I can't. I'm not strong enough. I've had to be near you since the day I met you because you have become as necessary as AIR to me Sherlock, and I can't just choose to stop breathing. You have to be the one to end it, because I never will, I could never do that. I don't know how to protect you from that dark thing inside of me, I don't know how to get rid of it, I can't figure out how to stop it, I don't even know why it's there! But it's hurting you and I have to destroy it, and Anderson's right, you never fight back, why don't you ever fight back?!"
Sherlock stood staring at him wide-eyed for a split second and then Sherlock's hands were gripping his hair and Sherlock's lips were on his own, rough, and fierce, and demanding, and part of John wanted to cry. He had absolutely no right to love this man as much as he did.
They stood there in the foyer with Sherlock pressing him against the door and the man's tongue literally halfway down his throat in a possessive gesture he'd only seen once before, the first night Sherlock had kissed him, after they went home from the incident at the pool.
He barely registered that the kiss had stopped when he heard Sherlock's sultry, sinful voice purring in his ear even as his hand slipped down to palm John's cock through his trousers. His other grabbed John's bad arm, winched it behind his back and held it in place only by gripping his thumb. The hand on his cock became serious, tightening hard with a very threatening half twist and fingernails threatening to dig in, while Sherlock's knee pressed behind John's own, threatening to knock him off his feet and land him into a world of pain.
"Because, John Hamish Watson, I in no way consider you an abuser or a threat to me. The day you make me afraid of you or make me fear for my own life, is the day I will shoot you with your own gun."
That really shouldn't have been arousing to hear, especially in the position he was in, but dying by Sherlock's hand if things went too far, (and he was SO relieved to know that there WAS a too far,) John was surprisingly okay with that. He knew he shouldn't give in, he knew he had still been trying to make a point and that Sherlock was intentionally distracting him because Anderson had pissed him off. But this part of Sherlock he could interpret easily. If John wasn't going to let him assault the bastard then he had better shut up and distract the detective in other ways, ways that most likely involved him spreading his legs as Sherlock slipped between them in some form or another. The man had an uncanny ability of making his thoughts derail and making his mind go blank, and John, as always, followed Sherlock's lead.
The tongue in John's mouth was sudden and possessive, and he had no choice but utter submission. He didn't even remember getting up the stairs, let alone pulling his jumper over his head, but he was definitely in their own flat and fully naked when he and Sherlock tumbled to the floor of the living room rutting against each other with such NEED that John could hardly stand it. He had no idea where Sherlock had found one of the full bottles of lube, but he didn't care as he held his legs wide open as Sherlock quickly slicked them both up and slid home, and John felt him so deep inside it was too much and yet never enough all at the same time, and even though it ached, he wanted more. Their pace was fast and hard and John didn't even notice he had been sobbing for a reason he couldn't have even named until he felt Sherlock wiping away the tears and carding his fingers through his hair and telling him it would be alright, even as he continued thrusting deep inside of John's body.
John was high on emotions and the feel and taste of Sherlock. He didn't care how long they lasted, he couldn't tell if they had been going at it for minutes or hours, but Sherlock was in him, with him, invading every single one of John's senses until Sherlock made himself John's entire world, and he LOVED that. It felt like Sherlock was pressing behind his navel or even deeper, which was perfect, John's breath was ragged, he was sweating and thrusting back to meet Sherlock's hips in a fantastic counterpoint all while touching and kissing and licking and biting over every single bit of the detective's skin he could reach as the man plunged deep and hard into him. Sherlock's eyes screwed shut tightly and silky brunette curls clung to the detective's sweaty forehead. However long it lasted, John clutched at Sherlock's shoulders and screamed as he finally came hard, stimulated only by Sherlock's cock and his own rutting against the man's stomach.
His body clenched tightly around the organ that was trying to drive him bodily into the ground, until Sherlock couldn't even move for a moment as John desperately tried to hold onto that wave of pleasure crashing through him. He kissed the lithe beauty that was fucking every single thought out of his head as deeply as he could, tongues battling as John rode out his orgasm, trying to suck the detective's tongue further down his throat, desperate to be claimed utterly. Sherlock continued to thrust and thrust, hard and deep, long after the doctor was spent, using John's body to satisfy his own needs and lust. Sherlock's hands grabbed his hips and slammed him harder and faster onto that glorious cock until finally Sherlock pressed inside and just held him there as he let out a guttural sound and came, not moving or breathing until he had spilled every drop inside of John.
John wrapped his arms around Sherlock, whose arms were shaking, and dragged him down onto his chest, neither caring that they were both a wrecked, sticky mess, and he just held Sherlock, and loved him, and hoped the brilliant man could somehow recognize even half of the love John felt for him.
They were still for maybe half an hour before Sherlock insisted they get cleaned up and then tucked them into bed together since neither had gotten enough sleep the night before.
John fell asleep with the warmth of the blanket wrapped tightly around him and the feeling of Sherlock still carding his fingers through his hair.
- 7
- 8
- 9
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Guilty Pleasures