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Anomalies	By : Harpling Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 3513 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Sherlock, the BBC, or any of the characters mentioned herein, nor am I making any money from writing this.

Chapter List
- 8
- 9
- 10
Title: Anomalies
Author: Harpling
Characters, Pairing: Sherlock/John, Lestrade, Mycroft, Donovan, Anderson, Dimmock, Mrs. Hudson, OC
Rating: R (eventually NC17)
Summary: Sherlock Holmes was a man accustomed to anomalies. Things out of place formed the bulk of his work, after all. But why was he so slow to notice them in his own behaviour?
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, and I am making no money from them.
Warnings: Manly man love, mostly naked Sherlock, kissing
Beta’d by the extraordinary Lynn Maxwell and not yet Brit-picked.

Chapter 9

Given the ease with which John attracted women, Sherlock judged it best to act as swiftly as possible on the new information he had in regards to sexual possibilities. As soon as he heard John’s footsteps going out the front door the next morning, Sherlock built up a roaring fire in the sitting room. He turned the thermostat up to the highest setting possible and carefully covered the windows so that no heat could escape. Despite the early spring chill outside, the flat soon felt like a sauna. An hour before John was due to get off work, Sherlock extinguished the fire and carefully disposed of all traces of ash. Ten minutes before John could reasonably be expected to return, Sherlock removed the quilts from the windows and turned the thermostat back to its lowest setting. When saw John’s familiar form trudging up the street, Sherlock removed his clothes.
Clad only in a pair of boxer shorts, Sherlock arranged himself on the sofa to afford John the best view of long limbs and bare skin when he walked in the door. With a growing sense of anticipation and adrenaline coursing through his veins, Sherlock listened for the sound of John’s key in the lock. He counted John’s footsteps on the stairs. When he heard John’s hand on the doorknob, Sherlock was half afraid he might do something foolish to give away the whole game, like laugh or smirk uncontrollably. With effort, he gained control of his traitorous body and was able to maintain his façade of languor while John walked in the room.
“God, it’s like a furnace in here! Sherlock, what did you to the heat?” At least one part of his plan seemed to be working straight away. As soon as he was properly in the flat, John stripped off his jacket, gloves, and jumper, leaving only a thin t-shirt and trousers.
“The thermostat’s gone off again. Mrs. Hudson’s had someone in to look at it, but it was pointless. The guy the company sent was an utter waste of breath; says he’ll have to come back tomorrow.” From behind the cryptography textbook he was pretending to read, Sherlock could see that John was staring at him rather keenly. Deliberately, he trailed his fingers down his sweat-slicked torso to rest just above his hip bone. “At least it’s been good for the growth of that mould sample I scraped from Karolinsky’s shoes. I’ve never seen a colony reproduce so quickly.”
John stood by the door, clearly torn. Finally, he seemed to make up his mind and went up to his bedroom to remove most of his clothes. Wearing a pair of faded cotton scrubs, he rejoined Sherlock in the sitting room and picked up his laptop (Sherlock had removed the video program when it became apparent that any data gathered would be compromised by the annoyance it caused). The two of them remained for nearly an hour, each pretending to be engrossed in separate occupations but staring whenever the other wasn’t looking, or seemed not to be looking. Sherlock had taken the precaution of arranging every reflective surface in the flat so that he had a clear view of John’s movements in every direction. His hands were nearly shaking with the effort not to reach over and trace that intriguing line of hair just below the doctor’s navel and disappearing below the waistband of his scrubs.
Finally, Sherlock noticed that the temperature had begun to drop. The final catalyst must be put into play before John noticed the change and acted upon it. With deliberately lazy movements, Sherlock stood and stretched. Though his back was turned to John, he noted in the glass of a picture frame that the doctor’s openly longing gaze followed the movement of each moving limb and rolling joint. As he walked into the kitchen, Sherlock made sure to give John an extended view of his nearly naked body. He leaned over the printouts of the strange text messages and emails on the kitchen table and pretended to shuffle through them for a minute before calling, “John, come here a minute. I need your help with this bit here.”
John didn’t even give his usual, long-suffering sigh at being used as Sherlock’s unpaid lab assistant. This time, he merely padded quietly into the kitchen and waited for specific directions. For a long moment, Sherlock continued to play with the microscope, listening to John’s breathing and noting the visible bulge in his scrubs. John wasn’t completely aroused, not yet. Sherlock was determined to change that. He stood and turned to face his flatmate, noting the dilated pupils, the way John couldn’t seem to stop worrying his lower lip, the jump of the pulse in his throat. Sherlock caught and held John’s gaze, then abruptly bent down and pressed their mouths together.
It was amazing. It was fantastic. It was better than nicotine. It was better than cocaine. It was better than solving a complex serial murder with multiple double bluffs. His mind was absolutely clear and focused. Focused completely on the feel of John’s chapped lips, the roughness of his stubble, the rush of his gasping breath, the smell of his skin. For a brief second, John simply stood there, tense, too shocked to react properly. With a low growl, he suddenly surged forward, grabbing Sherlock’s bare shoulders and tilted his head to just the right angle to allow their mouths to fitproperly. Sherlock opened his mouth and John’s tongue swept inside, tasting him, marking him, claiming him. John’s broad calloused hands tangled in Sherlock’s hair and pulled him down for better access. Sherlock slid his palms down sweat-slickened skin and pressed John closer. He wanted to know every inch of this man, every dimple, every nerve, every callous, every freckle, every pore.
When John sucked at Sherlock’s lower lip and then bit down just hard enough, something in his brilliantly clever brain stopped working momentarily. If this was sex, he could suddenly understand why all those tedious, dull, boring people spent so much time and energy working to get it. He moaned against John’s mouth and tried to imitate that particular move. It seemed to work, because John jumped and bucked his hips. Encouraged, Sherlock repeated that little manouevre and slid his hands lower, under the drawstring of John’s scrubs to cup the heated flesh of his arse. John pushed forward, rubbing his hips into Sherlock, then stopped abruptly.
He pulled back, and Sherlock very nearly whimpered at the loss of contact. “Wait, Sherlock. Give us a second. Are you sure this is a good idea? I don’t want things to be awkward in the morning. You know how these things can…” He trailed off as Sherlock traced his tongue down the hammering pulse in his throat.
“Why would things be awkward? We both require sexual release. This is the most efficient arrangement for everyone concerned.”
Apparently, this was not the right answer. Rather than returning to kissing and doing that thing with his teeth, John froze. “Sex-… Sexual release? This… um, sorry. What?”
Sherlock frowned at him in puzzlement. “Isn’t that the ultimate goal? I don’t see what the problem is. You’ve demonstrated that you are, at the very least, amenable to homosexual attraction. I tested your responses to verify that you are noticeably aroused by me. You are not currently in a romantic position to achieve release with any other partner, except perhaps one hired for the duration, not your style. I have no communicable diseases of which you need to be wary. What more is there to consider?”
John took two steps backward, breaking all physical contact between them. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw in a visible attempt to gain control of himself. Sherlock was rather dismayed to see that it was working, as evidenced by his flagging erection. “You don’t … um, it’s just…You tested me?” He blinked, hard, and shook his head. “No. You… No.”
With that, he turned on his heel and left. From his daze in the kitchen, Sherlock heard John march up the stairs to his room like an automaton, fumble about a bit, then return with the altered gait that meant he was carrying slightly less than three pounds of extra weight. Judging by the sounds at the front door, Sherlock could tell John was putting on his jacket and shoes. Sherlock wanted to tell him to stop, to come back, to explain what he had done wrong, but his body didn’t seem to be working properly anymore. John shut the door behind him, and all Sherlock could do was listen to his retreating footsteps as he walked out of the flat.
- 8
- 9
- 10
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Anomalies