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Learning Curve	By : aineko Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 2019 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I own no part of BBC Sherlock and make no profit from this work.

Chapter List
- 1-Learning Curve
- 1
Sherlock knelt between John's open thighs, licking his cock with those precise, unhurried strokes that always drove John right up to the edge. If his lover didn't either change his tack or finish him off very soon he wasn't going to be responsible for his actions.
"Sherlock..." he panted. In response Sherlock tightened his grip on John's balls just so. The increased pressure was all it took; John's brain melted there and then, as his seed shot from him. Sherlock immediately leaned over him to catch as much as he could in his mouth. He straightened up, wiped a stray splash from John's chest and slowly licked it off his fingers, all the while treating John to a saucy grin.
That damned cheeky kinky dirty - John didn't have time to finish the thought before he felt those same fingers press insistently against his anus. "Mmph... Wait," he mumbled. Sherlock ignored him. "Not so fast... Sherlock, stop it," John said more loudly.
"Hmmmno," Sherlock mumbled, pushing what had to be two fingers inside John's arse. John cried out in shock and pain at the rough intrusion. "Fuck!" He tried to pull away, but that just sent a fresh jab of pain into him.
"Lie still," his lover admonished, trying to work his way in deeper.
"Stop it!" In desperation John pulled one leg up, aimed, and kicked. It hurt like hell, but he managed to hit Sherlock's arm and force it back so his fingers slipped back out. John sat up as quickly as he could, but Sherlock did nothing except look completely stunned. "What's wrong?" he asked.
John stared at him. "What the fuck, Sherlock! Which part of stop don't you understand?"
"But I... I thought you wanted -"
"No means no! Got that? Think maybe your giant brain can wrap itself around the concept? Tell you what, I'll give you time to think about it!" He got up off the bed, snatched up his dressing gown and pulled it on. His lover was still staring at him uncomprehendingly. "John -"
He yanked the door open.
"Good night, Sherlock."
He slammed the door behind him.

John stepped out of the shower, still yawning, and dried himself off perfunctorily before putting his dressing gown on - the new one, the one Sherlock, in a rare fit of thoughtfulness, had bought him for his birthday. Burgundy. Not a colour John would have chosen himself, although he had to admit it was nice. And, face it, just having his lover even remember his birthday was practically a gift in itself.
And then he had to go and pull a stunt like last night's. Bloody Sherlock.
John sighed and leaned heavily against the washbasin, giving himself a long, rueful look in the mirror. Why, why was it so bloody hard for the world's greatest detective to understand that sometimes he moved things along too fast, he needed to slow down a little, give John a moment to catch up? Alternatively, if John was going to fall for a man, why couldn't it have been someone a little less self-centred, a little more empathic?
But of course, with someone else it never would have happened. He knew that perfectly well.
With a sigh John vacated the bathroom and hurried upstairs to get dressed for work.

When he came back down ten minutes later and went to the kitchen to find some breakfast he found a burnt smell and...
Breakfast.
Sitting on a hastily cleared corner of the table.
A single plate: bacon and egg on toast. More or less. The toast was underdone, but the egg had gone to the opposite extreme, and the bacon was blackened to a crisp. Only the tea, sitting next to the plate, was just right.
A smile found its way onto John's face as he imagined his can't-cook-won't-cook flatmate rushing about, cursing and losing his head over the bacon and nearly forgetting about the toast. He wasn't sure there was enough brown sauce in the world to rescue this.
He didn't care.
He sat himself down and ate every last bite.

He knocked lightly on the closed door. "Sherlock?" he called. When he didn't get a reply he shrugged and opened the door anyway.
Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed, dressed for a day in. John entered, trying hard not to laugh; his lover looked like a five-year-old who'd been called to the headmaster's office and wasn't certain if he was about to be praised or punished.
The thought led John to cross the floor and stand right before the troublemaker, looking down on him with arms crossed. "Right, you," he told him as sternly as he could, but then succumbed to a giggling fit that took him nearly thirty seconds to get under control. Sherlock's look of utter bemusement didn't help, of course.
Eventually John pulled himself together. "Sorry about that," he said, still chuckling slightly. He hesitated, then squatted down on the floor before Sherlock and placed his hands on the detective's knees.
"Listen," he said earnestly. Sherlock was watching him; he appeared mildly confused still, but at least that meant his mind was in the room. "Last night... You went too fast, and then you didn't stop when I told you to. That's why I got angry. Can you understand that?"
Sherlock blinked a couple of times. "We did the same thing three nights ago, and you liked it then... didn't you?" It started out a decisive argument, but ended up as a statement of insecurity.
John sighed. "Yeah, I did," he admitted. "But it's... This is all still a little overwhelming to me. I need you to take it slow sometimes. And besides, just because I like something doesn't mean I want it all the time. It would be like... eating the same thing every day. You don't want that."
"I do," Sherlock contradicted him.
"Yeah okay, you do," John conceded. "That's what children do, they want burgers, chips and ice cream three times a day. But normally functioning adults like variety. I know, you probably don't understand. But can you at least try and accept it, and respect it? For me?"
He looked up at Sherlock, who looked back down at him. After a few seconds the younger man nodded slowly. "I'll... try," he said quietly.
"And in the future, will you please take it slow, and if I say stop will you please do so?"
Sherlock nodded again, biting his lip lightly.
John smiled at him. "Thank you," he said softly. "And thanks for breakfast."
He was kneeling by this point, and as he spoke he couldn't help noticing a highly suggestive bulge in the area of Sherlock's crotch. He knew that he had to be off for work, he was probably late already, but the sight of that tented material started a whole other train of thought.
Looking up again he knew Sherlock had noticed him noticing; the detective was giving him a lascivious grin and arching his eyebrows suggestively. Damn it.
"I'm supposed to work today," he said.
"You're already late," Sherlock pointed out, leaning back on his elbows and spreading his legs a little wider. John was willing to bet his lover wasn't wearing any pants. He leaned forward and undid the drawstring on Sherlock's pajama bottoms, slid the fabric aside. Yup. Commando. Nothing to prevent his cock from rising in all its glory; and it was glorious, a thing with a beauty of its very own and sometimes, it seemed to John, its very own mind as well.
It made him wonder if Sherlock had taken in a word of what he'd said. All right, John thought. If that was the way he wanted it, maybe it was time for a practical lesson.
He placed one hand on either thigh and slowly lowered his head, peering up at Sherlock as he did. His lover was getting that glazed, hazed look in his eyes, the one that told John he was already anticipating his orgasm. Sherlock didn't do things by halves, certainly not sex, and he had absolutely no compunctions about letting his lover know how much pleasure he got from the act.
Let's see how he likes this one, John thought as he ran his tongue over the taut silky head, lapping up the fluid seeping out, before taking it inside his mouth. It had been a bit of a leap for him, first time he tried sucking Sherlock, but he relished everything about it now, the sensation of that hot flesh against his tongue, the taste of precum, the texture of the skin, the mildly musky scent in his nostrils, the feeling of Sherlock's fingers in his hair, gripping his skull. The sound of Sherlock whimpering and pleading as John danced him ever closer to the edge -
He reached up and took hold of Sherlock's wrists, pulling his lover's hands away from his head and pinning them to the mattress instead. Felt Sherlock buck his hips in anticipation. Oh, he was close now.
Which was when, without warning, John pulled his mouth off Sherlock's cock, let go of his wrists, and got to his feet in one almost-smooth movement. He put on his stern face again, trying hard not to break into another giggling fit.
It took Sherlock a few moments to realize what was happening. He blinked several times, looked up, saw John's expression, and frowned in obvious confusion. "John?"
"I told you," John said, shrugging. "I'm working today. And I'm already late as it is."
"B-but..." Sherlock looked at his now sadly abandoned hard-on. "But John!" he went on in his most whining voice
"Nope," John told him. "Sorry, can't. We'll have to do it later." He turned and made for the door.
"John!"
"Oh, and one more thing," he couldn't resist, turning back and giving his lover a very severe look, but with a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. "If you're going to be apologizing with food in the future you really need to learn how to cook."
- 1
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Learning Curve