Interruptions (John/Sherlock)

Sherlock giggled a little with John, but was left alone with his mixed feelings when John just walked away without explaining.

A wide range of emotions rushed through him, but the most dominant was anger. The rush from the struggle with Tom and the blow on that filthy little bag of libs still pumped through his veins.

The image of John, skimming his hands down the inner thighs of that idiot appeared for his eyes. It made Sherlock's blood boil. Yes, he had asked them to distract potential intruders. The sane part of his brain murmured that he couldn't blame John for that, but that part was very far out of reach.

Plus: Who was the flirting expert here? John had known Sherlock was not interested in flirting, unless very necessary, like this case. But he wasn't the one who had a history of dragging on dates and dumping them (sane part: but John dumped them because of him. But again: this was not heard).

Sherlock's ears were ringing of the blood pumping and his heart throbbing of rage. The last time he had felt like this was when Mrs Hudson had been assaulted in 221B. And that ended in an American falling on bins countless of times

Of course he was planning on hurting John, he would never do that intentionally. But still that uncontrollable fit of primal hatred was rearranging his mind into chaos.

When John came back, Sherlock didn't dare to look at him or to talk to him, in fear he might burst and do something he would regret later. He hailed a cab, which took them home. When they were inside, Sherlock angrily threw his coat on the nearest armchair before John slammed him against the wall. It was hot and sexy, but they both were angry and furious and frustrated. Sherlock felt like he would burst at any moment and didn't hold back at length. During the cab ride he had tried to formulate sentences that sounded coherent, but all his plans fell apart when he began speaking.

"Do you actually know how hard it has gotten for me to separate emotions and and work!?" Sherlock shouted frustrated and angry. "Keeping an emotional detachment became very difficult when you showed off your military dogtags and trousers and boots and attitude! I have never been so sexually frustrated ever before!! Do you know how tormenting it is to think about you, watch you, but not actually touch you for the sake of emotional detachment or the case!? Many times I have thought: Fuck this case, I'm going to have John right now! but I couldn't. I was stuck with that maniac that wasn't even near handsome or interesting! And when I saw you dancing with that idiot and he, trying to kiss you- I... I-"

By this time Sherlock's voice was at it's breaking point. He had thrown so much emotion in and he shouted so passionately that he was getting hoarse, which got in handy because he was not exactly sure what he was going to say next.

((So, it was sexual frustration after all. I hope you can work with it!))

John was torn- he felt both touched that Sherlock cared enough about him to get to this point, and pissed off as hell for being yelled at about this. Internally these two sides are warring, but anger won out- it normally did with John, at least short term.

"Are you [i]seriously[/i] blaming this on me? I cannot believe you!!! What, you think I wanted to touch that slimy bastard?? Also, may I remind you that it was [i]you[/i] who insisted that going and flirting with that bartender was the only way to get him to confess!!!"

"And don't even start lamenting on how hard it was for poor you to deal with detaching your emotions. You have [i]no idea[/i] what I was going through, watching you with that...god, there's no word that even covers what I feel about that man. Knowing that a man who was a rapist and a murder had his hands on [i]you[/i], and I [i]COULDN'T DO ANYTHING[/i]. I couldn't protect you, I couldn't tell the motherfucking bastard to keep his hands off my lover, I had to just sit there and [i]watch[/i], and pray that he didn't slip away with you during the one second I lost sight of you in the crowd. I mean, the idea of what could happen then..."

John went white at the thought, and this grip on Sherlock tightened. He pulled Sherlock's head down for a rough kiss, pouring the whole mess of riotous emotions he had been feeling all night into the kiss. It was a messy, sharp, rough kiss, and when John finally pulled back from Sherlock he could barely breath.

Still, he panted out against Sherlock's neck, "If anything were to happen to you on a case like this, if that man had managed to pull you outside and..hurt you or violated you in any way...I would never be able to forgive myself. You mean so much to me, if I wasn't there for you when you needed me, I would hate myself for it. Just the fact that he was even [i]looking[/i] at you like that, it was just so wrong."

((I can work with that. John's doing the panic/ guilt over the 'what ifs' route, plus jealous sexual frustration))

“Do you really think I wanted to flirt with him!? I calculated very carefully and I concluded that it was the only way to get him into confession. I really calculated every other option possible but they were by far not as effective as flirting. It really was the only option because it was the last chance. Another stupid attempt by Scotland Yard and he would fly!”

His voice broke again. Damn, his throat and vocal chords were really his weak point.

John kissed him violently, which felt hot and sexy and rough and everything that had happened was expressed. And NO! don’t think this, you’re still mad at him! He had to gasp for breath when it was done, but he was still trembling with anger. No, not anger, it was fury. He carried on with a hoarse voice.

“Detaching my emotions is the Goddamn essence of my whole profession! How can I do my job when I can’t be objective and separate myself from my feelings!!? This DOES matter, John! If I can’t keep a cool head, how can I ever- It used to be so easy! But now everything is fucked up and chaotic and I don’t know how I can handle this!! It’s never been so hard not to know!! My Mind Palace trembles on its foundations and I DON’T FUCKING KNOW what to do about it! All these bloody feelings-”

John didn’t understand. A sudden desperation hit him. Of all people, Sherlock had thought he would, but he didn’t. Who would if John didn’t?

Sherlock still felt like he could burst. He wanted to roar his frustration out of his system, though he knew it would help nothing. His face had turned red and his throat felt sore.

For the first time in a long time, he felt totally at a loss.

((For quite some time I felt bugged with this. I really think Sherlock would get problems with emotions as a consequence of his relationship with John. And of course, he wouldn't know what to do about it. Emotional!Sherlock is quite hard to write, I think, because he doesn't show much extreme emotions at all. But I think that this 'weak' moment was needed.))

((Oh, this is going to be a tricky one to handle. What a beautiful challenge. I hope I can John to react correctly))

John watched as Sherlock's face went through a variety of expressions. He had never seen Sherlock get this worked up about something before, and for a moment his is struck by a sense of being utterly loss- he has not fucking idea of what to do. This is clearly a reaction to more than just this night, though the events of this night acted as the catalyst.

John steps back from Sherlock, "I hear what you're saying, Sherlock. Can I have a moment to try and make sure I'm understanding you?"

Right, figure this out John, put yourself to the side for a moment and focus on what Sherlock is saying. He's being overwhelmed by feelings, well that makes sense- this was his first relationship, and after so many years of pushing down all of his emotions, most likely they're all boiling over now. It probably feels like being a teenager with his first crush, but tenfold, and adding in adult feelings of lust. Now, these emotions were so strong, they were overwhelming Sherlock's ability to think rationally- that was something John was used to, but it would obviously terrify Sherlock.

So, how to reassure Sherlock that these emotions wouldn't be overwhelming forever, which they shouldn't- right now it's likely they're only this strong because this is all brand new to Sherlock. Also, keep Sherlock from pushing John away from fear of this, because that would be too horrible. Perhaps it was time for John to talk some biology, that should get through.

"Sherlock, it sounds like you're adjusting to having new hormonal levels in your brain. Relationships and sex, sex especially, release chemicals in your brain, you can probably list out which ones they are, and these are chemicals you're not used to having. Right now the trouble you're having focusing on your work is most likely caused by your brain trying to adjust to these new chemical levels, it doesn't quite know what to do with them. The good news is that the human brain, and particularly a smart human brain like yours, is incredibly adaptive. It will adjust to the new chemicals soon, I promise, and you should be back to normal. Actually, there's even a chance that it will adapt and you'll get bored with all...this," John gestures between himself and Sherlock, wincing as the frightening thought goes through his mind, "and you won't even want it anymore."

"Anyways, what I'm trying to say, Lock, is that this stage won't last forever, it passes, faster than you would expect. I understand why you're so angry, and possibly a little scared of it, but you'll be back to yourself very soon. I'm sorry that I made things difficult for you. If we need to try and find ways to help you cope in the meantime...maybe I could stay back behind the tape for cases or something- keep myself from being a distraction for you- then I'm more than happy to do that. I don't want to just become a source of...bad feelings and reactions to you. This last case was...well it was shit, for both of us, and in hindsight I think we both unconsciously made it harder than it needed to be for each other. Again, I'm sorry, and I'll do everything I can to help you with this. I know how much your work means to you, and I hope you know that it means a lot to me as well, I don't want to be an impediment to it."

Sherlock makes no immediate reaction, and John fears that he's screwed things up. Shit. Ok then, strategic retreat.

"I'm going to go make some tea, I think we could both use it."

John goes into the kitchen, trying not to let the thoughts I just lost him, it's ruined, he's going to want to end this, maybe I should just leave now before this gets any worse. He is shocked when he feels something wet on his face. Holy shit, was he actually crying? He hadn't cried since before Afghanistan. What was happening to him. He quickly tried to get a hold of himself and stop the tears from leaking out.

((Ok, I think I'm happy with this. Have class in any case, so no chance in changing it anyways))

((Please listen to White Blank Page from Mumford and Sons and when you're done with that one, SHERlocked, the score from scandal in Belgravia.))

Sherlock froze into position when John backed away. Neither could look each other in the eye, so Sherlock just closed his eyes and let the words fall into his mind. He was so off key that he just let the feelings overwhelm him.

Everything felt high-pitched and extreme. So: first despair that John might just walk off on him, like all those other flatmates had done. That John might leave him because he had yelled at him and how he had treated him that night. Then confusion, which claimed his whole rational thinking, then understanding and a tiny little bit of relief, which was quickly followed up by fear again. Fear for that he might not want 'this' anymore. But he would never want that. Would he?

Uncertainty. Uncertainty was the emotion that ghosted above all the others. He was so used to rejecting his emotions away that everything was changing dramatically.

Then, Sherlock was overwhelmed by the huge amount of... fondness(He couldn't think the word this moment) John was offering him. It was magnificent, but also frightening as hell. Everything felt like it cut deep in him, even the good things had an immense touching effect. And this, what John was offering him, was more than Sherlock deserved.

Sherlock opened his eyes when he heard John leaving for the kitchen. He swallowed hard, trying to swallow away the painful chunk that had formed in his throat. He bit his lip down hard, took a step from the wall and turned to the kitchen, face still to the floor.

"John."

"Yes?"

"That... what you said just now..." Pause and a shaky breath. He looked up and saw with a shock that John's eyes were wet. His own eyes weren't going to last much longer too, he feared.

"It makes perfect sense. A pure... logical... and sound.. reasoning... Amazing."

This was the highest compliment Sherlock could give to someone and it felt like the Sherlock-equivalent of saying -I love you-. But he couldn't get those particular words over his lips. He huffed an astonished smile when he felt a tear rolling down his face. It was a real tear, he felt with his fingers. A real tear. He hadn't cried in a decade or longer.

Sherlock looked up again, honestly frightened of what John would say or do. He had never opened himself up like this, which was by no doubt the scariest thing he had ever done.

John could make him the happiest man... or let him fall to pieces.

((Whoah. Ok.))

((I'll definitely do that. I can't right now- I'm being a bad person and writing this while at work- but I'll do it when I go home. Also...wow...just...so many feelings))

John froze when he heard Sherlock entering the kitchen. He could feel every nerve in his body alive with tension, unsure of what to expect.

What Sherlock said though...John was amazed. He never would have guessed that was the response he would get. He knew what Sherlock was trying to say, how much importance was hidden behind the compliment. The relief that crashed down on John nearly knocked his breath out. He actually did lose the ability to breathe for a moment when he saw that Sherlock was actually crying.

John couldn't think of anything to say, so he just walked over to Sherlock and wrapped his arms around him. He didn't kiss him, not yet. Instead he just held the man, so thankful that he was still able to. His eyes leaked a bit more- he decided that it wasn't crying, just the leaking of some excess moisture.

He finally looked up and met Sherlock's watery eyes. He went up on tiptoe and kissed over each eyelid, tasting the salty tears on his lips.

"I---think you're amazing too, always will."

John just stares at Sherlock for a moment in silence, before suddenly jumping a good foot in the air in shock. The kettle had whistled, surprising him.

"Christ, I had completely forgotten about that. I think I might have just had a heart attack."

John stumbles over to the kettle and takes it off the burner. He walks over to the cupboard and takes down two mugs. He sets them down, then gives his head a shake, trying to clear it a bit.

"I always forget how exhausting talks like this can be. You just end up feeling completely drained. My whole head feels foggy."

John pours the two cups of tea, adds sugar in to Sherlock's, then hands it to him.

"Want to go sit down?"

((Thank you tea kettle for breaking the tension.))

((YES thanks kettle! FEEELSSS))


Sherlock had never needed a hug more before now. He thankfully wrapped his arms around John and thought about how lucky he was. He let a deep sigh of relief slip from his lips and pressed John a little bit closer.

Now John mentioned it: Sherlock felt very odd too. His mind was empty and he felt utterly stunned and slow.

"Is it always like this...? Emotions? Never knew they had such an exhausting effect." Sherlock croaked while they shambled to the couch. Sherlock set his mug on the coffee table before flopping onto it. His eyes hurt, his throat hurt and his head felt dull.

John flopped next to him, but still keeping a careful distance. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's waist and lay his had on his chest. He could feel his heartbeat slowing down, though it began very fast. Sherlock closed his eyes. This felt great, he was so lucky he still could do this.

Sherlock sighed deeply. What did people normally say in situations like this?

"I'm sorry."

Sherlock honestly felt sorry, though he was not very sure what for exactly, but he had the idea there were multiple things. His mind was so slow now that he could not think properly and name the specific things that he was sorry for, which was fine now. His massive intellect was not needed now and he felt totally at ease with John by his side, who had seen the worst of him just minutes ago.

((Their first fight :')))

((I know, even though they've had plenty of fights before, e.g. "Punch me in the face." Still, feels like this is the first one that counts.))

John was cautious at first, trying to keep some distance between himself and Sherlock, but he was immensely relieved when Sherlock pulled him close and snuggled up against him.

Note to self: never actually tell Sherlock that I think of him as snuggly. He would probably kill me, just to save his reputation.

"I'm sorry too, but I'm glad we got through it. Better than just letting stuff like that go unsaid, that just leads to bigger problems later on. Now we're both on the same page, even if getting there wasn't exactly pleasant."

John started slowly stroking his fingers through Sherlock's hair. For a long while they just sat in a comfortable, companionable silence. John finished his tea, and was happily staring down at Sherlock, smiling fondly at him.

"I realized that I was so busy being a jealous and possessive ass tonight, I forgot to compliment you on how handsome you looked. Your outfit was...insanely provocative. You quite effectively drove me to distraction with it," he murmured softly, not really intending to start anything with Sherlock, just sharing some lighter feelings with him.

He chuckles, "I actually think that was half of my problem. I've never been really jealous over someone before, but the idea of you dressing up like that for someone else...it was all the more frustrating because I was so effected by you, but that wasn't the point of the evening. Guess I lost the real perspective of the case."

John leans down and kisses Sherlock's forehead, "Should have just remembered that I get to have this with you, which our criminal doesn't get. Bastard wouldn't even appreciate how special this is."

((Ok, so John isn't intending on starting anything, but I'll admit to not being as innocent as him.))

((Oooooh so cute! I'm not meaning them to hint to anything this scene. Sherlock is sleepy of all the emotions and John's petting. One point of confusion though: the person who says: 'I actually think....upto and including....the case' is Sherlock, right? Well. I'm off to sleep, good night =P))

((Oh, I actually meant John as saying that, though it does make sense for both of them. I put it in because it seemed like they both felt that way, but didn't realize that they were struggling with the same feelings. They are both sleepy, and cute. Maybe they can fall asleep in a cuddly lump on the couch? Good night to you too!))

Sherlock closed his eyes and was starting dozing off in their comfortable silence. Sherlock felt like purring when John slowly ran his fingers through his hair. If he had the choice, he would lie here for hours on end.

Sherlock chuckled. "Ha, thank you. You look extremely handsome too, I might say." He began playing with John's dogtags. They were both tired and both still wearing their club cloting. "Next time, we'll do this the proper way."

There would be a next time in a club. Sherlock had changed his view on clubs, he used to think they were boring and useless, but now he changed his mind.

Sherlock closed his eyes again and enjoyed the kiss. "Oh, he just wanted to kill and use me, but we outwitted him quick enough. And that Shoe-faced idiot will not touch you again. Ever. I can assure you."

Sherlock reached up to give John a soft kiss on his lips. Hmmm he tasted like tea with a hint of peppermint. He snuggled up John and listened to his slow heart beat and breathing pattern. It had an hypnotic effect and he was dozing off again.

The next thing he was concious of, was movement from John and a blanket put over both of them. It had been an exhausting and emotional day, so falling asleep was no problem for both of them.

((Quick one, should make a loooot of homework now, that's why I haven't written the 'morning after'))

((Homework is what I should be doing right now...))

John was incredibly warm and cozy laying with Sherlock on the couch, and while logically he knew that it would be better for his back to move them to the bed, he instead just pulled the blanket (orange shock blanket Sherlock had somehow snuck from an ambulance) off the top of the couch and tucked it around them. He shifted until he was actually laying down, with Sherlock curled around him, and easily drifted off to sleep.

John was dreaming, at least he hoped he was. It was hot, very hot- actually, looking around, he was in a desert somewhere. Sherlock was nearby, he could tell- how he knew this, he wasn't sure, but he knew it. Oh, that's how, he could smell Sherlock, his cologne and shampoo. Where was he? Why wasn't he with John? John tried to walk to find him, but found he couldn't move any part of his body. He looked down- quicksand. Shit. He tried not to panic, he tried to call to Sherlock, but now the sand was in his mouth, and he was feeling smothered and...

"Ow!!!"

John looks around, it appears that he has fallen off the couch. What was up with that dream? Then he pieces it together.

"Sleep with Sherlock, not a lot of room on the couch, Sherlock probably wrapped around me, blanket totally tangled both our legs, mine are still on the couch, that's a weird position, Sherlock's hair near my nose, heat from shared bodies. Oh...that all makes sense now."

John looks up and sees Sherlock staring at John, who probably looks rather ridiculous slumped halfway off the couch.

"John, what are you babbling on about? That fall should not have been far enough to result in a concussion."

John laughs, "Now you know how I feel when you're going on at crime scenes."

John tries to move, but with the blanket impossibly tangling his and Sherlock's feet together, he finds it impossible.

"Umm, any chance you can try to untangle my legs? I'm rather immobilized right now."

((Side note, I happened to read one of the "John's red pants" fics the other day, and found the idea amusing. Maybe John's jeans get pulled down a bit while trying to escape the blanket, and Sherlock happens to notice that John put on red pants last night? Also, future idea: John has to go out of town for a few days, Sherlock deletes knowledge of trip, confusion ensues, and then maybe a series of some cute texts while John's out of town?))

((Great plan!))

Sherlock dreamt. It must be. He and John were pirates, but they were the unlucky kind. The pirates of the ship had tied their legs together and were forcing them to walk the plank. John had to go first and Sherlock could do nothing but watch and shiver. With a soft clatter of metal, John jumped, but before he hit the waves, Sherlock opened his eyes with a start. Fear had struck him and awoken him. Just in time to see John fall half on the floor, babbling nonsense.

He smiled at John, who is smiling up sheepishly. With great effort, he pushed himself up and looked down to their entwined legs and feet. It was a mess, how had they done this?

"But of course."

Still a bit sleep-drunk, Sherlock began fiddling at the knot. He hated being sleep-drunk. His fingers didn't do what he wanted to do and it took a great deal longer because John was trying to tug his legs out on his own. But his cargo pants and socks were tucked into them too, which made everything more complicated.

When he was done untangling and John could stand again, Sherlock was distracted by something... red?

John had tugged so violently that his trousers sank down an inch or two. Sherlock was now totally focussed on the strip of red peeking above the cargo trousers. He furrowed his brow and then smiled.

"What?" John had stopped tugging and noted that Sherlock was staring at him. "What are you looking at?"

Sherlock rounded his hands on John's hips and pulled him a little closer to the couch. He played with the waistband of John's pants and looked up with a grin.

"Why red pants?"

((I first wanted him to ask: "Red Pants?" But I changed that, because, Sherly, they are OBVIOUSLY red.))

John finally got himself untangled to the point of being able to stand, only to quickly be recaptured by Sherlock's hands on his hips. Sherlock seemed to be fascinated by something in the region of John's waist. Now John didn't really mind Sherlock looking at this part of his body so intensely, but he was a bit confused. Then Sherlock clarified. Oh right, his pants, they were the red pants. Bugger.

The story behind the pants is that they had been a gag gift sent to him in Afghanistan. Some old university mates had seen them on sale somewhere and decided to buy them for him. They were some ridiculously short boxerbriefs, silk, and red- very red, very, very red, like doubledecker bus, city telephone box red. John didn't wear this type of pants. He was much more of a standard black or white briefs type of guy, boxers for sleeping, and maybe one or two nicer pairs of pants if he was wearing dress trousers. He had never actually worn the red pants until tonight. He wasn't even really sure why he had held onto them, given that he just tended to hide them in the back of whatever drawer he threw them in. However, last night- given a combination of having no other clean pants in the room (he hadn't realized when moving the clothes to Sherlock's room that he had taken all his clean pants) and going out to a club, he had decided to wear the red pants. It figures that the one time he wears them, he gets caught.


"Oh, quit laughing," John mutters, completely embarrassed by all this, and trying to hide it by acting annoyed, "They were the only clean ones I had in my room. Besides, it seemed to fit into the whole 'going to the club' disguise. They were a stupid gift from a friend, I've been meaning to toss them out for ages now, just never got around to it."

John starts to try and pull away from Sherlock's grip.

((Ok, so sitting and trying to figure out what type of underwear my fictional character would wear is somewhat strange...))

"No, halt."

Sherlock tightened his grip. Not in a forcing, but in a soft, yet demanding way. To motivate his his blockade, he pulled John closer and gave him a kiss on his underbelly.

That was enough to stop him from pulling away. He slipped one hand under John's tight T-shirt and rested it on the small of his back to hold him in position.

He had never had the opportunity to explore this part of John properly before, so he was not going to miss this chance. He looked up. God, John looked so sexy in his military outfit.

"I like them."

Which was true. Why he couldn't explain very clearly, but he liked them. Probably because it kind of felt like he had put them on for him, which would be very irrational. A month ago, Sherlock could not imagine himself like something so trivial as that, but yet he did. He chose not to think too much about it and pay more attention to John's abdomen.

With great fixation he stroked the line of hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of the red pants. John was still muscular due to his military background, but his belly was nice and soft though. He then pressed a kiss above his navel and continued pressing kisses down until he reached his navel, which he poked his tongue in and out. Memorising every inch of John was his new mission.

When he was done there, he continued with the kisses until he reached the waistband. His fingers took over the duty to caress that area and hook under it when Sherlock reached up to John's dogtags and pulled him in for a kiss.

"I like them very much."

((Yeah, I can imagine!))

((Yes!!! Sexy dogtag kiss!!! God, I'm such a sucker for that one...))

The word halt, snapping out of Sherlock crisply, reactivating the military instinct in John- he hadn't had anyone order him around like that for over a year, and it surprised him. His heels actually snapped together on the order, and he found himself standing straighter.

"You what? You actually like them?" John is utterly baffled, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. The reaction the red pants were drawing out of Sherlock certainly wasn't a bad thing. Sherlock seemed to be examining John with more care than he even used on the most fascinating of corpses, and John found the intense focus radiating off of Sherlock intoxicating. Sherlock slowly going over every inch of skin on his body, clearly trying to memorize it's feeling and the reactions that bit of skin produced from him (John was very responsive at the moment, so Sherlock was getting quite a bit of data) was an amazing experience, he'd never felt so...special and appreciated with anyone before.

Then Sherlock began to fuck John's bellybutton with his tongue, and John lost all ability to form coherent thought, which was ridiculous. Something that really was so...silly, as poking a tongue in a bellybutton should not feel so incredibly sexy. It really shouldn't make John's legs tremble and his breathing hitch, but it did.

John's eyes had closed when Sherlock began stroking feathery caresses around his waistband, so he was surprised to suddenly feel himself being pulled down by his dogtags, and quite pleasantly met with a rather thorough kiss. John responds eagerly, then pulls back. He can see Sherlock's eyes going over his military dress quite appreciatively. Hmm, seems like his Sherlock might have a slight kink...that could be fun. Perhaps it was his turn to do some experiments.

John shifts his posture- putting his legs shoulder-width apart, hands clasped behind his back, face stern. He walks a few paces away from Sherlock, then turns on his heel to face him. John fights to try and gain control over his voice before speaking.

"Stand, now," he orders crisply.

Sherlock does so, wordlessly.

"You are going to strip for me, starting with your shoes, then your shirt, trousers and pants last. You will not speak, unless you grow uncomfortable with the situation and wish to stop. I will watch you strip, but will not participate. You are not allowed to touch your cock. Do you understand?"

((Ok, just a head's up- I can have John give orders and stuff, but I can't write BDSM, so...yeah, if you were hoping for any of that, I'm sorry.))

((Oh, I didn't see this coming. Butterflies! oh this is going to be fun! And no, I don't like BDSM, so you won't have to write it :)))
((I did not include bee-pants here, because I wrote it differently in another post. There I used lime-green ones, just a little hint to Moriarty's disguise ;)))

Sherlock let his eyes enjoy the sight of John's outfit. Hmmm, he really looked sexy in this. And his attitude, very broad and authoritative and that voice that orders and ah- Sherlock thought he would loose his sanity by just watching and listening to him. He was just damn sexy as hell like this. Irresistible.

Sherlock got up and stood straight, adjusting his posture to John's attitude. He gasped a little at the way John ordered him around. He would obey, no doubt. Holy moly, he already felt a bulge forming in his too tight jeans.

"Yes, I do." Sherlock replied with as much a steady voice he could manage, which wasn't that successful.

"Yes, I do who?" John snapped.

Sherlock gasped again. "Yes, I do... Captain."

"Good. You are allowed to begin."

Sherlock knelt down, but locked eyes with John as long as possible. He untied his shoes with slightly shaking hands. Gee, this was really a turn on! He had known that since Baskerville and subconsciously daydreamed about it, how John would be like in his all-military-attitude. It was better than he had imagined.

After his shoes, his socks had to go. Now the boring part was over, he could tease back. He scanned John's outfit again for extra motivation (not that he needed that) and brought his hands to his shirt. He first shook his arms out to lower the sleeves as far as possible and then opened the first button.

John had said nothing about standing still, so he slowly prowled over to John. His pupils were dilated and his heartbeat was racing of this kink. He would have never thought a kink could be so powerful.

When just a foot or two was left between them, he stopped and opened the last button. With a mischievous smile, Sherlock looked up through his eyelashes, before dropping is gaze to his belt.

With a click, his belt opened. Next, he opened the button and unzipped the zipper of his trousers. He made sure John faced him when he unzipped and saw that he licked his lips seductively. Exactly the thing John had taught him.

He gave his trousers a push down and they fell on the ground. His growing excitement was fairly visible now, which made him feel a bit exposed. Sherlock broke the hot tension that was in the atmosphere between them by stepping a few steps back before turning his back to John. He assembled his thoughts quickly and calculated what would be most effective on John. He shot a grin over his shoulder while he let his hands slowly slip under his lime-green pants before pulling them down even slower. He looked down to himself.

Shit, he was already erect. Well. He'd have to deal with that.

Sherlock shot a smirk over his shoulder while slowly, very slowly, turning around. Finally, when he was completely facing John, he folded his hands behind his back and kept a stern face.

"I'm ready, Captain."

((This is so much fun- I've never written such an authoritative John before, but I'm enjoying it. It's interesting, because I normally think of him as being an extremely considerate and responsive lover- his primary goal is to make his partner happy, which can work with also being commanding, but I have really think about how to word things.))

John had a very hard time keeping his composure together while Sherlock stripped. The man really was too good at teasing. He managed to stand just far enough away from John to be out of reach, but so close it felt like they should be touching. Then the turning around while taking off his pants, slowly revealing the pale skin of his arse, coupled with that damn cheeky over-the-shoulder grin- John found himself using all his self-control not to go over and just throw Sherlock down on the ground so that he could move things along. Still though, he resisted- he had never realized how enjoyable foreplay could be, and he could tell Sherlock was enjoying himself. That made John almost feel high, the knowledge that he could do this- give Sherlock a fun game, turn Sherlock on like this, make him happy- that was better than all the physical pleasure he would get out of this (which in itself was saying something because he was expecting a lot of physical pleasure).

John walked over to Sherlock with a measured and steady pace. He stopped about an arm’s length away from Sherlock. He put a hand out and lightly stroked down Sherlock’s sternum once, staring right where his collarbones met, and ending at Sherlock’s naval.

“Now, you are going to strip me. You may remove my clothes in any order you wish, you make take as long as you want, and you may speak. You may touch me with any part of your body you wish, however, you may not grind against me. Afterwards you’ll have a choice of reward: you can either suck me off, or I will suck you. Is that understood?”

((OOOOH YES Hot damn I can make this as steamy as I want! Oh all the possibilities! I'll have to think about this alright? I have to sleep now, 3 very very busy days ahead, so not as frequent responses as normally I expect :( Busy, but really really fun.))
((Oh, and ehm... I hope I can discribe it well. I sometimes doubt whether what I want Sherlock to do it's coming across good enough. For example: He first shook his arms out to lower the sleeves as far as possible. You know when people do that? Shake their arms forward when they are about to do something important? Gah, I can get really frustrated about my lack of synonyms and deficient vocab. I also trained myself in writing long posts, but sometimes I feel like they're long, but empty. I also worry about describing emotions and emotional responses of Sherlock, because I used every phrase I know by now =p I really want to improve in making sentences, using the right tenses etc. So feel free to correct me if you like!))
((I am not fishing for compliments, I am honestly envious to/on/of/at/any other proposition (I guess they're called) everybody who is a native speaker))
((Blah blah blah blah blah I'm rambling :x))
((Good night!))

((Yeah, I understand the need to sleep and desire to not rush the post. I can definitely be patient.))
((I understand what you're saying. I worry about saying a lot of nothing, and this is my native language. So far I think you've been doing really well. Sherlock is definitely difficult to write with when it comes to emotional scenes. I did get the arm flick, and I liked it a lot- it is definitely a Sherlock-style manner.))
((One spelling thing- 'preposition', not 'proposition'. A proposition is what you would present to someone as a business deal, like....when Irene listed her terms to Mycroft in exchange for keeping quiet about all the stuff she has on her phone, that is her making Mycroft a proposition. Though normally propositions are something you can negotiate, but Irene doesn't really do that.))

((Ah OK, thanks!))

Sherlock's eyebrows shot in the air at John's next order. He was allowed much more now, which was going to be so much fun, but didn't suit John's authoritative attitude as well as the boundary-setting John.

"Yes... Captain" Sherlock tried to say more seductively than before while prowling over to John. He was painfully aware that he was completely naked and with a very visible hard member, but that didn't matter. Instead, John seemed to be rather turned-on by the idea of what Sherlock was about to do, so he was going to exploit the opportunity.

Instead of touching him immediately, Sherlock copied the authoritative attitude and circled around him. At last, he stopped a meter in front of him and scrutinized him from tip to toe, hands folded in a prayer/thinking-gesture.

"Hmmm... Where to start...?"

The shoes, obviously. It was a logical step to remove the shoes first, they were of no erotic use anyway. So Sherlock knelt down and undid John of his boots which suited him, regarding the whole military-attire, very very well. Then he got up and scanned John again.

He turned around him, until Sherlock faced John's back. John turned his head in a fruitless attempt to face him.

"Look in front of you. Do not turn and you do not speak."

John obeyed immediately with a stern, reassembled face. Sherlock waited a beat before getting closer in silence.

"I am the one in charge now, you know that damn well."

Sherlock tried to make his voice sound as low as possible, he knew John had a weak point for that. While he said this, he let the tips of his fingers stroke down John's sides.

"You know I can do whatever I want."

He let his fingers tease the hem of John's shirt and the band of his pants.

"I can tease you."

He slipped his hands under John's shirt.

"I can tease you until you feel like bursting."

He changed ear and whispered now. He skirted his hands up until they were to John's breast area. He hovered over his nipples, but he didn't incited them directly.

"I can tease you until you go mad."

He pulled the shirt up and John eagerly put his arms up to ease the process. Sherlock could see John shiver and goosebumps popping up his arms.

Sherlock really loved this situation. He loved the power he had over John. The power to make him shiver in a good way. He loved it when John used his power to do the same to him, like he had done before. But now it was Sherlock's turn and it felt magnificent.

Then, he rounded his arms around John's waist with as less touching as he could and grasped John's belt with force. Until now, he had been quite careful and merciful, but now, he roughened and fastened things up.

Sherlock hitched breath when he opened John's belt with a clang, unzipped his zipper and let his pants fall on the floor. Then, he trailed his fingertips up John's inner thighs until they reached his bulge. He slightly rubbed it before hooking his thumbs under the waistline of the red pants and pulling them down.

"There now, I'll give you your power back and you, mr Captain, can decide who's going to suck who. I will have no objection to either outcome."

((It was really difficult for me to choose and I thought it wasn't right to choose at all. I think John lost his authoritativeness a little bit, so I gave it back))

John felt a rush at the sudden shift in control of the situation. It was magnificent, the whole play of it- back and forth, each person using their power to most please the other, a win-win situation. Sherlock knew just how to push John's buttons- the orders, the low voice going from commanding snaps to soft whispers, the combination between teasing caresses and the rough handling of his belt. The mix of gentle and rough, it was maddening. John was incredibly hard from it all, and, fun as this was, it needed to move to the next stage of things now.

Then the ball was back in his court, he was the one to make the choice. John took a short moment to think things over, which he was amazed he could do in the state he was in. Obviously there was no bad choice here, either would be enjoyable for both himself and Sherlock. Sherlock was probably ready for release, and John was somewhat tempted at the idea of finally taking a more active role in this- actually getting to touch Sherlock. However, Sherlock was clearly very much enjoying the game, the power play and mental aspect of it was stimulating for him, an added element to satisfy that crazy brain. It was definitely a turn-on for him, and it seemed best to John to take it all the way through.

"Jo-ohn!" Sherlock moans, in equal parts frustration and arousal. He is staring at John's hands. John had unconsciously playing with his dogtags as he thought, an old habit from his army days. It appears that Sherlock found this quite attractive, but was less pleased with the pause in their activities.

John walks over to Sherlock and grabs his jaw- rough enough for the game, but not to the point where it will hurt Sherlock.

"Did I say you could talk?" he snaps out. He moves his hands to Sherlock's shoulders and pushes down, "Get on your knees. Why don't we put that mouth of yours to better use, since you can't seem to keep it shut anyways."

Once Sherlock is down on the floor, John firmly grips his curls, then pushes his cock up to a few centimeters from Sherlock's mouth.

"Go on, impress me. Show me what you can do with that pretty mouth of yours. I can tell you want it- eyes dark, totally focused in on the head, you're already planning out what to do. You keep licking at your bottom lip, you just can't wait to get that first taste. Your hands are coming half-way up to my hips, you're not sure if you should hold me or not- I'll permit you to this time. Now, go ahead- I know how good your tongue is when you're spouting off deductions, I want it just as precise and acrobatic now."

((John can be observant too!!!! At least when it comes to Sherlock's bedroom behaviors.))

((Ah- SO DAMN HOT))
((Well done, I was planning Sherlock giving John a blowjob, but he wouldn't do it because of his own motives I think. He needed (a little bit) sexy encouragement, so here we are!))

Oh wow. Sherlock didn't anticipate this. THIS. This what John did... It pushed all the right buttons. The rough, authoritative fysical 'forcing', his orders and dogtags. DOGTAGS. Then there was the intellectual side, which made Sherlock's eyes go wide. John deduced. He deduced brilliantly. It was sexy as hell. Sherlock thought that would be how John must feel when he deduced shaming stuff. To hear those forcing and sexy words roll from John's lips was just sinful and definitely true.

The situation on the whole brought pictures of a situation alike in his imagination. Captain Watson, who ordered soldier Sherlock to suck his cock in the heat of the Afghanistan deserts. Wow. Just wow.

Sherlock was utterly stunned. The only thing he could do was pant, hitch breath and grow even harder. Indeed, he was looking at the tip and mimicking his plan in his mouth. He felt his heartbeat racing in his ears. Could someone faint of arousal? Sherlock had thought it impossible, but wasn't so sure about it now.

"Hold on tight." He looked up and licked his lips again. "You will need it."

Sherlock saw one of John's hands gripping the edge of the table and felt the other one grasping his hair even tighter. Let the games commence.

Sherlock took his time to steady himself and to observe John's proud cock. It was fully erect and hard and the veins were visible. Sherlock imagined how it would feel to feel the pulse on his tongue and was very happy that he was about to do that.

John lost his patience and pushed him closer, until John poked his eye. Sherlock stuck his tongue out and gave a good lick, before taking him all the way.

No words could describe how wonderful this felt. Giving pleasure was as pleasurable as recieving it, he now understood. He felt the tiniest reaction Sherlock ignited in John. He could feel his pulse quicken, his hand in his hair pushing and him thrusting forward. It only encouraged Sherlock.

First, he did some acrobatic twirls with his tongue over the tip, which was leaking with precum. It drew an immediate reaction from John's side, who was having a good and rough time. Then, Sherlock swallowed him. Erhlg. Gag-reflex. Maybe not so pleasurable.

Sherlock felt like bursting himself. His cock needed attention too, but that time would come. He was just too busy with experimenting on John. Next, he gave attention to John's balls, who shouldn't be forgotten, by first licking, then sucking. John was delightfully responsive.

Then, with John's forcing hand, John thrust in and out. Sherlock was very persistent in making every haul different, experimenting with sucking, tongue and lip pressure.

When John was very near, Sherlock stopped and looked up. John was so expressive in his face. It was like reading a book. This book was full of arousal and pleasure and beauty. It touched Sherlock deep how much of an impact Sherlock had on him. It was all because of him, about which he smiled smugly.

((You can write dialogue if you want, which I let up to you. I always feel a bit bad when I write something John says, regarding I don't 'do' John.))

((I know how you feel- I always feel weird writing Sherlock. That said, I don't mind you writing John when you need to, I understand the necessity sometimes.))
((Also- HOLY FUCKING SHIT SO HOT!!!!!!!))

Sherlock was taking far too long thinking about this blowjob, John decided, thrusting farther forward. It was about damn time he started actually doing something.

Then Sherlock actually started, licking John and swallowing him down to the point of gagging. Despite Sherlock's earlier warning, and his grip on the table, John still nearly fell from the amazing rush of sensation.

"Oooh, fuck, Sherlock! God your mouth! Ungh, it's amazing. Can you feel what you're doing to me? Can you feel how fast my pulse is racing? How hard you've made me? No one has ever made me feel like this before- just you. I can't even...explain what you've done to me...God, I can't believe it took us so long to get here- how did we not loose our minds? I can't...imagine being so far from you now."

John looks down at Sherlock and lets out a moan.

"You are so...sensual...ahhh," John is cut off by a a high keening moan that escapes him as tremors run up and down his legs.

"Stay still," he cries out, thrusting into Sherlock's mouth, trying to be careful not to go to deep and make things uncomfortable for Sherlock. He clenched at Sherlock's hair, and looked down to find Sherlock staring at him, with a familiar smug grin.

"How-- the hell can you still grin like that when my cock is in your mouth--" John pants out, fondly exasperated, "It should not be physically possible...or sexy looking."

"Ah, I'm coming!" John cries out, arching back and shaking. White spots danced across his vision, and his breath actually stopped for a moment. He gasped as he came down from the orgasm, and slumped down onto the table.

He finally comes back to himself, pulls Sherlock roughly to him, and finally- finally kisses Sherlock. The kiss is not gentle, it is rough and passionate- John is trying to convey to Sherlock how bloody fucking amazing that blow job was.

"That was the best blow job I have ever had, and I promise that I will return the favor in equal measures."

John drops to his knees and starts running his hands up Sherlock's thighs, and then his nose and lips.

"Tell me what you want Sherlock," John says softly, but with a tone of command still in his voice, "I want to make you come so hard your brain does a reboot. I want to make you see stars. I want you screaming my name, to make sure you never forget that I am the one who does for you, who makes you feel this good. I want to burn this memory into one of the walls of your mind palace, so that on one of the few cases where you sleep, you dream of this and wake up hard for me."

((So apparently John does dirty talk...I wish I could actually do this in real life...it sounds so sexy here, but I know that if I tried to say it outloud it would just seem awkward))

((No. Sexy talk was COMPLETELY TURN-ON. Really, it will make Sherlock melt like chocolate in the sun.))

With John's cock still in his mouth, Sherlock hummed in acknowledgement to the statements John made. The vibration clearly had it's aimed effect and made John moan. His divine moan that made Sherlock shiver.

This whole sight of John coming... Sherlock thought he could never get used to. The range of emotions that were visible on his face was just the most intriguing thing Sherlock had ever seen. He wanted to study him, categorise every flinch of expression that crossed his face while climaxing.

Of course he swallowed. Sherlock in some weird kind of way was a gentleman. His mouth tasted like come when John pulled him up in one of the hottest kisses they had had. Sherlock's cock desperately needed attention now and Sherlock couldn't help grinding up him.

No, seriously. He was throbbing and painfully hard. His own needs had been temporarily abandoned for the sake of John's well-being, but now, he couldn't wait any longer.

Oh my. John's soft but still commanding voice. And then the things he said. It alone rebooted Sherlock's Mind Palace.

"Anything. Just do GODDAMN ANYTHING! I won't last long-"

He felt John's nose and lips softly stroking his inner thighs. It was utterly maddening and not the right time to be so not to the point. He needed release so bad. He needed release now.

"This is not the time for teasing! Oh- JOHN!"

He came, screaming John's name. He came and John hadn't even touched him directly. But it wasn't needed. All the things they had done before. John's outfit. His dogtags. The stripping-part. The heated kiss... But the most arousing factor of it all was John's speech that got along with the attitude. His talking, commanding, just his sexy talk... It pushed all the right intellectual buttons. It pushed all the buttons at the same time.

He saw stars. He really saw stars, no doubt. He clutched the edge of the table so tight that his knuckles went white. He had to support himself, because he felt like a puddle of goo, ready to fall down. Nothing was left of his normal attitude, John's turn-on trick had changed him completely in pudding.

Still panting, he looked down and bit his lip not to laugh. John's face was all covered in cum and he was smiling. Surprised, but he smiled.

((No really, Sherlock didn't need further encouragement. Speech really motivates Sherlock's intelligent side of arousal.))