Interruptions (John/Sherlock)

((Ah!!! Oh my goodness, so sweet!!! I love it, we are TOTALLY using that one!!! The violin...oh I felt all melty inside :) ))
((Ok, let me re-write John- some things may be repeats))
((Oh, also, Long post is practically an essay on Johnlock fluff))

John had originally planned to burst into the flat and call out to Sherlock, but he stops at the front door. He hears violin music drifting out. Now, this in itself is not a strange thing, but John doesn't recognize the tune. He leans his ear against the door and listens, and he is struck by the amount of emotion in the piece. He knows that playing violin is one of the few ways Sherlock expresses his emotions, and it never fails to take John's breath away- anyone who had heard Sherlock play could never again claim he was a sociopath.

The song feels worried, panicky, and makes John want to go in and calm Sherlock- it brings to mind moments like their stand-off with Moriarty at the pool, that second where they met eyes and admitted that they might have bitten off more than they could chew.

Then it shifts, and now it's restless- John can just imagine Sherlock pacing manically back and forth, curls a wild mess, eyes almost feverish. It was a sight he had seen hundreds of times, normally on the first few days after a case, often followed by the terrifying black days when Sherlock wouldn't move at all from the couch. There had not been any black days since they started dating, and John was hoping that this would be a permanent thing, that his presence could at least somewhat help Sherlock from being overwhelmed by the darker part of his mind.

It shifts again, and John is beginning to suspect that this is a series of pieces, related and interwoven, but separate entities. There is certainly a common theme underneath the variations, and it almost seems familiar, but he hasn't yet been able to place it. the new theme is thinking- John can recognize that right away. Sherlock had more than one 'thinking pieces', but they all had a very similar sound to them that John had come to recognize.

At this point John wants to be able to watch Sherlock play, so he carefully opens the door and slips inside, silently standing just inside the flat and watching Sherlock.

The next piece was very calm, which was relieving to John. The recurring theme was faint here, barely noticeable, overpowered by themes of thinking and puzzling, some of Sherlock's typical 'case music'.

John jumps in shock when the next transition comes- the piece is clearly angry, and Sherlock is almost torturing his beloved instrument. John had heard Sherlock play angry pieces before- on cases where he was stuck on what he felt should be an 'obvious detail', where there were no good cases around, after Mycroft had visited- angry pieces were not new. This was different though, this was not about a case or lack thereof, there was something deeper here, more personal. The recurring theme came out a bit more, but was warped, and somehow John felt that whatever that theme represented, it was the target of the anger and frustration.

Then the music softened and became incredibly sad. John had to stop himself from going over and wrapping his arms around Sherlock to comfort him. It was heartbreaking to listen to, and that theme, the one John had been puzzling over, suddenly swelled up- more prominent than it has been for the entire time yet.

It then hits John, and he feels like an idiot for taking so long to figure it out- he does know this theme, Sherlock had started playing it a few days after the nightclub fiasco. He was constantly playing it, weaving it in to other pieces, like the tune was always in the back of his mind, even if he wasn't directly thinking of it. It changed, shifted every time he played it, but it was always recognizable. John had often wondered if it was supposed to be him, if Sherlock had composed a piece that was John, for when he was thinking of John. The thought made John happy, in a way he couldn't really express. Hearing it wrapped into this sorrowful melody was torture for John. Then another epiphany hit him- these were Sherlock's emotions about his trip. It had to be, it would be the only way Sherlock could deal with them and express them- sadness, anger, worry, thinking- it all made sense. John instantly felt twice as guilty about leaving after this.

It then changes again, and it is clear that Sherlock was impatient when writing this. John can now deduce that this was the piece for a time when Sherlock was tired of waiting for him to come home- perhaps after their phonesex call? So far there have been seven separate pieces- one for each day? That would make sense with where the 'work music' cut in, and the chronology of the other emotions. John grows warm at the thought, and starts to walk forward to where Sherlock is standing by the window.

Then he stops walking, because the piece shifts again. This one is shakier than the others, clearly a work-in-progress, one that Sherlock has just started. Still though, it lifts John's heart, because it is somewhat happier than any others so far, hopeful, but still longing. It had a jazzy sound to it, and made John think of long nights they had spent together, wrapped up in each other, trading slow kisses because they knew they had all the time they wanted. God, he wanted to do that with Sherlock now, more than anything.

John then finally takes the last few steps forward. Sherlock is clearly so lost in his music he's blocked out the rest of the world, so John lightly touches his shoulder to get his attention. For a moment, he worries- he's clearly shocked Sherlock, and may be thrown to the ground, mistaken for a threat. John takes a step back, giving Sherlock space, and a chance to recognize him. He sees the moment the information that he's home hits Sherlock.

John is suddenly jumped on and wrapped up in a crushing hug that sends hims stumbling backwards a few steps. He can't stop smiling and pressing Sherlock impossibly closer. It was so, so indescribably wonderful to be able to wrap his arms around Sherlock again, to feel the tall, lanky body against his, smell Sherlock's shampoo and chemical smell. It was so, so wonderful to be home.

"Hey, wonderful to see you too. I found a way to get things wrapped up a few days early, decided I would give you a nice surprise and just show up unexpected. I'm glad you were actually here instead of at a crime scene," John laughs out joyfully, words a bit mumbled because his face was squashed against Sherlock's chest.

John pulls back and drinks in the sight of Sherlock's face, staring at him and running his fingers along Sherlock's cheekbones.

Sherlock pulls him in for a kiss, which John is only to happy to share. He knew he had missed the taste of Sherlock's lips, missed it like crazy. It was only now that he realized just how much more he had missed them than he had even been aware. How the hell had he survived this past week?

John then finds himself being spun around by Sherlock as they kiss, and he pulls his mouth away to let out a half-laugh, half-yell at the surprise. He knows he should be annoyed- that is really embarrassing and terrifying, but he's far too happy and instead just laughs along with Sherlock.

"God I missed you, I'm so happy to be home."

They simultaneously pull each other in for another kiss, and now they are making up for the last week, and all the time spent apart, all the kisses missed. They fall onto the couch, and the small part of John's brain that is still capable of rational thought is amazed at Sherlock's talent for moving his violin, while still holding onto him and dragging them both onto the couch. It happens quite frequently, and John almost suspects that Sherlock can magically grow a third arm, just for cases like this, because he swears he does not feel either Sherlock's hands leave him.

They end up shifting from sitting to laying- arms and legs wrapped around each other, chests touching. Sherlock is propped up on his elbows, and they have stopped kissing, and instead are just looking, because they haven't seen each other's faces for over a week, and now they can look again. John trails one hand over Sherlock's cheeks, and through his hair. Sherlock leans down and presses a kiss so sweet and tender to John's lips- it says everything, encompasses all of the feelings going through John, and he returns it, telling Sherlock he feels exactly the same.

He then decides that they've made up for a decent amount of the innocent kisses missed over the past week, and it was time to move on to the other kisses- the ones that followed after chasing a criminal when they were flying with adrenaline, or late at night when Sherlock (who had been lost in his mind palace) realizes that John has gone to bed without him and decides that this is an unacceptable development, or when Sherlock forgets that John doesn't work Wednesday mornings and is pleasantly surprised to be reminded he has John all to himself until late that evening. John laughs at this last thought- he's come to suspect that Sherlock purposely 'forgets' about John taking shorter hours on Wednesdays, just so he can then be surprised every week, giving him an excuse (as if he needs one) to keep John in bed for hours.

"Is Mrs. Hudson out?" John asks, pitching his voice low so Sherlock understands exactly why he's asking.

Sherlock answers affirmatively.

"Good. I hope you realize, Lock, that since I'm home early it means that I have two days with no plans. I took off work for the trip, so I don't have to go in. No one else knows I'm back yet, and I'm more than happy to keep things that way. You can have me all to yourself for two days, no interruptions. You can have me any way you want me for those two days, as much as you want me. I'm entirely yours."

John presses himself up to Sherlock for a searing kiss, then leans back down again and folds his arms behind his head, a picture of casual charm.

"So, my dear, dear Sherlock, what do you want to do with me? The game is on."

((Glad you like it! :D))
((Haha, yes indeed! You know what? I have to write an essay about Sherlock Holmes for philosophy! Last week, my teacher told us about the philosopher called John Locke. I had to bite my lip very hard not to burst out in a fit of laughter, seriously!))

Sherlock was very, very happy with John’s decision to take things to another level. It was fantastic to feel that John had physically longed for him as much as Sherlock had done for the past week. Now, Sherlock fully realised the freedom they had in the following two days. His mind flooded with the things they could do, all the things that he had imagined during John’s absence... He could make them true now. He could make them all true.

But first he had to appreciate the delicious searing kiss. And oh, John was calling him Lock with that dark voice. Man, how he had missed that. Both were immediate turn-ons.

Sherlock panted from the kiss and the suppressed sexual frustration that had free reign now.

“Hmmm... Let’s see... There’s so much that I want to do with you... But I’m sure you want to do a lot with me too... I ask you to undress me, just like I undressed you a few weeks ago.”

((I had written a whole other scene, but then I thought: we have done something alike many times, so let's give it a little twist. But then I wasn't sure if the boys could handle a kink right now, because they're so turned-on and missed each other so badly that they would just jump each other.... I've wanted to play this out some time and if they're too horny to do it good, it would be a wasted request... So yeah, I'll let you pick again :P))

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ALTERNATIVE ENDING

Sherlock panted from the kiss and the suppressed sexual frustration that had free reign now.

“I have to say, that what you just told me was incredibly sexy. and it makes me want to have you hard, right here, right now. Making up for everything we missed-”

To emphasize the urgency of his need, he grinded down onto John while rumbling this in his lowest voice.

“And you know... That’s the exact thing I’m going to do with you.”

Their lips met, again in another urgent, rough kiss. It had been far too long since they had shared such a kiss. Breathing in each other’s mouths, licking and sucking each other’s lips and adding a lot of pressure.

One of Sherlock’s hands rested on the small of John’s back and pulled him against his chest. Their body heat was sensible through the thin fabric of Sherlock’s shirt and the thick wool of John’s jumper. The hand gripped the seam of John’s jumper and pulled it quickly over his head. There was a moment of mandatory separation, but the searing reunion was so worth it.

Sherlock felt John’s hands roaming over his thinly covered chest and slowly he started unbuttoning his shirt. Sherlock hummed in delight. He loved it when John undressed him, especially when he was wearing a tight shirt. And John knew that. What he also knew was that his nipples were extremely sensitive and used that knowledge to drive Sherlock crazy.

“Gah-..ah.. John...ye-yes...” Sherlock had to break the kiss to gasp for air. The long-waited for sensations almost became too much for him. The supressed sexual frustration overwhelmed him with butterflies and made him whimper.

No teasing today. Today, they would get on it rough and hard.

Sherlock mimicked John’s occupations on John’s shirt. Not much later, they were grinding and kissing again, but now with skin contact. All the sensations that he had missed hit Sherlock in one go. He had missed this so badly.

((I honestly don't care which way it will be. I just felt that we had done the alternative ending before and now John was asking, Sherlock's kinks could have free reign. Still doubting here...))

((Hmm, I liked them both, but ended up going with the first- mainly because I liked the idea of John getting slightly lost in his head remembering just how many different ways Sherlock has undressed him.))

John thinks back to the past few weeks, trying to remember which time Sherlock was referring to. It was actually rather difficult, they had undressed each other many times, in many different ways. He kept thinking of his favorite time- Sherlock had undressed him excruciatingly slowly- kissing along every patch of skin as it became exposed, so that by the time he was fully undressed John was practically weeping from the build up of arousal.

John would love to do that to Sherlock. It was not happening right now. John knows he wouldn't last through that. He was already half-hard from that kiss, and sitting and thinking about the past sex he'd had with Sherlock is really just making him more aroused. The fact that Sherlock had decided to start nibbling on his neck and earlobe while he was thinking also wasn't doing anything to help keep him sane.

“Sherlock. I want nothing more than to undress you slowly and tease you to the point where you're so desperate you're begging for me to make you come. That said, there is no way in hell I would make it through that right now. I've missed you so much, and I have wanted you so much this past week- I'm really ready to just take you, now, in any way I can get, as long as it happens soon. I'm already going mad just from talking about this with you so close.”

With that said, John reaches out and rips opens Sherlock's shirt, a few buttons popping off and going flying across the room.

“I'll sew those back on.”

He pushes the shirt up off of Sherlock's shoulders, and attacks Sherlock's collarbones with kisses and nips- remarking the pale white skin. He quickly tugs his jacket off- he was still wearing it from the cab ride. Underneath the jacket his is wearing a jumper along with Sherlock's red scarf. He sees Sherlock's eyes focus in on the scarf.

“You like that? You like the sight of me in your clothes? Maybe later we can have some fun with this scarf.”

John carefully unwinds the scarf and puts it on the back of the couch. He then pulls off his jumper and undershirt.

He then pushes up on Sherlock until they are both sitting, making it easier to remove Sherlock's belt and trousers. John leans over, mouthing at Sherlock's erection through his pants, while popping open the button on his jeans. He pulls back to slide off his jeans while starting to pump himself in his pants.

Sherlock growls at the sight of John touching himself, pulls out John's hand, and replaces it with his own.

“I take it you've missed being able to do this?” John gasps out as Sherlock starts pumping him at a fast, rough pace, “Christ, you're going to make me come in my pants if you keep that up!”

John quickly grips Sherlock's erection and starts up the same treatment, trying to pull down Sherlock's pants with his other hand as he pumps. Ideally, he would like to at least get them down Sherlock's thighs before this whole thing falls apart.

The next moment, Sherlock had no shirt anymore. Wow, that went quick.

"You'd better-aah." Sherlock growled, which transformed into a sigh of delight as John attacked his collarbone. He arched his back into John's nips and lips. and was not too ashamed to keep his moans back.

He helped John out of his jacket and other garments with great pleasure. But when John was working on his/Sherlock's scarf, a familiar vision appeared in his mind. Since John had noticed that he had token his scarf with him, Sherlock had let his fantasy loose on various scenarios in which the scarf had a key role.

In contradiction to his general behaviour/reputation, Sherlock thought he might have a kink on light bondage. And not bonding the other, but being bonded himself. Somehow, the fantasy of being overpowered, dominated by someone sweet as John, was a turn-on. By bondage, he could not escape John's brilliant teasing.. He had a love/hate relationship with teasing. It was maddening, but had such a good release. It was so woth it in the end.

John had improved his observational powers and caught up on his watching the scarf. But interpretated it wrongly, of course.

He just wanted to comment on John being wrong, when John did the immensly distracting move of mouthing him through his pants. That was the sort of direct teasing that he couldn't stand, but loved at the same time. Sherlock's eyes fluttered simultaneously with a desperate sigh. He felt like a pudding being pushed to and fro and not able to stand much longer.

Because of all this wonderful distraction, Sherlock didn't see John pumping himself. Sherlock (almost angrily) snatched John's hand away. He had been waiting so long to do this and John thought he could do it himself just like that!?

"Yes, that's my job." Sherlock growled animal-like, roughened by primal lust.

Sherlock struggled out of his pants, not willing to let go. He saw the overall benefit of undressing one's trousers on the long run, so he did the same to John. Another short seperation later and they were close toghether again.

Sherlock crashed his lips on John's. Their kiss was really rough, it was more nipping at lips and breathing than actually kissing, but it was perfect for this situation.

Sherlock's hard was throbbing and John luckily did a good job on him. He felt that very familiar feeling building up in his groin, but now it was different. The feeling was so much stronger than normally. He felt like exploding. All the sensations, the pumping, the writhing, the kiss... he had missed it so much and it was all becoming so overwhelming.

"Oh, John... I think I-I'm coming. Good Lord, how I missed this... Oh, John! Grreahh-"

He clasped onto John as they both came together. He felt every nerve shuddering, John's heart pumping in his chest, his pulse through his erection. He knew that feeling, but this time was, again in some way different. Sherlock believed this, what he felt right now, was called bliss. But it was not only that, it cut deeper than before.

Love... Sherlock thought It must be love..

The weird thing was, that this should scare the hell out of Sherlock, but it didn't. It seemed logical... in some mad way.

With a satisfied sigh, Sherlock fell onto John's chest after riding out their orgasms. They were sweaty, messy and completely wasted. But Sherlock was sure that he, after a shower, coffee and something to eat, he would be fit again.

Sherlock lay with his head on John's good shoulder and lay his hand on the place where John's heart was supposed to be. He was still wearing John's dogtags, that were now sticking to their stweating bodies. He let a happy sigh leave his mouth when he felt John's hand going through his hair. Sherlock curled up just a little more, purring a low hum. Normally, he didn't purr, but now he was too relieved to care.

Eventually, he looked up and hovered over John's face. He drunk the sight of a blissful, eyes-closed John in and stroked the sides of John's head. John opened his eyes warily and smiled at the sight of Sherlock. Sherlock smiled back. This moment was just perfect.

Sherlock wanted to say it. He wanted to tell John how precious he was to Sherlock so very badly.

"I-...John, I- Eh... I-I"

Sherlock looked away. What was holding him back? Nothing, wasn't it? So why couldn't he just say it?

Because John hadn't sad it. Sherlock had felt John had issues with the phrase. Sometimes, when Sherlock looked very tenderly how John would wake up, or when the positions were reversed, the feeling hung in the air, but it was never said aloud.

"I am so incredibly happy that you're home."

((TROLLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLO))

((Ah, I hate it when my own characters mess up fluffy moments like that!!! Ok, I had vague plans of something bad happening to one of them eventually- some unknown danger that would be just enough so that for a short moment, John thinks he might not ever see Sherlock again- and that will be enough for John to get over his silly fear.))
((However, not now, because now they are snuggling and it's adorable. I would be the cruelest person in the world to interrupt this.))


Coming, finally coming with Sherlock after so long apart was the best feeling John could imagine. His sentiments echoed Sherlock's words exactly- he has missed this [i]so[/i] much.

"God-Sher- never let me leave again like that- too long- missed you- amazing."

They finally both collapsed together, utterly spent. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock, swept through by feelings of utter bliss. This, this was perfect, this was heaven for him, his favorite feeling in the world. This was how he would love to spend the rest of his life if possible, in this wonderful state of just coming down from an orgasm with Sherlock in his arms.

He was laying with his eyes closed, happily contemplating how wonderful his life was, when he felt Sherlock stroking at his face. He looked over lazily, and was struck by the sight. Sherlock was...glowy, that was really the only word for it- he looked peaceful, and happy, and it was almost like he was glowing with positive emotions. This glowing thing, paired up with how utterly debauched Sherlock looked with his mussed hair, kiss-swollen lips, and covered with light bruises from where John had bitten his neck, this was hands down the most beautiful sight John had ever seen. For a few moments he just savored it, drinking in the sight of Sherlock with fervent eyes.

Then Sherlock was speaking, trying to say something he couldn't get out. He said he was glad John was home. John could tell that this was a true statement, and he was very glad too, but it was clearly not what Sherlock had intended to say.

"Me too," he said, leaning up to kiss Sherlock, trying to think through what Sherlock had originally wanted to say.

It hit him a moment later. It seemed impossible that Sherlock would say that to him. Sherlock didn't do [i]love[/i], did he? Then again, a short time ago John was convinced Sherlock didn't do sex, and he was clearly wrong about that. John was conflicted. At first he was remarkably glad that Sherlock hadn't said the actual words to him. Then, he was happy, amazed, and honored that Sherlock would feel that- feel [i]love[/i]- for him, of all people. He wanted to say it back, he knew he felt the same way for Sherlock, but the words stuck in his throat, unable to come out. He was ashamed then, and frustrated. What the hell was wrong with him? Why couldn't he just say the words? It was clearly his reaction that had scared Sherlock from saying it him, and that was just wrong. Why was he making this so difficult?

John swallowed down his negative feelings, not wanting to ruin this moment. He took a deep breath, then smiled at Sherlock, trying to show how he felt about Sherlock, how much he loved him, even if he couldn't say it. He kissed Sherlock sweetly, wrapping him arms and legs around Sherlock so he was held close- desired and protected by John.

"Mmmm, if I ever have to go away for more than a day or two in the future, you're coming with me. I don't think there's a chance I could make it through this again. I wouldn't have lasted those last two days."

John yawned, "Want to take a short nap, Lock? Just for a half-an-hour to regather our strength? Then you can get to work on all those wonderful plans you've come up with this past week. I cannot even begin to say how much I am looking forward to them. I want to fall asleep with you in my arms though, even just for a little while. I also got up extremely early to catch a plane that would get me home at midday, and I'll admit to being so excited last night at the idea of coming home, that I actually didn't get much sleep. Kept thinking about you."

((You can either say no to the nap, or maybe think of a creative way to wake John up. I myself am a bit sleep-deprived, and couldn't think of anything to write.))

((Oh, that's all right, I will get onto that!))
((Sounds like a good plan. Something dangerous, something quick. A kidnapping maybe? Hostage stuff?))


Sherlock sensed negative energy coming of John. He was frowning a little, yet smiling. But then, John set his mind onto more pleasant matters and beamed at Sherlock. John leaned forward and pressed his lips on Sherlock's. Sherlock had felt a ping of doubt/despair/panic at the sight of John's worried look, but this kiss. This kiss. John's sweet kiss told him everything he needed to know. That there's no use in doubting, they both knew they loved each other, yet neither dared to be the first one to say the high words.

Sherlock felt like in heaven. As a figure of speech, of course. He thought believing in a God and everything that came along was as ridiculous as knowing whether the sun orbits around the earth or if the places were reversed. Let's say that Sherlock was in a state of perfect bliss and that he wished he never had to get up again. Judging by the fact that John's limbs were completely entangled with Sherlock's, John had the same opinion.

Sherlock still wasn't used to these new kinds of feelings. He had lived so long alone that he had forgotten how good it felt to be embraced, to feel protected, cherished and desired. He snuggled into John's chest to remember how nice it was to cuddle, to feel the steady beat of the other's heart and the vibration of the other's voice, rumbling through his chest.

"Next time you won't have a choice. I'd come with you if you liked it or not. Even if you hadn't come out to your family. There's no use in hiding. I don't want to hide the truth."

About hiding, Sherlock thought... Should they make this 'public'? He honestly didn't care a damn. The people had been speculating it since they became an internet phenomenon, for Christ's sake, so where was the difference? But then, maybe John felt more comfortable to do it 'officially' through his blog or by other means. It would be up to him.

John was tired. Frequent yawning, rubbing of the eyes, falling eyelids, unfocussed gaze, slowing breathing pattern. That wasn't hard to tell.

"First: shower. Though, you look very sexy, all this messed up, and I'd rather keep you like this... but I reckon (based on previous gathered data) you like to feel fresh, like new before we begin with my plans."

“You’re not going to shower with me?”

“An other time. Now it will interfere with my plans and we can’t have that, can we?”

It wasn’t true that he didn’t want to shower with John, oh no. It was just that he couldn’t afford getting horny again, not when John was less responsive due fatigue.

He leaned forward to give John a last, long, delicious snog, before he untangled himself to let John go. He looked down their stomachs. They really had made a mess, but it was so worth it.

While John was in the shower, Sherlock did something he taught himself while John was away. He made tea. Of course John still made the best tea in the world, but he was unable to do so, so Sherlock saw the necessity of it.

Sherlock left his shirt where it was (on the floor) and clothed himself with his blue dressing gown instead. When John came back, hair still damp, he flopped on the couch and opened his arms wide.

“Sherlock, will you come here?”

“No, I’ll do something else.”

Yet, Sherlock came closer and sat on the edge of the couch. John was really tired, the symptoms had gotten worse and John was on the edge of sleep. Sherlock leaned over and pressed a kiss on John’s forehead.

“Go to sleep.”

Sherlock demanded softly and got up. John looked kind of confused, but not awake enough to care. Sherlock picked up his violin as quiet as possible and positioned it under his chin. With his back towards John, he started playing a lullaby.

It was a lovely lullaby. His grandmother had taught him it. She had been an excellent violin player in her days. It was the foundation on which John’s theme was originated, Sherlock realised with a smile. Yet again, music proved to be Sherlock’s way of translating emotions.

Sherlock dared to turn around after a while and was blessed with the sight of John, vastly asleep.

Very slowly, Sherlock stopped the tune until the notes were mere echoes. He put the violin and bow down and carefully stroked John’s crown before he set off to the bathroom to shower himself. Then, Sherlock opened his disguise-closet. He was going to wake up one of John’s clothing kinks, he thought with a grin.

An hour later (Sherlock decided John deserved extra rest) Sherlock, all dressed up and with maybe a hint of cologne, made his way to the couch. Sherlock stopped in his tracks to admire this adorable, relaxed John, like he always did when he saw John sleeping. Eventually, he hung over John’s face and just breathed into his face until he woke up.



((I think you caught up on the fact that I didn’t mention John’s clothing kink. Well... I am terrible at making up kinks for other characters! Sherlock’s obviously is military, but John’s.... I don’t know. I’m not a John roleplayer :P Mine, personally, is suits. I love suits. Men just look so sexy in them! Anyway, the only thing I would like to see in the following post is that Sherlock has to act like his outfit. It has to match, do you know what I mean? No pressure, please don’t feel pressured... I was just at a loss at this point. Now I am the onr who is too sleep-deprived >.<))
((By the way: I made a tracklist of the songs/melodies Sherlock played in the days of John's absence!))
((Day 1, panic/uncertainty = 12 Etudes (arr. M. Jarrell) Pour les notes repetees - Debussy))
((Day 2, unrest = Walter's Mission - Alexandre Desplat))
((Day 3, thinking = just plucking at strings, really, but then with a lead tune, which I don't know yet.))
((Day 4, mellow = Prelude a l'apres-midi d'un faune - Debussy))
((Day 5, anger, frustration = Closer - Nine Inch Nails... This one REALLY covers it. ))
((Day 6: sadness = Song from a Secret Garden... no doubt there. I can play the piano part of this one))
((Day 7: impatience = Nocturnes No. 2. Fetes - Debussy. Again))
((Day 8: jazz, swaying = Don't Stop The Music - Jamie Cullum. So sensual. *swoon*))
((Of course, Sherlock wouldn't sing. He just plays the melody on his violin.))
((The lullaby: Exogenesis Symphony part 3 [Redemption] - MUSE <3))


((Another note: Sherlock is still wearing John's dogtags!))

((Oh my goodness, those are all amazing songs!!! I love it!!))
((Hmmm, John kinks...well, the suit thing could definitely be one, Sherlock acting all cool and collected while John loses it, or Sherlock playing really dirty. Definitely would do a suit though, also because John associates them so much with Sherlock already and Sherlock just looks sexy as hell in them. This might be a case where it would work to have a more dominant Sherlock. I may also do a lot with textures. We'll see where it goes.))

John awakes to a soft breath blowing across his face. He is greeted by the sight of Sherlock's lips hovering above him. Well, that was a wonderful way to wake up. John catches a glimpse of white against black before Sherlock backs up from him.

His eyes skim over Sherlock and John's breath catches. Sherlock is wearing a suit that makes him look utterly sinful. All black silk, velvet trimming, so well tailored it moves on his body like a second skin. The clothes compliment Sherlock perfectly, showing just enough of his muscle and skin to be enticing, but also leaving the good details up to the imagination- though it was easy enough for John to imagine. The cut and color emphasizes Sherlock's already remarkable height and build. He's combed his hair down neatly. His skin looks whiter than ever against the midnight of his clothes.

John reaches out one hand and strokes along the sleeve of the jacket, feeling the soft silk beneath his fingers. It's rich, exotic, luxurious, dignified- it reminds him so much of Sherlock, particularly of Sherlock's voice- black silk and velvet, John thinks to himself- if Sherlock's voice could be seen and felt, this is what it would be. The fabric was tight enough that John could feel the muscles of Sherlock's arm rippling beneath the layers.

"Like it?" Sherlock asks, vain self-confidence ringing through his voice, he clearly knew just how good he looked in the suit.

It was clear that Sherlock was trying to get John to reveal just how fond he was of Sherlock wearing suits. He had, unfortunately, seen a picture of Sherlock in a tuxedo from a few years ago, and the image had stuck with him. He was used to Sherlock in his normal suits, but these special formal ones, well, lately he had been trying to think of excuses for Sherlock to get particularly dressed up. Sherlock just looked amazing, like he was made to dress like this- regal and powerful. God, he was sexy.

John decides to answer honestly, but not give in to Sherlock completely.

"You look so good in it, I don't think I could bear to take it off you."

John then shrugs, and turns as if to walk away from Sherlock, fully intending to be stopped before he had taken more than two steps.

((Gah, I don't know, is this at all decent? On thing I thought of that I think John would have a kink for- Sherlock "experimenting" on him, in a way- testing different things that turn him on, and cataloging them out loud. I think it would turn John on because he would know that Sherlock is completely focusing his attention on John, John has to surrender in a way, there's no way he could hide, he has to trust Sherlock. The knowledge that he can do that, and Sherlock will then use all of his observation and deduction skills to find out exactly what will be most effective on John in this moment, I think John would find totally hot.))

(( Yay, I’m glad you love them!))
((Took me some time to get inspiration, but I’m onto it. I’ll see where it goes. Of course it was decent! Great as always ! Just added a little bit more dialogue before the walking away thing))

Sherlock smirked smugly when he saw John’s jaw drop out of appreciation. He literally felt John’s eyes roaming over him, which gave him chills. He felt completely comfortable in this suit. It had been tailored for him, on Mycroft’s order. Mycroft wanted him to have a ‘decent’ suit for very official occasions. Sherlock had mocked at it at first, but was very happy how it had turned out.

“In three weeks, the Queen throws a private royal party for approximately 200 people. Mycroft and I are invited and we can bring a partner. So, will you come with me?”
Sherlock first noticed the bewilderment on John’s face and his mouth opening in a question.

“And don’t say you haven’t got a decent suit. Mycroft will provide one.”

Sherlock hoped John would say yes. How much Sherlock loved John’s military outfit, he was also very curious to how John would look in a suit. Maybe a white one would suit him...

“Oh... then, yes, why not?” John was clearly still stunned by the invitation, but it pleased Sherlock immensely that he agreed. Note to self: ask Mycroft if he can order a white suit for John.

Then John just walked away. But Sherlock knew this walk. It was slow, short paces and not aimed towards anything in particular, not anything John might need right now. John used this walk when he wanted to be chased. And Sherlock saw no objection not to do so. Absolutely none. Ever. Though he liked to tease and let John walk a few steps more before Sherlock silently caught up with him.

“Stop. Don’t turn.”

Sherlock said slowly in his low voice near John’s ear. He stood behind John, though they were not directly touching. John obeyed immediately, with a stern face. Sherlock smiled, oh this was going to be so much fun

“Slow walk, short paces in no good direction. You definitely want to be chased. But why? I guess you had to run for your life in Afghanistan at least once, so there could be a traumatic feeling sticking to it. But based on previous gathered data, you’ve always loved being chased in a playful way.”

“You obviously like being ordered. Well, another then: go to the bedroom and lie down on the bed. Do not unclothe yourself nor touch yourself, is that understood?”
John agreed.
“Well then, do as you are ordered while I get the requirements.”

Oh, Sherlock just had too much fun doing this. John left, just looking back when he turned around the corner. His eyes were pitch-black, an image that suited him damn well, Sherlock thought. Goal achieved.

Sherlock walked over to the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboards until he found what he was looking for: the strawberry jam. On his way back, he picked up his blue scarf. They were going to have so much fun with both props. So damn much fun.

Sherlock lingered in the doorstep, looking at John, sprawled out onto the bed. Completely ready to be played with. The image immediately got to his groin. He made eye-contact at John while he prowled over to the bed like a panther, a black panther. John eyes dilated impossibly even further. Sherlock set the jar of jam on the nightstand and draped the scarf over the bed board, still with locked eyes.
Sherlock removed the top jacket, revealing a tight waistcoat. Sherlock smirked while rolling up his sleeves and removing his shoes in preparation. Then he rested his hands in his waist and skimmed his eyes over John’s body. He was already panting. Good.

“Is the offer that I can have you any way and as much as I want to still standing?" Sherlock asked darkly, giving his plans a trailer.

John agreed again.

"Well then. Let’s start.”

Sherlock crawled on the bed and positioned himself over with his shins on either side of John. Then, he just sat there looking down at John with his hands folded against his lips, eyes narrowed. This alone seemed to turn on John.

"You like me watching you. You already pant from just his situation. Hmmmm.... Interesting."

Sherlock caught John's wrists and pinned him down. Another brilliant sight and feeling. John was all his now, Sherlock had all the power to get him to the edge of coming, but backing off until he could start over again. Sherlock loved it.

At first he let his breath stroke John's skin, just his breath. Then, he added the tip of his tongue to the merciless teasing.

"Breathing, just breathing turns you on too, though less than kissing. But it's the kind of teasing you hate and love at the same time. The endless teasing of doing nothing and everything at the same time. God, you're so sensitive, aren't you my dear?"

His mouth wandered down to the buttons of John's shirt and he started opening them open with his mouth. Sherlock hadn't trained this skill, but was very successful at his first attempt. He let go of John's wrists and removed the shirt.

"I hope you are fully aware to what you agreed to. I can tease you mercilessly. And I can assure you that I will. I can tease you until you are screaming, begging for mercy, but you know I won't give in. By the way: you are allowed to speak."

Then he bowed over him, flipped the scarf off the board and bound John's wrists together with his blue scarf. He made sure that John had enough space to be comfortable, but the main purpose was still fulfilled: it restrained him in touching himself and Sherlock.

"This is for preventing you interfere with my experiment." Sherlock sat straight and looked down again. Now John looked even more delicious. "Boundaries: also a turn-on, obviously. You like to be restrained, don't you? To be just a little helpless to the wicked plans of your captor."

((That's all I can write now, gotta go back to homework!))

((Oh shit…how am I supposed to reply to this? All I can think is ‘hothothothotholyfuckingshithot’, I can’t come up with actual real writing.))

“Oh…God yes…”John sighed out in reply to Sherlock- God yes he knew exactly how utterly, wonderfully cruel Sherlock intended to be with his teasing, and yes, John wanted it all.

John was already completely breathless and incredibly hard. How had Sherlock figured all of this out? John had never imagined enjoying bondage, in fact had you asked him about it a day ago he would have sworn he would never try it. However, he had seen Sherlock staring at the scarf earlier and the idea of using it as a prop went through his mind, and he had been curious. Now, the feeling of the soft wool around his wrists was making John ache and pant with arousal.

Then Sherlock’s words, the deductions and observations falling off his tongue- somehow sounding both clinical and incredibly dirty at the same time. That was doing John in, the idea of Sherlock studying him, observing his reactions to figure out the most effective way to tease him and eventually bring him to orgasm. Oh God, he’d dreamed about that before, actually had some extremely vivid dreams about it, but he’d never told Sherlock, it seemed too embarrassing. Sherlock had already worked so many of his weak points out- the thrill of being chased by Sherlock- a feeling of almost-danger that came from it, being watched by him, deduced, being held helpless and completely giving Sherlock power for a little while. It all made John’s blood race.

“So far I’m not sure what I have to worry about,” John replies, his rebellious tone of voice somewhat ruined by the fact that he was panting, “my captor seems to be all talk and no action.”

Sherlock growls at John, leaning down, and whispering in John’s ear, “Oh, you will pay for that remark, my dear.”

John’s breath catches in his throat, and he involuntarily rolls his hips up into Sherlock, letting out a soft moan.

((YES, glad to hear that! :D))

Sherlock hadn’t realised how stone hard he was until John was so cheeky to rock against him. And god that moan. It all went straight to his pants. He lost his character for a moment by gasping for air. He quickly slipped into his role again and bowed down to John’s neck with a menacing grin.

“Oh, you are so deliciously eager. But I’m not going to give in. Not today.”

With his hands, he fiddled with the belt and the button of John’s trousers while giving John a hard bite in his neck. John cried out at the pain attack. Sherlock wasn’t sure if it was of pleasure of of pain and checked his face.

“That was for showing deviant behaviour. That hurt, but it hurt good. You are still smiling, though your eyelids are firmly pressed together.” Sherlock softly stroked over the bruise with his fingers. “This should tingle a little, if I’m correct.” Sherlock leaned down and softened the spot with his tongue. He moved to the other side and experimented with sucking. John tensed up until Sherlock removed the vacuum of his mouth. John relaxed with another whimper.

“Sucking: not that responsive in your neck, though I want to bet that is a different matter on your cock.” Sherlock pronounced the last words very slowly, again breathing in John’s ear. John writhed under him and bucked up again, hitting Sherlock’s trousers again with a sinful moan. Sherlock bit his lip in order to prevent himself from moaning.

“Mmoaah, God, Lock-“

Sherlock was good in maintaining in character, but this was simply too much for Sherlock. John was writhing under him, calling him Lock... too much. He needed something, now. He crushed his mouth on John’s open one and plunged his tongue in.

Sherlock was at the edge of losing control of the situation, because DAMN that kiss. It was all rough, wet, open mouthed, with a lot of tongue and so searing. There was nipping, sucking violently at lips and tongues and oh, Sherlock thought he would come from that kiss alone that he had to retreat to gasp for air.

John looked up at him with a smirk. Sherlock imagined how he would look like now. Red cheeks, swollen lips and eyes as black as his suit.

“Who can say now that I don’t do anything, huh?”

Sherlock used a few seconds to reassemble himself and checked the scarf bondage. It had loosened up a bit, so he fastened it again. He let John cool down a bit by standing up, he didn’t want him to come just yet.

He made sure John was looking at him, before slowly popping open the buttons of his waistcoat and white shirt.

“That kiss.. rough is the fastest way to turn you on. Danger, doing things hastily are things that you like very, very much. And oh! You like to watch me unclothing myself very, very slowly, judging by your never-distracted gaze. I kind of feel like a Chippendale now, nice suit and all, but it has to come off very sensually and slowly in the end. That would be exciting, wouldn’t it? Imagine it: me as a Chippendale. You can see it all before your eyes, can’t you?”

Of course Sherlock knew this was all bullshit, he would never do that, not even for a case. But it seemed to turn John on. John hummed and arched his back in the air. Such a beautiful sight, Sherlock considered removing his own trousers too, but decided to leave them on for a while.

Sherlock, who was shirtless now, grabbed the jar of jam and took his previous position again, but now with his shins crossing John’s upper-thighs, pinning him wide-legged to the bed. Sherlock had made sure that John’s trousers lay on the floor, out of the way now. They wouldn’t be needing them soon.

Sherlock took his time to drink this image of John in. He was totally dependent on Sherlock’s next maddening move. He was helpless and delicious and all Sherlock’s. All his.

“You are mine, and mine alone.” Sherlock murmured absent-mindedly while poking his index and middle finger in the jam and dropping some of it on John’s chest with a splash

“Oops, how inconvenient.”

Sherlock licked his lips and made eye contact with John before he got to work. He smeared the jam over John’s chest with his fingers in order to suck it all off with his mouth and making swirls over his tongue. John’s skin was so beautifully soft.

He paid much attention to John’s nipples, which were already as erect as his cock.

“Licking: response. Sucking: more response. Biting: .....brilliant result.”

((I'm going to sleep now. I am going to a Frankenstein screening in a town far away tomorrow, so that's the reason that I won't be updating tomorrow 'evening'))

((Oh, sounds fun, enjoy!))

Sherlock was 100% correct in his hypothesis, John felt the rough, quick-paced tempo of their actions incredibly erotic. The pain and pleasure of all of Sherlock's actions were blending together and magnifying everything for John- the bites to his neck, lips, nipples, all made him ache in a way that was equally sharp and sweet. The kiss drove John wild, and he was almost tempted to escape from the scarf bonds (he could do it without thinking, child's play after military training) to grab Sherlock and move things along, but he resists. He promised Sherlock total control, and this foreplay was amazing, completely worth the frustration.

Watching Sherlock undress was utter torture for John- watching, not wanting to tear his eyes away from the exquisite sight Sherlock was offering, but physically unable to touch Sherlock. He wanted to go and stroke his hand's over Sherlock's exposed chest, trace the pectoral muscles, feel the softness of Sherlock's skin under his palms and the smooth silk of the shirt on the backs of his hands.

"Yes, yes, I'm yours, all yours. I never want to be anyone else's," John pants out, eyes watching Sherlock open the jar of jam.

"Sherlock, please, please- fuck, I don't even know what I'm asking for, but please!" John screams as Sherlock bites down on his nipple.

Sherlock lifts his head and grins down at John, allowing every bit of his enjoyment of John's screams show on his face. John feels a somewhat similar to how he imagines a mouse feels when cornered by a cat...no, not a cat, a tiger; or John was like one of those pathetic little shepherdesses in a fairy tale, right before getting ravished by the big bad wolf. That was clearly what Sherlock had in mind for them- this would not just be sex, and it certainly wasn't lovemaking. This would be ravishment, Sherlock taking what he wanted from John, satisfying his own pleasures, making an unmistakable act to mark his possession and control of John- proof of the fact that Sherlock could give John this much pleasure, and that he was the only one who could do so. This was carnal, lust in its purest form. John was going mad from it in the most perfect way. He wanted release and relief, but he never wanted Sherlock to stop teasing him. He felt like his mind was in chaos, but his senses had never been clearer. He felt the thrill of danger and the comfort of trust. It was overwhelming and just amazing. On top of it all, he knows Sherlock is seeing all of this, staring down and watching him, seeing everyone of these beautifully conflicting emotions play out across his face.

He lurches up and captures Sherlock's mouth in a rough kiss, eagerly licking, tasting the jam on Sherlock's tongue, and better- tasting Sherlock underneath. Someone's lip gets bitten so hard that it bleeds. John's head is too filled with other sensations to tell if it is him or Sherlock, he just knows that now the metallic taste of blood is mixing with the sweet jam and the dark spice of Sherlock, and it should seem bad and wrong, but it just makes things all the more intense.

"Please," John repeats again, whispering the words against Sherlock's lips.

((Also, I think I forgot to say so earlier- but the two of them going to a fancy dress party sound adorable! They can dance! It could also then serve as a good setting for kidnapping scene- lots of strange unknown people, easy to create a distraction. What think you?))

((perfect!))

John's cries. Oh wow. Sherlock hadn't expected that they would have such a great impact on him. John was literally begging him for salvation. It was erotic as hell. Sherlock was gravely tempted to just give in. Give John what he wanted. But Sherlock didn't want this to stop, so he had to carry on.

He allowed the emotions to show on his face, so that John would know how his screams effected him. In return, he saw the most pure emotion appearing on John's face. He couldn't describe it, but his eyes were spell-bounding to look at. His eyes were pitch-black and wide, but they had an alert shine.

Sherlock had no idea for how long he had been staring, but the next moment, Sherlock's lips were captured in a deliciously rough kiss which made Sherlock's knees week. He had to release shaky breaths into John's mouth to get some control back. Of course it was of no use, because then Sherlock's lip got bitten, which made him groan out of pain. But the taste of blood mixed with jam and sex magnified the sensations and made him groan again, now out of surprised pleasure. Sherlock became painfully aware of the fact that he was still wearing his tight neat trousers. Oh fuck.

Sherlock was fiddling clumsily with the button, when he felt another pair of hands helping him. Sherlock was too much in a rush of excitement to care that John got out of his improvised bounds. He was glad John helped it, because he honestly thought he couldn't have done it himself. Not in this state. It used to be a repelling thought to think that he would ever not be able to undo his trousers himself (state of sickness excluded). But now it was all more than fine.

Sherlock's heart fluttered at John's quiet and hot and honest ask for a favour. The urgency of his own release made him grind down John a few times. John groaned some more and oh... Sparks, hot sparks flew through his veins. He would never grow tired of John's lusty cries. Sherlock's voice was quick and breathless when he spoke again.

"Grinding: you long for it and when the moment is finally there, you make the most voluptuous sounds. But then you grow tired of it. You want more and more. But you know that I'm not going to give you that immediately."

He grinned his usual smile when he was teasing John senselessly. He locked his eyes with John's as he slowly moved down John's chest, his bloody lips sometimes briefly touching John's soft skin. He hovered with his mouth over the waistline of John's pants, looked down a sec and looked up again, making sure John would see his every move.

Sherlock went down and mouthed John through his pants. His pants were showing a wet spot of precum, which Sherlock paid more attention to. He heard John whimper the most sinful whimper that existed and which gave Sherlock a very gleeful, powerful feeling. He was the only one who could make John feel like this and he was proud of it.

"Mouthing: the almost direct touch is maddening and the structure of the fabric is rubbing against your-"

"Hnnnnnng-"

"Alright, alright."

Eventually, Sherlock pushed John's trousers down, together with his own. John sighed in relief to be out of those restrains, which were much worse than the scarf.

Then, Sherlock chose to do something even more maddening. He did nothing. Nothing. He just stared at John's glorious cock. It was thick with a shining tip. It was standing so straight, Sherlock thought he could hold a triangular protractor against it and measure 90 degrees, so straight it was. Sherlock could see the veins pumping blood in a frighting fast pace. It was perfect.

"Look at that, how you stand tall and proud. You aren't long nor short, in perfect balance with the rest of your body. Your tip shines beautifully and you leak with precum. Your heart rate is 115 beats per minute, not far from climax-"

"SHERLOCK Please, please Lock! Oh Goddamn do something!"

Sherlock smirked. "Dirty talking, postponing results: even more begging and calling me Lock, oh, brilliant!"

He felt John entwining his fingers in his curls, ready to guide Sherlock to do the damn thing, but Sherlock was so eager himself. He knew he had little time until John would come. At 117 bpm, one usually hit orgasm, so he had to be quick. He already had learnt the move that made John squirm under him. And squirm would he.

((Leave you off to finish this ^^))

Goddammit, how the hell could Sherlock still be talking? Not only talking, but talking in full, coherent, and intelligent sentences. It just was not fair at all. He was clearly being affected by the whole situation- John could tell from his trouble removing his trousers. John had actually twisted his hands out from the scarf so he could assist with that. However as soon as they had gotten those off Sherlock had bloody started talking again, dirty, filthy words rolling off his tongue and all going straight to John’s cock. God, he was aching at thing point.

Finally he started to move down, and John glared at him when he paused at the waistline of John’s pants. Then he just started mouthing, giving some relief at first, but not nearly enough pressure to actually finish John, which just made him cry out more. He really couldn’t take more than another minute of this. He heaved a huge sigh of relief when Sherlock pulled down his pants, but then that damn, infuriating, wonderful, sexy, sadistic bastard did the cruelest possible thing he could- he just stopped. He stopped and stared at John’s cock and started fucking describing it. Now, this was flattering in a way, but it was not at all the time or place for it.

John reached up and roughly wound his fingers in Sherlock’s curls because that pretty fucking mouth of his was going on John’s fucking cock now, one way or another. Then, at long last, John felt hot wet heat surrounding him, and that particular swirl that always did John in (John was actually fairly sure Sherlock had trained his body into falling apart when he did this particular move, but right now he couldn’t think about that because oh my god--) and John’s entire body was shaking and his pulse was pounding in his ear and somewhere someone was screaming and he had a bad feeling that it was him, and then everything went white and black and John couldn’t move or think or do anything for some immeasurable period of time. He knew he should feel guilty about this because it meant that he couldn’t do anything for Sherlock and he definitely owed Sherlock after that orgasm, but he literally was unable to even lift his head at the moment- he was completely done in.

“Holy shit, holy fucking shit, I have no idea what you just did to me Sherlock,” John gasps out in disbelief, “I’m not sure if I’m ever going to be able to move again. My head is still spinning—fuck—that was unbelievable, how did you even do that?”

With a groan John shifts his head to look Sherlock in the eye, “Also, have you used Pavlovian psychology to train me to orgasm when you do that tongue thing?”


((Ok, so I loved the study of Pavlov, and the idea of Sherlock psychologically training John made me laugh, so I had to throw the idea in there. If you don't know the study, it's fairly simple- this explains it: [Only admins are allowed to see this link]

And a little cartoon that totally simplifies it: [Only admins are allowed to see this link] ))

((I'm in doubt. It seems a very Sherlock-y thing to do to learn/experiment this onto John, but at the same time: Pavlov has no significance to his work. Plus that it is just wrong. I would feel really bad if someone trained me to orgasm (well, not thát bad, I must admit), but then: Sherlock can be so. I think he just learned what John loved (which is very significant information) and used that in order to please John in the best way possible.))

John came into Sherlock's mouth, which was always a strange, yet intriguing experience. One really felt the G-forces pumping sperm out when one had a penis in one's mouth. But then he was distracted... by John's facial expression. His screams too, God yes, but what really compelled him to watch was the sight of John's face. Numerous emotions were flashing over his face. It was so beautiful and special that Sherlock didn't really put much notice into the fact that John came on his face. With a few strokes Sherlock made himself come without difficulty, still watching John undergo this orgasm. It was just fascinating. John opened his eyes wide, gasping, blinking, screaming. Then, his eyes moved rapidly from right to left, like in a REM sleep. Finally, he closed his eyes and went totally limb.

Sherlock's euphoric feeling he got from orgasming was hit by a massive cloud of worry. He swiftly crawled up to hover over John, who was lying terrifyingly still with a most satisfied smile. He cupped John's cheek and softly patted it.

"John. John, wake up. John, please. Please wake up!"

Sherlock felt his insides freeze when there was no movement from John. He trippingly repeated all the facts, possible outcomes

Oh fuck. I just sexually teased my partner to death.

It was possible. But normally, people were older when they died of orgasming, having a heart disease or something else chronic. John had none, Sherlock knew absolutely sure. But it was still possible.

"John, John, wake up! For God's sake, wake up!"

In all this panic and not knowing what to do, Sherlock kissed John full on his mouth as if it was his last chance to do so. Relief washed over him when he felt the flabby lips under him purse against his. A major weight was lifted from his stomach and he felt like he could breathe again, but it fell ever so hard back when John said that he wasn't sure he could ever move again, then mentioning some Pavlov. Very worrisome. VERY worrisome.

"You bastard! You just blacked out and all you can think of is some psychologist? No, I do not know of a certain Pavlov, nor do I wish to get to know him. But that's not important now. You said you think you think you can't move again. John, are you all right? Tell me you are all right!"

Sherlock asked very upset. Sherlock had the impulse to shake John, but thought better of it. Instead, he just hugged John closely, never intending to let go again. God, this had been such a shock, though he knew it was irrational of him to panic. But what could he do then? Just watch cold heartedly how John blacked out?

((Cute, sensitive Sherlock is cute and sensitive. I decided to stretch the blacking out moment a little, plus I had to laugh so hard about Sherlock thinking like: Shit. I just killed my boyfriend by giving him a superb orgasm. Oh fuck. So yeah. That's that. Could we maybe do a reversed situation 'tomorrow' (in the roleplay)? That John feels like he has to give a similar experience back to Sherlock...?))

((Oh my goodness, Sherlock is ADORABLE, though I feel incredibly guilty about making him panic like that. At the same time though, John is feeling fantastic, and that's nice for him.))

((I'm going to meet someone for dinner now, so I'll have to write back later. Your argument about Sherlock's knowledge of Pavlov and the morality of the situation makes sense. Yes, we can switch positions tomorrow and John will blow Sherlock away in every meaning of the phrase- yay for bad puns))

((Oh gosh, I just read through you post again and started laughing hysterically all over again- "I just sexually teased my partner to death" X) ))

Oh dear, it appeared that John had frightened Sherlock with his long recovery from his orgasm. Sherlock was yelling at him, and now clinging to him- seemingly equal parts annoyance at John and worry. John forces himself out of his blissful stupor and wraps his arms around Sherlock, leaning down to awkwardly press kisses to his forehead.

"Hey, hey, it's ok Lock, I'm fine. That was utterly amazing. I'm not hurt, don't worry. Sorry, I know I spaced out for a bit there, but it's ok, that happens sometimes. It's very rare, and really only happens with the most indescribably amazing sex. I've never had that happen to me before, but I can say that I am extremely glad to have experienced it. As you can see, I can still move- I'm just very tired, and very, very relaxed, so I can't find much motivation to move."

John squeezes Sherlock close.

"Sorry to have given you a shock, I feel very ungrateful now, that's not how I wanted to thank you for such an amazing time. It means a lot to me thought, for you to show so much concern- that's very good of you, I appreciate it."

John attempts to lightly tease Sherlock, to get him in a better mood.

"I would promise not to allow myself to be so affected by you in the future, but you've just proven beyond doubt that I really have no control over that."

John trails lazy, happy kisses along Sherlock's jaw.

"So I think this means it's my turn tomorrow. I'll have to find some way to impress you. Can't have you getting too self-confident in your abilities, thinking you're the only one talented in sex living here."

John traces some small circles with his fingers at the base of Sherlock's spine.

"You can dream about it tonight, build up the anticipation, think of all the different possibilities. Still though, you'll have to do this knowing that you won't be able to find out what will really happen until tomorrow. Maybe you won't want to think ahead, maybe you'll want to focus on other things, keep yourself completely unbiased."

"We could do something else, keep you distracted. I'm not sure if I'll be up for another round for a while, certainly nothing that intense until tomorrow. Don't worry, Lock, you didn't break me or anything- I'm just not as young as I used to be, my refraction period takes a bit longer after an orgasm like that. It's natural and healthy, and I'm sure I'll be more than ready to make passionate sex to you again in a few hours. Anyways, we have the rest of the evening to spend together, so you want to do anything i particular? We could watch a movie, just lay here. Do you know how to play poker? I could teach you if you don't know. I have some very interesting memories from games of strip poker in university."

((I really don't care what happens for the next few fictional hours, I just figured that John won't be up for sex for a little while. They could just fall asleep. Also, any ideas of kinks for Sherlock? I know he has the military thing, but we've done that a bit. You mentioned possible bondage. Dirty talk works for him. I could try and have John do a roleplay (within the roleplay story) with the military thing. Also, how do you think Sherlock would feel about being blindfolded?))

((Oh, blindfold would work so well! Maybe combined with (scarf)bondage. The more senses are restrained the more insecure Sherlock gets... the more sherlock cannot hold control, the more he can just /feel/, which will work more than fine I think. Sherlock shouldn't get the opportunity to interfere, what he is used to, so it is also something to do with trust. I think that's a good thing to teach him :]))

Sherlock sighed of immense relief when John comforted him. He finally relaxed too, lying on the powerless bunch of limbs that was his beloved John. He was not so secretly very proud of that he had given John such a powerful orgasm that he blacked out. Sherlock had apparently done such a good job with this one if blacking out happens rarely. He got up a bit and showed John his extremely smug smile before hovering above John's lips.

"Experiment reached the highest results possible, I'm honoured."

He bowed down and kissed John softly, who gave some back at his jaw. He hadn't used John as a real experiment, he was just joking.

Sherlock's heart fluttered a little at the suspicion that John awoke in him. It had an reversed effect. John shouldn't have said that he should not think about it, because now he would! Oh, all the possibilities! Would John tease him endlessly like he had done? Would he just assault him against the wall? Upside down? In the armchair? On the kitchen table? Or would it get more edgy? Riding crops, handcuffs? Or would they just be snogging senselessly on the couch?

Sherlock's mind raced through all the possibilities and gasped. Wow, he couldn't wait until tomorrow, but sadly he had to. This waiting used to be very vexing and insufferable, but now he had had to miss John for eight days, a few hours seemed nothing, especially when John was with him.

"Hmm, passionate sex sounds magnificent. Poker? No. I can't poker. Or I deleted it if I had been able to once. But John, you are being ambiguous when you say you have to wait a few hours, but then propose that we play strip poker. I would gladly accept your offer, but maybe another time. Let's just watch a film with a decent plot. Or without one. It doesn't matter, I'm going to snog you the hole way through anyway."

Sherlock smiled down at John and kissed him again. They exchanged some more kisses before Sherlock decided to clean up a bit. He prepared a damp towel in the bathroom and cleaned himself. He heard a groan coming from the bedroom. When he came back, he saw John sitting at the side and threw the cloth over. While John cleaned himself, Sherlock clothed himself into something comfortable.

Eventually, they ended up sitting next to each other on the couch with a pizza (John ordered one). Just when John wanted to crawl over, Sherlock asked with a knowing smile:

"I know the flat is a bit chilly, want to share the blanket?"

"By all means."

John smiled and snuggled up Sherlock's chest. Sherlock kissed John idly on his forehead and down until he reached his lips. He had no intention to take this further than kissing, he was just enjoying the closeness. They were so wound up in cuddles and kisses that they would never know what the film was about. Finally, they fell asleep on the couch, John draped over Sherlock's chest.

((Left John in a good position to come up again if he happens to wake before Sherlock. :)))

((Ok, I think I have a plan. I'll just fast forward to the next day.))

John woke up the next morning feelings warm and glowing with happiness. It was wonderful to wake up in Sherlock's arms again, it had to be one of his favorite feelings in the world. John just lay there for a few moments, enjoying the feeling, before carefully disentangling himself to go use the loo. Sherlock, still asleep, protested and tried to grab at John. John smiled, and leaned down to give his sleeping beauty a kiss. Sherlock gave a happy mumble, and rolled over, peacefully dropping back into a deep sleep.

He then took the few moments of quiet in the flat to unpack his suitcase and put things away. He made up some breakfast (special breakfast- eggs and sausage instead of just toast), and took it out to the living room. He then smiled and leaned over Sherlock, gently kissing him awake, trailing his lips all over Sherlock's face, centering in on his lips when he saw Sherlock's eyes flutter open. He felt Sherlock smile into the kiss.

"Goodmorning, Lock. How did you sleep? I've made up some breakfast and tea, if you want it."

John sits down on the couch, cuddling up against Sherlock as he picks up his tea.

After they finish their breakfast, Sherlock looks over at John expectantly. John, knowing what Sherlock wants, gives him a confused look- his plan is to get Sherlock frustrated and randy by not having sex right away (like Sherlock wants), then surprise him when he's finally given up on John doing anything.

"What is it Sherlock?"

Sherlock tries to clarify by kissing John. John kisses back, happily, but pulls away once it starts to get heated.

'Not now Sherlock, you'll have to wait until later."

John walks away without any further explanation.

The rest of the morning goes like this, Sherlock trying to get John to give in, John saying no. Finally, a bit after lunch, John can't wait anymore, and Sherlock seems to be on the verge of passing from frustrated to worried. John sneaks upstairs and pulls out a trunk from under his bed. He opens it and takes out his old army fatigues- time to give these things some new memories. He puts them on, and though a bit tight- he's put on a little weight in civilian life- they still fit. John smiles, also grabbing his regimental tie, and goes downstairs.

Sherlock is laying facedown on the couch, pouting. John was carrying his boots so Sherlock wouldn't hear the difference in his walking. He walks quietly up to the couch, Sherlock doesn't look up. John reaches over him and grabs the red scarf from where it was left yesterday. Then, he bends down and quickly puts on the boots. Sherlock still- luckily- hasn't looked up.

John smirks, then goes into action. He sits, straddling the backs of Sherlock's thighs and pinning him to the couch. Before Sherlock can look back, John quickly takes his tie and blindfolds Sherlock. Sherlock lifts his hand to his face, but before he can touch the tie, John grabs his hands and twists them behind his back. He ties them together with the scarf, using an intricate knot from army training- no tight enough for discomfort, but almost impossible to wriggle out of.

John leans down and lets his breath tickle Sherlock's ear, "Got you now."

((Decided to also teach Sherlock that some things are worth waiting for ;) ))

((He has to learn that at some point, yes.))

Sherlock buried his face in the pillow and grunted of frustration. Hmmpfff. John had promised that he would act out his fantasies on him 'tomorrow'. Now, it was tomorrow, but John rejected him the whole time. Sherlock had at least tried six times by now and was very frustrated now. Had he done something wrong that upset John into not doing anything? No, that couldn't be. Sherlock had given him the best orgasm in his life (he guessed. It was the only one of which he had blacked out) and that was no reason to reject Sherlock in attempts to take things further.

He lay al sprawled over the couch, limbs everywhere. Why was John doing this? At first he had thought it was all part of the game, but at attempt five, he had grown a little bit worried. Now he was just pouting and mocking and sighing dramatically. The next time he would see John, he would kiss him again and get him against the wall and just-

He heard John come in on his socks. Sherlock reached the point that he couldn't find out the reason why John was torturing him and that he was so desperate he decided to ask. After a long sigh, Sherlock started his question, but was attacked by John from behind. Now, that wasn't so unpleasurable, it made him jump a little bit though. He wanted to look up and with the speed of a lightning bolt, his eyes and hands were bound.

"What the hell-"

Sherlock tried to free his wrists, but to no avail. Soft. Wool. Scarf. Red one, blue one is still in the bedroom. Attempts to break free.... failed. Complicated, though practised knot. Army knot. Oh good Lord. ARMY knot.

"John, let me-"

He was cut off again, but now by the tickling sensation of John's breath saying authoritative things in that low voice and OH. This was already turning Sherlock on in the best way possible.

"John, why did you-... Oh. OH! You did this on purpose, didn't you? Making me wait, fearing it would never come. Oh very clever. If only I could see you, You probably wear your military outfit. Hmmmmmmm."

"Enough chit-chat, do you hear me?"

"Yes."

"Yes, WHO?"

Sherlock swallowed. John's voice was low and edged and commanding and hot. So he was going to tease John just a little more, like he was in charge.

"Yes, John."

((Please be hard with Sherlock, he is always trying to be dominant with that big mouth of his. Always trying to talk out of things. But in the army eventually deeds have greater effect than words. Sherlock has to know who is in charge now. ehehehehe. >:]))

((Oh crap, sorry. I thought I had posted before going to bed! Had a bit of a crazy evening. I have something written and saved on my computer though, let me just make sure it's finished and then I'll put it up.))

((Ok, got it. Sorry about the delay))

((Ok, I'll try my best))

"Wrong," John says in a low voice.

He threads his fingers through Sherlock's hair and yanks his head back- not too rough, but enough to give Sherlock a spark of pain-pleasure.

"You are to call me 'Sir' until the moment you orgasm. Every time you slip up is a minute more of me withholding you from satisfaction. Is that understood?"

Sherlock breathlessly answers in the affirmative.

"Now up," John yanks Sherlock up by the back of his shirt.

"Walk," he leads Sherlock to the kitchen table, marching him there. When they arrive he pushes Sherlock back onto the table.

John roughly grabs Sherlock's shoulders and starts attacking his neck with nips and licks.

"Do you have any idea how hard it has been for me to wait for this? Watching you all morning, knowing what I had planned, and not giving it away? You kept trying to get me to give it, so frustrated and confused. It took all of my willpower to push you away. My instinct was to pull you closer, to take you down and have you in any way you offered me. Strategy was never my strongest area, but I would say I've succeeded this time."

John roughly begins to rub at Sherlock's crotch, applying more pressure than he normally does, pressing just a hair short of discomforting.

John begins popping open the buttons on Sherlock's shirt, and pushes it down to his wrists where the scarf was. He then grabs at Sherlock's belt and quickly yanks it out of his trouser loops. The force of the pull jostles Sherlock a bit, and when the belt came loose, John snapped it, once, so a loud crack sounds in the air. John then yanks down Sherlock's trousers and pants.

"Flip over" John then orders, "and scoot down so your hips are off the table."

Once Sherlock complies, John steps up and grabs his hips. Still in full army fatigues, he grinds his hips into Sherlock. The fabric is rough and scratchy, were they to do this with Sherlock facing forward it would be painful for him, but from the back, the texture should be stimulating. John drapes himself along Sherlock's back, so Sherlock could feel the metal pins on his shirt. His hands stroke delicately along his chest- a strong contrast to the hard thrusts from behind. Then, abruptly and without any warning or interlude, John changes completely- softening the thrusts of his hips to nearly nonexistent and wickedly twisting and pinching at Sherlock's nipples, scraping his blunt fingernails down his chest and stomach.

John then stops moving completely and just lays his palms on Sherlock's chest. He gently moves them down.

"Do you feel my hands? Do you feel the calluses? You know how they got there- years of holding and shooting guns to protect myself, to protect my men, to protect you. The old calluses had started to fade after leaving Afghanistan, but now they’ve built back up again because of you. I still remember our first case, how right it felt to be holding my gun again, to protect someone who I already felt so connected to, even though we had just met. I knew right then, that I would never feel any qualms about shooting someone to keep you safe. So now my hands have grown rough again, all for you.”

((So got a little more emotional at the end, but I thought it was significant))

((Yeah, I thought there gone something wrong there. Glad you posted though. Was interesting, I've always liked roughness, but I ended up feeling bad for Sherlock because he is kind of humiliated. The sentimental part makes up for it, so that's good (: ))
((And I am sorry again that I have to ask for elucidation of their current position. So: when John ordered Sherlock to flip over and 'scoot' down, he ended up with his chest on the table, am I right? I was confused (again) sorry))
((I'm also sorry to tell you that I won't be posting tonight. It is late here and my eyes hurt of watching the last episode of Doctor Who with Amy and Rory in it. So emotional I cried :') So yeah, sorry for that. Promise I'll post tomorrow. Guess I'll have to process the storyline we're going.))

((Ah damn, I was trying to avoid humiliating Sherlock. That's always the thing that makes me shy away from writing sex like this- I don't like humiliating the submissive character, but it seems like it happens despite my efforts (particularly with the army thing). If there's a part you think I could change that would fix this, please let me know- it wasn't my intention for it to come across that way.))
((Don't worry about asking- it was left open for interpretation, but I imagined him either with his chest on the table, or leaning against the table supporting himself with his arms.))
((Oh geez, yeah, that definitely takes time to process emotionally. I still haven't seen it yet, takes time to get over here.))

((That 'who are you going to come for' thing and the belt tapping felt kinda awkward to me, honely. sherlock does have a military kink, but it is more like the military-civilian relation he kicks on than rough manhandling I guess. Oh, I almost forgot Sherlock can't see anything. Hmmm))
((Ah, ok, I appreciate that it is open for interpretation, I will do something with that.))
((omg, I cried so much. Good luck with surviving that! *shakes fist* MOFFAT))

((That makes sense, those were the bits I was most hesitant about. Ok, I went through and changed them. Got rid of the belt part, and changed that bit of dialogue. I like this better actually, not sure why I couldn't think of it before, it actually feels more in-character for John.))