Chapter Text
Sherlock was sitting at the kitchen table of 221B, working on an experiment, when he heard John’s slightly unnerved voice from the sitting room – something that he had been waiting for since…
“Sherlock, did you use my laptop again?” John sounded irritated, angry even, and Sherlock knew exactly why – not that he could be bothered to answer him though.
John placed his laptop next to him on the sofa, got up rather quickly and glared at Sherlock from where he’d stopped in the kitchen door. Sherlock pointedly slowly looked up from his microscope and met the ex-army doctor’s gaze without flinching.
'Ex-army doctor, definitely,' Sherlock thought. It was more than obvious from John’s posture: as if he was standing to attention, yet with the undeniable authority of Captain Watson. Sherlock grinned internally. He loved his boyfriend like this and was glad that everything went according to the plan that had popped into his mind the second he had read John’s email. Sherlock had observed that John automatically switched into Captain-mode whenever he provoked him on purpose. John on the other hand did not seem to notice Sherlock’s intent. Even better.
“Sherlock, I asked you something.”
“At the risk of being redundant – your tone of voice already implies my answer – yes, I’ve obviously used your laptop… again.”
“And you also read through my emails, right?” John sounded decidedly calm now, but Sherlock knew that it was literally the calm before the storm.
“I was bored,” he explained with a shrug and again concentrated his attention on the drop of liquid under the microscope.
“You’re working on a case right now!”
“I read that stupid email before Lestrade even texted me the details!” he snapped back.
John took a deep breath and exhaled audibly. He was too well aware that living in the same flat with Sherlock – let alone being in an intimate relationship with the insufferable prick – left no room for privacy, and yet… “If you really read this mail, you would know that it’s not stupid or unimportant but rather an invitation to a veteran reunion. My veteran reunion.” The and it’s fucking important to me didn’t have to be said aloud.
Sherlock looked at John again with feigned interest. Of course he had carefully read the invitation; he had wrapped his mind around the event and John’s possible reactions to it for hours! John would definitely go to the reunion. John would go to the reunion and at least wear his dog tags; Sherlock was absolutely sure about that.
“Half of my old squad will be there too. Do you have any idea what it looks like if their former Captain does not show up to the reunion without even responding to the invitation?”
Sherlock mumbled something unintelligible, but John could swear that it sounded like some sort of apology. He breathed a sigh, closed the short distance between them and reassuringly pressed his lips against Sherlock’s right temple in a short kiss.
“Look, I’m not mad at you because you read the invitation, love. It’s just that I almost missed it and apparently you weren’t too inclined to tell me about it.”
Sherlock sighed. “The reunion is in five days and I meant to tell you about it, John, I really did, but–” Sherlock simply gestured at the sample under the microscope in front of him. When he was in case mode, he tended to ignore everything that did not directly concern the case, including his need for food and sleep and – much to John’s dismay – his sex drive.
“Will you come with me? Next Saturday, I mean?” John looked at his boyfriend and smiled nervously. He knew how much Sherlock hated those kinds of events, but for some reason it was important to him. The others would bring their partner along as well.
“I’ll think about it if I get to solve this case before the weekend.” For the second time this evening, Sherlock seemed to refocus on his experiment while his mind was not at all occupied with the samples of the victim’s blood and the different toxins. If anything, he did in fact think about the invitation now. Knowing that John would appreciate it if he came along did not at all benefit his decision making process. It was a two-sided coin that Sherlock kept turning over and over in his mind.
Pros: He knew that John was glad whenever he showed some interest in his boyfriend’s social life and he would spend a whole evening in a room full of veterans and perhaps John would even wear his old uniform.
Cons: Perhaps John would even wear his old uniform and the mere thought of it left Sherlock hard and wanting. There was no way he could possibly survive the evening without embarrassing himself or his boyfriend if John decided to wear his uniform.
The only possible solution for him was to subtly make John aware of his military kink and there was Sherlock’s problem in a nutshell: he did not want to beg for anything before John had even agreed to play that game; the very thought of rejection tinged Sherlock’s cheeks pink with embarrassment. Leaving a few hints every now and then, yes. But asking John directly to… to do what in particular? To use his Captain voice more often, especially in the bedroom? To order Sherlock around, make him obey to a yet-to-be-negotiated set of rules and punish him if he didn’t? To control his pleasure, to leave him hard and wanting and waiting for hours, days… and then fuck him senseless? Sherlock had to stifle a moan when the visual part of his imagination kicked in. God, he wanted, needed, every single one of those things, but he had no bloody idea how to ask for it! He would have to show it then.
“Is everything okay, love?”
Sherlock flinched when John’s familiar voice disturbed his thoughts. “Yes, I’m just really engrossed in this experiment,” he answered as matter-of-factly as possible but a tad too quickly. He turned his head to look at John who was standing slightly behind him and granted his boyfriend a short smile.
“Alright,” John answered in a carefree tone of voice but eyed him suspiciously before he went back into the sitting room. Compared to Sherlock, the ex-army doctor was as observant as a hedgehog, but the way he had looked at his boyfriend a minute ago was proof enough that he had indeed noticed that Sherlock was all but focusing on his oh so important experiment. How could he possibly stay focused on anything now that an image of Captain Watson haunted his mind palace?
~
Three hours and a Bond film later, John checked the rest of his emails and realised something he had been totally oblivious of before: Sherlock had only read that one particular message. All the other ones, some of them received before the invitation, some of them received afterwards, were still marked as unread. So why had this one caught Sherlock’s interest right away?
John darted a glance at his boyfriend who was still sitting in the kitchen only to note that he was completely absorbed in one of his many experiments for real now. There was no point in asking Sherlock anything then; he probably wouldn’t even notice it. John yawned heartily and gazed at his watch. It was already half past twelve and there were no signs that Sherlock would finish up his experiment anytime soon; if anything, the kitchen table was covered in a mess of even more substances, blood samples and other things that turned the room into a chemical laboratory.
Of course John tried to help Sherlock and the Yard as best as he could with the case, but the biochemical tests and the scientific trial and error were definitely Sherlock’s department and at the moment the main suspect’s alibi depended on exactly that.
John eventually stood up from the sofa, stretched and went past Sherlock on his way to Sherlock’s bedroom… their bedroom. “Just try to get at least four hours of sleep tonight, okay?” He pressed his lips affectionately against the corner of Sherlock’s mouth, but before he could continue his way to their bedroom, Sherlock stood up, grabbed John’s wrist to keep him from leaving and gave him a much more passionate kiss. The sudden intensity caught John off guard, made him stumble backwards until his back was pressed flat against the fridge and left them both gasping for breath. When Sherlock broke the kiss, John pushed the other man away, gingerly, hesitantly. Not that he wasn’t interested in more (if the throbbing sensation in his pants was anything to go by), but he knew that Sherlock wasn’t up for more, not during a case.
“Sherlock?” the shorter man whispered and looked up at his boyfriend questioningly.
“I’ll try to get to bed before you stand up again, promise.” With that he padded back to the cluttered table as if nothing out of the ordinary had ever happened.
For a while, John didn’t move a single bit. He simply kept on leaning against the fridge; his mind pleasantly confused, trying to make any sense of what had just happened. Sherlock had never even kissed him like that while working cases before! John took a steadying breath, but when he still didn’t move, Sherlock addressed the matter at hand without even looking at him.
“Is everything alright, John?” he mirrored John’s words from earlier as if it wasn’t him who acted strange since this early afternoon.
'I could ask you the same,' John thought, but then again everything Sherlock did had some kind of purpose.
“Er, yes. I’m… fine, really. Goodnight, Sherlock.”
“Night,” the detective replied and grinned internally for the second time this evening. John had obviously noticed that something was different, strange even. Good. No, better than good: perfect. Now he would simply have to make John aware that his altered behaviour was linked to the invitation (or everything else concerning John and his military past for that matter) and he would most likely get what his 'transport' longed for.
Obviously, the Captain Watson aspect of John’s life was still important to him and he hopefully wouldn’t object to bringing that part of his personality into their sex life as well…
~
When Sherlock was eventually done with his experiments on the victim’s blood – he had told Lestrade right away that the 'accident' hadn’t been an accident at all – he allowed himself to focus exclusively on coming up with a detailed plan to make John aware of his military kink without wasting any words on it. Of course it would be sufficient to nick John’s dog tags and place them somewhere else in the flat, perhaps in the drawer that also contained their lube and sex toys, but wouldn’t it be so much more fun to call John 'Captain' during sex and then see how the other man would react to that? Perhaps they’d fall into some kind of role-play, perhaps John would even agree to wear his old army fatigues the next time. Sherlock had imagined it so many times before: olive-coloured fabric covering tanned skin and accentuating lean muscles, John’s dog tags clinking with every movement of his body, with every breath, every thrust, clinking together in a staccato rhythm when John drove them both over the edge…
Sherlock’s breathing rate increased and he realised that he was getting hard again. He had promised John to get to bed before the other man would stand up and to be honest, Sherlock did not want to be anywhere else now. It already was seven in the morning and – having memorised John’s sleep pattern months ago – chances were that John would wake up as soon as Sherlock climbed into bed. Chances also were that John would not object to a round or two of casual morning sex.
When Sherlock got up from his place at the kitchen table, he gave a low moan because the movement caused his erection to shift a bit and when he palmed himself through the thin fabric of his pyjama bottoms, he realised that they were already soaked with precome by now. He discarded them along with his dressing gown and shirt on his way to their bedroom and slipped under the covers in nothing but his pants.
Just as expected, John woke up as soon as he could feel the familiar weight of Sherlock’s body sink onto the mattress next to him. Instinctively he turned to his side, cupped Sherlock’s jawline with his left hand and pressed an affectionate kiss against the other man’s soft, hot lips. Sherlock kissed him back enthusiastically and John broke the kiss with a smile.
“Morning, sweetheart,” he mumbled drowsily and wrapped an arm around Sherlock’s waist, pulled the other man’s slender frame closer against his own body.
“John,” Sherlock breathed, his voice raspy and filled with desire, and leant in for another, more passionate kiss. John was still half-asleep, the movement of his lips a bit uncoordinated and sloppy in his current state of mind, but Sherlock happily took the lead. He sucked John’s bottom lip into his mouth and carefully nibbled at it, sighing when John subconsciously pressed their hips closer together. Then Sherlock let his tongue slide past the seam of John’s lips and flicked it against the tip of John’s tongue, pointedly slow and teasing. Sherlock tried to keep up that deliciously slow pace, but he couldn’t fool himself. The small licks and gentle sucks soon became rougher and more demanding until he lost himself in that kiss and John hummed approvingly. However, when Sherlock began to tug at the hem of John’s shirt, the shorter man broke the kiss and looked at him with the same confusion in his eyes Sherlock had seen earlier, when he had kissed him in the kitchen.
“I thought you don’t…” John panted, trailed off and cleared his throat. “Well, you said you weren’t up for that when you’re working on a case.” However much John tried, he couldn’t keep his own arousal out of his voice.
It was the very first thing he had learnt about his relationship with Sherlock. The consulting detective was married to his work and he was a very faithful husband indeed.
Sherlock heaved a sigh. Wasn’t it obvious by now? “The case is basically solved.”
“What do you mean by 'basically'?” John asked and placed his left hand on Sherlock’s sternum when Sherlock came closer to kiss him again. They still had plenty of time for lazy kisses and sloppy blow jobs and whatever Sherlock had in his beautiful mind, but right now John was honestly curious about the details of the case and why Sherlock had suddenly turned all needy before the murder was properly solved.
Sherlock’s grey-blue eyes were fixed on John’s while he rattled through his explanation: “As I’ve noticed at first glance, the victim’s body did not look like that of a typical water corpse, despite the fact that she had indeed a fair amount of water in her lungs. So yes, she drowned in the Thames, but it was only made to look like an accident. Through my experiments, I found out that her blood alcohol level was rather high, but the truly remarkable detail is that the amount of oxygen in her blood was impossibly high as well, or at least impossibly high for someone who drowned. But we know that she did drown, so the only logical assumption is that she hyperventilated right before her killer shoved her unconscious body into the river. That’s why there were no signs of resistance on her body. By that point, the victim was too weak to save herself; she immediately sank down into the water and died as soon as it filled her lungs, but due to the fact that she hyperventilated right before her death, she drowned without actually asphyxiating in the pathological sense.”
John looked at him in pure adoration. “That was brilliant. You are brilliant!”
“I’ve already emailed my results and deductions to Lestrade. There are still two possible killers, the victim’s sons. Both of them work in the medical field, both of them had a motive. I can’t yet tell who of them did it, but I know how she was killed. John, when I said that the case is basically solved, I meant it. So would you please let me kiss you now?”
John thought about it for a moment. This was definitely not unwelcome but still a bit unusual for Sherlock.
“Look, it’s just that you don’t usually… I mean, are you sure?”
Sherlock took John’s hand that still rested against his chest into his own hand and guided it down to his crotch. John only gasped when Sherlock pressed John’s palm against the damp fabric of his pants and the throbbing bulge underneath. He kept John’s hand pressed firmly against his erection when he leant closer towards the other man; so close that his lips brushed against John’s ear when he spoke.
“Does it feel like I’m not sure?” Sherlock rasped in his low baritone voice.
John’s hand gently began to knead Sherlock’s erection of its own accord and when Sherlock moaned in response, John, too, gave in to the pent-up arousal. He wrapped one leg around Sherlock’s hips and turned both of them around so that Sherlock was lying supine and John straddled his lap. In one swift movement, he pulled off his shirt and began to rub his half-hard cock against Sherlock’s erection in a slow but steady rhythm, eliciting low moans from the man underneath him. John lost his rhythm a bit when he leant forward and licked over the delicate skin of Sherlock’s suprasternal notch, then sank his teeth into the skin and sucked hard, making sure that he would leave a clearly visible love bite there. Sherlock groaned even louder and arched his hips off the sheets; grinding his almost painfully hard cock against John’s as he did so. He was desperate for some friction, desperate for release.
John made a strangled noise when Sherlock rutted their hips together in a frantic rhythm, but he didn’t want to come like this, didn’t want Sherlock to come like this. With his hands he stilled the thrusting movements of Sherlock’s hips, but before the other man could complain, he hooked his thumbs under the waistband of Sherlock’s pants and pulled them down to his ankles, then quickly got rid of his own pyjama bottoms and pants. John could clearly see the pleading look in Sherlock’s eyes but God, how he loved to tease him. He wrapped his hand around Sherlock’s cock and gave it a couple of firm strokes before he closed his lips around the glans and sucked gently. Sherlock clenched his hands into the sheets, threw his head back and moaned shamelessly when John hummed around his length and took more of him into his mouth. John enjoyed this as much as Sherlock did, but he did not want to make his boyfriend come like this either. He knew that Sherlock would beg for more if he brought him to the edge without letting him come and that was right where he wanted him to be. He bobbed his head up and down on Sherlock’s cock, occasionally breaking his rhythm to tease the frenulum with his tongue or repeatedly flick it over the slit. It didn’t take long until Sherlock’s moans became more frequent; another rush of bitter precome mingled with John’s saliva and when John noticed the shallow but tell-tale thrusts of Sherlock’s hips, he withdrew his mouth from the other man’s cock altogether. Sherlock desperately arched his hips up into – nothing – and actually whimpered.
“Fuck me, please. I’m begging you, John. I– nngh, God,” Sherlock groaned uninhibitedly when one of John’s lubed up fingers circled his rim and pushed past the tight ring of muscle with only little resistance. Apparently, Sherlock hadn’t noticed that John had already grabbed the lube while getting rid of his own pants and that he had prepared himself while taking Sherlock apart with his mouth.
“I love it when you’re all needy and desperate for me,” John breathed and pressed a chaste kiss against the head of Sherlock’s cock.
“Desperate because of you!” Sherlock huffed in mock-annoyance and managed to bite back a low moan when John’s warm, wet lips caressed only the very tip of his throbbing cock. Both of them knew that if John kept things light and slow, Sherlock wouldn’t be coming anytime soon.
John coaxed another moan out of his shivering, gasping boyfriend when he moved the finger inside of Sherlock in thrusting and bending movements until he felt Sherlock relax around it. After a while, John added a second finger to carefully work Sherlock loose and open and Sherlock responded beautifully by digging his heels into the sheets and trying to push himself even further down on John’s fingers. Sherlock cursed and writhed on the mattress, broken moans fell from his lips and made John’s cock throb in sympathy, but he’d never forgive himself if he rushed through this and hurt Sherlock because of his own impatient eagerness. By the time John decided to add a third finger, Sherlock’s breathing was already reduced to harsh, panting breaths and when John traced light circles around Sherlock’s prostate without actually touching it, Sherlock couldn’t hold back a litany of needy whimpers.
“God, John, feels good… so fucking good! Please, I need – AH! – oh fuck, Jooohn… nnngh please!” He almost sobbed when John’s fingertips finally massaged his prostate and made his cock twitch against his stomach in response.
“Shh, it’s alright, sweetheart,” John cooed but to be honest, he couldn’t wait any longer either. Sherlock gave an indignant moan when John’s fingers slipped out of him, leaving him feel unpleasantly empty. Sherlock spread his legs even further, planting his feet flat on the bed. Once more, John reached for the bottle of lube, spread a fair amount of it on his cock and slowly breached Sherlock, pressing forward inch by inch, until he was fully buried in his boyfriend. John revelled in the feeling of having his entire cock engulfed in Sherlock’s tight, pulsing heat and a throaty groan escaped his lips when Sherlock deliberately clenched around him. He gave Sherlock some time to adjust to the stretch before he set a slow rhythm and leant forward to crush their mouths together in a passionate kiss. Sherlock moaned shamelessly into John’s mouth when John’s thrusts eventually became deeper but, as marvellous as it felt, that wasn’t quite what Sherlock had in mind.
“Harder,” he demanded breathlessly and John did indeed speed up, but it wasn’t enough; Sherlock needed more, he needed… ooooh, God, please… MORE!
“Is that really the best you can do… Captain?” he asked teasingly, ignoring his own arousal for a while in order to focus all of his attention on John’s reaction. For a brief moment, John’s movements stuttered to a halt altogether, then he sat back between Sherlock’s legs. There was a calculating look in his eyes, but Sherlock also noticed the hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. Sherlock’s heartrate increased when John locked eyes with him, silently asking for something that Sherlock was more than eager to give. No consent for leaving love bites and scratches and other marks on Sherlock’s immaculate skin to make damn sure that everybody knew he was taken, no permission to make things rough; nothing they hadn’t agreed on before. No, John was looking for a more dedicated mind-set, an even deeper kind of submission; something that made Sherlock shiver and mewl and nod in wordless agreement.
John cupped the underside of Sherlock’s left knee with his right hand and lifted it up until Sherlock could place his leg comfortably over John’s good shoulder. John’s tongue flicked over his upper lip and he grinned when Sherlock’s breath hitched in response.
“Alright, Sherlock. You asked for this,” John teased, but his voice was stern. Instead of the punishing rhythm Sherlock was mentally bracing himself for, John circled his hips languidly in small, grinding thrusts that drove Sherlock out of his mind with want.
'He wants to hear me begging again,' Sherlock thought, the realisation suddenly clear as day. Of course, he could easily oblige. Or perhaps… Sherlock closed his eyes and reached down to give his neglected cock some much-needed attention.
John gripped his wrist in an instant and pinned it firmly against the pillow next to Sherlock’s head. “If you really want to play that game, soldier, you don’t get jerk yourself off while I’m fucking you!” John hissed and tightened his grip on Sherlock’s hand. He underlined his point with a couple of particularly rough thrusts.
Fuck. He had definitely underestimated John. “God, Captain, I’m so desperate for it. Please let me come… make me come,” Sherlock begged breathlessly and placed his other hand on the pillow as well, completely submitting himself to John’s mercy.
There was a short moment where they were both rather surprised by how naturally they fell into this roleplay. Sherlock had let nothing on about this particular kink in the past, not that John had noticed.
For the second time this morning, John smirked at his lover with glinting eyes. “Here’s the deal, soldier: You don’t get to touch yourself. You can beg all you want, but I won’t jerk you off either. And you better come before I do, or not at all,” he commanded in his Captain voice.
Sherlock arched his neck and moaned whorishly when John finally began to fuck him in earnest. His thrusts were hard, punishing even, and before long John groaned in the particular way he always did when he was dangerously close to the edge. His rhythm became even faster; the movement of his hips frantic as he aimed for Sherlock’s prostate with each unrelenting thrust. Sherlock whimpered and wrapped his legs around John’s hips to allow his boyfriend to penetrate him even deeper when he felt a familiar heat pool in his lower abdomen.
“Oh, fuck, I’m so close. John, I’m… J–John!” Both of them groaned when Sherlock came untouched; pulse after pulse of hot, white semen landing on both their chests and bellies while John fucked him through his orgasm to chase his own release. John could feel Sherlock clench and pulse around his cock and after a few more thrusts he came as well, stilling completely while he spilled his come deep in Sherlock’s arse.
Sherlock was utterly satisfied. Not only physically, though. Apparently, a single word was all it took to spice up their morning sex. A single word and a kink that – as he now knew – both of them were up for. The following days would definitely be fun.