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I’ve blogged before about the case of the speckled band, but purposefully omitted what was a definite highlight of the adventure. For, as fascinating as the snake in question was, and the motivation behind unleashing it, so to speak, I find one creature more fascinating than any other mentioned in the story. That creature would be Sherlock Holmes.
We’d taken a case in Surrey. Sherlock is willing to travel for an interesting enough case. He does love a locked room murder.
In my earlier account, I glossed over the time spent at the Inn before we received the signal to go to the manor house. We were waiting for the sign to proceed, Sherlock in a chair pulled up in front of the window, myself sitting on the bed. I can’t for the life of me understand how a man so easily bored in every day life can focus for so long on nothing during a stake out. Sherlock glanced over at me occasionally when I would sigh in impatience.
“You’re distracting me, John.”
“How am I distracting you? I’m just sitting here.”
“Exactly. You’re just sitting there. On the bed. Looking all, all…”
“All what?”
“All fanciable.”
“Fanciable, hmm, watch your words, Mister, you never know who might hear.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just, you sound like my Aunt Edna. ‘That Tom Jones is just so fanciable.’” I snort and Sherlock rolls his eyes and looks back out the window. “Sherlock?”
“Yes?”
“You’re quite fanciable as well. You’re also drop dead fit, gorgeous, sexy, good enough to eat.”
“Thank you, John.” Sherlock is smiling as he continues to keep watch.
“You know, the signal probably won’t come for hours. We have time to kill.”
“Stop trying to distract me, John. What if he gets home early? A woman’s life is at stake.”
“I wasn’t trying to distract you. I can’t help it if I’m naturally so damn distracting.”
“I need to focus on the case.”
“I know for a fact that you can focus on multiple things at once. We could have a little fun and still keep watch.”
“How? Oh! John, that’s brilliant!”
“I thought so.” I respond, although I have no clue what Sherlock thinks is so brilliant.
“Come on then.” Sherlock pulls me off the bed as he rises from his chair and pushes me to sit in his vacated spot. He falls gracefully to his knees and wastes no time unzipping my trousers and pulling my cock out of my pants. Then Sherlock’s hot, wet mouth is on me, sucking while I plump in his mouth. I let out a gasp and throw my head back against the chair, eyes closed, fingers digging into the upholstery. My erection grows with each rhythmic suck of Sherlock’s mouth and soon he can’t contain my cock. He reaches up to pump my saliva covered erection with his hand in concert with his mouth. I groan and thrust my hips up slightly, causing Sherlock to gag. He pauses and looks up at me.
“John! You have to keep your eyes open! You’re supposed to be watching!”
“God, Sherlock, please don’t stop.” I plead with him while trying to direct his face back to the matter at hand.
“No, this won’t do. Okay, new plan.” Sherlock stands and quickly disrobes, heading for the en suite. “Keep your eyes open, John. I’ll be right back.”
I glance at my forlorn cock, beginning to soften in the cool evening air, abandoned, before trying to focus on the case and keep watch. I hear the shower running and wonder if Sherlock is simply going to wank in there. Is that his solution for eliminating the sexual tension that’s distracting him? What about me?
After a few minutes, Sherlock returns, toweling down his body and sporting a partial erection that makes my mouth fill with saliva as my own cock twitches back to attention. He brushes past me to stare out the window for a moment before returning to the bathroom. He comes back and places a bottle of lube on the window sill before bending at the waist, elbows on the window, face pointed towards the manor, arse in my face.
“What are you waiting for John? I’m clean. I believe I was sufficiently thorough.”
Oh, god. Sherlock when he cleans up is a deliciously filthy creature. I take a cheek in each hand and squeeze. Then I pull his cheeks apart and bury my face between them, licking from perineum to asshole. I lick circles around his opening before plunging in with my tongue. Sherlock whimpers and pushes his arse against my face, coming up on his hands while arching his back and moving his hips, grinding himself back against my mouth.
“Oh, John. Yes, that’s perfect. Now I can keep watch at the same time.” I perform an internal eye roll at the multi-tasking priorities of my horny genius.
We continue like that for several minutes, Sherlock emitting pleased little noises as I slowly turn his hole into a dripping mess.
“John, I need more, please.” Sherlock states distractedly, still staring at the house. He presses the bottle of lube into my hand. I dribble some onto my fingers and slide my index finger inside. His spit-warmed hole seems to suck it in and he groans, the deep, hungry rumble of his voice causing my cock to further harden and bump against my belly. “More, John.” I add my middle finger to my index and hook them both gently, brushing against Sherlock’s prostate, making him moan and stifle a shout by biting his own fist. He pushes back, fucking himself on my fingers, and now I’m the one that needs more. I stand, dropping my trousers and pants to my ankles and slicking up my cock. Sherlock braces himself against the window frame and I line myself up, pushing in with one slow slide. Sherlock is stretched around me, panting and trembling.
“God yes, John. Do it. Fuck me.”
I thrust and Sherlock starts to wail before smothering it with his forearm. I’m pumping my hips, driving deep. “Oh, Sherlock, you feel amazing, Jesus Christ.”
“Yes John, yes, oh god, harder, harder. Yes, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.” Sherlock arches his back further, changing the angle until my cock is hitting the perfect spot. He shudders and gasps and drives his ass against my hips as I hit his prostate again and again. “John, John, oh god, it’s so good, I’m so close.”
I spread one hand over his chest, pulling him against me and sit back onto the chair, pulling Sherlock down into my lap. I grasp his leaking cock in my other hand, brace my feet against the floor and pump up into him. He groans and writhes while bouncing up and down in a wanton display of pleasure. I brush my thumb over his nipple and he presses his chest against my hand, wordlessly begging for more. I lick my finger before returning it to his nipple. He gasps and writhes even more desperately as I tease him. He puts his arms behind himself, hands holding my hips still as he grinds himself on my lap.
“God, John, I want to come. I need to come.” Sherlock whines while riding me. He arches his back, his head falling back on my shoulder. I continue to rub his hard nipple and pump his leaking cock.
I’m close, I can’t hold out much longer, but I want Sherlock to come first. It’s so good. I’m lost. Lost here out of time, in him, connected, consumed.
I’ve had great sex before. The intensity of first times as a fumbling teenager. The experimental bed-hopping at uni. The comfort and stress relief of passing connections in the army. But nothing in my previous life prepared me for the act of shattering Sherlock’s control in such a way, of bringing my mad genius out of his head for a moment. Allowing him to inhabit his physicality in a way I doubt anyone else has to such a degree. I was attracted to Sherlock on sight. I loved him when we were just friends. And now that we have this… sex with Sherlock gets to me on a level that I previously didn’t know existed. It’s like I’d been eating cake from Tesco my whole life. It was sweet, and hit the spot, but then I stumbled into a fine patisserie one day and, bam, a spiritual experience.
I’m breathing into my lover’s neck as he writhes and trembles. I nip and lick at the skin available to me.
“Come for me, Sherlock.” I growl into his ear as I rub my thumb over the wet tip of his cock.
“Yes, oh yes, John.” Sherlock gasps. Then he freezes and goes silent in my arms before coming, shooting his release all over his chest, belly and my hand. I continue to thrust up into his body and bite down on his shoulder to avoid crying out. I thrust a few final times before I pump and twitch deep inside of my lover, my orgasm flooding hot through my body, every muscle tensing before going slack. I slow down as aftershocks shudder through me. Then I stop, dropping my head and breathing raggedly against Sherlock’s back.
“God, Sherlock, you come up with the best plans.”
“Thank you, John. Do keep watch, I’m going to have a quick rinse.” And he pops off my lap as if we didn’t just have spectacular sex that would leave any normal human being boneless and spent. I gaze unseeingly out the window until Sherlock returns. He dresses quickly before prodding me out of the chair. “Pull up your pants, John, we might have to make a move at any moment.”
I feel like I’ve made all the moves I’m going to make for the evening, but I go to the loo for a quick wipe down before flopping onto the bed and gazing at Sherlock with a dopey grin on my face. Sherlock glances in my direction for a moment before returning his attention to the window, a smug smile on his face in response to my languid state.
“Sherlock?”
“Yes, John?”
“You’re a mad bastard.” He rolls his eyes. “And I love you.”
I can see Sherlock’s eyes widen a bit at that, then he bites his lower lip before allowing himself a shy grin. “I love you too, John.”