Inconspicuous

by TheMadKatter13

SUMMARY~Sherlock's breath caught at the thought of John sitting in his chair, composing a new blog entry, appearing as innocent as could be, all-the-while secretly aroused by the mere memory of his friend's most recent deductions. He only had to wait for John to fidget again to confirm his hypothesis. CU: Johnlock.

DISCLAIMER~The rights to Sherlock reside with the BBC (and probably a lot of other people that I'm too lazy to look up) and I receive no financial gain from the writing of this story.

AN~Merindab and I have been doing word sprints all day and I was working on the (still untitled) sequel to 'The Apex Predator' when I had this idea out of absolutely nowhere.

Inconspicuous

After John's fourth pause in typing up their latest case and subsequent shift in his seat, Sherlock's mind left off the indexing of his latest case in favour of deducing exactly why John was so twitchy. He didn't let his change in attentions cause any interruption in bow strokes because John more often than not grew agitated when Sherlock deduced something about him that the doctor didn't want him to notice. But the detective would always notice everything. Especially when it came to John Watson.

The ex-soldier's left hand was steady as worked with the right to poke out his story, one key at a time. His psychosomatic leg was still and in the same position as the non-psychosomatic one. He had sustained no injuries on the case. He had no current financial worries. There was nothing about his clothes to indicate nervousness about an upcoming date. In fact... Sherlock's eyes narrowed. John hadn't gone on a date in over 29 days, by far his longest stretch since he'd moved in. And even in the previous stretches of having no girlfriend, he'd at least tried for one during those times, but the ex-soldier hadn't even chatted up one female in the last 29 days. Not since meeting Moriarty at the pool. Even more than that, he had purposefully ignored female interest when directed at him. Sherlock was quite pleased with this turn of events, satisfied that he no longer had to try to compete with someone else for his doctor's attentions, but that did not make it any less unusual so turned towards his flatmate in full, running a critical eye over all 169 centimeters.

It finally struck him that John's breathing was much too even, unnaturally measured as if he had to concentrate on his pace of inhale-exhale. And his eyes... they were focused too intensely on his screen, giving much more attention to the case than it required and certainly more than any other case had received in the past. Pupil dilation could prove both arousal or disgust, but in their latest case, they hadn't seen anything different than ever before. John had even heaped more praise upon him than normal. So, disgust was ruled out, which left the nearly-as-unlikely arousal. But the way John had praised him this case, the look in his eyes, the way he had stood just a little closer than usual, the hitch in his breath when one deduction after another was laid bare, as if he'd been aroused by them.

Sherlock's breath caught at the thought of John sitting in his chair, composing a new blog entry, appearing as innocent as could be, all-the-while secretly aroused by the mere memory of his friend's most recent deductions. He only had to wait for John to fidget again to confirm his hypothesis.

...

...

...

There. This time when the blogger shifted, it wasn't to relieve tension in his legs or in his torso, it was solely to relieve his pelvic region, and he even subtly shift his laptop further down his knees, an action Sherlock had no doubt he would have ignored or filed as 'irrelevant' if he hadn't been looking for it. So, John was fidgeting because he was aroused. The idea aroused him in turn. Now he only needed to figure out why he was aroused.

Not pausing his playing, the detective meandered towards his blogger, keeping a careful eye on his fingers to verify that the man was keeping the same window open as he moved. When he finally moved into place behind the other chair, the only thing that was open was the browser, and the only tab running was John's blog. Sherlock finished the song with a flourish and held both violin and bow behind his back as he bent over John's shoulder, reading what he was typing and unable to stop himself from noticing the way the pulse in the tan neck below him fluttered wildly.

John's writing style was incredibly...romantic and this blog post was no different. After a moment of reading poetic line after poetic line, he snorted derisively, knowing it would draw words from his silent companion. The quality of his tone would give Sherlock even more data he needed to conclude his investigation. Sure enough, John gave an annoyed sigh.

"You don't have to read it, you know," John snapped, voice unusually breathless. Yes, he was definitely aroused. And all evidence led to the conclusion that he was aroused by Sherlock's deductions, and therefore, Sherlock.

"Of course I do," he replied condescendingly. "I have to make sure you're getting the facts correct." John shook his head but continued to type. the detective could see the corners of his lips twitch in a fond smile, the one reserved just for him. Just then, John shifted again, his laptop shifting to inconspicuously remove pressure from what he was now sure was a full erection, and Sherlock heard a faint buzzing sound as John's rear lifted momentarily from his seat. Behind the blogger and out of site, the detective's eyes widened.

That was the buzz of something vibrating, but it was not the buzz of a cell phone vibrating. His mind raced, possibilities and options flying in and being discarded at high-speed until it settled on one that he concluded he would enjoy the most and had the highest probability of success. Wordless, he turned towards the kitchen to fix John a rare cup of tea.

Minutes later, John's fingers still working studiously, though Sherlock could tell he was nearing the end, Sherlock swept back into the sitting room, his blue robe fluttering behind him as he placed John's tea on the table in front of him, just out of reach rather than the one at his side. John gave an annoyed sigh but thanked him anyway as the detective swept back into the kitchen. A moment later, when John leaned forward to grab at his tea, his rear lifted from the seat, posed perfectly up in the air, the buzzing was a quiet, incredibly muffled sound, enforcing his previously gathered data. Sherlock strode forward as John's fingers reached for the handle on his cup, and forcefully pressed on the vibrator he'd deduced John had been using in secret.

There was a loud gasp-cum-strangled moan and the laptop clattered to the floor right before the tea cup (and the tea inside) did the same. The doctor's knees hit the floor with a loud thunk and Sherlock followed the motion as the smaller man collapsed to the floor, keeping his fingers pressed firm on the circular base. When his flatmate had settled as much as he was going to, the detective let up pressure, delighting in the plaintive whine John let loose before he pressed down again, keeping the pressure so firm that he knew from the way the ex-soldiers short fingers scrambled at the rug that he was pressing directly on the prostate. He began to let up pressure only to press down, keeping the pattern as patternless as he could, smiling at the way it made John's breath catch and the little moans he kept releasing.

"Sherlock," his blogger groaned, face pressed into the carpet, rolling side to side, eyes clenched shut tightly. The detective had underestimated how much his secret love's arousal would affect his own, his erection swelling with each noise John made.

"John," he moaned breathlessly in response, pressing his unoccupied hand hard against his own erection, pressing his palm to the base of his erection and stroking down, loving the way the friction created white sparks along his nerves. John's head flopped to the side and one eye cracked open, staring at him. He wonder if he made as lovely a picture to his flatmate as his flatmate looked to him: hair mussed, pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed. Without warning, John sat up on his knees and turned to face him, Sherlock's fingers falling from the vibrator's base with the motion. He was shot with a sudden bolt of fear that he had miscalculated, that this was far from what his friend wanted. It dissipated a split second later when John's fingers fumbled at his own belt, shoving his trousers and pants down to his thighs. He gave Sherlock no time to appreciate the view before his fingers transferred their attentions to Sherlock's trousers, only going so far to draw out his aching erection before he fell to his hands as well as his knees and practically fell upon it, sucking him into the hot, wet heat of his mouth.

The detective let out a shout at the unexpected action and feeling, curling his fingers into fists to stop him from threading them through John's hair. But then he remembered what he had been doing originally, and his hand stroked down the bare back tabled perpendicular to his legs before dropping to the base of the vibrator that had teased him previously. He had to concentrate on his actions, so enthusiastically was his friend-turned-lover going down on him, disrupting his thinking. As John's tongue curled around the tip of his cock, tonguing the slit, he curled his own fingers around the circular base, pulling the vibrator free. And pulling. And pulling. When the tip popped free, John whined around him, creating vibrations that had him wishing he weren't sitting upright so he could thrust upwards. But he was too entranced by the length of the vibrator, the full-sized length. Smirking wickedly, he lined the tip back up with John's hole before thrusting it roughly back inside.

"Oh my god!" John shouted, the cock in his mouth sliding free with a vulgar wet pop. Dull nails dug into his thighs as he began fucking his doctor with the vibrator in earnest. A moment later, that mouth engulfed his cock again, moaning repeatedly around him each time the blunt end struck his prostate. And he made sure every stroke hit.

His orgasm was building at the base of his spine, the feeling of John's mouth around him only sparking his imagination at what it would be like to fuck into his arse. It would be so much tighter. He would be able to give John the satisfaction the vibrator in his fingers was causing. He could only hope the man would let him.

"John..." he groaned, throwing his head back and finally allowing his unoccupied hand to weave into the short, ashen hair of his companion. A moan vibrated him in acceptance and a particularly hard suck had him tightening his grip as he moaned back. He wondered if John had ever come from prostate stimulation alone before. well, he was certainly going to now.

Sherlock readjusted his grip and began to increase the pace and power, calling on his years of violin experience and bowing to fuck John with all the accumulated power of wrist and elbow. John's mouth was getting sloppier around him though no less enthusiastic, if possible, only more so, heralding the approach of his orgasm.

"I'm so close, John," he murmured, trying to fuck an orgasm just as quickly into his friend, hating the thought of them finishing at different times. "So close."

"Yes, Sherlock," John gasped, the cock in his mouth falling free. "Me too. Oh god me too. Harder, please, harder," the ex-soldier begged between kisses to his thighs, sucking the pale cock back into his mouth as soon as he was done speaking. The fingers embedded in his thighs were fluctuating rhythmically, slowly speeding up tellingly, giving him a timeline to match the thrusting of his hand to. In a rush, his orgasm rose fast and sharp, lighting up his nerve ends.

"John, I'm coming!" he cried in warning, not forgetting even in his current state "I'm not gay!" and the high probability that John may be highly adverse to tasting or swallowing his ejaculate. He kept his rhythm steady and rough, at least until John's fingers tightened painfully on his thighs and he was deepthroated. With a cry, he was coming directly down John's throat, and the man was moaning, the vibrations around his cock causing sparks behind his eyes. As his orgasm faded, John pulled off his cock to press his forehead hard against Sherlock's thigh and the detective had the very distinct pleasure of watching his flatmate ejaculate so hard that semen hit his trousers and dripped to the rug below the doctor's knees. Careful of overstimulation, the detective fucked him through his orgasm before slowly withdrawing the vigrator and switching it off before dropping it to the floor. John collapsed to his side, resting his head on Sherlock's knees as he stared up at him. Once again, nervousness flooded him as he waited for the other to speak.

"You know, I've been waiting for a sign that you might be open to cheating on your Work," John murmured, smiling wryly at him. Sherlock remembered quite vividly stripping his friend from a coat of semtex and the relief that would have sent him to his knees if he hadn't been on them already, the way he'd had to restrain himself from wrapping John in his arms. Perhaps he no longer had to curb those urges, if he understood his blogger's meaning.

"Was that sign clear enough?" he asked instead, keeping his tone in that of his natural haughtiness, though he was unable to stop the smile fully contained and it pulled at the corners of his lips and crinkled the corners of his eyes. John pinched his calf, hard. Bruisingly hard. But he was smiling so brightly that his eyes looked wet.

"Git."

Ah, nothing like some afternoon deducing and follow up smut. Back to 'TAP' sequel. Please don't forget to review after reading and you can always follow me on tumblr at TheMadKatter13-fanfiction for updates.