Disclaimer: We own no part of the BBC Sherlock world and make no profit from this art.

A/N: This was my third work together with the amazing KittieHill, and it's pretty much entirely smut once you get past the opening plot.

While it was written post Series 4, it can fit anywhere in the timeline you'd like, since it's just sex. We hope you enjoy!

It wasn't often that John knew something Sherlock didn't. The man might have the world's most extensive knowledge on cigarette ash and an aptitude for molecular chemistry, but he was also completely ignorant on other topics that he deemed unimportant.

Which is how John and Greg ended up gaping at Sherlock, their mouths slack and their eyebrows almost at their hairline as they watched grainy CCTV from the house of a murder victim. The murderer was outside the living room window, his face covered with a mask whilst his trousers were pulled below his buttocks, and his hand moved frantically on his cock.

Greg had cleared his throat and attempted to fast-forward the voyeuristic images only for Sherlock to slap his hand away with a deep frown and a rumbled, "What is he doing?"

John had looked at Lestrade, huffed, and then turned back to Sherlock, "Are you serious? It's obvious what he's doing."

"Not to me," Sherlock had admitted with a grimace, pulling that face that showed he was genuinely frustrated at the gap in his knowledge.

Lestrade had laughed, taking a step back and holding up his hands before gesturing that it was for John to explain. John knew that he'd owe Greg a slap for this one as he moved closer to Sherlock, speaking low as he cleared his throat, "He's er...well, he's wanking, Sherlock."

"Wan-king?" Sherlock mouthed, rummaging through his mind palace and finding nothing, although there was a scratchy sensation which usually meant the information had been deleted, "Nope," he said with a shake of his head.

"Seriously?" John blinked, praying for deliverance before he died of shame, "Masturbating. You must know what that is?"

"Oh," Sherlock blushed deeply and flicked his eyes from the screen in embarrassment, "of course. I am aware of that subject. I didn't understand the terminology or...actions."

"Right..." John trailed off, watching as Sherlock coughed and then immediately went back to work with a massive torrent of deductions which made the police force dizzy.

XX

Back at the flat, after the murderer had been caught and arrested, John made tea and handed it to Sherlock who was clicking around on his laptop, occasionally humming, frowning, or grimacing at whatever he had found.

"Anything interesting?" John asked, taking a sip of his tea, "You've just finished a case; you can't be working on another already."

"Hmm? What? No. No not a case just...research," Sherlock said, "regarding masturbation."

John almost choked on his drink and then closed his eyes, his head falling back onto the headrest of his chair, "Why?" He asked in a resigned tone.

"I am aware that I have certain...gaps, if you will, in my knowledge," Sherlock said, tilting his head and then turning his laptop around to show John a picture of a man bent over with his own penis in his mouth, "Like this. I have never seen this before. Why? Why is he doing this, John?"

Putting his cup down before he spilled it, John rubbed at his face and exhaled deeply, "It's...why are you looking at that? First of all, that's not... traditional wanking, that's advanced wanking. Only for hardened wankers," he attempted to argue.

"Hardened. Wankers," Sherlock repeated slowly, all while looking at John like he's an idiot again.

John flushed with embarrassment, "Sorry if I'm not completely comfortable discussing this with you."

"But you're a doctor," Sherlock stated in confusion, "Shouldn't you be comfortable talking about the human body and its processes?"

"Yes, valid point," John started haughtily, "but I never thought I'd have to explain wanking to a grown man! They didn't exactly cover that topic in medical school," he defended himself further.

"John, I think you're becoming irrationally worked up over this whole situation," Sherlock responded calmly.

John breathed in deeply through his nose to calm himself, "You're right," he admitted finally, "it's just not a topic two friends typically have with each other."

"Well, if you're to be believed, most of the conversations we have could fall into that category," Sherlock smirked in return, causing John to laugh and Sherlock to smile in relief.

They fell back into silence as John read the paper and Sherlock went back to his research, but the peace was broken merely about an hour later.

"This is pointless," Sherlock grumbled as he pushed the lid of his laptop closed in frustration, "I'm not going to learn the intricacies of this by watching videos."

"The intricacies of wanking?" John teased with an amused smile, "It's not really that intricate."

Sherlock considered his friend for a moment and the look made John worried (rightfully so, as it would turn out), "Show me."

"I'm sorry?" John asked after he had finished choking on the air he had been breathing.

"Show me," Sherlock repeated calmly, "those wretched videos aren't anything like reality, and I need to understand why and how it all works."

John closed his eyes and shook his head in disbelief at the direction that his life has gone, "No."

"But John!" Sherlock whined.

"This isn't...you can't just…" he huffed before finally finishing a complete thought, "This isn't something friends do, Sherlock."

"It's not?" He asked with honest confusion.

"No."

"But there were other people in the videos, sometimes."

"Lovers will sometimes do these things together, but not friends."

Sherlock looked like he was fishing some long-forgotten information from the very recesses of his mind palace, "Isn't friends with benefits a thing? What's that? Let's do that."

"Sherlock!"

"What?" He asks, still honestly confused but becoming frustrated in return, "This doesn't have to be a big sexual identity crisis because you, for some reason, still haven't accepted your bisexuality," John looked outraged at this, but Sherlock continued on before he could interrupt, "you're just helping me with science."

"Helping with science?" John laughed, lifting an eyebrow, "That is the shittest excuse I've ever heard."

"Fine, medical then. Doctor me," Sherlock gestured between them, "I have a genuine medical emergency and need you to show me how to remedy it."

"Nope," John shook his head, standing and walking to the hallway where he collected his coat and shoes before turning back to Sherlock, "I'm going away now. To forget this."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and huffed, throwing himself down on the sofa.

John walked around Regent's Park for an hour before deciding he needed to return to the flat as it was starting to get cold and his shoulder ached. Walking back into the living room, he found Sherlock in the exact same position he had left him in.

"I'm for a bath," John announced, walking into the bathroom and starting the faucet before leaving to rummage for a clean and workable towel. He had just reentered the bathroom when he noticed Sherlock sitting on the toilet seat, his long legs crossed and his hands placed demurely on his right knee.

"No. What are you doing? I'm having a bath," John sighed, rubbing his temples.

"And will promptly masturbate," Sherlock said without shame, "Let me watch."

"Get out of the bathroom," John groaned, pointing to the door, " now ."

"No! John please…" Sherlock hummed, suddenly tilting his head softly, "I...I have no other source but you. You're the only person I know who would, and I trust you. You won't laugh at me and -"

"No!" John shouted, clenching his fists at his sides, "This isn't appropriate. Can you not just let this drop?!"

Sherlock looked utterly dejected and nodded slowly before standing up, "I'm sorry to have bothered you. I'll leave you alone," he mumbled with a lowered gaze, moving quickly from the bathroom. John sighed, scrubbing through his hair and fighting the ball of guilt in the pit of his stomach until he heard the slam of the front door.

XX

Lestrade didn't indulge like this very often, mostly because he was always on call and didn't have time to stretch out his self-indulgent wanks, but this time the most recent case was over and he wasn't rota-ed in until the day after. He lay back on his sofa and put in his favourite Busty Asian Babe's DVD and pumped some hand cream into his palm with an excited wiggle.

He was already halfway gone by the time he heard the rattle. It sounded like his bedroom window, but he shrugged it off - they had recently had birds nesting in the roof and that must have been the source of the sound. He closed his eyes and wrapped his hand back around his cock, stroking leisurely as he arched his back and moaned deep and low, thinking of various women (and the occasional man) he had slept with.

"Are you always this vocal?"

Greg's eyes snapped open and he rolled from his sofa, grabbing the cushion and placing it over his crotch as he grabbed his gun from under the table. He pointed it at Sherlock, who had taken a seat in the armchair in the darkened corner, a pen and pad of paper resting on his knee.

"What in the name of Holy Frankenfuck do you think you're doing?" Greg asked, his mouth open and his heart pounding in his ears, "How did you get in here?"

"For a police officer, you really do have terrible home security," Sherlock scoffed, sitting back and arching an eyebrow, "I came in through the window. Obviously."

"There is no obviously in this case!" Greg seethed, "You broke into my flat, watched me... wank and JESUS! Sherlock is that a diagram?" He demanded while gesturing towards the paper.

"John wouldn't let me watch him. It was either you or my brother and...well...I'd rather be ignorant of what deviance my brother indulges in," Sherlock explained cooly, "So, come on," he gestured vaguely towards the sofa cushion still covering Lestrade's modesty, "on with it."

"I suggest you leave my flat right now, before I shoot you in the face," Lestrade warned.

"You wouldn't," Sherlock grumbled disbelievingly, his eyebrow raised playfully, "Your meagre salary wouldn't pay for a full crime scene cleaning…though I suppose you could ask Mrs. Hudson; she has some experience in removing blood and gunshot resi- not that. Blood. Obviously."

Greg laughed as he sat back on his sofa and laid his gun aside, aware of his nakedness only being covered by a stag patterned cushion, "You're a bloody madman."

"I have been informed," Sherlock responded before looking away, "I realise that not having permission is 'Not Good', but I knew you would say no. Like John did."

"Hmm," Greg nodded and ran a hand through his grey hair, "So…John said no?"

"Yes," Sherlock complained sullenly, "it's not like I wanted to perform exploratory surgery on him; I just wanted to see him stroke himself to completion."

"And did you talk to him first? Or just demand he whips his impressive willy out?" Lestrade asked, raising an eyebrow as though already aware of the answer.

"I showed him a picture of a man pleasuring himself with his own mouth and then asked him to show me," Sherlock explained and then seemed to go offline for a moment, "Impressive? Why is it impressive?"

"I've never seen it...not properly, anyway," Greg smirked, "but you know, two men sharing a urinal trough, you're bound to look."

"I've never looked," Sherlock frowned dramatically, lines appearing at his forehead, "why are you looking at John's penis? You shouldn't do that! It's not...that's not…no. I forbid it," he demanded with a scowl.

Greg raised his eyebrows until they almost met his hairline and nodded, "Right. And that's because…?"

"John wouldn't like it," Sherlock huffed, "being looked at that way. If not by me then not by anyone. I'm his best friend, he told me so."

"I know that," Greg placated the younger man softly, "I know how much he means to you and I'm not trying to...seduce him or perv over him or anything."

"Good," Sherlock huffed, feeling an unfamiliar twist in his stomach at the thought of someone else having access to John's most private area. The women were bad enough, but the idea that Lestrade was having a look was almost too much to bear, "Promise you won't do it again?"

"Definitely," Greg nodded genuinely, "promise."

"Right. Well. This has been a spectacular waste of my time. You are useless, Gilbert," Sherlock sulked, placing the pad and paper off to one side and standing up.

"Sherlock?" Greg called out, stopping Sherlock in his tracks, "If you feel that way about John, you should tell him. He...there was…fuck it. It just might not be as unwelcome as you think."

Sherlock huffed and stormed out of Greg's front door, and letting it bounce against the wall as he stomped into the London darkness. Lestrade was left sitting naked on his sofa with the exaggerated moans of pornstars still calling out from the TV.

Reaching for his phone, he dialed a number and waited until Mycroft's nasal voice came over the speaker, "Detective Inspector."

"I think you need to speak to your brother. There may be friction ahead…" Greg explained, rubbing his eyes tiredly, "I think he's starting to remember his sex drive."

"Oh," Mycroft obviously grimaced, "I shall look into it. Thank you, Gregory."

"Not a problem," Greg smiled lustily before lying back on his sofa after locking his door, "so…what are you wearing?"

XX

John's phone had rung not too long after Sherlock had left Greg's place.

"I wish I knew how to ignore you," John said in place of a greeting.

"Charming as always, Doctor Watson," Mycroft sneered through the other end of the line.

"Not trying to be, so I'm content," he said with a clear air of calm.

"I understand that Sherlock has been...inquiring about sexual stimulus."

"Good God, you sure don't beat around the bush, do you? Are you going to try to get me to agree to talk to him about this?" John asked, rubbing at his temples.

"John, you must understand: there were events in Sherlock's past, during his less than coherent times, that went incredibly poorly for him. Haven't you wondered why he has no recollection of masturbation?"

John closed his eyes and covered them with his unoccupied left hand as he sighed, "Yes, actually," he admitted, because there has never been any use in lying to a Holmes.

"Sherlock has never...been able to bring himself to orgasm. He turned to the drugs, thinking that they would relax his mind enough to allow him release - and participated in any number of activities that I'd rather not remember myself - but it never worked."

"He's never experienced an orgasm?" is the fact that John latched onto, head rising from his hand in shock, "But...how is that even possible?"

"He has night emissions in which his body takes care of that need, but a purposeful orgasm? No," Mycroft said clinically, seeming detached from the intimate nature of the discussion.

"Mycroft...I can't just...you can't expect me to take the matter into my own hand, so to speak," he said in regret. The guilt was returning to his gut, but there are lines that simply should not be crossed...some things that would go too far for John to forget and go back to normal. Because that's what he feared the most: that Sherlock would want to go back to the way they were before and John wouldn't be able to forget, to move on.

There was a heavy silence between them before Mycroft continued softly, admitting: "I am afraid of the lengths he will go to to rediscover the information he's so determined to obtain."

"You think he'll turn back to drugs for this?" John asked with yet more guilt.

"Drugs, gloryhole, whore house," Mycroft listed, "any of the numerous things he tried before. I'm following him on CCTV right now and so far he's just wandering aimlessly around the park, but John…" he trailed off, clear worry evident in his voice.

"But you said he had never... finished ?" John frowned, confused, "Why did he visit brothels or glory holes?"

"I have it on good authority he requested hand relief only," Mycroft continued in the clinical voice, "he never asked for anything else…and soon became frustrated."

"Mycroft, you don't understand, I can't just…" risk everything. Fuck it all up. Lose him. He said none of these, just let the other man hear all of the options the silence offered.

"John, please," Mycroft practically whispered, his voice finally breaking into a genuine emotion, "he needs you."

"Goddammit," he swore quietly in reply, somehow thinking that he's going to actually do this. He's going to actually let this happen.

"I've finally gotten him clean - to not be a danger to himself or others - and for once in his life he has a friend. You are unlike anything he's ever had in his life before, and I hate to ask you to take this risk, but understand that I would not dare to ask this if I thought there was a chance that he would lose you."

John sighed, rubbed at his temples and then groaned low and loud, "Fine! Fine. Alright. Whatever you want."

"John. This isn't what I want…" Mycroft seemed to grimace, "In fact, I'd be happy to never discuss Sherlock's...urges ever again."

"Good," John huffed, putting down the phone with a click of a button and then dropping his phone to the side, rubbing at his face tiredly.

XX

When Sherlock returned back to the flat, he was covered in a murky brown mud which covered the bottoms of Sherlock's trousers up to his knees.

"What on earth have you been doing?" John asked, looking up from the newspaper he had been engrossed in.

"Exploring," Sherlock shrugged.

"Where? Tunnels?" John scoffed.

"No. Hampstead Heath. I remembered the location of a former Gloryhole site. Turns out it wasn't as...friendly as promised," Sherlock explained.

"Right. No. None of that," John warned, crossing his legs and putting his paper aside, "with strangers, I mean. If you...want to do that then I'll help. Only until you know what you're doing."

Sherlock frowned, narrowing his eyes and glaring at John in suspicion, "Mycroft?"

Nodding softly, John didn't see any reason to lie as he bit his lip, "He was worried."

"He should be more worried about his cholesterol. The fat git," Sherlock sneered, but there was a sweet blush against his cheeks as he spoke.

"I've never done this before and...I'm not sure what the protocol is for helping your best friend have a wank…so we'll have to muddle through," John explained and cleared his throat, "Do you have any ideas on...what you want?"

"To watch," Sherlock said without hesitation, "I want to watch."

John gulped loudly but nodded with a tentative smile, "Right. Not sure I'll be able to...perform on command, but I'll try. What about for yourself?"

"Myself," Sherlock repeated, before waving his hand, "I've told you. It doesn't work."

"You might not have found your...um...style," John blushed and then smiled, "it takes some experimentation."

Sherlock nodded quickly and then moved his hands to his trouser buckle, seemingly happy to undress in the middle of the living room, something which made John feel scandalised.

"Sherlock!" He hissed, "Get into your room," John rubbed his face and laughed, "Take your trousers off. Shirt too if you want. I'll just…get some supplies and join you."

Sherlock immediately set off into his room, rustling fabric and squeaking the bed as he jumped onto the mattress and got comfortable, "Come on, John!" He called impatiently.

"Jesus, give me strength," John whispered to himself before marching to his room, collecting his bottle of lubricant and two clean flannels for afterwards. He went to Sherlock's room and stood awkwardly in the doorway, looking at Sherlock lying back with his black boxer-briefs slightly tented already. John averted his gaze, despite the picture being burnt into his retinas, and then walked to the side of the bed. He pulled off his jeans until he was clad in just his boxers and a shirt before sitting tentatively on the bed.

"Right…" John cleared his throat, "So…what do you need to know?"

Sherlock looked at him in exasperation because hadn't they been through this already? for crying out loud.

"Everything," Sherlock stated with emphasis.

"Okay, but everything is a very broad spectrum. Care to narrow it down a little for me? You had mentioned wanting to - erm - watch."

"Yes, let's start there," Sherlock agreed with a nod.

"Right," John sighed, running his left hand through his hair nervously. To say that he had never thought about engaging in intimate scenarios with his best friend would be a lie, but that didn't make this situation any less odd and a bit off-putting.

John briefly stood from the bed again to remove his boxers and shirt, then hesitated on where to settle on the bed. The sitting position he had been in wasn't ideal for a wank, but anywhere else seemed too…

"Here," Sherlock answered for him, scooching over to his left and leaving plenty of room for John on the right side of the bed. When John gave him an inquisitive look, Sherlock merely shrugged and explained, "It's your prefered side of the bed."

How Sherlock knew that, John didn't actually want to know, but he was right; damn him. So John situated himself sitting up, back against the headboard, mirroring the other man.

"You're not hard," Sherlock stated, trying not to sound disappointed but failing.

John chuckled nervously, "Yeah, well, it's not exactly a sexy situation," he half apologised.

"Would you like me to help arouse you?" He asked innocently.

And damn if John wasn't curious about how he planned to do that, "...how?" he asked timidly, honestly scared of the answer.

Sherlock gave him one of his oh, please looks with a tinge of disappointment at his stupidity, "Like I don't know what turns you on," he scoffed.

"How the hell…" he started angrily, but was cut off by Sherlock moving closer to him and whispering in his ear.

"John ," he practically moaned in a low, sultry tone.

"Oh, fuck," John swore quietly as his hips bucked reflexively and his cock hardened, because the lower register of Sherlock's voice has always been a weak point for him. Of course he had known.

"I want you to get hard for me," Sherlock continued quietly in his low timbre, breath falling hot against John's left ear with his mouth so close, "Please, John," he begged, "will you do that for me?"

John nodded his head while biting his bottom lip, even though an answer wasn't exactly required considering that his cock was rushing to fulfill the request. He was fully hard in seconds, and a bit light headed for it.

"Very good," Sherlock praised, "you're so good to me. Now stroke yourself for me; show me how. Educate me."

John couldn't help the moan at the mental picture of Sherlock, one day, using the knowledge he's about to learn on John himself. He rushed to get some of the lube onto his left hand before moving it to his cock willingly, grasping hard as his elbow lightly brushed against Sherlock's side for a fleeting moment.

"Your…right..." John cleared his throat and attempted to focus on speaking, "Take it in your hand and just sort of…stroke it? A bit. Pull your foreskin up and down and…and…do you have a foreskin?"

Sherlock chuckled deeply, seemingly tickled by John's question, "Yes, John. I have a foreskin."

John smiled shyly and then closed his eyes as his thumb rubbed against his slit, smearing the precome across his tip. He bucked his hips and moaned, biting down on his lip.

"How does it feel?" Sherlock asked, his eyes wide and flicking across John's body up and down and over his entire skin.

"Good. It's good," John gulped down air, eyes fluttering closed, "It's good."

"Be more descriptive," Sherlock hummed, "Please?"

"Do you have any idea how difficult it is to think?" John groused.

"Not much different than usual, then?" Sherlock teased, rubbing his nose against John's arm affectionately.

"Twat," John grumbled and then inhaled deeply "It's - intense . Like a building pressure. Like…like a volcano. The pressure is under the surface and it's pushing up and up and eventually it has nowhere else to go than to explode."

Sherlock considered for a moment before nodding, "And how does the pleasure feel?"

John moaned and bucked harder again, "It's…intense," he repeated, at a loss for other descriptors, "So good. I don't know what else to say…"

"Say my name," Sherlock requested on a whisper, his pupils wide as he watched John's hand moving up and down, twisting at the tip to coax out more precome, "When you ejaculate, say my name."

"Oh god, Sherlock," John groaned, back arching. His orgasm rushing at him rapidly as he moved his other hand down to cup at his tight testicles, it was too much and John knew he wouldn't be able to hold on, "Oh, Sherlock…Sherlock I'm…I'm coming."

"Yes," Sherlock nodded eagerly, leaning further down so his head lay on John's chest so he could watch the slit in John's cock widen, "Yes, show me," he breathed in excitement.

"Sherlock!" John shouted, seizing up and throwing back his head as his orgasm burst over him and left him wrung out and shaking. Semen glistened on his stomach and when Sherlock pulled back, he did so tentatively before looking at John with a grimace.

"I'm so sorry," John spluttered before laughing, noticing the thick stripe of come across Sherlock's cheek, "I didn't expect it to reach that far."

Sherlock huffed and wiped the come away before placing it in his mouth and sucking, "Not terrible. I don't see what all the fuss is about."

"Probably shouldn't just eat people's come, Sherlock," John grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck and watching his cock slowly soften.

"Oh please, you're clean. You're a doctor and a regular attendee at the sexual health clinic," Sherlock scoffed before gesturing absently.

"Still…" John trailed off and then shrugged, "So…did you learn much?"

"Yes, it was very enlightening," Sherlock nodded, "I certainly learned more with you than I did with Lestrade."

"I'm sorry what?" John blinked, a bit of jealousy and disappointment coiling in his gut, "You…and Lestrade ?"

"No. He kicked me out," Sherlock sulked, looking and rubbing at the rather impressive bulge in his pants, "He was reluctant to help."

"Yeah, you'd have to be mad to help," John laughed and shook his head at his own madness, but was also relieved at the thought that nothing had happened between the two men.

"Hmm," Sherlock shrugged, obviously not listening, "I was going to sneak in and steal his handcuffs but I think he was having phone sex with my brother."

"Jesus," John choked, "What? Sorry? Lestrade and…Mycroft?"

"Ye-ees," Sherlock sighed, "Honestly John, it's not exactly news."

"It is to me!" John insisted, "When? Why? How?"

"Not sure I want to know how they have sex," Sherlock grimaced, scooping more of John's come up between his fingers and rubbing it together, "But they've been intimate for a while."

"I didn't know he was gay," John said, frowning and wondering why Greg had never mentioned it on their various drinking and moaning meetings.

"He's not," Sherlock frowned in return, "he's obviously bisexual. That is a real thing you know, being attracted to both."

"Yeah, I know that," John said before his mind whirred to a stop. Maybe that was what he was? Sherlock had mentioned it earlier - before he had stormed out of the flat to find Lestrade, apparently - but he'd never really been attracted to men before…but he couldn't exactly deny being attracted to Sherlock.

Sherlock sighed, "John, before you begin having your tedious sexuality crisis, can you please help me with my protrusion?"

"Your what?" John grinned, almost forgetting the anxiety in the pit of his stomach.

"Erection. Stiffy. Hard-On," Sherlock griped, "Whatever you insist on calling it. I don't care but...help me? I'm not sure I can do it alone…" he admitted quietly.

"You've watched me. Just...do what I did," John responded nervously, unsure whether he could actually help him the way he knew Sherlock was asking. Playing dumb was a bit of a necessity at times with the younger man, now being a perfect example.

Sherlock swallowed thickly before nodding, "Alright."

He sat back on the bed, resting against the headboard in the same position John had chosen. He hadn't removed his pants yet because he found he enjoyed the feeling of his hand over the fabric separating his hand from his cock. He bit his bottom lip as he traced his outline, but he was only partially hard.

"John," Sherlock whispered, eyes closed as he shook his head in embarrassment, "I'm no longer fully erect."

John cleared his throat, "That's alright, that's normal," he assured him, "does your hand feel good against your...uh…" he hesitated.

"Penis?" Sherlock finished, opening his eyes to look at John condescendingly now, covering his own nerves with the harsher emotion, "Honestly, John, you're a doctor."

"This isn't exactly the surgery!" He snapped, eyes challenging him back before he realised the picture that they made at the moment: two grown, mostly-naked men talking about how to wank properly.

"It's still a penis," Sherlock countered haughtily.

John closed his eyes and breathed deep, concentrating on not wringing the other man's enticing neck, "Just, try putting your hand in your pants and touching it skin to skin," he offered as nonchalantly as he could manage.

Sherlock nodded, conceding that the thought had merit. When his hand wrapped around his cock, he hissed and his hips bucked upwards, "Oh…" he moaned quietly in wonderment.

"There you go, now just do what feels good," John supplied, trying not to think about how his own cock wanted to stir back to life at the sight and sound.

"I don't…" Sherlock panted, eyes closed with an almost pained look of bliss on his face. He licked his lips and swallowed before completing the statement: "I don't know what to do."

"Do what I did; I know you watched every moment in fine detail," he told him, holding back a blush at the thought of how thorough his brilliant mind must have truly watched him bring himself off.

Sherlock nodded again and John watched as his brow furrowed, as though he was remembering every single detail and mimicking it perfectly. The pleasure was obviously building for the detective, but not in the same way it had for John...it wasn't nearly enough; his brain was clearly too involved.

After nearly five minutes of this, Sherlock huffed in annoyance before removing his hand from his pants and looking at John with a mixture of anger and defeat, "It isn't working, John," he said, almost as an accusation.

"How is it not working? Men were practically built to find any sexual contact directly to their cock sufficiently arousing," John shot back.

"Well, not mine."

John sighed and ran his left hand over his face for a moment, thinking of other ways to help him.

"John, please," Sherlock begged quietly, changing his own tactic, "I feel the build up of pleasure you described, just like a volcano, but I can't make myself come. How do I make myself come?"

And in that moment, Sherlock looked so incredibly like a sad, abandoned puppy that John couldn't stay frustrated at the situation. The moment he decided to throw all caution to the wind and just do this properly, he knew that he had played right into the other man's hand.

"Alright, Sherlock," John easily flipped the switch to his flirtatious bedroom demeanor, "take your pants off."

"What?" Sherlock was thrown by the sudden shift in behavior.

"Let me see your cock," he clarified with a playful smirk, "I want to see that big hand wrapped around your cock, those elegant, thin fingers moving along it over and over and over again."

Sherlock moaned again, a mottled pink blush creeping over his chest and neck as he scrambled to remove his tight, warm boxer-briefs.

John tried to clear his mind of all the arguments of why this was Not Good and focussed instead on the long, pale fingers which were now wrapping around Sherlock's cock, stroking it and keeping it hard whilst Sherlock tilted his head, obviously waiting for his next prompt.

"Right," John hesitated, losing a bit of his flirtatious confidence, "scoot forward a bit," he said before moving to assist him. Sherlock turned his head - obviously confused - but John fixed him with a stare which kept him quiet and pliant as they jointly made space for John against the headboard behind Sherlock. Once settled, John pulled him backwards into the V of his legs so that Sherlock's back rested against John's naked front, "We're going to work together on this. You're going to deal with your..."

"Penis," Sherlock completed the statement, a playful smile obvious in his tone.

"Yes. That," John laughed, "and I'll deal with...everything else."

Sherlock considered for a moment before twisting to look at John again, "Are you going to penetrate me?"

John coughed, "Pardon?"

"I read about it. The prostate is apparently a remarkably pleasant yet intense bundle of nerves. I wondered if you were intending to penetrate me with your finger," Sherlock said, his hand still moving on his erection, leading John to believe that maybe this was the oddest thing that had ever happened in his life to date.

"No. I'm not going to...do that," John sighed, exasperated, "I thought perhaps I would stroke your nipples?"

"Oh," Sherlock said, sounding slightly disappointed.

"So yeah…no er...bum stuff tonight," John said as he cleared his throat and then handed Sherlock the small tube of lubricant, "Add some of that. It'll feel nicer."

Sherlock did as he was told and hissed at the cold gel before rubbing it in and relaxing into John's embrace, "This is rather comfortable," Sherlock hummed, nuzzling into John's neck and rubbing his curls against John's chin.

John swallowed audibly but moved his fingers to Sherlock's left nipple, circling it carefully with the pad of his finger before pinching it lightly, "Good?"

"Hnnh," Sherlock groaned, eyes fluttering closed, "Like electricity."

John frowned slightly at the description but huffed out a laugh and continued, moving between each nipple in turn whilst Sherlock stroked himself.

After another ten minutes of sweat-flushed movement, Sherlock growled and punched the bed angrily, "John! This isn't working!"

John had fallen into a kind of trance, lulled into a daze by the warmth of Sherlock's body and the endorphins of his own orgasm. He blinked and then tilted his head, "Why not?"

"I don't bloody know!" Sherlock practically shouted, "It's impossible."

"Anorgasmia," John mumbled, diagnosing Sherlock without thinking, "It's when you can't achieve orgasm by yourself. Usually due to personal issues or religious upbringings."

"Yes. That," Sherlock agreed, dropping his now throbbing, red-tipped and leaking cock against his stomach with a wet thunk, "So, you do it."

"Pardon?" John blinked.

"You said it's when a person cannot achieve orgasm by themselves. You're not me, so it should work?" Sherlock asked hopefully, his testicles beginning to ache and throb.

"Sherlock…I…" John began to argue only to be cut off by Sherlock.

"I'm close, I know I am. I can feel it but I just... can't . It wouldn't take you much, just a quick stroke and it'd probably happen," Sherlock explained quickly, eyes darting around John's face as he pleaded his case.

"For god's sake..." John moaned, letting his head fall backwards with a thump, "Right. Keep looking forward and don't even think about mentioning this ever again."

"Scouts honour," Sherlock promised, smiling broadly as he handed the tube of lube to John excitedly.

"The things I do for you," John grumbled, smearing some of the gel onto his hand and warming it before reaching down to take Sherlock's cock in his hand.

"Oh!" Sherlock cried out, his hands moving to John's thighs to grip them tightly, his nails causing half crescents in the skin, "Oh, John! Oh that's..."

"Shhh," John whispered, smiling as he pretended that Sherlock's cock was his own and doing his own routine (two long strokes followed by a thumb across the wet slit). Sherlock's breathing hitched, deep groans resonating from the detective's chest which rumbled through to John's own skin as he worked, stroking and caressing the small bundle of nerves under the head in a circular motion. Sherlock's hips shuddered, a shiver running through his body as he let his head fall backwards onto John's shoulder with a hum of pleasure.

"Hows that?" John whispered, his voice like honey.

"Transcendent," Sherlock moaned, biting his lip and clenching his toes.

John smiled warmly, placing a gentle kiss to the lobe of Sherlock's ear without thinking. Sherlock's eyes opened and his head turned, catching John's gaze and holding it with a shocked expression as though that small kiss was the catalyst for his undoing.

"John!" Sherlock gasped, his hand moving to grasp John's wrist tightly, his hips bucking and his eyes rolling, "John! John, I think it's happening!"

"Hush now, it's alright. I've got you," John soothed, "Don't tense up, just let it happen."

"I can't…oh god, I can't, it's too much!" Sherlock was gasping, his sweat-slicked curls knocking against John's skin as he shook his head.

"Yes you can. Show me, Sherlock. Show me," John moaned into Sherlock's skin, his tongue accidentally licking at Sherlock's neck as he attempted to lick his own lips.

"John! John, I'm doing it! I'm having one!" Sherlock screamed, hands turning into talons as his hips bucked once, twice, and then John's hand was covered in hot, wet semen as Sherlock came with a choked off scream and a huffed breath. The embers of his internal volcano sparked into a full eruption.

If John wasn't hard before (which he was, a little) he definitely was now after listening to Sherlock's declarations and feeling his body tense with pleasure. Stroking him through his first orgasm, John cooed and calmed the younger man softly as he coaxed the last drips out to land on Sherlock's pubic hair and then let his hand fall to Sherlock's thigh, "You okay?"

Sherlock sniffed, wet tracks dripping over his cheeks and nodded, "I'm not upset," he explained, obviously bewildered.

"I know," John smiled, "it's probably very intense. It's not always that way."

"I saw stars," Sherlock explained, "Galaxies of them, sparkling and clear."

"Good," John chuckled, carefully moving to take a few tissues from the bedside table to mop up his hand and Sherlock's belly.

There was a moment of tender silence before Sherlock next spoke, his voice low and so quiet that John almost missed it.

"Thank you, John," Sherlock whispered, "You...truly are my best friend, which I find perplexing because I never thought I would have one of those."

John lowered his head to Sherlock's right shoulder, lips barely brushing the taut skin as he closed his eyes, "God, Sherlock," he whispered morosely.

"What?" Sherlock questioned, unsure why John was sad; he had meant it as a compliment. Unless… "Do you not want to be my best friend?" He asked with trepidation, subconsciously pulling away from John.

John instinctively wrapped his arms tighter around Sherlock's torso to stop him moving further, but couldn't help the disbelieving chuckle that escaped his throat, "In all my life, Sherlock Holmes, I never could have dreamed of being chosen as a best friend by someone like you."

"I don't…" Sherlock started, but trailed off in confusion, a rare occurrence of uncertainty tainting his tone.

"It's an honour," John started honestly, summoning his bravery, "you're so incredibly brilliant and unique, yet you do the most disgusting experiments and never buy the milk. You say that caring isn't an advantage, but then half-kill a man for laying a finger on Mrs. Hudson. You see worlds where others only see vague shapes, yet you don't remember that we live in a solar system. You claim to be a high functioning sociopath when really you just don't want people to notice that you do everything in your power to help them," John rambled quietly into Sherlock's shoulder, lips continuously brushing the skin as a caress that he was too afraid to freely give, "You are so much more than just my best friend; there simply aren't enough words to describe what you are to me."

Sherlock gasped quietly, tensing as he took in the words. They warmed his chest at the same time they froze his brain. It was countless heartbeats before he was able to process it, but John patiently waited it out, a small smile on the lips still pressed to his shoulder.

"You…" Sherlock started, then cleared his throat before continuing, "you mean…"

"Yes," John affirmed, moving his face enough to the left that his nose rubbed softly against Sherlock's neck as he nodded.

"You kissed me," he reminded John, heart racing, as if he'd already forgotten the moment, "on my ear, before I…"

"Yes," John agreed again, moving his mouth slightly higher to kiss it lightly once more.

Sherlock pulled back enough to turn his head to look at John, and the older man was struck with such a strong wave of fondness that it almost ached in his chest. Sherlock looked vulnerable and skeptical, yet a shine of guarded hope was clear there at the same time.

John was nervous, laying his feelings out like this to someone as inexperienced with a broad range of human emotions as Sherlock, but he knows people well and knows Sherlock even better than most. If the detective was completely uninterested, he would let him down gently again, just like that first night at Angelo's.

Instead, Sherlock brought his face slowly toward John's - deducing the entire way - and kissed him softly, tentatively, as if unsure. Sherlock being unsure about something, can you imagine?

John responded positively in kind, and when the kiss ended, it was Sherlock who spoke first.

"What about 'boyfriend'?" He asked shyly.

"What?" John asked, not following the line of thought from before.

"You said there weren't enough words to describe what I am to you, but do you think 'boyfriend' might be one of them?"

John chuckled fondly at his utter innocence, "It's woefully inadequate," he said, watching as Sherlock's face turned guarded at the perceived slight, "but 'partner' might better describe it."

"Business partner?" Sherlock asked with utter contempt, still not quite getting it.

John shrugged, "Business partner," then moved his mouth back to Sherlock's ear and added on a whisper, "life partner," before moving down to his neck and whispering, "sex partner," before lavishing a big, wet kiss to the side.

Sherlock couldn't help the moan that escaped his throat as the pieces locked into place. As he squirmed back in John's embrace, he felt John's cock - still as hard and insistent since Sherlock's orgasm - solid between them.

"You're erect again," Sherlock pointed out lustily, "that is an incredibly short refractory period, doctor," he praised.

"Not bad for an old man," he joked, smiling as he kissed Sherlock's neck again, "but you have to remember that I had some help; after all, you did come in my lap and kiss me all within the last five minutes."

"That's true," Sherlock smirked.

"But," John cleared his throat, "I think I'd rather just...cuddle for now."

"How very pedestrian," Sherlock grumbled with a smile, allowing John to rearrange their limbs into a semblance of order so that Sherlock was finally able to rest his head against John's chest, his fingers stroking patterns and equations onto the soft skin, "Won't your penis get sore?"

"I'm sure you can help me with it in the morning," John grinned, kissing Sherlock's head.

"I think I'll like this. Sex," Sherlock grinned, "Sex with you. Nobody else."

"Good," John replied, kissing Sherlock's head again, "I'm excited to show you everything."

"I'm trembling with anticipation," Sherlock groaned sensually, licking at John's nipple with a devious smirk.

"You'll be the death of me," John moaned in false complaint, stroking Sherlock's hair, "tomorrow we start lesson two."

"Which is?" Sherlock asked.

"I haven't decided yet. But I'm sure it will be amazing," John grinned sexily, "Now sleep; you'll need your strength."

"Yes, Captain," Sherlock laughed, nuzzling closer.