Dodgy dreams and shifty experiments

Sherlock Holmes has been having some odd dreams about John Watson. Dr. Watson, however, has caught a whiff of this and intends to do something about it, although he doesn't know what yet. Oneshot and shameless. Mature readers only.

A/N: Sorry everyone, IDEK. Hugs for reviews. xx

Sherlock Holmes had been dreaming about John Watson.

John's brows knitted together in consternation. He shook his head slightly as though trying to dislodge an uncomfortable truth. He may not be an egotistical deductive genius, but even he can identify the tells for when someone has been dreaming about someone else and does not want them to know.

Sherlock, meanwhile, was in the kitchen in his second favourite dressing gown, the red one, doing his best to impersonate an irate diva. Pots had materialised out of the woodwork for the sole purpose of getting bashed together to make a racket and he was muttering about missing lemons and the plight of visiting spacemen.

"Statistically, they must exist!" He exclaimed loudly. John sighed and turned to face him in the kitchen.

"You dreamt about me." Sherlock froze, his brows furrowed and his eyes darted wildly left to right, attempting to find an escape route. His mouth started to form a denial but John stood up and cut him off. "It's not the first time." Sherlock gaped. John had never brought up the dreams and Sherlock, assured of his flatmate's ignorance, had chosen to believe that John had indeed been ignorant; he surprised him every time.

"It's alright. People dream about each other all the time, there's nothing wrong with it," John looked carefully for a reaction. "I didn't die or anything did I?" Sherlock's adam's apple bobbed up and down.

Sherlock Holmes had a sex dream about John Watson. Correction, Sherlock Holmes had had a number of sex dreams about John Watson.

John blushed, looking away from Sherlock, who huffed indignantly.

"Bad?"

"No," he hurried to assure him. John looked up to see that he was still being observed, he took a deep breath. "You look nice in the red one by the way."

"Hmm? The blue one has to be washed today. Unforseen stains." John spluttered, but he made to move slowly toward the kitchen. When he reached Sherlock, the genius detective was still clutching a wok, looking between it and John somewhat confusedly. John reached to take the wok out of the detective's hand, his own palm sliding up the handle and brushing against Sherlock's when he removed it and placed it on top of another pan sitting on the bench.

"Are you wearing any pants?" Sherlock shook his head and John reached for the silk tie that held his robe in place.

Sherlock Holmes has been having sex dreams about John Watson and John Watson wanted to act on them.

Somehow, the thought didn't disturb John as must as he though it should so he continued to reach for the silk tie. Sherlock backed against the counter in the centre of the kitchen but John pursued him, trapping him with one hand against the counter. John paused when he had the end of the tie in his hand. He looked up, forcing the detective to make eye contact.

"Did they satisfy you?" he asked mildly. The detective blushed, John smiled predatorily and inched the fabric tie loose. Sherlock's breaths were coming in short pants and John was longing to see how far down his torso the blush went.

"John, what are you doing?" the detective choked out.

"An experiment, Sherlock. For you."

John leaned toward the detective and brushed his lips passed his, smiling as a shuddering groan left the detective's mouth. He pressed in, firmer this time and waited for the detective to move his lips against his; it didn't take long. Sherlock moved his arms from his sides up John's back and passed them through his short thatch of hair, pulling him closer. John pressed his tongue into Sherlock's mouth and was rewarded with another groan and a mutinous thrust of Sherlock's hips.

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were going to have sex.

"Not yet, Sherlock," John undid the tie and traced his hand from Sherlock's neck to where the robe was still clinging together. He went slowly, relishing in Sherlock's broken breaths and the way that his skin felt beneath John's callused fingers and palm. The detective pushed himself against the hand, willing it to go further down, and faster, but his blogger would not comply. John chuckled slightly at Sherlock's impatience and parted the robe, leaning in to kiss and suckle his neck as he did so.

Sherlock's hands continued to guide John's head and rub his shoulders as John's hands slid lower and further back to firmly grasp and knead one of his buttocks. The detective gasped and John took the opportunity to claim his mouth once more. John could feel the evidence of Sherlock's arousal between the two of them, but he chose to do nothing about it, instead he continued to explore the detective's mouth, his firm chest and his tight cheeks.

"John, do something," the detective growled, grinding his hips against the doctor.

"I am," John murmured as the detective reached down to pull his shirt up and over his head. They were pressed chest to chest and the good doctor could feel Sherlock's penis sliding between their two bodies; he took pity on him and one hand reached down to cup his testicles and gently moved along his length. Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed and he let out a strangled moan. John took this as a cue and slowly kissed his way down to the detective's swollen penis. He circled it twice with his tongue and before Sherlock could adjust to the sensation he slipped Sherlock's cock into his mouth as deeply as he could.

The detective's grip tightened in his hair but John didn't let it deter him. After an initial pause he started to slide his mouth and his tongue up and down Sherlock's shaft, making the other man groan with unbridled pleasure. His hands cupped Sherlock's testicles and kneaded his buttocks and when he felt that the detective was about to become unravelled he pushed a finger against the man's entrance and stroked his perineum. Sherlock came with a strangled shout and John swallowed the ejaculate, holding the detective in his mouth until his penis became somewhat flaccid.

Sherlock's hands gripped the counter supporting him as he tried to still his breath. His mind ran rampant but all the doors of his mind palace were closed to his overwhelmed senses. Somewhere in the fog he noticed that John had disappeared, but before he could do anything much about it, the doctor was once again present and completely stripped.

"Where were you?"

"Just went upstairs. We're not finished yet, Sherlock." John placed a bottle on the counter and slid his palms over Sherlock's nipples, grinning when the other man gasped and trembled beneath his hands. He kissed him soundly, tangling one of his hands in Sherlock's curls and the other slid down his back to spread his cheeks. Eventually John slowed his kisses and reached for the bottle.

"Lubricant," he whispered, before Sherlock could voice the question. Sherlock nodded and John smiled against his neck as he slicked one hand with the contents of the bottle. "Are you ready?" Sherlock nodded again.

John placed his slicked fingers at Sherlock's entrance and began to circle, slowly working the tip of one finger in and catching Sherlock's moans with his mouth. Once he felt the ring of muscles adjust around one finger he inserted a second. By the time he inserted a third finger Sherlock was grinding up against his erection. Slowly he turned the detective over to face the counter.

"Spread your legs," he growled into his ear. Sherlock complied and John was revelling at the power that he had over the genius. He palmed his own penis making sure that the lubricant covered it all over then started to push into Sherlock. Once he was completely encased in the detective's heat he leaned in against his back and gently took his penis in hand, massaging it with his slicked fingers, moving them in time with his thrusts. Before long, Sherlock climaxed again and John followed a short time later. He reached one hand to smooth Sherlock's errant curls behind his ear and leaned in.

"I'll bet that I can best any of your wet dreams about me, Sherlock."

The detective moaned in assent and John gave him one final thrust before he slid out of him and gently patted him on the bottom.