If anyone were to glance inside the bedroom of the world's only consulting detective, there would be no question that Sherlock Holmes wasn't quite as ignorant about sex as he led everyone to believe he was.

Rutting against the mattress in a sheen of sweat and lube, the ebony haired man lay there, whimpering into his pillows as his hand pushed the large dildo in and out of his arse in a torturous rhythm.

He worked himself to the edge over and over again, each time letting his self-control slip further away as the silicone cock grazed against his prostate with every thrust.

When he could no longer hold the orgasm back, the detective flipped over to lie on his back, bringing his free hand to stroke his leaking prick in a frenzied manner as he jerked his hips in a desperate attempt to fuck himself on the toy.

The flat was empty, and when he came, he had no reservations about screaming out his friends name with his head thrown back. Spilling himself onto his hand and stomach, he lazily continued to pump his cock as it softened, spreading the fluid along the length of his shaft.

Reaching for the flannel he kept next to the bed, Sherlock began to clean himself off, basking in the afterglow while the last few spasms of his arse clenched the dildo that was still buried inside him.

He stretched his arm over to the opposite side of the mattress where he grabbed the small mirror he had placed there before he began and brought it between his legs.

Very slowly, he extracted the object, feeling the soft burn it was causing by the lube drying out, the detective loved this part, the dull pain as he withdrew the toy while his muscles gripped it tightly, refusing to let it go.

When it was almost completely out, Sherlock focused his attention more intently on his reflection in the mirror. With a final pull, the dildo was removed and thrown aside, falling to the floor where Sherlock would have to find it later. Right now though, his eyes were locked on the gaping hole the toy had left behind. He watched as it very slowly constricted back to the tight cluster of pink puckered flesh. The urge to spread himself apart and plunge the fake cock back in just to remove it and see his arsehole being wide open was tempting, but time did not permit such leisure. John would be home from the clinic soon and Sherlock needed to clean himself up and put everything away.

Standing on shaky feet, he gathered everything and padded naked to the loo where he would wash off and disinfect the toy, he was nothing if not hygienic. Sherlock let the water run over it, feeling the way it made the texture rougher. As he stood there scrubbing it clean he thought that it was nearly time to buy a bigger size. At 5.3centimeters around, the one in his hand had served its purpose, but was no longer yielding maximum results. Sherlock was ready for something larger, something that would fill him to the point he thought he would break.

By the time John returned to the flat, Sherlock was in his usual position of lying across the sofa, where he'd been that morning when the doctor left for work.

"Please tell me you at least moved at some point during the day," John said when he saw Sherlock's location.

The man across the room merely muttered some unintelligible response that made his flatmate chuckle.

John started toward the kitchen to turn the kettle on for his daily 'I just got done working and need a cuppa' afternoon tea.

Sherlock turned his head and watched John reaching in the cupboard, which caused his jumper to rise, exposing the curve of his hip and the light dusting of blonde hairs that disappeared down the front of the trousers. The detective allowed himself the guilty pleasure of staring and didn't have the good sense to pretend to be embarrassed when John sat two cups on the counter and caught Sherlock's eyes with his own.

These heated glances the pair exchanged were growing in frequency. Where they usually happened in the aftermath of an adrenaline fueled post case glow, they were now creeping into the duos everyday life and neither could decide if it was a good thing or not. The two never talked about it, letting the moments come and go, both hoping the other would act.

When it passed, they would go about whatever activity they were doing before the pull drew them into the others scorching stare. Like this afternoon, John was the first to look away, dutifully putting sugar in one of the mugs and pouring the boiling water over the bags he had placed in the cups, letting them steep as he carried both into the other room.

"Here," he said, as he placed the steaming sugar laced tea on the table within Sherlock's reach.

Expecting any sort of 'Thank you' from the detective was something John had given up all hope of ever receiving and wasn't offended when he was answered only with silence. It was only when he got close enough to Sherlock that John saw the wet curls on top of the man's head, clinging to his forehead and neck.

"Well at least you showered today. That's better than yesterday."

"How observant you are," Sherlock sneered in response.

John simply smiled as he took his seat in his chair, refusing to get into a bickering match with his flatmate tonight.

The two sipped their tea in the quiet, or rather, John sipped his and Sherlock occasionally glanced at his mug.

Without warning, Sherlock rose and stalked off to the kitchen where he retrieved his laptop before he returned and threw himself onto the sofa in an ungraceful manner.

"You're using your own computer," John noted. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

The detective flicked his eyes from the screen and scowled at John, but remained silent and went back to his online shopping. There was something sparking deep inside of Sherlock as he browsed the internet with John no more than two meters away. Some small thrill was blooming in the pit of his stomach as he glanced over several different sex toy websites. All the while, John remained oblivious to the detective's activities.

Content with his purchase, Sherlock smiled and closed the computer and swallowed his now cool tea.

Life continued as normal over the next week. Sherlock would sulk around the flat, John would go to work and nag the detective to eat. Sherlock would get bored and conduct destructive experiments. John would yell and storm off to his room.

It was on the day that the post delivered Sherlock's package that everything changed.

The detective still had an hour before John was due home, so he took the discreetly marked parcel and retreated into his bedroom where he closed the door behind him.

There, in the box lay the new dildo and plug he had ordered the week before.

Shedding his dressing gown, the detective stretched out naked across the bed, his cock already half hard at the prospect of a thorough shag. He reached inside the drawer of the bedside table and grabbed the mirror and bottle of lube he kept there. It was silicone based, which, from his experiments, he found lasted longer than water based lubrication.

After putting the mirror next to him, he coated his digits and placed a dollop against his hole while he spread his cheeks apart with his free hand, making tiny little circles against the small bud with the tip of his middle finger.

He worked himself open with impressive speed, his body used to the treatment after years of stretching. His fingers now slid in with ease and Sherlock was both annoyed and elated. Things would be simpler if he could be satisfied with just a few fingers, or even an average size penis, but neither would achieve any reaction from the detective anymore. He had pushed the limits and his body needed something larger to sate him.

Satisfied with his preparations, Sherlock removed the plug from the box and took it out of the sterile wrapping it had come in. He took a moment to study it, it was beautiful… black and elegant with a base that flared out at 6.4 centimeters.

The detective poured the lube over the plug and coated it with a thick layer. He leaned his head back against the pillows, letting his curls drape over his eyes and spread his thighs apart. The tip of the plug was pressed against his arsehole and Sherlock slowly started to push it in, centimeter by centimeter.

He had successfully gotten the first half of it in without any trouble; it was only when he continued passed this point that he was met with resistance. Gently, he nudged it forward, feeling the familiar burn that brought a smile to his face. Fixing his gaze on the ceiling, the detective took a slow, deep breath and bore down while pushing the plug in further. Tears stung his eyes and he focused on his breathing. The pain was intense, so much more so than he had experienced up until this point, and he loved it. He felt as though he was being ripped open and he drizzled more lube down his balls, letting it roll to coat the toy and spread around his hole.

He didn't need the mirror to know that his tender pink flesh was now angry and red, still he pushed forward, knowing that the feeling of being filled would be worth the momentary pain he was currently experiencing.

With one last gentle push he could feel his anus closing around the base of the toy and let out a relieved sigh.

"Sherlock," came John's voice from the front door.

The detective froze as the footsteps got closer to his room and was only able to relax slightly when they paused outside of the door. In that moment, Sherlock was glad at least one of them had a sense of privacy.

"Lestrade called," the doctor shouted through the wood separating them. "Says you weren't answering his texts."

Had he gotten any texts? The detective rose out of bed, aware that every movement he made caused the toy to shift, sending a jolt of pleasure through his body. With shaky fingers, he retrieved his mobile from the pocket of his dressing gown which was pooled on the floor by the foot of the bed.

Three unread messages.

"It was on silent," the detective shouted back. "I'll be out in a moment," was his only response as he thumbed through the texts.

Lestrade had a case that he needed Sherlock's help on (idiots.)

Sherlock thought about taking the plug out, but after so much trouble to finally get it in, it seemed like a shame to remove it so quickly without really appreciating it. The thought of walking around with a huge piece of silicone shoved up his arse wasn't entirely unappealing; he had even done it on several occasions, but never in John's company.

At that notion, his prick gave an interested twitch to match the one of his lip. He got dressed, tucking the bottle of lube he would no doubt need as the evening wore on inside the pocket of his trousers, feeling more and more confident with this idea as the minutes ticked by.

John was sitting in the chair with a cuppa when Sherlock emerged from the room and stood to follow as soon as he noticed the detective making his way toward the door.

"It was the nephew," Sherlock stated matter-of-factly before continuing. "The aunt knew about it, she even planted the idea in his head."

"Right," Greg said, not quite wrapping his mind around the fact that Sherlock had solved it in fifty-two seconds (he knew because he had timed it.)

The detective, followed closely by John had exited Lestrade's office and came face to face with Carol "Birdie" Sulloway and her nephew, Matthew.

"Ah, missus Sulloway," Sherlock greeted.

"Miss," she was quick to correct him.

"Yes, of course. Next time you convince your nephew here to murder your husband, you might want to be sure he doesn't have an incriminating past that would point all fingers in both of your directions." The detective merely smiled at the pair and continued walking towards the exit.

"DON'T SAY THAT!" The voice of Matthew Sulloway echoed through the building as he shouted after Sherlock and lunged in his direction. Whether he honestly gave Sargent Donovan the slip, or if she loosened her grip was unknown. The only thing anyone was aware of was the prime suspect charging down the hall in Sherlock's direction.

Ever on high alert, John turned sharply and Matthew was met with the doctor's left hook across his face.

As Sulloway hit the ground, blood spurting from his nose, John shook his hand, "ow," he complained.

Sherlock was at his side in an instant, tentatively taking the man's smaller hand in his own. "We need to get you some ice," he murmured just low enough for John to hear him.

The doctor raised his eyes and met Sherlock's. The two stood there in the middle of Scotland Yard lost in each other. They could have been standing like that for five seconds or five minutes, just looking at one another. Finally the spell was broken, not by either looking away. No, this time it was the frantic screaming of Birdie Sulloway, who had rushed to help her nephew up, that tore their gaze away from each others.

"Police brutality! Police brutality! You all saw it!"

Calmly John looked down at her.

"Ma'am," he said, "I don't work for the police." And with that, the doctor rose to his full height and turned to walk away, leaving no room for discussion.

Sherlock hailed a taxi and once they were seated, took John's hand in his own to survey the damage.

"I don't think it's anything more than a fracture, Sherlock." John said, but made no effort to pull away as Sherlock started stroking his wrist and palm with his elegant fingers.

John's breathing quickly became shallow and he had to adjust his position in the seat several times before pleading, "Sherlock…"

The detective locked eyes with his friend, "John," he answered in response, his pupils twinkling with laughter.

John opened his mouth to say something and promptly shut it when Sherlock raised the doctor's hand to his face and planted a small kiss on the inside of his wrist before sweeping his tongue across the sensitive flesh.

The smaller man groaned and the sound went straight to Sherlock's cock. There was no more dancing around each other, no more not talking about it or not talking about not talking about it. They should have known that all those months of buildup would cause an explosion, but neither was prepared for the detonation that took place when they finally spilled into the flat.

There was nothing gentle about it, nothing that could be considered romantic or sweet. This was a carnal attack, pure and simple.

Sherlock had barely got the door open before John attacked him, kicking the door shut behind them. He snogged the detective across the room, all the way to the sofa which caused Sherlock to stumble back on. Never one to be out done, Sherlock gave as good as he got. He nipped and sucked at John's lower lip and used his tongue to roughly explore the other man's mouth. He thrust his hips up and rubbed his growing erection across the bulge in John's pants, and oh…

"Sher- Sherlock," John broke the kiss and Sherlock tried to raise his head to capture the doctor's mouth with his own. "Sherlock," he said more firmly.

The ebony haired man opened his eyelids and looked over John. He appeared well snogged. His lips were red and swollen and his eyes were glazed over with lust. It was a look that Sherlock decided he wanted to see often and sat up with enough force to throw John off balance. He closed the unwanted distance between them and planted kisses along the smaller man's neck and the shell of his ear.

The detective could only make out certain words, not really paying attention to the babblings of the man beneath him.

"…might not work…"
"…women…hurts…"
"…won't fit…"

"Shh," Sherlock finally hissed and bit down hard on John's lip.

Goal oriented, he stroked the doctor's cock through his trousers and lowered the zip.

"Jesus," Sherlock hissed when he freed John's prick. He could only just wrap is fingers around it, and given the length of his digits, he was quite impressed with the girth. "John," he groaned into the doctor's neck.

"I tried to tell you," John planted a kiss on Sherlock's neck. "I'm not sure if we can… I mean… you can, me… if you want…" he trailed off, a heated blush creeping into his cheeks.

Sherlock let out a deep, throaty chuckle that could almost be described at frightening. Lowering his mouth to John's ear he nipped gently at it, "You don't think I can take it?" He playfully asked.

"Sherlock, be reasonable I me- oh…" John trailed off when the detective had taken to expertly stroking his prick with those talented fingers.

Using his knowledge of measurements, Sherlock estimated that John's cock was at least 6.9 centimeters around and arousal punched him in the gut. "Clothes," Sherlock spit out. "Too many." He lifted the jumper over John's head, annoyed that he had to break their heated kisses for it to be removed.

The doctor laughed beneath him, "patience."

"Overrated."

John shimmied out of his trousers and pants, forgetting that his shoes were still on and cursing them as his trousers bunched around his ankles. The two men broke away from each other long enough to completely rid themselves of all offending material. In a moment of clarity, they chuckled and Sherlock straddled John's waist as the doctor laid across the sofa.

John placed a hand on either side of Sherlock's arse and grabbed the flesh, kneading it with his fingers as he zeroed in on his target. As his fingers came in contact with the circle of plastic nestled between the cheeks, John froze. "Sherlock?" He questioned.

The detective looked down at him and smirked. "You know," Sherlock started. "I've never believed in all the nonsense of two people destined to be together, of fitting together. In this case though," he said as he reached behind him and slowly withdrew the object from his arse and held it up for John to see, "I believe we are perfectly matched."

It took John a moment to process what was being said, his eyes were fixed on the plug in Sherlock's hand. "Bloody hell, Sherlock. Have you had that in the whole time?" John didn't think it was possible to get any harder, but was proven wrong when Sherlock took the plug and brought it up to John' lips. The doctor wrapped his mouth around as much of it as he could, the filthy knowledge that it had been buried in Sherlock's arse all night long made his cock throbbed achingly with want.

Ever the doctor, John licked one final strip along the plug's length and spoke up, "lube, we need lube."

The detective leaned over and plucked his trousers off of the floor and dug in the pocket for the bottle he had placed there earlier that evening. He had to admit, this was a far better use for it than he had intended.

Sherlock opened the cap and poured the contents down John's shaft, stroking him in earnest and was rewarded with the breathy little moans coming from the man under him.

"Sherlock, please," John whimpered.

Sherlock continued pumping him, enjoying the feel of the heavy cock in his hands.

"Please, don't wanna… too much…never before…too big…"

John was rambling with his head thrown back and eyes tightly shut, it was a sight that Sherlock was committing to memory.

The detective's arsehole was still plenty lubed up from the plug, but given the fact that John was just a bit bigger, Sherlock guided John's prick to the crack of his arse and rubbed himself along the length, smearing some of the lube he had put there moments before.

Sherlock rose just a fraction and positioned himself over John. Centimeter by centimeter he lowered himself onto John's massive cock, letting it fill him. It was different than the plug, it wasn't smaller at the tip to allow for comfortable penetration and Sherlock found himself bearing down much sooner than he was used to.

John, being more aware of the situation than he had been before, gripped himself at the base and steadied his cock, trying to make it easier for Sherlock to slide onto. "Shhh," he murmured when Sherlock winced. "We can stop, Sherlock." John tried to withdraw which earned him an annoyed huff from the detective who promptly attempted to swat his hand away.

John wanted to laugh, but fought the urge knowing that it would cause Sherlock pain. "Stubborn arse," he said instead.

Sherlock looked down at him and smirked, "we can discuss the irony of that statement later."

This time, the doctor had to bite his lip to keep from chuckling. The amusement was quickly replaced with a primitive urge to thrust as Sherlock slid over his glands, his arse gripping John tightly.

John's hands found Sherlock's hips and gripped him tightly, no doubt there would be marks later, but right now, neither could be bothered to care.

"John," Sherlock gasped when the doctor was finally sheathed inside him.

At the same time, John was letting out a string of curses as he was now buried balls deep in Sherlock. He gave his hips a small thrust and Sherlock whimpered.
"John, please…just… give me a moment," Sherlock panted while easing himself up just a bit and slowly sliding back down.

Over the next few minutes, as Sherlock adjusted, the pace quickened and John allowed his hips to raise up and meet his bum. The only sound that could be heard through the flat was skin slapping against skin and the desperate groans of the men.

"So full," the detective's breathy voice whispered as he continued riding John's cock.

"Jesus Christ, Sherlock," John answered "Nobody's ever been able to…fuck! You're amazing."

The detective smirked and brought up his hand to stroke himself.

"Let me." John moved his hand to Sherlock's mouth and turned his palm up.

The detective quirked his eyebrow and spit into the doctor's hand.

John smiled up at his new lover and started stroking Sherlock with the sole intent of making him come. He concentrated on the sensitive head and swirled is palm over the swollen tip on every up stroke.

Sherlock throwing is head back was the only indication he gave to coming and the white spurts of liquid spilled out and splattered John's chest. With every pulse, Sherlock's arsehole was gripping the doctor's prick causing him to teeter over the edge himself.

"Fuck!" John cried out, and emptied his balls into the arse of the man that was now hunched over him, limbs intertwined and heaving against John's come soaked chest.
The two laid there for a few moments, both too content to speak, happy enough to just be.

"So…" John said.

"So…" Sherlock repeated, and the two men laughed.

Sherlock winched and their current position was brought to John's attention.

"Here," the doctor started, "let me just…"

"No!" Sherlock all but shouted and John froze in his tracks.

The detective bit his lip, clearly embarrassed at his outburst. He cleared his throat and tried again more calmly, "John, I… I want… I'd like to…" he let out and irritated sigh, annoyed at his inability to form a coherent sentence. "I usually…"

John looked up at him, "hey," he started, "just tell me, yeah? Whatever you want, it's fine."

Sherlock studied his lover's face, looking for any signs of dishonesty, not that he expected to find any, John was the most honest man he knew. If he said it was fine, then Sherlock tried to convince himself that it was. "Iwanttoseewhenyoupulloutofme," he said in one long breath.

"Sorry, I didn't catch that."

"I said," Sherlock took another deep breath, "I'd want to see it. When you pull out I mean."

No disgust was written on John's face, if anything, he looked aroused.

"Alright. Yeah. How...um… how do you want to do this?"

Sherlock thought for a moment. The mirror he usually used was across the flat in his room, and there was nothing nearby with a reflective surface. His brow furrowed in disappointment, he should have thought this through better.

"I got it," John interrupted the detective's thoughts. "Give me your phone."

Sherlock, still not quite understanding, leaned forward and produced his mobile from the pocket of his jacket that had been tossed carelessly on the floor.

John made quick work of finding the camera and tapped the screen to rotate the view.

"Do you want to hold it, or should I?" He asked Sherlock, and the detective swore he had never heard anything hotter.

"I'll do it. My angle is different from yours."

John simply nodded his head and handed the mobile back over to Sherlock.

The detective positioned the phone so he could see himself and slowly lifted off of John's now soft, but still impressively large prick.

The flood of come that came pouring out of him was not something he had thought about, and the sticky liquid had landed on both the screen and John's bladder. Sherlock watched as the hole between his cheeks gaped open and was taken by surprise when he felt the hands on either side of his bum, spreading his cheeks apart so he could get a better view.

"Do you like that?" John's voice had taken on a huskier sound and Sherlock simply nodded, not wanting to tear his eyes away from the mobile.

When the hole finally constricted, the ebony haired man scooped his shirt off of the floor and wiped off the screen before turning the mobile back off.

There was no awkward silence, no discussion about what had just occurred. The pair just was.

John was the one to finally break the quiet with a soft laugh.

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"You."

"Me?" Sherlock sounded hurt and John mentally kicked himself. He gave his flatmate a sound, reassuring kiss before he continued.

"Yes, you. You're so skinny," he laughed again. "I mean, I was terrified I was going to break you and here you are, just… Christ."

Sherlock joined him and finally spoke, "John, haven't you ever heard that size doesn't matter?"

"That's rubbish."

"Mmm. I couldn't agree more."