The Game is On

Are you thinking? That's incredibly annoying. Name: Sherlock Holmes Occupation: Consultant Residence: 221B Skills: Limitless Weakness Flatmate: John Watson

[geminastyy]

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F2F || Johnlock

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My god, Sherlock.

[carries them to the bed, plopping down on top of Sherlock, hands rubbing at his exposed thighs] What you do to me…

[elementary-holmes]

[Stares at crotch with dark eyes.] Mm yes, I see exactly what I do to you.

Let me see it more clearly? [The heel of his foot runs along John's arse.]

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F2F || Johnlock

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[shy smile]

It would be more than rude if I didn’t, and I’m all about manners.

[elementary-holmes]

Oh really? Because nothing about what I'd like right now is particularly polite.

[He wraps his legs around John's waist.]

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F2F || Johnlock

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…

[John strides over to Sherlock, kissing him with a firmness that matches the pressure he’s putting on their groins as well.]

[elementary-holmes]

Hmm...

[Sherlock smirks against his lips] Going to unwrap this gift too then?

[pucksays]

F2F || Johnlock

…Sherlock?

[elementary-holmes]

[Sherlock appears in the doorway, clad only in John's favorite jumper.] Happy Christmas, John. 

[pucksays]

On the House || Johnlock

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John swallowed thickly, eyes widening with surprise and slight innocence. Had Sherlock really noticed all of those things that he was sure he had kept well-hidden? Sherlock wasn’t a moron in any sense of the word, but he certainly made the doctor feel like one. “I— if you know, then what is there really to talk about?” He disappointed himself at the very feminine squeak that cracked his voice mid-sentence, but his eyes stayed wide, curious. Even now, his body hummed at the excitement that Sherlock may actually touch him, smile at him, look at him. It was unnerving. “They…they can be brought up at a later event if you’d like.”

The doctor blinked, heart stuttering at the sound of his name on Sherlock’s lips, a flashback of their previous encounters edging toward the tip of his tongue. He loved the way the syllables sounded in that harsh baritone of his. Large hands caressed his skin, and he had no choice but to lie still and bear it, listening carefully to the younger man and his rare words, compliments, not insults. The doctor shivered at those words being directed into his sensitive ears, the ministrations those skilled hands brought to his skin sent gooseflesh down his spine, tingling across his skin. “I—…” the words were lost on his lips, and the heated skin of his cheeks did not seem to be dying down within the moment, so he grinned and bore it.

"Will you be alright?" He asked carefully, fingers squeezing around Sherlock’s, dividing his attention to the detective’s responses and elegant fingers. How did he ever survive without this intimacy? It seemed so…natural between them, their connection almost unbearably strong. "Sherlock," the whisper died out on his lips, a breathless gasp breaking the well-formed syllables again. Sherlock seemed to have a bad habit at breaking his sentences, making them mindless fragments once more.

[elementary-holmes]

Sherlock smiled. "I would like that," he confirmed readily as he pressed a reassuring kiss to the man's lips. "I think talking about us would ensure no more prolonged periods of time without each other. Especially if we want one another." It was perfect logic, and perhaps too simple to work for them but Sherlock liked having his answers one way or another. And less than secretly, he was growing to enjoy leaving John so flustered and shocked and disbelieving.

Sherlock found that he really liked all of those things very much. He liked keeping the doctor on his toes, not just with dangerous cases but with the way he spoke to him. He liked making him blush, liked running his fingers against the man's pulse to feel how certain words made his heart beat faster. John was an enigma that Sherlock never got tired of trying to piece him together like a puzzle. He also didn't mind if John Watson wasn't a man he could entirely solve, so long as he was someone that he could entirely have.

"I will be quite all right," he murmured as he looked back up at the man, lazy smile on his face. Then there was that, the way that John sometimes lost his ability to speak all together. He nipped at the man's chin before locking eyes once more. "John?" The pads of his fingers traced against the column of the man's neck once more.

[imoriarty-you]

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On the House || Johnlock

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John’s eyes widened at Sherlock’s innocent words, a blush heating his slightly tanned cheeks. “W-well, when you put it that way, of course it’s kind of embarrassing, Sherlock,” a shy cough was let out and John met the detective’s eyes, keeping them held for a long moment before looking away again, almost sheepishly, replying, “In short terms, y-yes, I’d like to…talk about it in the future.” The taller man had been thinking of him in those ways? The non-sexual Sherlock Holmes had been thinking of his mouth on John Watson’s most private parts, and in return, his own mouth on Sherlock’s? A tightening in his belly made him remember where he was and who he was with, a shy smile on his cheeks.

"I’ve certainly a bit more weight than you, not nearly as in shape as I used to be. Even therapy can’t make the muscle magically appear again." A grunt brought back the memories of how well-trained he had been before Afghanistan, the memory almost shallow as the last year and a half of his life flashed before his eyes. "I…thanks nonetheless, you know." He coughed again, blush staining his face and chest, stronger this time, "I…I like your cheekbones," and your voice, and your arse, his mind supplied him with as an afterthought. 

John listened with gentle thoughts, fingers stroking the soft flesh under his fingers, throat suddenly tight. Sherlock didn’t sleep without him? Didn’t even want to try? That tightening in his stomach deepened further, knots curling in on themselves. “Then…I suppose I must stay if you are to recover properly, yes?” Matching Sherlock’s eyes, his own mischievousness bogged down by the thrilling intimacy that shuddered down his spine again. Sherlock was distracting to say the least, so John picked up the long fingers on his sensitive neck and held them in his own, tongue darting out to lick his lips. The temptation was there, but Sherlock was hurt, and they were in public, and so many other factors came into play, so he pushed down the feeling, eyes narrowed.

What was Sherlock playing at?

[elementary-holmes]

"And the lingering gazes? The way your skin twitches when I brush against you? The way I can sense you're speaking even when you aren't saying anything?" Sherlock let his fingers brush against John's cheek. "Are those to be brought up at a later time as well?" Sherlock was anything but daft. He saw the way John looked at him, felt the way the man's body responded to even the slightest touch. There was something there, between the two of them. And Sherlock felt the best way to determine what he was thinking was to pick at John's brain when they were both ready.

"John," Sherlock interrupted softly. Nimble fingers moved underneath the hem of the man's signature thick sweater. "John, John, John." Sherlock shook his head with a reserved smile as he let his hands massage the skin of the doctor's softened stomach. "I like this weight." He whispered into the man's ear as he continued to knead and touch. "I think about it. How when I press against you, you can press a bit more firmly. How solid you feel. How...safe you feel." He pressed his lips to the man's jaw, something warm unspoken but still in his eyes. "And my cheekbones like resting against your chest." He pulled away again then, knowing that any more touching and John wouldn't be able to properly focus on his words.

He smiled. "Yes, very good. Simple, is it not?" He purred, nuzzling into the crook of John's neck. "You must stay." Sherlock pressed against John as tightly as he could to keep the man molded to him. For a moment he felt like they were actually carrying two conversations at once, but he was all right with that. He squeezed at the doctor's fingers, kissing at the skin that his mouth was pressed against. 

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On the House || Johnlock

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John began to protest, mumbling a quiet (and grumpy) huff, “Actually you were the one to initiate any kind of intimacy between us, y’know.” The doctor thought that perhaps he could see why Sherlock would think that kind of thing from him, but it hurt him in a soft way, deep down inside. “Well, I thought that maybe this would be a double-sided connection, Sherlock. Where we talk about things?” He scoffed to himself, a mental eyeroll making it’s presence. He and Sherlock actually talk? That was too much to ask for. Wrapping his arms around the thin frame, he shook his head, “I apologized for that already. Maybe if you didn’t get shot, there’d be no quips against you.” Sherlock had a knack for pushing his buttons, didn’t he?

The kiss was more than pleasant and John found himself smiling at the inquiry, eyes softer than normal, coloring lightly, “You’ve seen my own scars, have you? And I’m obviously old in comparison, so if you enjoy touching me, of course I’ll enjoy touching you.” He almost found it odd that those kinds of things slipped so easily, but the doctor wrote it off as something that was only brought on by Sherlock. The older man had already toed his shoes off, his own digits wriggling against a soft calf, warming underneath the smooth skin there.

"Hadn’t thought about it," he replied, frowning against the detective’s cheekbone. In his hurried motions of leaving the flat (after a change of clothes of course, couldn’t wear the same jumper) he hadn’t really figured a plan of where he would take his rest for the night, "Maybe I’ll be unnoticeable enough that no one will bother me till visiting hours start up again." He ran his free hand through his short locks, clearly a nervous habit, "You think Mycroft could do it?"

[elementary-holmes]

"You want us to talk about these things?" Sherlock looked genuinely surprised at the thought. "So I should just tell you when I want to feel your mouth on my cock again? Or that I've been thinking of putting my mouth on yours? Like that then?" He spoke of the sexual acts incredibly nonchalantly as he continued to innocently trace his hands along John's sides. "You always turned so red when I spoke in bed, so I figured it was best to just wait until you were interested in more." It had seemed like a simple enough conclusion to the consulting detective.

"What does age have to do with any of it?" Sherlock asked with disbelieving eyes. "You're still fertile. Attractive. Strong. Reliable. And...I like your shoulders." He rubbed at a tired eye, leaning closer still to John. Now that the excitement of the evening was over, the stress on his body was leaving him rather exhausted even though he had already slept for quite a while. 

He considered what John told him, resting his face against the calloused hand. "I have a disorder, you know. With the sleeping thing and all that." His eyes gleamed with something mischievous. "Any doctor would tell me I must have the right amount of sleep if I am to recover, right? Well--" He ran a long finger against the column of John's neck. "I don't sleep without you. Nor do I really like to try without you."

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On the House || Johnlock

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John snorted, a soft smile on his lips, “You know I can’t make him do much, but I suppose I’ll try.” John knew of Sherlock’s hesitancy to ask for Mycroft’s help, and he figured that it was well served, knowing that Mycroft would most likely use it against the younger man if the opportunity arose. And it would arise. The doctor’s eyes narrowed, pinching the detective’s shoulder lightly, pouting, “It’s not up to me, you know. You’ve gotta convince the doctors that you’re healthy.” The blonde knew full-well that Sherlock was the opposite in healthy weight, but despite his efforts, it was still near-impossible to get Sherlock to eat anything, even when force-fed by his own small hands.

Shaking off the ends of their conversation, the ex-army doctor frowned against Sherlock’s lips, eyes narrowed and eyebrows cocked at him, “You were waiting for me? Sherlock, I’d thought perhaps it was a one-time thing. Who knows what goes on in that big brain of yours?” Huffing, he kissed the taller man back, tilting his chin for a better angle, cursing his height once more for the inconvenience. He gasped quietly, smaller hands sliding up around the man’s neck, tangling into darkened curls, body carefully pressing into the wandering hands on his sensitive hips.

"Very romantic," he commented playfully, smirk sliding into place once more. With a snort, he figured that those kinds of words were as close to compliments that you could get from the closed-off man, happy to have at least earned those. "I’m happy to be the one you woke up to as well. It was nearly a tag-team of Lestrade versus Mycroft, each ready to tell you off." Another well-placed kiss gave his own reply to Sherlock, nibbling softly on his bottom lip, and he pulled away to watch it swell beneath him. "Good look on you, you know? Besides that," he eyed the wound carefully. Even though he couldn’t see it, he could nearly imagine the horrid bruises and wound underneath the hospital gown.

[elementary-holmes]

"You basically initiated our first round with that whole monologue of being lonely and horny and wanting to feel connected," Sherlock scoffed, though there was no real aggression in his tone. "I had determined that you would come to me when you needed to feel that way again." Of course that logic left out what Sherlock should do when he was the one who needed to be connected to someone else, but that detail wasn't of particular importance to him. "Suppose I should've gotten shot sooner," the detective deduced with a yawn as he leaned against the man.

"I'm sure you'll be happy to hear that you took care of their job for the both of them." He was still a little sore about his previous scolding, having not actually made it an intention to get shot. The small pout was relieved as soon as the doctor moved against his mouth again. He enjoyed the kiss thoroughly, letting out a pleasured whimper as the other man dug his teeth into a tender lip. "I trust you'll still enjoy touching me even if it scars," Sherlock commented off-handedly as he tangled their legs together. 

The consulting detective wound his fingers in John's sweater. "Where will you go tonight?" Sherlock asked quietly, realizing that the only reason the man was probably allowed in his room so late past visiting hours was because of Mycroft's ties to just about everything. "Are you...to return to the flat?"

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On the House || Johnlock

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John tensed for a moment at Sherlock’s lips on his own, but easily melted into the soft skin on his own. Both of their lips were slightly chapped, but the doctor couldn’t find himself to care at the moment because brutal teeth were biting against his tongue and lips and he simply couldn’t think. How Sherlock managed to keep on even through such sensitivity was beyond him and clearly more suited for the detective’s genius. Sooner than later, that tongue began soothing the harsh bites and John let out a soft groan, a small smile on his swollen lips. “I don’t even think nice Chinese seems to exist, to be honest with you.” John smiled, eyes catching Sherlock’s, and he was more than happy to see that some of the color had returned to the shallow cheek bones once more.

John hummed at the question, licking his bottom lip, still tasting Sherlock on the sensitive skin, “A few nights at the least, you know.” He gave him a pointed stare, a fake frown on his lips, “If you let me take better care of your poor eating habits, we wouldn’t have such a problem. They say you’re more than unhealthily underweight, y’know.” He pulled at the cuffs of his jumper, eyes a bit serious, but mostly filled with mirth. “Maybe if you don’t rustle about so much, they’ll free you a bit sooner.”

The doctor found he could not help himself as he leaned in again, capturing the younger man’s lips with his own. John had never been one for public displays of affection, but with Sherlock, things were never the norm, and perhaps, that was exactly what John needed. Someone like Sherlock. With a mental snort, he scolded himself, remembering distinctly that those exact words had been spoken to him by Mycroft, telling the doctor that Sherlock needed someone like him to ‘keep him in line’ as he put it.

[elementary-holmes]

Sherlock hummed. "If you can make Mycroft get me out of here sooner, I will find you nice Chinese," he promised with a solemn face. He never liked being confined to one space for a particularly long period of time. It made him anxious, full of pent up energy. But the only thing Sherlock liked less was specifically asking his older brother for help and so he tried to see if he could get the doctor to do so for him. 

At the comment about his weight, Sherlock rolled his eyed. "As I recall, you seemed to enjoy my body just as it is." He smirked as he remembered the way John had touched him with such a reverence when they fell into bed together. Just as the consulting detective was about to add another comment about semen being plenty of a meal for him, warm lips were once again pressing against his own. "Hm..." He played with the hair at the back of John's neck as they kissed once more. "I like this. I was wondering when you would make an advance, I was growing impatient."

Sherlock traced the man's hip with a large hand, massaging the skin over his trousers as he broke the kiss for air. "I'm glad that you were who I woke up to," he admitted quietly as he pressed another kiss to the man's jaw. "And I like having you in bed. Even if this particular one is itchy and has most probably had people vomit, defecate, and die on it."

[thefaninside]

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On the House || Johnlock

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John’s entire body hummed in response to such a gentle side of Sherlock, fingertips going numb, throat becoming dry and scratchy. He could have lost this Sherlock completely, forever, never coming back to his doctor. The thought could have been enough to kill the teary doctor right then and there, on that hospital bed. “Please don’t scare me like that again.” His voice sounded so vulnerable, so different from his usual one that he almost didn’t recognize it. Surely Sherlock was looking at him with some kind of pity because, John was a grown man, an ex-army doctor, someone who survived Afghanistan, and he was crying over something so trivial.

The detective’s strong chest seemed to be his go-to place, especially in times of emotional turmoil (which John was absolutely sure he almost never had before he met his damn flatmate) so his fingers deftly fell on the gown-covered muscle, massaging softly. John shook his head, and a weary smile crept onto his cheeks as he began to giggle softly, echoing past the soft beeps of the heart-monitor on the opposite side of Sherlock. How crazy was it that the two of them would be put into such a foolish situation? Only Sherlock Holmes could make such an occurrence seem like an every day thing for them. It really was such a wonder that Mrs Hudson didn’t keep them locked up in 221B, safe and far away from harm.

The giggles did not stop there until they turned into full-blown laughs, shaking slightly against Sherlock’s form, tears strolled down his eyes for a different reason now. After a few moments, he calmed and wiped the messy tears from his face, eyebrows quirking at the detective once more, “When we’re out of here, you owe me a night in with the telly and nice Chinese. You realize?”

[elementary-holmes]

Sherlock knew it was impossible to promise his doctor that he could avoid a situation like this again. Sure, not getting shot again would be nice, but his work involved danger. And he knew full well that John liked that danger as much as the consulting detective did himself. Still, seeing the flashes of emotions dart past the other man's face was enough for Sherlock to just nod before whispering a quiet, "Okay." He closed his eyes then as he felt warm hands against his chest. The gown he was forced to wear was itchy but Sherlock still welcomed the touch if it meant having more of John.

Steel-blue eyes opened again when he heard the giggle. He watched as the doctor all but dissolved in a fit of them, raising a curious eyebrow at the entire display. He planned on commenting further or something, calling John out for being mad. But the whole ordeal was rather mad, wasn't it? Two grown men in a hospital bed, one crying and asking for impossible promises, while the other could only keep one specific thing on his mind. He let that specific thing guide him as rather than answering John flat out, Sherlock grabbed at his hair and turned his face up to kiss him hard. A free hand wiped away the hysterical tears from his doctor's face as their mouths moved together. The consulting detective sighed happily, resting against the man as he traced his tongue against a lip.

"Nice Chinese? Sounds like quite the date," he mused as he pulled away again, eyes dark and happy as he watched John's bottom lip swell where he had bitten it. Something dropped in his stomach a bit. "...How long do I have to stay in the hospital?" he murmured, having just remembered from a slight pain in his side that the flat most likely was not in sights for him for the evening. 

[lady-darklaws]

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On the House || Johnlock

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John had frozen, his entire body stiffening at the words. Of course Sherlock hadn’t seen him cry. He hadn’t cried in so long. Before Sherlock. Before Afghanistan. It was a distant memory, really. But, if he were honest with himself, it wasn’t something that he could really hide from his flatmate. He wanted to catalog John. He wanted to know what John knew, so that he could really know everything. "No, I don’t suppose you have." Immediately, he felt the tears began to tumble over again, Sherlock’s long fingers gently soothing the aged skin.

And the kiss. The kiss brought them falling down harder, John’s hand shaking, lips and tongue saying idiotic sentences that he was sure that if he said aloud, Sherlock would mock him for. The doctor gasped, pulling away with Sherlock, eyes wide and almost relieved. This connection had begun to prove itself a good thing, rather than a bad. Amazing how one small instance could change a perspective. “Sherlock?” He whispered quietly, his voice gruff and deeper than usual.

[elementary-holmes]

Long fingers swiped at the fat tears that rolled down John's cheeks. In some twisted way, Sherlock found that he liked the way his doctor looked when he cried. He seemed so expressive then, so unlike the Brit that this more reserved society expected him to be. The consulting detective had always craved things that were different from all the rest. More interesting. More exciting. He kissed at a wet cheek, letting the saline dampen his lips as his breath rolled off as warm puffs against John's skin. 

"Yes?" He whispered, the syllable brushing John with a feathery lightness as he drew back once more to continue looking at the man. It was the first time those broad shoulders didn't seem like quite enough to keep John from looking small. Perhaps this was just a different John he was looking at. Sherlock had never really deduced that there could be other parts of John, thought he had done well to figure them all out. This one, however, this one was something extraordinary. Something vulnerable. To avoid sentimentality, Sherlock stopped himself from calling John beautiful in that moment.

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On the House || Johnlock

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John shook when Sherlock muttered such simple words, reflecting on something that they had pushed past only a few days ago. On that note, he thought, it was probably more confusing and idiotic to kiss Sherlock in such a public place where practically anyone could have walked in and seen them (well anyone if Mycroft had not specifically kept people out) practically sucking tonsils. Shaking his head, he helped Sherlock lay down on the uncomfortable hospital bed. Afterwards, he carefully laid himself on the opposite side of the detective, eyes darting up to meet grey-blue. “No, I haven’t shot you,” he smiled sadly, “not this time anyway.” He gave him a sarcastic snort, moving a hand to caress the mop of curls again. He doubted that he’d ever tire of touching those soft strands of hair, threading them through his fingers. A pang of fear ran through him that he was having these kinds of thoughts daily, about another man no less, and that man was Sherlock bloody Holmes, but he pushed it back to just smile calmly at the man beside him.

The bed was small, so it had been a close fit, but they made it work, careful to rearrange as not to hurt his flatmate. The tears were still there, but he had been sure that he was doing a good job of holding them back. The ex-army doctor never cried, but lately, he’d been an emotional mess around this man. This emotional, infuriating, genius that managed to keep interested in their partnership long enough to send John careening into an oblivion he had been so sure he’d never have to tumble over like he had been doing the past few days. He knew that all of this mess started with going into those woods with pneumonia, he told himself many times to listen to his heart in the future, and that the damn organ would never steer him wrong. But he had not expected the same one to send him straight into the hospital bed of the world’s only consulting detective: Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock Holmes. The name ran so smoothly off of his tongue that it tasted like velvet, and he was sure that any other name would feel like sandpaper.

"I know you are, Sherlock."

He ran his hand down the younger man’s cheek, down his neck, and to his heart. The sentimental goo that he had done most of his life without (beside the ever failing romantic relationship that he had ever tried to bring to the table with most of the women he’d dated) had begun dripping from his mind to his heart and it sent him sighing and smiling at such a fool hearted man before him. It was odd to think that Sherlock had never been pursued like this. Those stupid lips, and nice cheekbones, and surprisingly large heart for someone who declared often that he didn’t have one, were oddly addicting to one John Watson. “Thank you.”

[elementary-holmes]

Sherlock closed his eyes as he felt the thick fingers card through his hair again. He had been keeping tabs since that first night, evaluating and considering how John's need for a connection did require some sense of the physical; that physical just did not have to be at all sexual. John liked caresses for lack of a better word. He could feel the man's breathing relax whenever he was allowed to scratch at Sherlock's scalp or trace a cheekbone with a finger. John was a man that needed contact. It was like the touch was his own form of some type of evidence. Evidence to what, was something the consulting detective still wasn't sure of. 

He opened his eyes when he felt that same warm touch move over his chest. "John?" A question laced his baritone now, the detective trying to move away from the thinking and towards the feeling that seemed to bring John to such ease. "I don't think I've ever seen you cry," he mused, nearly silent as he again traces the bags underneath the man's eyes, the fine lines formed at the corners from age and fatigue. He wasn't sure what to say after that, feeling somewhat like he had already added something worse rather than better to the situation. He tried again.

He tried without words. Tried speaking, tried feeling, tried showing. Sherlock kept his hand on John's face as he moved in, gently brushing their lips together. He moved slowly, purposefully. The consulting detective knew that John needed something right now, and sincerely hoped that he somehow had the capacity in this connection to give it to him. Only when he felt his lungs ache did he pull away, still staring intently.

[waitingcantlastforever]