Chapter Text
It was after a particularly complex case, that my old friend Sherlock Holmes and I found ourselves seated before the fire in our rooms in 221B Baker Street. Night had fallen and we had eaten our supper. Now we were recapitulating the case over a glass of brandy and a pipe.
“And that, my dear Watson, is why you should always observe people carefully, and draw your conclusions from their behaviour.” Sherlock elaborated. He sat languidly in his chair, his long limbs escaping the confines of proper posture. He watched me from under half-closed eyelids, his lips pulled into a half smile. He reminded me of a hound stretched before the fire, tired and contented after a long hunt.
Then, out of nowhere, a mischievous sparkle alighted in his eyes and this most formidable man's attention, that had cost many a felon his nerve, now directed itself directly at me.
“I know, for example, that your leg is bothering you right now. It has been cramping for some hours, yet you have been too polite to bereave me of your delightful company or even to elevate the limb in question.”
I was astonished, for my astonishment at his astuteness and deductions had not waned in the long years of our acquaintance.
“How ever could you know that?” I exclaimed.
“Deductions, my good man. As I have been telling you for years now, it’s all observation and deduction.” Sherlock, upon speaking so, unfurled himself from the chair with that languid elegance that was his own. His smile was transforming into a smirk, those clear, bright eyes still focused on mine.
As he advanced towards me, I felt again reminded of a hound, but this was a hound on a scent.
He crossed before the fire, until he was standing before my own chair, gazing down on me. Then, to my upmost astonishment, he sank to his knees before me. Before I could splutteringly ask him what he was about, he drew my aching leg – for he was right, my leg had not agreed with the chase and the damp this day had brought – upon his thigh and gently began to rub my old injury.
“My dear Holmes, while I am thankful, this is not necessary.” I exclaimed, though sounding not at all upset.
“Ah, but you enjoy it, don’t you, my dear Watson, you enjoy it. Your pulse is ever so slightly elevated, and you pupils widened. The muscles in your leg are relaxing. Deductions, my dear man, deductions.” He smiled devilishly up to me. “And you know me, dear fellow, I don’t do things that are not my will. Just relax yourself under my administrations. There’s a good lad.”
In wonder I stared down at this man, this myth, content to sit on his knees to soothe my old injury and a deep love to my dear friend welled in my breast.
“I thank you, old friend, I really do!” I cried. “You truly are a noble man.”
He smiled and continued to rub my sore flesh. I subconsciously started to relax into his administrations only to be shocked out of my stupor, when his hands were slowly moving upwards my leg, towards that place, where – to my greatest shame – guilty arousal was stirring. Luckily nothing could as of yet be seen, but…
“I thank you, old chap”, I hurriedly said. “But this should be well enough.” I tried to push him off my person, but he was immovable.
“Because you are appreciating my touch? My dear doctor, I have noticed. Why don’t we try and improve your skills in deduction?” He said languidly.
“Now?” I cried. Here I was getting… I couldn’t even bear to think about it and he wanted to talk about deductions? Worse, lecture me on them.
“Never a better moment, my dear Watson. Now what can you observe about me? How is my body language? How do I look here, by your feet, where are my hands? And what conclusion can you draw from this?” He still held that smile on his face, that devil. Knowing that he would not budge until he had gotten his want, I looked down on him, my brows drawn in concentration as I tried to answer his inquest.
“You seem, relaxed, almost, dare I say, content?” I said tentatively.
“Indeed, Watson, indeed. Now where are my hands?” As if to drive his point home, his hands started moving again, no longer rubbing at my old wound, but rather gliding up and down my leg, lingering on my calf and lightly treading upwards to my groin where I could feel my animalistic side straining to conquer reason.
“They are”, my voice was strained, almost unrecognisable. I had to clear my throat. “They appear to be caressing my leg.”
“Well done, Watson. Anything else you notice?” He moved, repositioning my foot in his lap, and God above, what was that under my foot? He smiled still, teasingly. Satan himself could not have looked more tempting, and no angel ever smiled prettier. His light eyes gleamed as they usually did on a case when the hunt was drawing to a close. I felt stalked, a rabbit before the hound.
“You…” My voice broke as it had not done in all the years since I grew into my manhood. “You appear to be enjoying your position?”
He laughed. Threw his head back and laughed. Then he looked upon me with tenderness in those sharp eyes.
“Indeed, I do appreciate the position, as do you, my dear John. Don’t you?” His hand wandered up to teasingly cup me through my trousers and breeches. I had to bite my lip to hold back a moan, my erection now straining towards fullness and the warmth of his hand pressed to my manhood.
“Oh, I dare say you do very much. Your pulse is racing, and your little friend is quite awake.” He teased his finger alongside my length, circling the crown.
When he looked up at me this time, his eyes were burning, yet it was the comforting burn of a hearth and not a raging inferno, tenderness tempering him. “You would stop me, should I overstep, won’t you, John?” He queried.
No sound could pass my lips, but, almost against my will, I nodded. I would surely burn in hell for this, but it might be worth it if the fire felt so.
His smile returned, more honest than I had ever seen it. He strained upward, towards my face, his hands gently cupping it, his lips finding mine. No fire in hell could ever burn me as his lips did. He was tender, a mere touch, but I grew greedy soon, opening my mouth to taste him. With a groan, he opened himself to me, his tongue touching mine. He tasted of the brandy and his pipe, the taste a thousand times better from his lips. I dimly became aware that his hands were roaming, one tangling in my hair, then tracing my ear, the nape of my neck tenderly. When his fingers found my cravat, they deftly opened the knot, opening my shirt to expose me to the firelight and his eyes.
I remembered that I indeed also had fingers of my own and – as I must have always wanted – buried my hand in the mess of dark curls upon his head, stroking and lightly tugging. He moaned against my lips. Then his mouth left mine to follow the path of his hands over my neck, where they lingered for a time, down my chest evermore bared by his fingers deftly opening my buttons until they reached my trousers. His fingers then played again teasingly over the pronounced bulge there, playing me as though I were his violin and he the virtuoso that he was by nature.
Then he undid the lacing on my trousers and breeches and reached in to gently tug my manhood from its fabric prison. It lay heavy in his hand and his eyes roamed over it appreciatively. Looking up at me, I suddenly feared I was about to be devoured by an animal, so strong was the passion in his eyes. The gentle fire was replaced by a storm coursing through his eyes. Holding my gaze, he provocatively slowly moved his hand up and down my heavy erection, his second moving down and gently cupping my testicles, massaging and rolling them.
I am for all intends and purposes a healthy man and as a medical professional well aware of the needs and quirks of the human body. I satisfy myself when the need arises, but never have I felt such a pleasure as I did now at the hands of my dearest friend. I shuddered and couldn’t suppress the moan that bubbled up in my chest any longer. Sherlock licked his lips lewdly.
“By all means, my dearest Watson, continue those noises. They are most riveting.”
I groaned. Only he would hold his wits with another man’s manhood and balls in his hands. He must have seen my exasperation at his character, for he chuckled lightly. I could feel every exhale on my sensitive organ. Then he lowered his head and scorching attained a new meaning to me, as his lips gently came to rest on the head of my erection as if to kiss it. He lingered only a moment there, gazing up at me through his long, dark lashes, before opening his mouth and letting his tongue play over the slit. He must have approved of the taste of my sperm, for he opened his mouth further, taking in my aching manhood until I fancied feeling his throat convulsing against my very tip. He sucked at me, as though he wanted to have a taste at my very essence, my soul. Then he moved up again, only to take me again. I could barely keep my senses in the hot grasp of his mouth, one of his hands still massaging my balls while the other stroked the juncture between my thigh and groin.
One of my hands, until now curled into the arm of my chair, gently came to rest on his head only to spasm into it at his next downwards glide. I must have tugged at his roots and wanted to apologise, but his moan at the tug told me the feeling must have been appreciated. With the next downwards glide, Sherlock hummed around my erection while squeezing my balls gently. Together with the visual of this great man so brought to his knees before me, giving me this much attention, his silky hair underneath my hand, I couldn’t hold onto my restraint any longer and spilled into his hot mouth, feeling him swallow around me, drinking in my essence.
After my body had expelled the last of my seed, I fell back into the armchair gasping for breath. Holmes released my manhood and looked at me from underneath hooded eyes. Without a word I reached down to cup his face and draw it towards my own, gently kissing his lips. Tasting myself on them was a thrill unlike any I have ever witnessed in all my years as his companion.
We stayed like this for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms and sunken into each other’s mouths, until a movement of something hard reminded me of my darling Holmes’ need. I gently moved my leg to further press against that hardness and he moaned, making a short, aborted movement not unlike an unruly dog rutting against his master’s leg.
I detached my lips from his. “Let me take care of your need as well, my dear”, I said, my voice unfamiliar even to me, low and scratchy as if just awoken. At the sound, Sherlock moaned and pressed his manhood even harder against my leg, his eyes firmly squeezing shut.
“You don’t need to.” His voice was deeper as well and strained as if in severe pain. “Just let me rut against you a while longer if you can bear it. That will be enough for me.” His cheeks were tinged red and he indeed seemed to hold onto that famed self-restraint by only a fraction.
“But I want, my dearest Sherlock, I want. Come up and let me taste you as well.” I gently encouraged him, attempting to pull him off his knees into a standing position. He buried his face into my neck and whined. I felt him swallow hard and then heard his voice near my ear, though I am unsure if he meant to be heard. “This must be a dream, I’ve fallen asleep before the fire, oh my John, my dear John…”
Again, I attempted to pull him up and this time he bent to my will, standing unsteadily before me, his trousers tented right in front of my face. He had to grab upon the backrest of my chair to keep himself upright, desperately gazing down at me, unbelieving.
I unlaced his trousers as he had mine and pulled out his long erection, gently cradling it in my palm. He whimpered, his head falling back and hips twitching towards me. All too eagerly I took this as an invitation to lean forward and wrap my lips around his head. I felt a shock travel through his body and a moan was torn from his lips. “John!”
I couldn’t help but smile as I saw him so wrecked, that man that had been nothing but collected since the first time we met. Now he was looking down at me, his hair dishevelled, his lips swollen and his cheeks red. In his glazed eyes, desperation and affection burned. He seemed astonished, as if he hadn’t known this situation would unfold, a look I have barely ever seen on my companion of so many adventures.
His right hand left the backrest to cradle my neck in his palm, his hips twitched forward again. “May I…” He asked in a voice quite unlike his usual bored tones. As an answer I pushed my mouth further towards him. He began to lightly move his hips forwards and backwards, keeping my head steady with one hand and himself upright with the other. Soon, his rhythm became faster and his thrusts deeper. My hands had rested upon his sharply defined hip bones, but after a time I dared to move one hand to his satin smooth balls and gently massage him as he did me.
With a groan he spilled into my mouth, but unlike him I didn’t have the mastery to swallow his essence down gracefully, some spilling over my lips and down my chin. Sherlock rode out his orgasm and then collapsed onto my lap breathing hard. I tentatively closed my arms around him again, unsure of what was permitted now that the passion had waned.
He sighed contentedly as he felt my arms around him and melted further into my body, contorting himself due to his larger frame as he lay his head on my shoulder. I felt something wet, a bead of sweat perhaps, slide against my neck. He pressed a gentle kiss there before sitting up straighter and looking me in the eye.
It must have been the first time, that I truly saw him nervous, this great consulting detective, as he sat rumpled on my lap, his eyes for once frightened and almost innocent. I didn’t want to let him go, to always cradle him close, this greatest of all men, who trusted me enough to show a vulnerable side. He must have glimpsed my adoration in my eyes, for his anxiety seemed to lessen and he leaned forward to gently kiss my lips before licking away his spent that had remained on my face. Then he kissed my forehead tenderly and extracted himself from my lap.
Confused and somewhat mourning the loss of his warmth I remained seated there on my chair facing the fire, with the remnants of spent still on my face, my chemise unbuttoned and my trousers open.
Sherlock returned with a washcloth, looking himself quite put together. As he saw me sitting thusly on the chair, a dog awaiting its master, he smiled tenderly and once more knelt before me. With the warm cloth he gently rubbed my face clean and then put me back to order. Once finished he tentatively looked up to me. I felt that he wanted to say something but could not quite find the words, so I cupped his face once more, unsure if I ever again would have the chance, and kissed him tenderly as the ambience demanded. He relaxed into my hands. When we separated, he swallowed, and I saw a tear gleam in his eye.
“I wanted to do this for so long, my dear Watson, you will have to forgive me for being so sentimental. I beg of you not to think too badly of me, for what I have incited you to do. I understand if you never want me to approach you in such a way again, but please don’t let this be the reason to abandon our friendship or move out of our rooms. I shall only be the courteous friend if you will it be, nothing needs to change.” He spoke earnestly, his lips trembling, and I could see under what pressure he thought himself to be.
“Leave you?”, I cried. “I would never, my dear. I must confess, I never thought of such a relation between us.” I saw his face brighten, then darken again. He looked down on his knees, still prostrate like a sinner before me. His jaws clenched together as if I had just shot him. I gently took him by the chin so that he would look into my eyes. “But alas, I would like to continue this, whatever it is, in the future. I don’t want things to go back to exactly how they were. I still want to be your friend, but I also want to continue whatever this is.”
An exuberance took over his face that I have never seen there and that made him look almost ethereal in its luminance. He sprang to his feet and tugged me up as well, sweeping me into a tight hug.
“You cannot know how happy you have made me!” He took my hand and gently kissed it. In his eyes I saw all the things yet unsaid but felt. In mine he must have glimpsed the same, for with another exuberant laugh he swept me up into his arms and carried me out of the sitting room towards his bedchamber. With a glance he made sure that I was alright with the direction he took us in, and then, after closing his door, he laid first myself and then his own body to rest on his bed, gently pulling me towards him so that we were entangled.
“Oh, what a dream it is to fall asleep with you here, my darling Watson.” He murmured into my ear. “Sleep well, my dear Holmes.” I answered him.
And with a smile on his face, the world’s only consulting detective fell asleep.