Fic: The Curious Case of the Red Pants

[anarion]

Title: The Curious Case of the Red Pants
Words: 2041
Rating: R
Pairings : Sherlock/John
Warnings: none
Beta: chocolamousse
Disclaimer: Not mine.

Summary: My take on how the boys got the red pants. For Reapersun and Red Pants Monday.



It was the first Christmas after they moved into Baker Street together. John wasn’t really sure what to expect, he didn’t think Sherlock was someone who enjoyed getting presents - or giving them. He bought him a little something for his experiments nonetheless and a new scarf for Mrs Hudson, because he was sure that she a) wanted to have tea with them on Christmas and b) would have presents for both of them. What he didn’t see coming was Mycroft's visit though.

He arrived around three (Sherlock barked, “What do you want, Mycroft?” before he even opened the door) with a little sweet-smelling purple present for Mrs Hudson and a little black box that he gave to Sherlock. Then he turned to John.

“Since you are a man of few possessions with no need for clutter and who wouldn’t have accepted something from me anyway, I did not bother to get you something.”

John was grateful for that. Sherlock’s face seemed to suggest that he would have appreciated a similar approach himself, because the look of sheer disdain he gave the black box on the table spoke volumes. The two brothers locked gazes and an entire conversation was had without words, that ended with Sherlock grabbing his present and storming off into his room and Mycroft letting himself out. Mrs Hudson made a little huffing sound that conveyed exhaustion and fondness at the same time and went to make tea. John was left staring at Sherlock’s door, wondering what the hell had just happened.

Then again, he was so used to the two brothers always squabbeling with each other and most of Mycroft’s visits ended like this, though Sherlock storming off to his room probably meant there was something nasty in the black box. John decided he didn’t need to know right now.

Sherlock emerged 30 minutes later, they had tea with Mrs Hudson and the rest of the day passed by surprisingly peacefully.

John forgot about the black box until Mycroft dropped by a few weeks later and asked Sherlock how his present had worked out so far. Sherlock slammed his hand on the kitchen table, snarled his brother’s name and then sidetracked them all by causing a minor explosion. In the following chaos John decided to find out what the fuss with the present was all about as soon as possible.

An opportunity presented itself the next day when Sherlock was called to Barts. John used having to update his blog as an excuse and waited half an hour after Sherlock had left before carefully entering the other man’s room.

As always, it was surprisingly tidy, though it smelled faintly of chemicals. It took John roughly 15 minutes before he found the black box at the bottom of one of Sherlock’s drawers. It was light and now he could see that it was one of those boxes you get when you buy expensive underwear. What the hell?

He pulled the lid and the tissue paper off to reveal a pair of pants. Red pants. With white seams. What?

A small card fell to the floor and in Mycroft’s neat handwriting John read ‘For all our sakes’. What???

John didn’t know what led him to do it, but when he had put the box away and was leaving the room, the red pants were in his hands.

***

He also didn’t know what led him to do it when a few days later, after another exhausting argument before breakfast about unsanitary things in the fridge, he found himself getting dressed and putting on the red pants.

Sherlock, who apparently had never noticed that they were missing, of course couldn’t know that John wore his pants. For some reason that made him feel smug. The plan slightly backfired when John realised just how well the pants fit him and he started to think about Sherlock wearing them. He tried to dismiss all those thoughts that he never allowed himself to think, because Sherlock had made it clear that first evening that he wasn’t interested, but somehow wearing Sherlock’s pants made these thoughts refuse to go away.

John thought about the contrast between Sherlock’s pale skin and the red of the pants and felt himself get hard. He stroke one finger down his length and decided that if this was all he was going to get from Sherlock, he was going to take it before he died of sexual frustration.

Two weeks passed and whenever John felt particularly irritated by Sherlock he put on the red pants and revelled in the secret Sherlock knew nothing about.

Tuesday was one of those days. It started with Sherlock flooding the bathroom floor with some kind of yellow-brown slime and then disappearing into his room. John turned to wearing the red pants as a stress relief. He thought about all the experiments gone wrong in the last few months and it occurred to him that Sherlock was different since... actually since January more or less.

He was still deep in thought when Sherlock started yelling his name from downstairs.

John yanked the door open and shouted back, “What?”

“Mycroft has a case for us.”

“Mycroft? Since when do we take cases from Mycroft?”

“I need a distraction. And stop shouting, I’m standing right here.”

“Well, you weren’t a second ago. A distraction from what?”

“Never mind. Get your coat.”

“Never mind? This discussion is not over.”

John grabbed his jacket and followed Sherlock out of the flat.

Twenty minutes later they stepped into the lobby of an unremarkable building, where they were stopped by security. They were asked to remove coats, shoes, belts and to step through a body scanner. On the other side they were frisked by yet more security officers. The one who dealt with John suddenly lost his balance as he knelt down and grabbed John’s trousers for support. Unfortunately John had not put his belt on again yet and the trousers just went down with the man.

Sherlock spun around at the commotion and then stopped abruptly when he noticed the flash of colour on his friend's middle.

John started to blush when Sherlock just kept staring until the security officer kneeling in front of Sherlock made a strange noise and both men turned towards him to catch him staring too, but at Sherlock’s crotch. Because, yes, there was something happening that was stare-worthy...

The rest of the inspection and the re-dressing took place in an awkward silence on all sides.

When they reached the reception, the lady sitting there looking completely uninterested told them that Mr Holmes had had to leave and would not be back today. Strangely enough Sherlock just accepted that and turned around to leave without making a fuss.

The cab ride back home was - if possible - even more awkward. As soon as they stepped inside their flat, John had to say something.

“So?”

“So what?”

“Well, either we can prove that we are men and pretend that didn’t just happen and hope that the awkwardness will go away, which probably won’t be the case, OR we can have the embarrassing talk now and find a solution.”

“Fine. Talk.”

“Me? You were the one... You know what? Fine. Yes, I stole your pants, which you didn’t even notice by the way. You were never wearing them anyway.”

“They were not for me to wear.”

“What?”

“My brother - damn him - had this all figured out. He planned this right down to his mysterious absence from the office today.”

“I... what? He planned what? Are we still talking about the red pants?”

“Yes. Pay attention. He gave the pants to me, knowing that the scene would, um... arouse your curiosity. Pardon the pun. When nothing happened he dropped by to inquire about the present to spark your curiosity even further. Apparently he succeeded, because you went looking and decided to steal them. I’m not sure how Mycroft saw that coming. Even less how he could know that you would wear them. But he did, therefore he orchestrated that scene today.”

“He orchestrated? You mean that guy ripped my trousers off on purpose? Why?”

“So that we would finally notice the mutual attraction and the sexual tension between us and act on it.”

Wait, what? Mutual? So that was the reason why Sherlock had been acting slightly weirder than usual since January? Mycroft knew? And he had planned all this?

John was short of having an aneurysm when the most important thing pushed to the front-line: there was no acting on any sexual tension happening.

“Ah. Um... Since that obviously didn’t work, what now?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. His plan, as much as it pains me to say it, worked perfectly. Because now I’m going to strip you down to the damned red pants and give you the best orgasm you ever experienced and then you are going to kiss me and...”

The rest was lost because John didn’t give a damn about the plan and decided to kiss Sherlock right then.

The next minutes were a little blurry, they were kissing and groping and rubbing against each other and Sherlock’s hands were under his shirt and oh that felt good and John’s brain resurfaced when Sherlock pushed him towards the table in the living room and then swept everything on it to the ground with one elegant movement of his left arm. The right one was holding John flush against his own body.

He resumed kissing John, nibbling at his lower lip while his hands were busy opening John’s belt and trousers. When he went to his knees to pull John’s trousers off, John used the intermission to take off his shirt.

Suddenly he was naked except for the red pants and Sherlock was still fully dressed. John’s hands went for the buttons of the shirt but Sherlock stopped him with a firm ‘No.’

When he noticed John’s confused look, he added, “Not this time,” in an almost pleading voice. John placed his hands on Sherlock’s chest above his shirt, giving his consent.

For a few seconds they just looked at each other, acknowledging the importance of the moment, then Sherlock moved forward, crowding John against the table until he took the hint and pushed himself up so that he sat on it with Sherlock between his spread legs.

Sherlock kissed a wet line from John’s mouth down his neck and his chest to his stomach, gently pushing all the way until his upper body lay on the table. Sherlock’s hands rested on his thighs and John’s cock, already straining out of the pants, prickled with the need to be touched.

Then Sherlock leaned down and started nibbling and licking until the red pants were drenched with saliva and pre-cum and John was a writhing, moaning mess on the table.

While he’d usually prefer no barrier between his cock and the heat of a mouth, this was hot as hell. Everything Sherlock did with his tongue and teeth and lips was dulled by the thin layer of cloth and somehow heightend at the same time. Still...

“Please... Let me take them off.”

“No, I want you to remember the feeling of my mouth on you every time you wear them.”

“Oh God.”

Sherlock’s hands moved, one to stroke his cock, the other to cup his balls and when he lowered his mouth again to start sucking, it did not take long for John to cry out, arch off the table and soak the pants with his semen.

Afterwards he lay on the table, spent, weak and panting, and barely registered Sherlock opening his own trousers and taking himself in hand.

When he did, he locked eyes with the other man and whispered his name and Sherlock groaned, shivered, the fingers of his free hand digging into John’s right thigh and John felt warm fluid spill over his groin and the already soaked red pants.

He sat up just in time to catch Sherlock’s lean body before it slumped down and he pressed soft, warm kisses against everything he could reach - hair, temple, an ear.

“I think we inaugurated Mycroft's present adequately.”

“I don't think so. That was only the first layer. I haven't even looked inside...”

Previous: The Sex Towels
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AN: This is my monthly longer story that I have to post according to the rules for the '365 days of 221Bs challenge'!

Thanks to reapersun and her post on tumblr that inspired a glorious thing called Red Pants Monday. I love everyone in this bar!

And a million kisses to chocolamousse for her lightning-fast beta work! <3

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