Fic: A Matter of Convenience - Sherlock/John - 1/3
Title: A Matter Of Convenience (1/3)
Rating: NC-17
Category: Sherlock/John
Length: unknown - 3000 words so far
Disclaimer: The show Sherlock and that incarnation of its characters belong to the BBC, the show's writers and its actors. Not to be confused with any version written by Sir Arthur Conan-Doyle or other adaptations thereof.
Warning: Possibly naughty language and relatively explicit naughty goings on a bit later; a lot of talking.
Summary: Sherlock catches John watching gay porn. So he naturally assumes John wants to have sex with him.
Notes: So. I've seen exactly two episodes of the BBC's Sherlock, both last weekend, and I've been writing this ever since. A favourite trope of mine is "two characters talk each other into bed". This is that story for Sherlock and John Watson, albeit slightly cracky in places. I thought I would start posting it now in case tomorrow's episode puts me off or gives me some new, shiny fic ideas.
ETA: A big, big thank you to rrane for creating the banner above.
Sherlock was dismantling the toaster. This was partly because one of the clues in their current case was the presence of toast crumbs trodden into a carpet. Indeed, it was quite possible that the ability to distinguish Kingsmill from Hovis would prove crucial to the case. But mainly, Sherlock was doing it because he was bored and he happened to have a screwdriver.
The toaster had been reduced to a pile of constituent parts when he finally looked up at the time. Ah. One a.m. John had turned in ages ago, ordering Sherlock to go to bed as he went. Not that Sherlock had paid any attention, of course. Quite frankly, John had been insufferable since his last girlfriend left him.
In fact, Sherlock was tempted to stay up just to annoy him. On the other hand, John was probably asleep by now, which meant that chances of annoying him were slim. Also, Sherlock was working on a case, and while lack of sleep didn’t usually hamper his intellect, it did dull his appreciation of his own genius when he made a breakthrough.
Abandoning the toaster, Sherlock headed for the bathroom. As he passed the door to John's room, he was intrigued to notice a pale blueish glow under the door. So John was not taking his own advice and getting a good night's sleep after all. Sherlock knew an opportunity for annoyance when he saw one; he paused outside the bedroom door, and hearing no noise from inside to suggest that John was aware of his presence, he swiftly opened the door.
"Jesus Christ, Sherlock! Can't you knock?" exclaimed John, slamming his laptop shut.
"What, and miss the fun of interrupting whatever you're doing?" said Sherlock, sauntering into the room. A quick glance at John, sitting at his desk in a T-shirt and boxer shorts, and it was all too clear what was going on. Sherlock gleefully grabbed the laptop and opened it. "Watching porn when you should be getting a good night's sleep..." He raised his eyebrows. "Gay porn, what’s more. Well, at least that's different." He handed the laptop back to a wide-eyed John.
"Well, since everyone seems to think I'm gay anyway," mumbled the unfortunate doctor, shutting down the computer.
"Yes. So you've decided to investigate whether ‘everyone’ is right,” said Sherlock, picturing the pieces of this little puzzle as they rearranged themselves in his mind. Gay porn. John’s bad mood. The girlfriend... there was a picture there and he needed to make it out. “The question is, why? You've been acting strangely ever since that girl Suzy--"
"Lucy."
"--Since she left. Something she said perhaps. She certainly wouldn't be the first of your girlfriends to deal with the breakdown of your relationship by casting aspersions on your heterosexuality. But for some reason, this time, you believed her and decided to test the theory. Frequently enough that you have come to expect this activity to lead to a... 'happy end'." He indicated the box of tissues on the table.
John followed his gesture, gulped and looked away. It was hard to tell in the dim light from the bedside lamp behind him, but Sherlock was pretty certain that his roommate was blushing. John stood up, keeping his eyes downcast and turned his back on Sherlock to walk over to his bed.
"All right, you’ve rumbled me, Sherlock," he said, trying to sound unconcerned even though his body language radiated acute embarrassment and his voice was still hoarse with his recent arousal. He pulled back his covers though he didn’t get into bed. "Look, it's late. We both have a case to work on tomorrow, so can we -- just -- forget about this? Please?"
John's pleading fell on deaf ears; not only because Sherlock was in a mischievous mood, but because he realised that the picture forming in his mind was one he should have seen coming for a while.
"You've always denied being gay in the past," said Sherlock, gesturing as he got into the stride of this ad hoc investigation. "Always telling people that they were merely misreading our living arrangements. She said something that changed your mind. Perhaps something more helpful than the jealous recriminations of your past girlfriends. Something she noticed -- perhaps that they all noticed about you -- about how you spend your time, how you determine your priorities, and how you relate to--" Sherlock paused for a split second as he observed the picture the puzzle pieces formed in his mind. “...Oh.”
"No," said John with alarm, turning to face Sherlock fully and shaking his head. "Not 'Oh'. There is no 'oh' in this conversation! Absolutely not."
Sherlock ignored him, intrigued by what he now understood and curious as to why it hadn’t occurred to him before. Probably because it wasn’t the kind of thing that would occur to him - at least not unless someone was half naked and actually leaning in to kiss him.
"Do you want to have sex with me, John?"
John's eyes widened in disbelief, but then he threw up his arms and shook his head. "Incredible. You find me watching gay porn and you immediately assume I want sex with you. Your ego really knows no bounds, does it?” He grabbed Sherlock’s shirt sleeve and tugged him towards the door. “Now get out, go to bed and... just leave me alone!"
Not being prone to very strong sexual feelings himself, Sherlock didn’t tend to dwell on those of other people. On the other hand, he knew from observation that sexual feelings were important motivators in people's behaviour. John's sexual feelings were therefore very important. He actually lived with John and the truth be told, he really enjoyed living with John and couldn't imagine himself going back to living without him. So it naturally followed that he needed to know exactly what was going on in his woolly grey head. Besides, this unexpected turn of events presented a solution to a problem that had plagued a small part of Sherlock's busy brain for some time.
So first, logically, he needed to ascertain that his conclusion about John's sexual feelings was correct. He therefore turned abruptly in the doorway, leaned down, and kissed John on the lips.
In the split second before Sherlock's lips touched John's, he considered various possible outcomes. Given John’s usual patterns of behaviour, he judged that the most likely result was for John to push him away, feigning disgust, which would give Sherlock an opportunity to observe from a short distance what physiological effects the kiss had had. John’s reaction would give him all the information he needed to verify his theory.
What Sherlock didn't expect, however, was for John to grab his neck in a vice-like grip and to find himself with not only John’s lips but his tongue too pressed against his mouth. John's hands felt warm against the nape of his neck. His lips were soft but disconcertingly wet and prickly with stubble. Sherlock could smell his toothpaste and his body and maybe his arousal, though he hadn't identified that scent before now. John's long nose pressed into his cheek.
A little thrown by this turn of events, Sherlock stood perfectly still, bending over slightly, and waited with anticipation to see what else John would do. Whatever it was, it felt as if it might be fun. But all John did was give up on Sherlock's mouth and apply some desperate, short kisses to Sherlock's cheek and jaw. Then he rested his forehead on Sherlock’s shoulder, arms now loosely wrapped around his neck. John's breath was uneven and tickled Sherlock's collarbone through the opening of his shirt. The sensation was oddly pleasant.
Then John stepped away and sat on the bed.
"You should go," he said with a sigh, looking down at the floor.
Sherlock took the opportunity to observe his friend. John looked disheartened and depressed, but most importantly, he was showing all the hallmarks of strong sexual arousal.
"Ah, you see, I was right," crowed Sherlock, unbuttoning his shirt. "You do want to have sex with me!"
"Why would I want you?" grumbled John. "With your little mean eyes and your ridiculous cheekbones and your weedy chest--" He glanced up. "What are you doing?"
"I gather it's usual to be naked when you're going to have sex," explained Sherlock, kicking off his slippers and tackling the button on his trousers. "You must know that. You've had sex before. I've heard you."
"No! No!" exclaimed John, springing to his feet with his hands raised. "I don't want to have sex with you!"
Sherlock paused, his fingers still hooked in the waistband of his trousers. "John," he said patiently. "You were trying to get your tongue in my mouth a minute ago. I think I can work out what that means."
“I-I-- Oh god.” John ran his hand through his short hair, making small tufts stand up. “Look. Can we... I don’t know.”
In deference to John's apparent confusion about what he wanted, Sherlock kept his trousers on and sat on the bed.
“Yes, you evidently don’t,” he said. He pointed at John’s boxer shorts. “Or rather you don’t agree with yourself.”
John grabbed a pillow and held it level with his hips. “Sherlock, I don’t want to have sex with you. Never mind the porn and... I just can’t. It wouldn’t be right. I don’t want to take advantage of you like that.”
Sherlock tilted his head and looked up at him quizzically. “Take advantage of me? What am I, a twelve-year-old girl?”
“Yes. Well no, but you’re... you’re--”
“A genius?”
“Not... normal. I don’t mean in a bad way,” he added hastily. “Well, maybe I do. You’re pretty hard to live with. But the thing is you don’t see things the way the rest of us do. You don’t process emotions the same way. You don't have the same... atitude towards your own body that most of us have. And you’re obviously not interested in sex at all, let alone-- Look, you’ve never even had sex before. I mean, you haven’t, have you?”
“No,” said Sherlock, because it really wasn’t something he was embarrassed about. “But then, I’ve never been in a relationship before.”
“This is a relationship?”
“We live together, we work together, we watch television together. We enjoy each other's company. We have a laugh. We argue and make up. We share common interests and common friends. Well, acquaintances anyway." Sherlock gave him an amused look. "What else would you call this?”
“Fair point,” conceded John with a grudging smile. "I have to confess this is probably the most... intense relationship I've ever had. In some ways the most intimate too."
Sherlock snapped his fingers and pointed at John. "That's what your girlfriend Rosie said. Am I right?"
"Lucy. And yes, it was something like that." John lowered the pillow he had been holding. "She said I'd never find a relationship that could compete with the one I have with you."
"She's right. So what are we waiting for?" Sherlock spread his hands invitingly. "My cheekbones and weedy chest are all yours!"
Continued in part 2...