A Study in Semen Jam
Title: A Study in Semen Jam
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: John/Sherlock, Mike, Molly, Jim
Warnings: Jam. Made out of semen.
Summary: Written for this prompt: http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/9640.html?thread=46834600#t46834600
"Mike, do you think you could fill this lab flask with semen?" Sherlock said, barely looking up from his microscope. "I'm trying to develop a new flavour of jam, and I can't get an erection."
"Sorry, mate," Mike replied. "Wanked myself dry in the Criterion toilet."
Until now, the army doctor had remained quiet. Now the man took a few steps forward, leaning on his cane with one hand, unzipping with the other. "Here. Use mine."
*
When you're the world's only jam-making detective, it's a mere trifle to distinguish a few hundred thousand varieties of jam by bouquet alone, not to mention confits, chutneys, custards, condiments, sauces, jellies, butters, and blancmanges. Sherlock Holmes had invented a jam that gelled only in the presence of haemoglobin and a jam that revealed latent fingerprints on silver. He had made jam out of rose petals, kumquats, toe jam and crocodile tears. Semen jam was his latest creation, and he was justifiably proud of it. No two semen jams were alike.
DI Lestrade's semen made for a complex, understated jam, redolent of coffee and nicotine.
Anderson Jam was too tart for Sherlock's palate, but Sergeant Donovan seemed to like it.
Sherlock's favourite so far was John Watson Jam. It was deceptively mild, with overtones of lanolin, and an exhilarating bite in the aftertaste.
*
Sherlock glanced up at the grinning stranger. "Gay," he pronounced.
"What?" said Molly.
"Nothing. Um, hey," Sherlock recovered. "Would you like to give me a sperm sample?"
"What?" said Jim from IT.
Sherlock sighed and gave up. "You're quite clearly gay and stringing Molly along in a fairly appalling fashion--obviously it amuses you to flirt with another man right in front of your alleged girlfriend. Now, why don't you put that exhibitionist streak to use and let her jerk you off into a test tube while I watch? Don't worry, she's a forensic pathologist. She knows what she's doing."
Jim looked turned on. Molly looked like she might cry. Sherlock cheered her up by offering to finger her on the lab table. (Molly Jam tasted like strawberry lip gloss and disappointments.)
*
Later, Sherlock cursed himself for being too busy to try the Jim Jam. He would have noticed that faint odour of explosives at once.
*
The one jam nobody liked was Sherlock Jam. Sherlock left it unlabelled and hid it in the back of the cupboard. He didn't understand why it was so universally hated. Was it the harsh chemical flavour? The ugly pale clarity of it? The rosin notes?
One morning, Sherlock found John sitting in his usual chair, spooning jam into his mouth with one hand, blogging with the other. Not an uncommon sight, except...except the jar he was holding was unlabelled. And nearly empty.
"John?" Sherlock stared at him. "What are you eating?"
"That jam you've been hiding," John said, not looking up. "Don't fuss at me, it was the last jam in the flat. If you didn't want me to finish it you could have had a wank and canned some more. Or even gone to the shops, if that's not beneath your dignity." He scraped the spoon along the bottom of the jar for the last little bit.
Sherlock nodded slowly. Well, there was no avoiding it now. He braced himself. "What did you think?"
"That," said John, smacking his lips, "was amazing."
"...Really?"
"Yes, extraordinary, quite extraordinary."
And so Sherlock, the world's jammiest detective, enlisted John to help him make some more.
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: John/Sherlock, Mike, Molly, Jim
Warnings: Jam. Made out of semen.
Summary: Written for this prompt: http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/9640.html?thread=46834600#t46834600
"Mike, do you think you could fill this lab flask with semen?" Sherlock said, barely looking up from his microscope. "I'm trying to develop a new flavour of jam, and I can't get an erection."
"Sorry, mate," Mike replied. "Wanked myself dry in the Criterion toilet."
Until now, the army doctor had remained quiet. Now the man took a few steps forward, leaning on his cane with one hand, unzipping with the other. "Here. Use mine."
*
When you're the world's only jam-making detective, it's a mere trifle to distinguish a few hundred thousand varieties of jam by bouquet alone, not to mention confits, chutneys, custards, condiments, sauces, jellies, butters, and blancmanges. Sherlock Holmes had invented a jam that gelled only in the presence of haemoglobin and a jam that revealed latent fingerprints on silver. He had made jam out of rose petals, kumquats, toe jam and crocodile tears. Semen jam was his latest creation, and he was justifiably proud of it. No two semen jams were alike.
DI Lestrade's semen made for a complex, understated jam, redolent of coffee and nicotine.
Anderson Jam was too tart for Sherlock's palate, but Sergeant Donovan seemed to like it.
Sherlock's favourite so far was John Watson Jam. It was deceptively mild, with overtones of lanolin, and an exhilarating bite in the aftertaste.
*
Sherlock glanced up at the grinning stranger. "Gay," he pronounced.
"What?" said Molly.
"Nothing. Um, hey," Sherlock recovered. "Would you like to give me a sperm sample?"
"What?" said Jim from IT.
Sherlock sighed and gave up. "You're quite clearly gay and stringing Molly along in a fairly appalling fashion--obviously it amuses you to flirt with another man right in front of your alleged girlfriend. Now, why don't you put that exhibitionist streak to use and let her jerk you off into a test tube while I watch? Don't worry, she's a forensic pathologist. She knows what she's doing."
Jim looked turned on. Molly looked like she might cry. Sherlock cheered her up by offering to finger her on the lab table. (Molly Jam tasted like strawberry lip gloss and disappointments.)
*
Later, Sherlock cursed himself for being too busy to try the Jim Jam. He would have noticed that faint odour of explosives at once.
*
The one jam nobody liked was Sherlock Jam. Sherlock left it unlabelled and hid it in the back of the cupboard. He didn't understand why it was so universally hated. Was it the harsh chemical flavour? The ugly pale clarity of it? The rosin notes?
One morning, Sherlock found John sitting in his usual chair, spooning jam into his mouth with one hand, blogging with the other. Not an uncommon sight, except...except the jar he was holding was unlabelled. And nearly empty.
"John?" Sherlock stared at him. "What are you eating?"
"That jam you've been hiding," John said, not looking up. "Don't fuss at me, it was the last jam in the flat. If you didn't want me to finish it you could have had a wank and canned some more. Or even gone to the shops, if that's not beneath your dignity." He scraped the spoon along the bottom of the jar for the last little bit.
Sherlock nodded slowly. Well, there was no avoiding it now. He braced himself. "What did you think?"
"That," said John, smacking his lips, "was amazing."
"...Really?"
"Yes, extraordinary, quite extraordinary."
And so Sherlock, the world's jammiest detective, enlisted John to help him make some more.