The Film (NC-17) 1/3
John was going through Sherlock's phone when he first saw the folder in his videos. Now John, he's not an invasive man, but when he sees something with his name on it in a phone his friend flatmate colleague gives him all the time to text and call and look through files in it, well, privacy sort of goes out the window.
Just because he happened to be in bed at the time of the discovery, and just because Sherlock wasn't at 221B didn't make it unusual. John could remember the exact text message he had sent for Sherlock, the exact time he had put it in his pocket, only to be found again three minutes ago.
John tapped open the folder and was attacked by an onslaught of caps of himself. He watched each one in order (because he had nothing better to do). 'John eating toast' was John eating toast (strawberry jam, sweet tea, looked to be filmed from the desk from the unusual angle), 'John shaving' was John shaving (however it was interrupted by very heavy breathing halfway through and cut short), 'John watching tele' was, shockingly, John watching the news. Slightly creepy was the three 'John sleeping' ones, one on the couch, the second in his bed and the third in a cab on the way home from God knows where.
Generally, John thought this was completely normal - for Sherlock. He was probably Sherlock's newest research topic.
Well, until he found the last one.
When he opened it, he recognised the interior of Sherlock's room immediately. Then Sherlock came into the screen, looking just a little flushed, and began to speak directly to the camera.
"John, one day I will show this to you."
John's eyebrows rose.
"Right now you are in the shower. I was walking past and I heard you moan -."
John felt a flush creep up his neck.
Sherlock stopped for a moment as though collecting himself. He tried to start talking again, but his voice broke first go.
"Oh God, John, you really have no idea what you do to me. You…" Sherlock took a deep breath.
"I need to make this video to know that some day you might watch it, even though I'll probably delete it before you use my phone again."
Then Sherlock set the phone against the dresser.
All John could see was Sherlock's bed, and Sherlock, who was lying back onto it. But John couldn't bring himself to turn off the video, or do anything more than swallow loudly as he watched Sherlock unbuttoning his shirt, eyes closed and hands roaming over himself. The quality wasn't quite as rubbish as people made out, and John could clearly see Sherlock's defined stomach, and the stark whiteness against the black silk shirt.
Sherlock's room was small. John could hear clearly the increased breathing, the almost-moans, the tiny whimpers, and Christ, Sherlock hadn't even gotten his pants off yet.
Yet.
John jumped though, when Sherlock moaned a quite 'Oh, John!' while grinding against his own hand. In an undignified flurry, Sherlock no longer had any clothes on and he lay back, obviously trying to control himself.
His cock, not quite hard yet, was resting against his left hip, and his hands were on the side of his head and he was breathing in and out very deliberately.
Then he laughed, breathlessly. "As if I'll ever show this to you." He said bemusedly. "But oh God, what would you do I you did."
Obviously Sherlock thought he would do something very good, because he groaned and his cock twitched - actually, physically twitched.
Something in Sherlock broke after that, and suddenly his hand was around his length and his other hand was between his legs and he only stopped to lubricate with spit, before stroking again and fondling his sac with the other hand.
But John only noticed Sherlock was talking after a few moments. He wasn't loud or particularly coherent, it was just a long string of words that went a little like: "Oh God John, imagine you here, imagine you laying above me, just watching me as I bring myself of to the thought of you, God imagine your body above mine, imagine your arms next to my head - oh God holding my hands above my head - hnnng and your stomach, toned like it is and the your scar - "
At this point Sherlock's hand seemed to tighten at the base of his cock, a move John knew was used to stave off orgasm, when nothing else will work.
Sherlock's voice dropped lower: "That scar, the scar that has evaded me ever since I met you, I've never had a reason to even look at it, other than the fact that I just want to so much, oh I have dreams of glimpsing it, oh John, if you ever watched this, I can just imagine you lying in your bed watching me pulling on myself, I only ever think about you John, oh yes, only you, and the way you would feel inside me, your open lips against my neck as you came and unnnnnng."
Sherlock's tirade stopped then, and all John heard for the next few minutes was the slick noises of hand around appendage and Sherlock's breathy moans and eventually, semi-hysterical whimpers.
It was only a little after that when Sherlock sat bolt upright. He turned and looked straight at the camera, picking it up from the dresser and holding it close to his face.
"Now John," Sherlock huffed, his voice about three octaves too low, "watch carefully, because I might delete this before you see it."
John didn't care that the statement didn't make any sense because Sherlock was on his knees now, having replaced the phone, and stroking himself, closer to the camera than he was before.
And really ten strokes was all he had left in him. Because after that, the grunty-groany drawn out 'John', the white ribbons and the beautiful, perfect, wonderful expression all appeared simulataneously.
There wasn't much more of the video after that. A shot of Sherlock looked sheepish in his own semen reaching out for the phone, with a whispered "you'll never see this," and then black.
Chapter 2