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“Open your dressing gown and lay back. Let me take a look at you.”
Sherlock did as John instructed him, but he didn't seem particularly enthused about it. He unbelted his camel robe and opened it to reveal a bare chest. He laid back on his bed in a slight huff and let the good doctor examine him, although he found this all rather unnecessary. As John carefully peeled away the bandage covering the gunshot wound, Sherlock winced and sucked his teeth. He really could be a baby sometimes.
“It doesn't look infected,” John pronounced. He reached into the bag he had brought with him and pulled out a tube of antibiotic cream. He squeezed out a dollop and rubbed it on the wound, perhaps not as gently as he could have. Sherlock made a small groan.
“Oh shut up,” John muttered. He had a private notion that Sherlock actually enjoyed the pain.
“I can do this myself, you know,” Sherlock said through gritted teeth.
“As highly as you like to think of your knowledge and skills, you are not a doctor. And I am. Besides, if I trusted you to do it, I'm fairly certain you would conveniently 'forget.'” John retrieved some fresh gauze and tape from his bag. He placed the gauze over the bullet hole and carefully taped it down on all four sides. As he applied the last piece of tape, his hand brushed Sherlock's nipple, and John thought he detected a slight intake of breath. The nipple became erect and its pinkness really stood out against Sherlock's pale skin. And the nipple wasn't the only thing that was erect. John observed something of a tent in Sherlock's light blue pajama bottoms.
He made a small noise that was something like a surprised, indignant scoff. He certainly wasn't expecting that from Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock stared back at him mildly. “It's merely a physiological reaction, John.” He stood up off the bed, closing his robe and belting it around his waist.
Even though Sherlock was facing away from him, John could tell that he was embarrassed. Could that actually happen? Sherlock being embarrassed? Sherlock liked to pretend that he didn't care what other people thought of him, but John knew that he did. Or at least he was certain that Sherlock cared what John thought of him.
“So how are you and Mary doing?” Sherlock asked as he turned and faced John.
John was pretty sure that Sherlock didn't actually care; he just wanted to change the subject. But since the previous subject was rather awkward, he was happy to go along with it.
“Yeah, good. I mean except for the fact that my wife's been leading a double life, I know absolutely nothing about her true identity, and our entire relationship is lies. But other than that...” John stood and began gathering his medical paraphernalia and putting it back into his bag.
“It wasn't all lies, John. She really does love you.”
John simply grunted in response, indicating that he wasn't at all sure he believed that, or if he returned the sentiment. He had detected a definite air of sadness in Sherlock's tone.
“Anyway, I'll be back tomorrow to dress the wound again.”
“Oh come on, John. This is ridiculous!”
John gave Sherlock a stern look with one cocked eyebrow. Sherlock stared back. A silent argument played out between them. Sherlock knew that John was making any excuse to get out of the house and away from Mary at the moment. John knew that he had made Sherlock uncomfortable and that Sherlock didn't want to acknowledge it, or for it to happen again. Sherlock finally let John win.
“Fine!” he said, as he rolled his eyes.
“Good,” John said. “See you tomorrow.” He did a neat little turn and was out the door.
The next day John showed up at 221B earlier than Sherlock was expecting. He could tell right away that John was in quite a state of agitation. Almost before Sherlock could close the door behind him, John said, “You said your body was merely transport, but you have sexual urges just like everybody else.”
“What? John, I told you. Sex is a distraction. It clouds the mind.” Sherlock waved his hand in the air, as if trying to wave off the subject, but John wasn't letting it go anywhere.
“But you are attracted to people. Irene Adler?”
“The woman? I wasn't attracted to her. She was simply...” Sherlock had to think for a moment, “an intriguing annoyance. Besides, you know I don't do relationships.”
“But you have had sex?”
“If you must know, John, I have never engaged in sexual intercourse.” Sherlock said this as if he had absolutely no feelings on the matter.
“Yeah, right,” John said sarcastically.
“I haven't!” Sherlock was indignant now.
“What about Janine?”
“You know that was a ruse.”
“But she said loads of stuff about you in the papers.”
“Which were all lies!”
“Pity.”
“Sorry?”
“But you do have to admit that you think about sex.”
Sherlock let out a frustrated sigh. “John, I told you, yesterday was a physiological reaction. Even I can't control that.”
“Oh come on, Sherlock,” John said. “You can't expect me to believe that your erection yesterday had nothing to do with what you were thinking.” He almost added, 'about me,' but couldn't bring himself to say it.
“Oh, why do you care?!” Sherlock said angrily, as he threw up his hands.
John couldn't think of anything to say to that that wasn't a lie, so instead he said, “Take off your shirt.”
Sherlock stared at him dumbly for a moment, and then he began furiously pulling at the buttons of his top.
“Come into the bedroom,” John said. He led the way into Sherlock's room and they both sat down on Sherlock's bed. Sherlock was still trying to undo his buttons. “Let me.” John shooed Sherlock's hands away and he began slowly and gently opening his shirt.
The mood between them had changed suddenly and drastically. There was still a great deal of tension, but it felt entirely different from what it was just a few moments ago. In the living room there had been anger and confusion. In Sherlock's bedroom the hostility was gone and things were altogether more agreeable.
“Lay back.” Sherlock did as instructed without hesitation. This gave John a very good view of the rising and falling of his chest. Even without touching Sherlock, he could practically feel the vibrations coming off his body and rippling through the air. The atmosphere felt kinetic and unstable. One touch and everything might shatter.
John gently removed the bandage covering Sherlock's wound. This time Sherlock made no sound or show of complaint. John treated the wound exactly as he had done yesterday, but everything was different. It felt like every fiber in his body was sparking with electricity. He suddenly became very aware of his shallow breathing. But what exactly had changed? John had never thought of Sherlock as a sexual being up until yesterday. He didn't think Sherlock was capable of it. But now that he knew that Sherlock thought about sex, and that he thought about him, things were...different. But John didn't want to think right now; he wanted to do. He could feel Sherlock's eyes boring into him, but he couldn't return the look. He wasn't ready yet. He dabbed on the antibiotic cream and began applying a fresh bandage. He could feel the heat radiating off Sherlock's body, and yet Sherlock shivered when John touched him.
John finished taping down the gauze. He touched Sherlock's nipple, and this time there was no way it could be mistaken for an accident. He rubbed the palm of his hand over the stiffened flesh, and Sherlock took in a sharp breath. Slowly, John raised his eyes to meet Sherlock's. Sherlock was very good at putting on masks; every moment was a performance to him. It very nearly unnerved John to see him without one. He had never seen such open and naked emotion in those hauntingly pale blue eyes. He couldn't bare to look for too long; he thought he might get lost.
John leaned down and touched his tongue to Sherlock's nipple, tasting his skin. He licked around the aureola before closing his lips over the tiny mound and giving it a soft kiss. John was so close to Sherlock now. He took in his smell, his body heat, the rhythm of his breathing. He gently ran Sherlock's nipple between his teeth. Then there were hands at the sides of John's face pulling him upwards. Then there was Sherlock's face in front of his, and then they were kissing. Sherlock didn't hesitate to stick his tongue in John's mouth. They found a tempo as their lips, teeth and tongues all mashed together. It was almost as if Sherlock was composing a new waltz and playing John like his violin. John thought Sherlock was actually quite a good kisser, for a beginner. Janine must have taught him a thing or two, John thought, with an unexpected pang of jealousy.
Sherlock grabbed a fistful of John's hair, hard. John moaned sharply into Sherlock's mouth because it hurt, but also because it felt incredibly good. John didn't know until that very moment that that was exactly what he wanted. As much as he was enjoying the taste of Sherlock's mouth, there were other parts that he wanted to sample. He pulled away so he could kiss Sherlock's chin, and then down to his collar bone and chest. He kissed down along his ribs and towards his stomach. John reached out a hand to touch Sherlock's quite serious erection, but Sherlock grabbed his wrist.
“Don't.”
John could see that Sherlock was primed to go at any moment, and one touch from him would undoubtedly set him off. And Sherlock wasn't ready for that to happen because he wanted this to last for much, much longer. All this John could read in Sherlock's face. Sherlock was usually such a mystery to him, so this was incredible.
“What do you want me to do then?” John said.
“Kiss me.” Sherlock stretched out his hands to take John's face once more and bring it to his own.
This is very nice, John thought. I could do this for a long time. Maybe even forever.