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Sherlock was on cloud nine. No, maybe not nine. Maybe more like cloud fifteen he was so happy. After so many botched attempts, some sulking, and almost letting go of his dreams of a cottage with bees, kids, and grandkids, he finally got what he wanted: He kissed John. John. And now they were in an actual, legitimate relationship. No more women, no more denials of them being a couple, no more problems. Well, yes, they still fought, and sometimes John did need to get out of the flat to cool off, but afterwards apologies would be said, kisses would be exchanged, and everything would fall back into place.
And oh did Sherlock like kisses, as did John. They kissed all over the flat: against the wall, against the door, on the sofa, on their armchairs, on the floor, on the desk, on the table, on the kitchen counter, against the fridge, and even that bizarre time when Sherlock had somehow managed to hang himself upside down from the ceiling and John just couldn’t resist doing so before cutting him down. Kisses weren’t limited to the flat either. No, they didn’t snog (oh, they loved to snog) out in public (they held hands instead), but they’d slip off to kiss in different places, depending where they were. Heck, Sherlock made a show of it when they were forced to meet his brother at the Diogenes Club so they could leave early. John said he was angry about it, but from the way he kissed Sherlock in the cab, he wasn’t that angry.
Yes, Sherlock loved the kissing, the snogging, the hand-holding, even the cuddling and the actual dates they’d go on, but there was still something missing, and John knew it too.
That’s right: Sherlock now wanted sex. With John, obviously. And it was obvious John wanted it, too. He knew why it was taking so long, however. It was made clear, though not spoken, that Sherlock never had sex. Sure, there were attempts, but they always fell through. John, ever patient, was taking it slow with him to make sure that Sherlock was ready. And Sherlock was ready.
Now, Sherlock wasn’t going to actually plan to get laid. That would be ridiculous. But Sherlock was a virgin, and he didn’t want to be one anymore now that he had John. And after a few months of being in a relationship, he was ready to take that next step. He was ready to enact that scene with the naval officer and the teacher. And the one with the firefighter and the grateful homemaker. There was also one about an alien using a-.
But he was getting off track. The bottom line: Sherlock had John, now he wanted to be had by John. And no matter what, he was going to make sure it happened. And while he didn’t have a full-out plan to get laid, he had a tactic that he was going to hone and employ.
He was going to seduce John Hamish Watson’s pants off.
I.
The first idea came from a familiar article that Sherlock wore around the flat, and on one occasion, at Buckingham Palace. He hadn’t done it in a while; the prospect of trying to enter a relationship with John made him uncomfortable in wearing nothing but a sheet around the man. But that morning he had stripped himself bare and threw it on. He checked the mirror in his wardrobe, tugging at the sides so it hung loosely off one shoulder. A little proud at how he could make a sheet look good, and he did his best saunter out of his room and into the kitchen.
“Oh, it sounds like someone finally decided to get out of bed this morning.” John said from his armchair in the sitting room. “Breakfast is on the table. You better eat it, or I will shove it down your throat myself.”
Sherlock grinned, ignoring the food and tea set out for him on the table as he walked around to lean against it. “John…”
He meant for it to be deep and seductive, and it came out so softly it was practically subsonic. He thought for a moment John didn’t hear it, but the ex-army doctor did lower the paper and turned to him.
“Yes, Sher-?” He started, only to freeze when he saw the state Sherlock was in. “Oh. You haven’t worn that in ages. Was wondering when you’d wear that number again.”
Sherlock fought the urge to huff as John sent him a cheeky grin. Of course, John wouldn’t think of this as Sherlock’s attempts at seduction. Oh, no. He knew he should have just tied it around his waist.
Regaining himself, he continued his approach. “John-.”
Only to be cut off when his sheet snagged on something, and in his attempts to keep it around himself caused him to slip and fall flat on his face.
He groaned in pain and felt his face self-combust as he heard John’s peels of laughter. Grunting, he turned and glared. Apparently, the culprit was the molding on the door, which was peeling away slightly from the wall.
“Aha-Oh! Oh, Sherlock, I’m sorry, but that was just too rich!” John said, and he heard him get up and head into the kitchen. “You can jump across rooftops with ease, but you trip on air in the kitchen!”
Sherlock huffed, flopping back on the floor and willing it to engulf him.
“Oh, come on, you silly arse. Let me see…”
Sherlock relented, pulling himself up with as much dignity as he could muster, and immediately relaxed into John’s touch as he held his face and examined him. It was a weakness for him, he knew. John being able to practically melt Sherlock into a puddle with just a careful touch really could be problematic, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
“Well, nothing seems to be broken, but you’re going to have the biggest bump on that head of yours.” John finally concluded. He then kissed Sherlock’s injured forehead and stood. “Now, up you get. Grab your breakfast and eat. I’ll see if we have any peas in the freezer to cut the swelling.”
Sherlock really wasn’t interested in peas or breakfast. What he was really in the mood for was hidden away under John’s loose pajamas, but he couldn’t try to have a go at it now. He just made a fool of himself, and his pride needed to recover.
II.
After the debacle with the sheet, Sherlock decided that sheets were out of the question, especially since every time he wore it afterwards resulted in almost indecent snorts to come from John. No, he needed to up his game a little. Accentuate his assets.
And that was how Sherlock wound up in a pair of jeans he hadn’t worn comfortably since Uni.
Yes, he still wore them on occasion, when a case required certain undercover work, and while his weight hadn’t changed all that much over the years, it had changed enough for the tightness to be more evident. The jeans that used to sit just so were now like a second skin, and it made things like sitting impossible. But it did wonders for his already wondrous arse. Oh, he wasn’t a fool: he knew women, and some men (most importantly John) found him attractive, and the one thing he saw that physically went for him was his derriere.
So Sherlock was going to use it against John Watson, and hopefully John’s will power would crumble.
So, on a day where he would spend most of it reviewing files, Sherlock donned his jeans and found every excuse possible to bend over to deal with something, making sure to angle himself just so that his raised arse was presented in John’s field of vision. Hopefully John would retaliate, which would eventually lead them to Sherlock’s bedroom. Or perhaps John’s, since he didn’t know how noisy they would possibly be.
Sherlock had managed to maneuver everything on his lower body enough so that he could sit with relative comfort and flip through files when, by pure accident this time, he knocked his pen onto the ground. He actually winced. The last few times he had bent over, it was a little painful, and he had feared that his trousers had split at the seams. Deciding that crawling on the floor could easily seduce John’s pants off as bending over, he slid to his knees on the floor with relative ease, maneuvering around to chase his pen underneath the table.
John cleared his throat, and Sherlock paused, his lower half still out in the open air while the rest of him was under the cover of the table.
“Sherlock.”
“John.”
Sherlock dared a glance at John’s crotch and saw him fidget, trying to hide Sherlock’s success. Sherlock’s lips quirked in victory.
“Is there… any particular reason why you’re especially clumsy today?”
Sherlock was torn between rolling his eyes or his hips. He did neither. “Really, John.” He snarked. “I honestly didn’t-.”
“Am I interrupting something?”
Sherlock never jumped in his life, and certainly didn’t then. Instead, he moved to stand before he reminded himself he was still under the table. The resounding thump that occurred caused John to immediately curse and get up, helping Sherlock attempt to get up again, and was successful, even as he scowled and rubbed his head. Eventually, his scowl evolved into a glare as he looked at Lestrade, who seemed rather confused at the situation.
“Lestrade.” Sherlock managed to force out with gritted teeth. “Is it the double murder?”
“Er-Yeah.” The DI remarked, collecting himself. “I did send you the location. You coming?”
“He will if I find that he didn’t give himself a concussion.” John cut in as Sherlock felt him tug at one of his shoulders. “Now bend over.”
Sherlock couldn’t resist the snort as he did so, presenting his head to John like some gift. His embarrassment and frustration faded into the background as he felt those fingers card through his hair and gently touch his head.
“Don’t you dare make a comment about my height, Sherlock Holmes.” John cut in. “You’re the one who’s just too bloody tall.”
“Oh, no. I was just going to inquire if the Detective Inspector was going to see-.”
“Don’t.”
“The Hobbit.” Sherlock finished, wincing as John pulled his hair in retaliation. Any other time he would’ve been fine with it (while on his back in bed, for example), but his head couldn’t take the extra sting.
“I’m just surprised you’ve heard of it. You don’t even know about Star Trek.” John retorted, patting Sherlock’s shoulder and he straightened himself. “Just another bump to the head. He can go. Let me just get a jumper on.”
“I fear your addiction to knitwear calls for an intervention, John!” Sherlock called after him.
“Bite me!” And oh, how Sherlock wanted to.
III.
Sherlock’s strategy at seduction so far had him completely covered, even though it didn’t hide much to the imagination. While he knew that John thought his deductions, his mind, his voice in general were a big turn on for the ex-army doctor, he knew it wouldn’t be enough of a push to get him to tell Sherlock to bend over in a completely different way, or even for John to bend over himself. Either way was fine with him. He just wanted some bending over to happen already!
So, he decided to pull out the big guns: showing skin.
He was actually tempted to just sit in the flat completely naked all day, but decided to use that as a last resort. Instead, he decided to do something that, while cliché, was bound to be successful. He gave himself ample time, on a day where neither of them were busy, and he showered in his best-smelling gels and his favorite shampoo. When he was finally done, he merely slung the smallest towel he could find around his waist, holding it just so. He was still practically wet, but that didn’t matter. It was basically a sure thing.
He fought down thoughts of what would happen immediately afterwards as he ambled out of the bathroom.
“John?” He called, feeling like a cat who caught the cream. The cream, of course, being a John Watson.
“Sherlock.” And that was not his cream.
Immediately, Sherlock whipped around and glared at Mycroft, who had taken to sitting in his chair that day. Upon seeing his practically-naked brother, Mycroft just quirked an eyebrow.
“What the hell are you doing here!?” Sherlock snarled. “Don’t you have cakes to eat, now that you’re off your diet?”
Mycroft just smirked. “I’ve come with a case for you and your good doctor, Sherlock.” He merely explained. “John was going to make tea, but he had to run to the shop, because apparently you used the milk for an experiment. Again.”
Sherlock snarled, feeling the heat of embarrassment rise in his skin. Granted, Mycroft had seen Sherlock naked before, as a child anyway, and Sherlock himself had the misfortune of seeing Mycroft naked, but he really didn’t want his brother to see him in such a state.
“Now, if you could please put on some pants, at the least, we can wait for John’s return together.” Mycroft said, grinning. “I’m afraid your attempts at seducing the doctor to bed will have to wait for another time.”
Sherlock just snarled and did his best to stomp away to his room without flashing his brother, angry that he could just feel the smugness radiate from him.
Even when he reached the sanctity of his room, Mycroft couldn’t leave well enough alone.
“Really, Sherlock? Those jeans? You haven’t fit into them since you were in school.”
“Shut up!”
IV.
Thankfully, John didn’t know about the catastrophe that unfolded when he was at the shop. Sherlock was almost tempted to explain, if only to get the message across, but he knew that John would just chastise him for walking around in nothing but a towelette.
Now, Sherlock was getting desperate. It wasn’t so much the prospect of finally losing his virginity. It was the closeness. The step to be further committed to John. Not to mention the prospect of cuddling afterward.
So, he whipped out the big guns.
While waiting for John to return from his shift at the clinic, he took to lounging in the flat completely naked. He had the hindsight of closing curtains, not wanting his neighbors to phone the Yard about a man showing his bits in the window where children could see, and then shut the door so Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t come in completely unannounced and see him. He then removed his robe, and lounged on the couch in a seductive sprawl.
Throughout the hours, he shifted, getting bored and, if he admitted to himself, a little chilled. He took the time to shift positions, trying out different poses, and then fiddling with his phone and John’s laptop to keep himself preoccupied.
Finally, late afternoon, he heard the tell-tale signs of John entering the flat and stomping up the stairs. Sherlock allowed himself to smirk, ignored the fact that John was rushing more than usual, and laid on his back, feet towards the door.
“Sherlock!” John called. “Sherlock, we-!”
John immediately cut off as he opened the door and took in Sherlock, who smirked at the pink blush that spread over his cheeks.
“Yes, John?” He purred in reply, stretching himself out a bit before looking at John.
“Sh-Sherlock!” John finally stammered in a lowered voice. “Sherlock, cover up!”
Sherlock frowned. That wasn’t what he was expecting. Not at all. Did John not find his naked body attractive? No, that wasn’t it. John’s pupils had dilated and the crotch of his trousers went a bit stretched, so John was aroused. Was John not in the mood, then? What went wrong?
He was cut off from his thoughts when John threw his robe over him, and that was when he heard it: footsteps. Two sets of them.
Lestrade and Donovan.
“Go get dressed!” John hissed, finally urging Sherlock off the couch. “Lestrade’s here with Donovan! Kidnapping case! Go go go!”
Sherlock, flushing again, rushed to his room just as Lestrade and Donovan reached the sitting room, and he locked himself inside before banging his head on the closed door.
It was like the kiss all over again. All these interruptions were like fate, which didn’t really exist, telling him that he was going to be a virgin until the day he died.
And with the rate things were going, it wasn’t that hard to believe.
… +I.
The kidnapping case ended with a success. The little girl stolen away was safe with her parents, and the kidnappers were arrested. Unfortunately, part of the process involved running through a particularly dirty skip. So, tired, a little hungry, and a lot filthy, Sherlock and John ambled up the stairs to their flat.
Immediately upon entering, John had stripped to his undershirt and boxers, and Sherlock fought the urge to drool. He always thought that John was physically attractive, with a compact body and muscles that he gained from the army that were kept by running around London. Despite the tan the doctor had when they met that had long since faded, his skin tone seemed to be naturally more on the olive side, giving him the appearance of a tan even if he’d been living in London for a while.
Everything about John was delectable, even though he was covered in dirt and smelled rather foul. It took every ounce of self-control not to pounce on him. Sherlock knew that there would be no way their first time would happen now, even if they were riding the high of a successful case. So, Sherlock decided to let himself hope that perhaps tomorrow would be a better day.
“You get the shower first.” John said. “I’m going to make a cuppa. Okay?”
Sherlock just nodded, hanging his coat and scarf with John’s and making a mental note to get it all dry-cleaned like his suit. That, or he’d burn it. It really was incredibly foul.
He entered the bathroom and sighed, resisting the urge to call out to John for the man to join him. The ex-army doctor probably thought shower sex would be involved, and that it would be disastrous. Right now, Sherlock didn’t care if it did lead to sex. He just had the urge for intimacy. He fought it down as he stripped, dumping his clothes carelessly into the hamper and started the water, making sure it heated up before just jumping in.
Eventually, he did settle in under the spray, first washing his hair and face of filth. All the while he couldn’t help but think of John possibly entering into the bathroom, stripping naked, and slipping into the shower behind him.
He thought it was his imagination when it seemed that John had done just that, plastering his naked front to a surprised Sherlock’s back.
“John?” Sherlock whispered, slightly panicked, but John just shushed him, rubbing soothing circles over his stomach.
“Do you mind…?” The man asked into a shoulder blade after a moment.
“No.” Sherlock breathed, relaxing into the man’s hold, shivering when he got a kiss on the nape of his neck in response.
“Let me help…” John said, voice still soft and soothing as he grabbed a wash cloth and some of Sherlock’s gel. The taller man just hummed, maneuvering so he could lean into John more, relaxing under his touch. As the shorter man scrubbed him, Sherlock was more aware of the soothing circles and not so much of his arousal.
“Gorgeous, Sherlock.” He heard John whisper against his skin. “Really, you’re just too bloody gorgeous.”
Sherlock scoffed. “I’m not a woman, John.” He remarked, but that didn’t stop his body reacting positively to his words.
“There’s nothing wrong with being a gorgeous man, Sherlock.” He remarked, and Sherlock jumped a little when his ministrations went quite low. Eventually, he turned Sherlock around and started scrubbing at his back. “You know, I think I understand what’s been happening…”
“Hmm?” Sherlock hummed against John’s shoulder.
“The sheet, the jeans, taking a shower in the middle of the day, and being naked on the couch when I got home…” John rattled off. He then nuzzled Sherlock’s neck. “Mister Holmes, I think you’ve been trying to seduce me.”
Sherlock tensed minutely at that. Either John was going to laugh at him, or he was finally going to…
“Hey…” John breathed, lifting Sherlock’s head to look him in the eyes. “I’m not making fun of you. I mean, yes, some of the circumstances were a little… amusing… but if that’s what you want… if you’re sure…”
Sherlock studied John’s expression. Kind, wonderful John who seemed to piece it all together. He was questioning, making sure it was all okay. Making sure that it was what he really wanted.
Eventually, Sherlock smirked. “Let me wash you first.”
And John grinned mischievously, grabbing a good handful of Sherlock’s rump in both hands and causing the taller man to jump a little in excitement. “I’ll just finish with the task at hand, then.”
-
Sherlock was absolutely certain that nothing could be better.
Here he was, curled around his army doctor, covered in sweat and bodily fluids, breathing in the scent of their earlier activities, and high off endorphins and lingering adrenaline. If his needs for a post-coital cuddle weren’t so dominant, he would get up and do something highly uncharacteristic, like bake. Or dance.
Well, maybe not dance. His limbs still felt too much like molten jelly to do anything like that.
He did his best to burrow closer to John, his nose bumping against John’s sternum, and felt his muscles twinge in both a dull aching pain and a deep satiated pleasure; a bi-product of their earlier activities. Thinking back, he had no idea that he was still so flexible, or that John was so strong.
As he thought about discreetly thanking his mother for encouraging him to take yoga as part of getting sober, he felt John’s lips press against his forehead.
“Did that meet your expectations?” He asked.
“Statistically, a couple’s first time is supposed to be bad.” Sherlock rattled off, sending an endearingly nervous John a smirk. “If that’s the case, I cannot wait to see what our couplings will be like in the future.”
“I’ve awakened a beast, haven’t I?”
“Oh, John, you have no idea.”