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“John, that’s ludicrous. Impossible.”
“I’m telling you, Sherlock, it works.”
They each sat in their respective chairs, facing one another head on. Sherlock was scowling at John, adamantly shaking his head while the doctor sat calmly, a patronizing smile on his lips.
“But it’s highly improbable!” Sherlock burst out, his agitation ruffling his calm demeanor. “Scientifically implausible, John. You can’t possibly think that what you’re saying is true.” He huffed in annoyance and John had to fight back a laugh. “To claim that your penis has some sort of magical, problem-solving capabilities is ridiculous.”
“I don’t care if you think it’s ridiculous,” John told him evenly. “I’m telling you that it’s the truth. I know it for a fact.”
At this Sherlock scoffed. “A fact?” he asked, incredulous. “You have proof, then? Actual, scientific proof?”
“Yes,” John told him simply.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Go on, then,” he said, urging John with a wave of his hand. “Prove me wrong.”
John knew a challenge from Sherlock Holmes when he heard one. “Yeah, all right,” he agreed, sitting up a little straighter in his chair, bracing himself for the awkwardness that he knew would come from sharing too much personal information with Sherlock. Though they had been friends for a long time, they tried hard to steer clear of conversations involving sex. But John would soldier through the upcoming embarrassment if it meant that he could prove Sherlock wrong.
“The first time I noticed it was when I was a teenager,” he told the man sitting across from him. “My first girlfriend—her name was Tiffy—she had come over to my house one afternoon in a nark because she had lost her cat. Well, we had just started having sex, and I thought that it was the best thing ever, so I was always trying to get off with her any chance I could get.”
Sherlock interrupted him with a rude noise and a derisive laugh. “Typical,” he said under his breath.
“Anyways,” John said harshly, trying not to let the other man get under his skin. “She came to my house and asked me if I could help her look for her cat, and I told her that she shouldn’t be worried so much about it, that it would probably show up sooner or later. After I talked to her for a bit, I convinced her to have a shag and when we were done her mum calls up to my house looking for her and tells her that her cat came back.”
Sherlock stared at him for a moment, as if waiting for John to continue. When John didn’t, Sherlock frowned at him, rolling his eyes. “That doesn’t prove anything, John,” he told the doctor, unconvinced and unimpressed.
“And then there was another time,” John forged on, voice steely, intent to prove to the arrogant prick that he was right, “a bit before I left for my first deployment. I had a friend whose deadbeat boyfriend had knocked her up and then split. She was overdue and miserable. She was 42 weeks along and her doctor told her to try some home remedies to induce labor. One of them was sex,” he shrugged his shoulders dismissively, trying not to be uncomfortable telling Sherlock so much about such personal matters but not succeeding. There was something about the unblinking stare of Sherlock’s clinical gaze that made John fidget. It was almost like talking to one’s mum about their sex life. Awkward and wrong.
“So she asks me to help her out,” John continued, “and I agreed ‘cause I figured I’m about to be shipped off, so I should try to have as much sex as possible, yeah? Well there we are in the middle of it, and all of a sudden her water breaks.”
Sherlock scoffed indifferently. “John, as a doctor, you should know that sex at such a late stage in pregnancy has the high potential to induce labor.” His tone implied that he thought he was having a conversation with a moron and John tried to keep his temper in check. “It certainly doesn’t mean that your ‘magical cock’ had anything to do with it.”
“And then there was that time that Sarah’s car wouldn’t start,” John continued on in a rush, afraid that if he didn’t keep going he was going to end up punching Sherlock right in his arrogant nose. “And I convinced her to have a quickie, since she was going to have to take the bus anyways and the next one wasn’t due at the corner ‘round her flat for another 30 minutes. Before she went to the bus stop, she decided to try her car one more time and the thing started up, no problem.”
“John, none of these situations carry any proof that your hypothesis is correct,” Sherlock argued, shaking his head and turning away from John as if to say that he was bored of the conversation now and was done with it.
“Come on, Sherlock! It all makes perfect sense!” John yelled out, waving his hands emphatically, no longer calm and composed in the face of Sherlock’s ridicule.
“Random occurrences, John,” Sherlock answered with a dismissive, haughty wave of his hand. “The factor of probability. Not proof.” The finality was clear in his deep voice.
“I don’t care what you think,” John told him angrily, scowling at his friend. “All I know is that every time someone says that they are having some sort of problem and then I sleep with them, the problem mysteriously resolves itself.” He pointed a finger towards his crotch with a smug smile. “Magic,” he said imperiously.
Sherlock lifted a single, thick eyebrow, his eyes blatantly drawn towards the area that John’s finger was pointed at and the doctor blushed suddenly, quickly moving his hand.
“So you think—because of this handful of times that this has happened—that your dick has some sort of magical properties?” Sherlock asked, his gaze slowly lifting away from John’s groin and back up to the doctor’s red face. “How does it happen? ‘Please John will you fix it for me?’ ” Sherlock mocked in a sing-song voice, “ ‘Let me ride your cock and I know everything will be better afterwards’.”
“Pretty much, yeah,” John said, as his smug smile came back. He squirmed slightly in his chair, but tried not to show it. Hearing the words ‘let me ride your cock’ coming out of Sherlock’s mouth, no matter how sarcastic they sounded, was enough to get his dick stirring in his trousers.
“Well, if that’s the case, you should probably be advertising,” Sherlock told him sardonically. “I’m sure it would be a very lucrative business. I can see the adverts now: ‘Have money issues? You should shag John Watson! Having car trouble? John Watson has a dick for that!’ ” He scoffed deep in his throat once more and stood from his chair in a sudden flurry of arms and dressing gown. “Please, John,” he spat, pacing across the floor in front of their chairs. “Spare me any more of this idiocy.”
“If I had known you were going to be such an arse about it, I never would have brought it up,” John said honestly.
Suddenly, Sherlock stopped pacing and turned towards him, a maniacal gleam in his eyes that John had seen one too many times to trust.
“Let’s test your theory, then.”
“What?!” John exclaimed, standing up from his chair now, too. He suddenly felt that it was a bad idea to continue sitting in such a vulnerable position while Sherlock was so close to him with that look on his face. “No!” he told the man sternly, giving his head a good shake for emphasis.
“John, you can’t put forth a statement like that and not expect me to want to subject it to rigorous scientific testing,” Sherlock told him, and how was it possible that he was making it out to sound like this was John’s own fault? “How else will we ever prove if you’re right or not?”
John just shook his head again, crossing his arms over his chest and squaring his stance for good measure. “Forget it, Sherlock. I’m not going to shag you just to prove a point.”
The corners of Sherlock’s full mouth turned up in a challenging smirk. “You just don’t want to be proven wrong.”
“I’m not wrong, you wanker,” John said, a little too fast and with a little too much heat in his voice.
“I guess we’ll never know, will we?” Sherlock’s smirk continued to grow. “And I’ll just assume that I’m right, like usual. Just another thing that I win at.”
“Fine!” John suddenly shouted out, throwing his arms up in the air. “You want me to prove it? Let’s do it then. Even if I’m wrong, at least I know I can get you to shut up for a little while—you won’t be able to talk with your mouth full.”
The two men did nothing but stare at each for a long, stunned moment.
John could feel his cheeks heating up, an enormous blush descending over his face. He hadn’t meant to say that. Why had he said that? Dear God, he thought frantically, if it is possible to die of embarrassment, please let it happen to me, that way I’ll never have to face Sherlock Holmes again. His mind was running through its basic survival instincts of fight-or-flight (but seeming to be stuck on freeze) and so it took him a moment to comprehend that Sherlock had spoken into the uncomfortable stillness that had descended between them.
“John…you….Yes?”
He dared a glance up at Sherlock and was surprised to see the brunet man staring steadily at him through wide, unbelieving eyes. A faint, adorable blush colored his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.
John stood still for a moment, unsure of what to do. And then he shrugged awkwardly, deciding that he had already put his foot in his mouth and he might as well go all in now. “Sure, why not? It’s a win-win situation for me,” he explained, his blush deepening. “I get to prove that I’m right, and I get sex. How could I possibly refuse that?”
Sherlock eyed him warily for a long moment. “What happened to you not being gay?” he finally asked.
John sighed, the sound long-suffering. “I’m not gay,” he repeated for what felt like the thousandth time. “But I never said that I wasn’t bi. Semantics, Sherlock. You of all people should know better than to make assumptions.”
“Clever, John,” Sherlock deadpanned, clearly not amused by the one time John decided to take a page out of the detective’s book.
“Besides, what happened to ‘married to my work’?” John countered, his tone snarky to cover his growing embarrassment with the situation, which was quickly spiraling out of control.
At that, Sherlock blushed faintly and shrugged awkwardly. “I haven’t always been ‘married to my work’,” he mumbled. “I have just been ‘married to my work’ for quite some time now,” and then he refused to say anything more about it.
John was somewhat shocked to hear this. He had always assumed that Sherlock didn’t like sex, never thought of it. “So you’ve…” he started to ask, but the words caught in his throat and wouldn’t budge. He licked his lips and tried a different route. “And you’ve enjoyed it?”
“Yes, of course,” Sherlock snapped at him, annoyed now and looking at John as though he were truly an idiot. “I’m not actually a machine, you realize.”
John could feel his face and ears heat at the reminder and he decided to change the subject, quickly. “So…are we really going to do this?” John asked uncomfortably, fidgeting slightly as he stood before Sherlock, his hands playing with the hem of his button down shirt of their own accord. “We’re going to…have sex?”
“In the name of science, John,” Sherlock said lightly, as if that would make everything less awkward.
“Yeah, right,” John said, frowning. “Okay, well then you’ll have to have something that you need fixed,” he stated matter-of-factly, deciding that if Sherlock was doing this only in the name of science then he could be detached and clinical about it as well. “Or that you need to happen.”
Standing across from him, Sherlock thought for a moment. “I am highly worried about the latest test results that I have Molly running down at the morgue,” he said finally. “If they come back negative, a whole month’s worth of work will have been for nothing.”
“Yeah, okay,” John said nervously, and his stomach took that moment to burst into butterflies. “Er, I guess we’re ready, then…”
XXX
They kissed each other tentatively at first, unsure of one another. In Sherlock’s bedroom, with only the moonlight shining through the open window to see by, John’s hands stuttered their way over Sherlock’s body, uncertain of where to be in the beginning. But as they continued on, John found that it became easier, nicer, better.
When their tongues touched for the first time, John could feel what little uneasiness there was left fade away, and his hands grew bolder, working at the buttons on Sherlock’s shirt and then moving on to the fly of his trousers once the previous article of clothing was divested of.
Sherlock helped John undress him eagerly, lips continuously locked against John’s so that the blond man couldn’t even get a good look at the brunet. It was only when Sherlock’s hands made quick work of John’s own trousers and pants, unbuttoning them quickly and yanking them down impatiently, that John pulled away from him for the first time.
“W-wait,” he stammered, trying to turn his body away from Sherlock, “I—”
But Sherlock would not be dissuaded. He frowned at John in the semi-darkness of the bedroom and turned John bodily to face him once again.
And then he stopped and stared, wide-eyed.
“Oh,” he breathed out on a short huff of air. “John, that’s…”
“Yeah, I know,” John said, a small blush coming to his cheeks as he settled back on the bed, facing Sherlock fully once again. There was no point in hiding it now, he figured. “It’s kind of…big. I’ll have to prep you really well before you’ll be able to take it.”
Sherlock seemed unable to take his eyes away from it. Even when he spoke his gaze was on it, as if he was talking to John’s dick and not the man himself. “At least now I know why you think it’s so bloody special.”
“Shut up,” John growled, fed up with the brunet’s patronizing comments. He pushed the other man down onto the bed and crawled over him, his intent predatory.
Beneath him, propped up on a mound of pillows, Sherlock smiled smugly. “I thought you said you were going to make me shut up.”
John’s breath caught in his throat and his stomach fluttered anxiously. God, yes, please, he wanted to say, but he figured it would be safer to go a more diplomatic route. “Want that, do you?” he asked instead, because he wanted to know that it was Sherlock’s choice, wanted Sherlock to know that he had asked for it himself.
“Yes, let me taste it,” Sherlock whispered, voice breathy, and John groaned as his arousal spiked. “I want to feel it on my tongue.”
“Fuck, Sherlock.”
He could feel himself getting hard just from the situation, the first stirrings of arousal as they had kissed earlier were a simmering heat low in his belly, but when Sherlock maneuvered himself down John’s body and gripped his cock the doctor began to fill out in earnest.
Sherlock’s mouth was tentative at first, his tongue flashing out to lick at the head softly a few times before taking just the tip into his mouth, his tongue pushing out to sweep along the sensitive underside and a little farther down the shaft. John groaned at the feel of it, at the hesitance and uncertainty he could feel in Sherlock’s mouth, so unlike the man’s usual, self-assured demeanor.
But this was…amazing.
Sherlock went slowly, as if unsure how much of John’s cock he could fit in his mouth and not wanting to gag himself. John let Sherlock go at his own pace, although it was a struggle to keep his hips from snapping forward and plunging into that warm, wet mouth, fucking Sherlock’s face with intent.
Maybe some other time, he thought wistfully. Please, God, let there be some other time.
John let Sherlock mouth at his cock for a long while, content in the slow-burning heat of his arousal stirring in his groin. Sherlock’s cautious tongue brought him swiftly to full hardness, but once the brunet man decided he wanted to try to take in as much of John as he could, the blond had a harder time fighting the urge to come down Sherlock’s throat.
“God, that’s…” he moaned deeply as Sherlock took in more of him, struggling to keep his mouth open wide enough around John’s cock. John could feel the tip of his prick running along the back of Sherlock’s throat, and he finally had to pull himself out of the beautiful warmth before he came in the man’s mouth.
“You’re amazing, you didn’t even gag,” John breathed out, his voice strained from want.
“I didn’t take the whole thing,” Sherlock argued, seeming to be embarrassed by John’s praise over his cock-sucking abilities. “It’s rather impressively large.”
“You took more than most can the first time,” John told him, bending towards the man to kiss him. He wanted to feel that amazing mouth against other parts of his body, too. “Can I start stretching you now? I want to fuck you so badly.”
Sherlock made a keening noise in the back of his throat, a strange, impatient sound that made John chuckle as Sherlock pulled away from him and traded places with John on the bed, positioning himself beneath the blond for optimum ease of penetration.
Once John had squeezed some lube onto his fingers, he knelt down in between Sherlock’s legs, trailing kisses along the man’s pale, soft thighs and across his pubic bone. Sherlock squirmed against his mouth, clearly enjoying the sensation and John finally gave in to him, taking the tip of Sherlock’s cock into his mouth as he brought his fingers over to caress Sherlock’s tightly furled hole.
“Fuck,” Sherlock whined from farther up the bed.
His cock wasn’t nearly as thick as John’s was, but it was almost as long, lean and thin, just like Sherlock. John worked his mouth over it as far down as he could while he slipped a single finger into Sherlock’s entrance, loving how the man clenched around the intrusion. He was so tight; John knew he was going to feel amazing once he finally had his cock in him.
He was sure to go slow—the last thing he wanted was to hurt Sherlock—and be as thorough as possible. He stretched the brunet as far as he could with one finger, and then slowly added a second. He re-lubed his digits before finally adding a third some time later and felt as Sherlock slowly went pliant around him, underneath him, against him.
“Am I ready, John?” Sherlock finally asked, after a long stretch of silence that had been broken only by the brunet’s heavy breaths and the wet sucking noises of John’s mouth.
“Yeah, Sherlock,” John answered him gruffly from between his legs, voice thick with want. “You’re ready.”
“Good, I can’t wait any longer. Give it to me. Please.”
“Christ,” John said as he scrambled up onto his knees, hurrying to obey Sherlock’s command. He wanted this badly, he knew that, but hearing Sherlock aching for it just as much sent a twitch through his cock. He fumbled with the condom for a moment while Sherlock squirmed beneath him impatiently but he was finally able to roll the blasted thing on, and then he was lining himself up at Sherlock’s entrance before the man could complain any more.
He pushed in slowly, carefully, enjoying the warm, tight heat of Sherlock’s body and trying not to hurt him. It was still a bit of a stretch he knew, even with three fingers of preparation, but hopefully Sherlock was loose enough to not feel too much pain.
But, if Sherlock’s heavy pants and the hand that was wandering across his body, gripping his own cock harshly was any indication, John figured he felt pretty fine after all.
He sank in slowly until he was completely sheathed inside of Sherlock, all the way to the hilt. He stayed there for a few seconds, letting Sherlock get used to the girth of him before drawing out slightly and then pushing back in.
Both men groaned in unison.
“God, that feels so good,” Sherlock panted, wanking himself leisurely as John stretched him.
“See,” John said with a wry grin. “I told you it was magical.”
“Shut up, John,” Sherlock huffed out. “Just shut up and fuck me already.”
“Your wish,” John replied, still smiling goofily.
He started up a gentle rhythm, slow but deep, wanting Sherlock to feel every bit of him. It was amazing seeing Sherlock like this, spread out underneath him and panting heavily. A red flush had come to his skin, staining his pale flesh a pretty pink. John was surprised by how far the blush stretched, covering his face and creeping down his neck to his chest. The brunet man looked positively debauched.
“Is it good?” John asked him, unable to help himself. Even though they both said that they were doing this simply to prove a point, John Watson had never been one to be selfish in bed. He wanted, needed, to know that Sherlock was feeling as amazing as he was.
“Y-yes,” Sherlock whimpered. “Yes, oh God, yes.”
John’s smug smile grew in size. “It’ll get better, watch.”
And then he shifted over Sherlock slightly, changing angles and plunging deep into the man beneath him. He knew he had found his target when Sherlock keened under him, body going tense and tight as he pounded into that spot over and over and over again.
“John! John, fuck, I—”
Sherlock’s words were cut off by a deep moan, but it was all right. John knew what he was going to say.
“Yes,” he told the brunet. “Yes, come on, I know you’re close. You can come now, I’ve got you.”
“Yes,” Sherlock bit out, teeth clenched against the onslaught of sensation John was pouring over him. “Yes, I’m—”
John could feel Sherlock clench around him when he came, his hole fluttering minutely at the intensity of his orgasm. He wanted to hold on, to keep going, to never stop, but he couldn’t. Sherlock was so perfect around him, so hot and tight, and John found himself falling over the edge along with the other man, plummeting far and fast and it felt just like flying.
He collapsed as the intensity of his climax became too much for his body, and he only just managed not to crush Sherlock beneath him. He rolled onto his back, heaving great breaths of air, and took a moment to bask in the wonderfulness that was his life.
When he felt he once again had the ability to function properly, John tucked a hand behind his head and grinned widely. “So,” he said, still trying to catch his breath and moving to pull off the used condom. He tossed it onto the pile of his abandoned clothes carefully. “Are you still worried about those test results?”
Sherlock curled into John’s side, resting his head on the doctor’s chest and lazily running his long, pale hands over John’s stomach. “Hmm? What test results?” he asked, and his voice sounded dazed.
John couldn’t help the laugh that erupted in his chest. Bringing his arm over to wrap around Sherlock’s shoulders and hold him close, he reminded the other man, “The ones you have Molly running at Bart’s.” His laughter slowly died away but a huge grin remained. “See, I told you it works! I was right!” he crowed happily.
Against him he felt Sherlock squirm agitatedly. “What are you blathering on about, John? How does that prove that you’re right?” he asked, and his voice no longer held that dreamy, blissed out quality that it took on when he was being fucked. Now it was back to being harsh and reproving.
“Before we started you said that you were worried about those test results,” John explained to him. “I claimed to have a magic dick that melts all of your cares away. After having fucked said dick, you couldn’t even remember that you were waiting on those results, implying that you are no longer worried about them. Ergo, I’m right.”
Sherlock sat up in the bed rather abruptly, dislodging John’s arm harshly. “That’s not what I meant, John,” he argued. “I meant that I needed the test results to come back positive.”
“Nope, no,” John shook his head, pushing himself into a sitting position and staring angrily at the naked man next to him. “When I asked what you needed fixed, you told me that you were worried about the test results and then talked about what a hassle it would be if they came back negative. You never specifically asked for them to be positive.”
“Semantics, John!” Sherlock shouted at him incredulously.
“Doesn’t matter, Sherlock,” John stated evenly and he couldn’t help the smug smile that was beginning to grow on his lips. “I’m right. You’re wrong. My magic dick and I will take an apology now.”
Sherlock made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat and flopped back down onto the bed in a huff, turning his back to John and tugging all of the duvet towards him, leaving little for John. “You can go fuck yourself with your magic dick,” he told the doctor without looking at him. “Maybe you’ll get what you want, then.”
John couldn’t help the laugh that Sherlock’s words pulled from his chest.
XXX
It wasn’t until later that week, when he got a phone call from Molly stating that the blood tests on Mr. Mathers came back positive for a very specific cocktail of poisons, that Sherlock was finally able to grudgingly concede that John Watson was indeed right about his magical cock.