Sherlock's Experiment

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fan Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A sudden idea comes to Sherlock for a mild experiment which turns out to be a 'bursting' success!

Porn without plot, really. Shameless smut. Enjoy.

Submitted: August 19, 2017

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Submitted: August 19, 2017

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The early morning sunbeams coaxed shadows from the objects within 221 b Baker Street, along with splashing full along the inhabitants faces.

'Didn't shut the curtains again, I see...' Grumbled John, who tossed an arm over his eyes in limp fashion.
He really was rather knackered after the night they'd just spent together; dashing after criminals, then sprinting about after a small dog in relation to the case, had proven thorough exercise.
And, considering the seven hour shift at emerg he'd done beforehand, he was all the more tired for it.
'Sorry.' Sherlock half-mumbled as he rubbed his eyes.
He stood up, entirely naked as he left the concealment of the crimson duvet, and went over to the window, the glaring light making his pale skin seem notably more alabaster as he closed the maroon drapes.
'Well, that's not much use, now, is it?' John complained upon hearing the sound of the fabric rustling.
John would also have added that he really ought to cover himself up, rather than displaying his wares to those outside 221 b, however it had done no good in the past and he'd given up on such reminders.

He removed his arm from his eyes and gave Sherlock a pained expression.
How could Sherlock be both a genius and then so clueless about some things?
John had found it both annoying and adorable at first, but after experiencing the phenomenon as often as he'd done, only thought it annoying now. At least, for the most part.

John sighed, as Sherlock slipped back into bed and snuggled right up against his back.
He felt soft lips press against the side of his neck, feeling those dark silky curls brush against his jaw.
The corners of John's lips turned up ever so slightly.
Sherlock had more or less always been rubbish at apologies, but awfully good at making up.

'I'm tired, Sherlock.' John feigned a groan, acting as if he weren't perfectly content with this unfolding situation.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow in amusement, removing his lips from John's tender skin. 'And?'
John closed his eyes, his loins draining most of his attention away from all else. 'Well, just that - I'm tired, and I haven't any energy at all. Your snoring away all night didn't exactly help me sleep, by the way.'
Sherlock knew that John had become accustomed to his awful habit of snoring at top volume, and had admitted to not being able to sleep properly without it when away.
'Oh?' Sherlock asked, sliding his dominant hand up John's pyjama top and tracing nonsensical patterns along any skin he could reach. 'If you are as exhausted as you claim, then you must rest.'
His lips curled up into that sexy little grin that John adored so much, before leaning in close and kissing John in an almost painfully gentle way.
Sherlock heard the smallest of moans escape John; this sort of sound wasn't easy to coax out of him, and it was Sherlock's absolute favourite thing to hear.
He slowly pulled away, moving to remove John's trousers.
John began to take his shirt off, when Sherlock gave him a look.
'Ah, no.' Sherlock intoned, shaking his head a bit. 'You're obviously far too weary for that. Now, lie back down properly.'
John's eyebrows came together in a moment of surprise.
This was a first.
He was always in control. Always.
Never had Sherlock shown a shred of actual assertion in this manner at all...
John thought he rather liked it, as he obeyed Sherlock.

An idea struck, and Sherlock rolled with it.
'Even with the drapes pulled shut, it is annoyingly bright in here, isn't it?' He asked, licking his bottom lip. 'As you're resting, I think it appropriate that you put your sleeping mask on.'
Which was something that John could have done when the light had actually been bothering him, instead of winging about the curtains. But, Sherlock kept this to himself, of course.
John wasn't sure what to think of this. It was not anything they'd ever done before.
Why they hadn't, John didn't know, and he found himself becoming more and more intrigued by what might happen next.
He took the mask from the nightstand beside the bed and put it on.
'Better?' Sherlock inquired, feeling awkward.
He wasn't one to speak much during this kind of activity, and it felt odd.
'Er, yeah, fine.' John replied.
Sherlock nodded, though there wasn't much point to it. 'Right, good, good.'
He began concocting a plan in his mind, and decided that the mask wasn't going to be enough.
'I'll be right back. You stay there as you are.' Sherlock told him, dashing nakedly off to the pantry.

 

Sherlock did a quick search of their inventory, looking for a short list of specific items.
He did wish that John would actually keep the cupboards organised - shoving things unceremoniously back into the cupboards meant having to search for what you needed.
John tried to convince Sherlock that it was fine, and that he had a system. He apparently knew just where everything was (which, he in fact, did not).
Once, Sherlock had even put in the time and effort to arrange each cupboard in the most rational way possible for John.
But, his organisational efforts had been a waste of time, with John reverting back to his age old habit within a fortnight.

After having found what he'd been seeking, Sherlock returned to the bedroom with a fabric bag containing it.
John was pretending to snore, despite it having been perhaps three minutes since Sherlock had left.
Sherlock reached into the bag, popping the cap off of a small bottle of golden syrup (they were still out of honey, since he was supposed to have picked that up with the milk days back) and drizzling it lightly over John's torso.
John took a sudden breath in, having been caught off guard.
Sherlock sat on the bed beside John, and bent over; before starting to languidly cleanse John of the sticky stuff with his tongue, he let his hot breath play over the sensitive skin.
John's breathing pattern quickened a pace, and Sherlock was pleased.
Sherlock had begun by using only the tip of his tongue, working his way down from John's slightly hairy chest.
Then, experimentation began; Sherlock tried pressing his tongue flat against, working with only the sides, the bottom of his tongue - different patterns, rhythyms, pressures.
John seemed to be enjoying it, and Sherlock had taken his time.

Once all of the syrup was gone, Sherlock went up and kissed John deeply, letting him taste the sweetness.
John kissed him back, and Sherlock nearly forgot who was in charge here.
He broke the kiss, and grabbed something else from the bag.
John could hear thin plastic wrapping begin torn off of something, and he tried to think of what it might be.
Suddenly, he felt a jolt go through his body as something hideously cold touched his skin!
John jumped and let out a few choice curse words.
Sherlock dragged the frosty thing along John's thigh, before it was batted away.
'Are you f***ing kidding me?' John spat, wondering what Sherlockhad been thinking.
Sherlock realised that he may have been a bit hasty, ought to have warned John about the cold.
He promptly chucked it into the waste basket. 'Sorry.'
'You should be!' John griped, sounding sulky.
Sherlock warmed the assaulted area with his warm hands, massaging away the unpleasant sensation of the ice lolly.
When a calm sigh came from John, he knew it was all right again.

He pulled one of two remaining items from the bag, and shook it before applying it to John's proud appendage.
'Hu- oooh...' John mumbled, letting out an 'ah!' moments later as Sherlock began gently smoothing the whipped cream over John's bollocks.
It felt bizarre, but not bad at all.
As Sherlock began lapping up the foamy cream, his hands brushed John's inner thighs.
He noted the pre-cum leaking copiously and knew John wouldn't last much longer.
It wasn't easy to ignore his own raging erection while he did his best to conduct this mild experiment on John, and focusing was quite the challenge; but, he had set out to please John and that's what he was going to do.
This wasn't about his pleasure this time.
John had been generous enough to take him over the edge a number of times without reciprocation, and it was time to give back a little.
Though, he hadn't realised it would be so hard... Er, difficult, that is to say.
Deciding to forget about the whipped cream and the other things, Sherlock took a breath and swallowed John's entire length without a hint of warning.
John couldn't help it, he bucked his hips and causing Sherlock to choke.
'Oh, shit, I'm sorry!' John apologised guiltily, pulling the mask off.
Sherlock regained his breath, and pushed John back down.
He tried again, only less voraciously this time, and John let out a strained moan.
Sherlock felt the telltale twitches of John's cock, tasted the hot seminal fluid as it filled his mouth, watched in delight as John's face went through the stages of intense orgasm.
He let John slip out of his mouth, swallowing the semen as John opened his eyes in time to witness it.
John shuddered as the last twinges went through him, and he began to feel much more tired than he'd been before.
Sherlock moved up close and kissed John's cheek. 'Sweet dreams.'

He got up from the bed, grabbing the fluffy purple robe Molly had given him last Christmas, and went into the bathroom.
Sherlock put the lid on the toilet down and sat, taking a bottle of lube from the medicine cabinet.
He popped the top of it off and squeezed an amount into the palm of his hand.
Sherlock closed his eyes, gripping himself tightly and hastily moving his hand, biting his lip as he came in a forceful burst which left him gasping for air.
He'd never been hard for that long without any attention, and the result had been surprisingly positive.

All in all, the improvised experiment had been a success.


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