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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fan Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
After being given a chain-mail kit, John's inspired to create something quite special that has begun to feature in his fantasies. Sexual shenanigans ensue.

Submitted: August 19, 2017

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Submitted: August 19, 2017



Work Text:

It had been a peaceful week so far, with Sherlock having been locked away inside his mind for much of the time.

John, quite used to such instances, simply puttered about as he often did when he had free time and was on his own.
He would read, do the daily crossword in the newspaper, take their bloodhound Toby for a walk, or engage in his relatively new hobby; chain-mail.
Chain-mail had long been something that John had an interest towards, though he'd never acted upon it until Sherlock had given him a kit out of the blue.
John had been delightfully surprised at the sudden gift.

Sherlock had silently observed John the first time or two he'd worked with the chain-mail, grinning ever so slightly whenever John would become flustered and curse under his breath.
It took some time before John got the hang of it, but once he'd managed to, he began to enjoy it immensely.
And, now, as Sherlock blankly sat on the sofa, deep in his thoughts, John worked away on his first real piece; it was something of his own design he'd been tinkering with over the past week.

He wasn't quite sure what it was, exactly. If he had to describe it, John would likely have said that it was a sort of chain-mail harness/vest.
Not that he would ever wear such a thing. He fancied the thought of Sherlock donning the finished article, the shining metal warming against his pale skin. After all, John had been creating it with Sherlock in mind.

John shivered at the very idea. Before Sherlock had given him the kit, such a notion had never entered his head. But, now, it was all he could think of.
It was incredible the amount of kinks that Sherlock was bringing out in him.
John licked his bottom lip as he finished another row.
It wouldn't be very long before the piece was complete.

John wasn't sure if he would be able to find a way to ask Sherlock to wear it for him.
Of course, Sherlock would quite likely figure it out once he was back to reality again, just as he had done with John's other fantasies and fetishes.
Like the time when Sherlock had shocked John after a long shift at the hospital, wearing a black and white maid's uniform while he tidied up the bedroom before fawning over John.

Or, when Sherlock had practically read his mind and literally tore and cut off every single piece of clothing that John had been wearing, before claiming him in a delightfully rough manner.

Then, there was the time when Sherlock went a little too far with a suprise roleplay session which involved Sherlock being the 'bad guy'. He'd done such a good job of it, that John became somewhat uneasy at the terribly convincing act. This seemed to please Sherlock, and he'd gone even further into it, eventually putting an end to any mood that there had been altogether.
Still, more often than not, Sherlock had been right on the money when it came to what John secretly wanted but was too timid to say.


The hours went by, and John had been so absorbed in his work that he hadn't even realised that the sun had begun to set.
He had finished what he'd been making before looking out the window with a start.
It wasn't like him at all to lose track of time in this way. No wonder his stomach was grumbling.
John set aside the article and stood up, his back feeling stiff.
He stretched widely, enjoying it immensely when his spine popped in two places.

Before heading to the kitchen, John noticed that Sherlock was no longer sitting where he had been all day.
"Sherlock?" John called out, waiting for a response.
There came none.
Perhaps he was sleeping, or had gone out. Then again it was just as likely that Sherlock wasn't completely out of it yet and hadn't heard him at all.
John went over to the cupboard, pulling out the silver kettle and partially filling it with water, before putting it to boil on the stove while he made himself a sandwich.


As he ate his meal in solitude, John heard a soft knock at the door.
He got up and answered it, his bare feet padding on the linoleum as he walked through the kitchen.
"Mrs. Hudson, what brings you over?" He asked genially, opening the door wider for her to come in, which she did.
She held up a covered plate, looking from him to it, and then back again.
"Oh, I was baking today and thought that I might make a batch of lemon squares for you both." She said in her usual soft tone, a smile on her kind face as she handed them to John, who thanked her. "I know they're your favourite, dear."
John looked appreciative, and took them with a word of thanks. "Would you like a cup of tea?" He asked, gesturing to the kitchen.  "No trouble at all."
Mrs. Hudson shook her head. "That's quite all right, I can't stay long, I've got company over." With this, she unknowingly blushed crimson, certain that her delightful little secret had gone undetected.

John stifled a chuckle.
"Ah, I see." He replied with a nod. "Maybe next time, then."
Mrs. Hudson nodded back. "Next time." She agreed, before leaving with another smile.
John closed the door behind her, completely amused.
Of course, he was happy that she'd found herself someone. She had been quite lonely, and had been single for a very long time.
Not that that was altogether surprising, seeing as how her late husband had been ruthless and cruel in his relationship with her.
John suspected that Mrs. Hudson had been dating the postman, a jolly older fellow that had taken rather a shine to the landlady.
Whatever the case, it was quite nice to see Mrs. Hudson looking cheerier.


After finishing his meal, John took a peep round the flat for Sherlock.
Evidently, he had left the flat. Naturally, there was no note.
Sherlock never left notes, which tended to fluster John a bit.
With nothing much to do, John did a few household chores and went to read in bed for a while.


At 19:33, John heard the familiar sound of Sherlock's key sliding into the lock, the click signalling the unlocking of the door, and Sherlock's size 11 leather shoes clicking as they made contact with the wooden floor.
John set aside his book, and got out of bed, wearing only his pyjama bottoms.
He found Sherlock in the den, holding up John's newly finished chain-mail article with both hands.
He was holding it up pensively, staring at it with his piercing eyes as though it were some sort of intricate art.
John pressed his lips together; he hadn't meant to leave it out in the open like that.
Sherlock held it against his body, noting that the measurements of the item matched his own almost perfectly.
"You did admirably, however there are defects in two rows. Minor flaws." He stated in the same manner that a teacher might use with a pupil that has presented subpar material.
John nodded.  "Right, yeah, well, of course it's not going to be perfect, Sherlock." John reminded him, scratching the back of his head and mussing the greying hair a bit.

Sherlock looked over to him, a twinkle in his eyes.
"I prefer it that way; there's something to be said for imperfections, John." He replied gently, taking off his shirt and setting it over the back of the cream-coloured sofa.
John took in the sight of Sherlock's firm chest.
Years may have passed, yet the thrill of one another's bodies hadn't ebbed. In fact, in some ways, it had become heightened.
John watched as Sherlock slipped on the cool metal, his nipples puckering at the change in temperature.
It looked marvelous.

The chain-mail looked even better on Sherlock that John had imagined, fitting him perfectly.
The only thing that could have made the image better was if Sherlock had been wearing leather pants and was tied to the bed. Maybe even gagged.
John bit his lip as a new fantasy suddenly unfurled inside his creative imagination.
Sherlock ran a hand down the chain-mail, before noting the look on John's face and pretending not to notice.
He walked over to the front door, slipping his shoes off, before unbuttoning his trousers and sliding the fly down slowly, walking back to John and kissing him deeply.
Then, he let his trousers fall, revealing bee patterned pants.
They were both hard, both feeling that impetuous lust rising up inside; Sherlock slipped John's pyjama bottoms down to rest on the floor about his ankles, and slid his dominant hand along highly sensitive skin to tease and grasp at John's needy cock.

John made a small, half-strangled sound in the back of his throat, and Sherlock kissed it away, before nipping at John's bottom lip with his teeth.
He could feel Sherlock pressing against his left leg, as the hand now wrapped around his member gave a firm squeeze at the base.
There was no chance they were going to make it to the bedroom at this rate, which was fine by them both.  At a time like this, practically anywhere would do.
John felt the metal against his chest as they tasted one another, felt it press in where it would doubtless leave temporary impressions.  John wasn't sure why, but this turned him on all the more.

John reached down and began replicating exactly what Sherlock was doing for him; each stroke, each little finger movement, everything.
It was intoxicating, this flurry of electric sexual energy that washed over them both as they pleasured one another lovingly; the oneness of their minds and bodies each time that they made love was always an incredibly powerful experience which was unlike anything either of them had ever experienced with a single other being.
Sherlock soon felt the beginning twitches of John's orgasm, and swiftly knelt before his lover, taking him into his mouth and throat as he looked up into John's eyes.
He paid rapt attention to any changes in John's facial expression, reading what actions he might perform that would encourage the soon to be chaotic inferno that would be blazing within his lover to burn even hotter.

As Sherlock skilfully moved his mouth, tongue, and hands, John's legs began to turn to jelly and he leaned against the wall behind him for support.
John groaned as he suddenly burst, white-hot flashes of pure satisfaction ripping throughout his body, Sherlock coaxing as much physical pleasure from him as he could.

John's body tensed with the sensations, as Sherlock brought himself to orgasm, closing his eyes as a hurricane of release overtook him and he tasted the proof of his efforts which had spurted forth into his waiting mouth. 

Breathing heavily, coated in gleaming sweat, and feeling highly satisfied as they came down from the sexual high, John and Sherlock exchanged words of pure, honest love.

Sherlock got to his feet, gently kissing John once more as he laid a hand against cheek and embraced him tenderly, before leading him into the bathroom for a cleansing shower together.

© Copyright 2018 Colún Dubh. All rights reserved.

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