Chapter Text
Sherlock had heard of John Watson long before he ever physically laid eyes on him. Their fancy neighborhood was always talking about the notorious bad boy’s latest scandal so it was only logical that some bit of the mindless chatter would reach the superior ears of one specific genius who couldn’t give a damn about who was sleeping with who or what John had been seen doing.
He didn't care about John Watson's personal life. He just wanted to do his experiments and read his chemistry books in peace, sexy bad boy be damned.
~~
The Watson’s lived in the next house over to the Holmes’ so technically speaking, both boys should have run into each other way earlier than they actually did but take into consideration Sherlock’s hermit-like nature when he was immersed in an experiment (which was always) and the fact that John was rarely ever home most nights (which was more often than not) and the circumstances in which fate eventually pushed the two together makes sense.
When they finally did meet, it was at a time when the two university students had both managed to be home when Mrs. Watson and Mrs. Holmes decided to bring together their families for a nice barbeque since the weather in London was being uncharacteristically pleasant and ridiculously sunny.
And both of them had managed to get dragged into actually participating in the social event.
~~
“Mother, this is absolutely preposterous,” exclaimed the younger Holmes when told to don a T-shirt and jeans and join the two families congregating in the backyard over a grill as if watching meat cook was the most interesting thing in the world.
Dull, thought Sherlock. So unbearably dull.
“Young man, you will do as I say. The Watsons have been our friends for years and they have yet to meet our elusive younger son. Honestly, Sherlock, have some decency!” snapped Mrs. Holmes. “Now get dressed before I dress you myself!”
Sherlock shrunk back at Mummy’s tone. She was ordinary but she had an extraordinary temper. With one last eye-roll and a long-suffering sigh, he picked out fitted grey T-Shirt, his dark blue jeans and slipped on his Vans sneakers.
Mummy had already gone downstairs so he knew that if he wasn’t down there in the next 5 minutes, she would serve him for lunch.
He smiled at himself in the mirror. Nope, it wouldn't do to smile like a madman at their guests.
Ugh, how depressingly normal.
He grimaced, hoping the Watsons wouldn’t overstay their welcome. Which to him was staying for more than 10 minutes so he supposed he shouldn’t get his hopes up.
Sherlock trudged downstairs and pushed the door of the backyard open and stepped out into the fresh air. His eyes flicked over their guests, deducing and filing away as he went.
Harriet Watson. Younger sister, likes a drink. Fancies one right now, as a matter of fact. Lesbian, came out at 16. Keeps checking her phone; either fighting with her girlfriend or sexting but the latter is unlikely since she’s in a public setting.
Mr. Watson. Proud father, loves his children and wife. Engaged in coitus last night with his wife; they’re both glowing from the increase of hormones and pheromones. Enjoys a good beer, ex-military commander.
Mrs. Watson. Wished her children would give her grandchildren soon because she’s worried she’s getting old. Happy enough in her marriage. Hungry.
But nothing in the world could have prepared him for the enigmatic John Watson. As his gaze settled on the other boy, Sherlock’s eyes met a piercing dark blue gaze and enticing pink lips pulled into a smirk. He was wearing tight jeans slung low enough on his hips to emit a come-hither vibe without looking indecent, a leather jacket over a green shirt that did nothing to hide the tattoo of a lion creeping up around his neck from under his collar, demanding to be acknowledged. He looked good enough to eat and Sherlock couldn't believe he’s having those thoughts. He doesn’t do attraction, sex, pleasure. They don’t interest him. But those eyes looked impossibly blue and his presence was so commanding that he couldn’t get his mind out of the gutter.
The young man was still holding eye contact and smirking that sexy smirk. He must have been watching Sherlock watching his family, realized Sherlock as John walked towards him, a coke in his left hand and a plate of grilled meat in his right.
As he neared, he transferred the coke onto his plate and balanced both in one hand, holding his left hand out to shake Sherlock’s.
“Hey, mate. Good to meet you, I’m John,” he said, blue eyes twinkling.
How do eyes twinkle, wondered Sherlock distantly as his large hand clasped John’s smaller one.
John Watson. Left handed, confident. Recently came out as bisexual. He’s not what they say he is- he is lively, an adrenaline junkie, certainly but on no count an unkind spirit. Kind, compassionate, wants to be a doctor. . Signs of interest; pupils slightly more dilated than normal, shoulders broad and he’s standing tall- aiming to impress- lingering handshake. Interesting.
“Like what you see?” John said, making Sherlock’s wandering eyes snap back up to his own. The other boy had been so concentrated as if he were taking John apart and it was making John a little hot under the collar. He’d already been making plans to seduce the gorgeous dark-haired young man the second he’d seen him. He’d watched that piercing gaze alight on each of his family members, picking them apart and revealing their souls to the attentive boy.
Sherlock cleared his throat, “Sherlock. The pleasure is all mine, John. The pleasure is all mine.”
John smiled, “That's a unique name but it certainly seems fitting for such a unique persona. Tell me, what were you doing just then?”
“Just when?” asked Sherlock ignoring the compliment and the way it made his inside catch fire.
“Just now when you were staring at me,” answered John with a low chuckle.
“I wasn’t staring, I was deducing,” sniffed Sherlock, his head held high.
“Enlighten me then. What did you deduce?”
So Sherlock told him.
“Brilliant,” he breathed when Sherlock was done.
Sherlock’s eyes widened, “Really?”
“God, yes. You’re right by the way, especially about that last bit. I am insanely interested right now so if you are, meet me inside the garden shed in 3 minutes.”
With that John walked off, deposited his plate and drink on a table and headd towards the back of the spacious garden.
It takes Sherlock less than a minute to follow him but he can’t be arsed to care about his lack of self-restraint. Later he’ll learn that when it comes to John, there are things he lacks- restraint and control- and things he has an abundance of- love and lube.
~~
The garden shed isn’t very spacious but it fits them both comfortably. John isn’t facing Sherlock when he comes in and Sherlock takes a moment to appreciate the shape and form of John. The broad, strong shoulders. His built form. The curve of his delectable arse. And when he turns around to face Sherlock, that deliciously mischievous grin.
He blinks and John’s lips are a couple of centimeters away from his own. “Didn’t take you long to follow,” John says, his lips brushing Sherlock’s.
Sherlock swallows, “Mummy says it’s rude to decline an open invitation.”
John hums, a short low sound.
“We wouldn’t want Mummy to be disappointed in you, now would we?”
John’s lips are firm and soft, cool and warm. At first he’s stunned but he quickly recovers, his own lips working against John’s, tongues tangling.
John pulls away first, angling Sherlock’s face to admire his already kiss-bruised lips.
“God, I bet your lips would look gorgeous around my cock. All flushed and pink, your mouth wet and pliant-” he broke off at Sherlock’s low moan. “Would you like that?”
“I don’t know how,” Sherlock whispered, his voice hoarse and raw.
“That’s not a problem,” John said, kissing him. “I’ll talk you through it. You’re so beautiful, Sherlock. How come you’ve never done this before?”
“Usually when I open my mouth, people either cry, punch me or walk away. My deductions have never had the effect they had on you on anyone else before,” shrugged Sherlock.
“Well, thank God, because I think I’d very much like to keep you to myself,” murmured John against Sherlock’s lips, his left hand around Sherlock’ neck keeping him in place. Not that Sherlock would have tried to move anyway. It was nice to be wanted.
He pushed John gently towards one of the stools in the shed, silently asking him to sit as he himself dropped to his knees infront of John. His fumbling fingers undid the zip but couldn’t quite get the button.
“Here, let me,” whispered John, undoing his button and slipping both pants and jeans off in one go. He was only half-hard but with Sherlock on his knees looking so damn intrigued infront of him would get him there, no doubt.
“Put your mouth on the top and take in as much as is comfortable for you and use your hand for the rest of it,” instructed John.
Sherlock complied. As his mouth met the head of John’s cock, John let out a sigh.
“Avoid using your teeth, love,” he added on, just in case.
Sherlock was now slightly bobbing his head on John’s cock, taking him in further with each bob. He pressed his tongue against the underside of John’s length, simply grazing it with his teeth on the way up.
John hissed and panted, “Alright, a little bit of teeth then. That’s good, babe, you’re doing great.”
The praise did great things for Sherlock’s confidence as he took John in even further, the tip touching his throat. The saliva in his mouth was too much causing him to instinctively swallow around John.
The moan that ripped through John surprised then both but neither could deny the effect it had on the atmosphere.
“Oh gosh, oh gosh, do you not have a gag reflex?! Again, Sherlock please!”
Sherlock came up for breath before he attempted the move again, licking and sucking as he came back down to encase John in the warm, wet heat of his mouth again. He swallowed and John’s breath came in ragged gasps. He continued to lick, suck and swallow as John’s moans increased in frequency and volume until John came hard down Sherlock’s throat, ripping a hoarse shout from John.
Sherlock tried to keep all the come in his mouth but eventually had to catch some in his hand. As John stilled and went soft in his mouth, he released him with a soft plop.
He spat the semen out into an old, broken plant pot and wiped his hand on a semi-clean rag on the plant counter.
“That was amazing, Sherlock,” John said, regaining his breath. “Are you all right? Do you need any help dealing with that?”
Sherlock looked down at his erection straining against his jeans.
He took out his cock and wrapped his hand around it, planning the most efficient way to eliminate his rather obvious problem.
“Here,” John said, wrapping his hand over Sherlock’s as they pumped together.
6 long leisurely pulls, 4 quick ones and a warm thumb over his slit was all it took for Sherlock to come undone.
“Tonight,” murmured John in his ear. “Leave your window open. I am not done with you, Sherlock Holmes. Frankly, I don’t think I ever will be.”
Sherlock swallowed and nodded. He was okay with that arrangement as long as he got to keep John.