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Sherlock spent an hour looking at the picture. He looked at every detail and still couldn't decide if he should send it to John. He'd planned it all out. The outfit, the pose, and the style but he still didn't feel confident enough to send it. What if he missed the mark completely? What if John didn't like it? There were so many unknown variables. Data suggested that John would like almost anything Sherlock was wearing as long as it was on him. John would certainly not ridicule him if he wore something he didn't like and if he didn't like it, John would tell him gently.
Fine, Sherlock decided. He would send it. He paused in his chair. He rolled his eyes.
In all his planning, he hadn't decided what to text John. 'Happy Valentine’s Day' seemed too trivial and pedestrian.
Something heartfelt seemed like too much and would mislead John. It was time to send another text. A text that wouldn't fill him with nerves.
"If one was sending an erotic picture to their partner, what would one say? -SH"
It took Molly 2 minutes and 14 seconds to text back.
"Is this for a case? -Molly"
"Oh, don't tell me you're texting a murderer again. John won't like that. Remember the last time. -Molly"
"I'm not an idiot, Molly. I do know how to text criminals without your help. -SH"
"Oh, I see. ;D -Molly"
"Shut up, Molly, and that horrendous emoticon and threat are not as effective as you think. -SH"
"Are you sure? John would say otherwise. -Molly"
"If you're only going to blather at me and not answer my questions, then there is no point in talking to you. -SH"
"I thought you liked my blathering. What happened to my title of 'dearest bosom friend'? -Molly"
"Ugh, -SH"
"Hay! I hold that very dear to my heart, thank you! It's my pride and joy to be a close friend to the most impossible man in the world. Someone told me he was honoured and then got sick next to my shoes. -Molly"
"Will you forever hold that over my head, Molly Hooper? I did apologize. Anyway, you were supposed to be answering my question. Stop being distracting, miscreant. -SH"
"Haha, yeah. Okay. Well, I think the best way to start is with something clever. John likes it when you're clever. Or you could build up to it, ask him how it's going at work or you can tell him to take a break and to check his phone in private, that last one is a bit telling. It prepares him for seeing something he is sure won't be safe for work and it'll definitely get his heart pounding. -Molly"
"I've never sent him anything like this. -SH"
"Never!? -Molly"
Forwarded: "I've never sent him anything like this. -SH"
"And I've never given him a Valentine's Day gift. -SH"
"Never!!? -Molly"
"I loath repeating myself, Molly."
"Alright, It's only surprising. What made you give him one this year? -Molly"
"He told me yesterday that he's never been given a Valentine's Day gift. -SH"
"Really? John's, never received one? I'd have thought he would have received loads. Not even in school? -Molly"
"No. Nothing that counted. -SH"
"It's sweet of you to want to be the first. XD -Molly"
"Ugh, spare me. -SH"
"Happy Valentine's Day, Sherlock. I hope it goes well! ;D -Molly"
"Thank you for your help, Molly. Happy Valentine's Day. -SH"
"Aw, no problem. What are dearest bosom friends for? ;D -Molly"
Sherlock rolled his eyes at the phone not bothering to hide his smile as he was alone. Molly has been a big help and great friend ever since he decided to stop treating her so poorly and thank her for all her help. Once he properly became her friend, he'd found that they quite enjoy each other and that Molly is secretly quite clever and even a bit prickly once she's comfortable. They've been close friends ever since.
Sherlock decides to take Molly's advice. Starting with asking John how his day was going.
"How is your day, John? -SH"
John doesn't respond for 4 minutes and 14 seconds.
"Oh, hello, love. It's fine. Not very busy right now. Have you done something?"
"Does something have to happen for me to ask my husband how his day is going? -SH"
"Mmm, not exactly. So nothing happened then, eh?"
"Not exactly. Do you have a moment? -SH"
"Yeah, I suppose. What's up?"
"Can you go somewhere private? Preferably, somewhere you can lock the door. -SH"
"Private? Is something happening, Sherlock? Should I leave work?"
"No. It's fine. All fine. Are you there yet? -SH"
"Not yet. One sec."
"Okay."
"I was thinking a lot about what you said yesterday. -SH"
"What I said? What did I say?"
"The Valentine's Day thing. -SH"
"Oh, and?"
"I decided I wanted to do something for you. -SH"
"I think I see where this is going."
Sherlock sent two photos quickly before he lost the nerve. The first photo started at his lower torso and lower, all the way to his feet. He had a white button-up on, with the shirt hems out, and his black trousers were unzipped and opened revealing purple lace and a pretty little pink erect cock head visible through said lace.
The second photo was of him, bent over the back of John’s chair, nothing but the knickers on his round plump arse all wrapped in the same light purple lace with a pretty bow just above his arse cheeks that seemed to be wrapped up just for John.
Sherlock waited for a response. He started to question whether this was a stunned silence or disgusted silence. Slowly, he started to panic. Sherlock bit his lip and wondered if it might have been too much after all. He hoped that this was good. Was it good? Not enough data. Then John called. Sherlock's heart pounded in his chest as he felt the phone vibrate. He picked it up. When the call went through it wasn't what he was expecting. John was groaning and panting so hard it went straight to Sherlock's prick and he sat up in his chair with stunned surprise.
"Sooo fucking gorgeous!"
John was saying. "Fucking beautiful, Sherlock. Christ!" Sherlock swallowed. “You like it?” The question sounded bemused and shy all at once. “Like it? Bloody hell, I’m going to have to lock myself in my office for the foreseeable future! If anyone sees what you have done to me, I’m getting fired!” Sherlock’s lips quirked up. “We can't have that, John.” There was another groan from John. It seemed absentminded as if he didn't know he was doing it. “Are you looking at them now?” Sherlock asked feeling his face heat. “Do you really need to ask? I can't even…” John breathed deeply, steadying himself. A jolt of arousal hits Sherlock when he hears John shifting, a rush of fabric, then a zip, followed by the sound of a shaky exhale. When Sherlock speaks his voice is rough with thrill.
“What if someone comes in?”
“They will have to knock. The door is locked. No camera inside. It’s safe.” John whispers into the phone. Sherlock feels himself shiver and close his eyes, leaning back into his chair as he listens to the sound of John stroking himself. “You are…” John lets out a soft groan. His breathing has become very laboured. “Absolutely perfect. These are so fucking hot Sherlock- my goodness! I need to come because if I don’t, I’m going to lose my job. I need you so badly. Do you hear me, gorgeous? You drive me mad.” Sherlock whimpers. His pyjama bottoms are loose but he feels his cock twitching and growing harder. He could hear the slap of flesh as John wanked himself. "Do you know I- fuuuck- do you know I almost came looking at that?"
Sherlock's eyes fluttered and he sat in utter bliss at John’s words. He felt pleasure swim around his mind, making everything hazy except for the sounds of John and his rough voice on the phone. "Do you like it, John?" Sherlock asked breathlessly feeling like an idiot for asking something so obvious but he wanted to hear John say it. "I love it. You're- Gosh, Sherlock. Do you know how sexy you are? Fuck, You really don't!"
Sherlock felt his prick harden impossibly in his bottoms. He needed to touch it but he liked this build-up, he gripped the arm of his chair. "Tell me," he said not able to keep the arousal out of his voice. "So sexy, love. So fucking gorgeous. Fuck, I want to be home. Unwrapping you. Fucking you until you are pliant and drooling and begging me to fuck you deeper, harder." Sherlock shivered. "Filling you up and making you scream and beg. I'm going to make you beg, Sherlock. Tonight I'm going to fuck you so hard you can't breathe." Sherlock's eyes rolled back as he moaned tossing his head and foolishly, almost letting the phone slip from his hands, mouth salivating at the thought of it.
He knew John was fully capable of exactly that. He’d want it slow, wanting to coax every moan out, wanting to get Sherlock so close only to slow his pace further and make Sherlock feel it, feel exactly what it meant to be fucked by John Watson.
John's voice had gone deeper and had an edge to it that Sherlock found unbelievably sexy. It made him feel weak in the knees.
"Yes, John. Please," he begged, fully aware that John was close.
"Fucking beautiful. Say it again, Sherlock. Say it for me."
"Please, John. Please, I want it." He begged. Listening intently for the sound of John pulling himself off. He didn't have to listen hard.
John was close and Sherlock gripped his chair, feeling his arousal building. "Tell me, Sherlock," there was that edge again in John's voice. "Were you touching yourself while you were posing for the picture? You were, weren't you? Thinking about how sexy you looked and how you knew I'd enjoy it, weren't you? Knowing I’d want to bury my face between those cheeks and lick and touch and tongue you, all the while I gripped you and felt the texture of those beautiful knickers. I’m right aren't I, Sherlock? Tell me, love."
Sherlock could just about feel John doing all of that. "Yes, John!" Sherlock answered, pressing the palm of his hand to his crotch, unable to muffle the groan and whimper that escaped his lips.
"Sherlock," John said silently whispering. It sounded reverent. Sherlock could hear it. He was just there at the brink, that knowledge knowing that John was so turned on by two pictures of himself that he could lose control and come right in his office, made Sherlock whine louder and thrust his hips into his hand, fondling himself. “Oh, God, oh, Sherlock! You’re making me come! About to come!” John whispered into the phone. Sherlock held his breath and listened hard for the telling sounds, imagining John coming in his office, sitting at his desk, hard and uncontrollable, spasming, head thrown back with the image of The pictures in his mind and Sherlock’s heavy breathing and whimpering in his ear.
John felt his orgasm down in his bones. He let out a quiet exhale trying not to make too much noise and trying to rain himself back in. He had luckily grabbed tissue off his desk in haste but some still got on his jeans. John glanced down at it, chest heaving. There was a giggle in his voice when he next spoke. “You made me come on my jeans, love.” John chuckled. “Take a picture of it,” Sherlock demanded breathing heavily but actively trying to calm down.
“You want a picture of the come on my jeans?”
“I want to see it. Proof, I’ve defiled you at work.” Sherlock said possessively.
John shivered and chuckled. “Oh, your fucking voice. You're such a nutter.”
“Too much?” Sherlock asked sheepishly.
“No,” John smiled. “I love it when you're demanding like that. It's so coarse. One second.” John snapped a picture making sure he didn't send it off to the wrong person. “There you are, love. Now, I hate to leave like this right after that but I've got to go. They'll be looking for me. It's a good thing I haven't had my lunch yet. They'll assume I was taking it.”
“Of course, John.” Sherlock swallowed, trying not to feel disappointed and already feeling a small surge of anticipation.
“Hay, have that pretty thing on when I get home? I'll make do with my promise, yeah?”
Sherlock felt his heart thud against his chest. “Yes, John.”
“Good boy, I'll see you soon, love.”
“Yes, soon.”
John hung up and Sherlock sat in his chair trying his best to calm the anticipation and excitement he felt. He's still got to wait four hours before John gets home. He’ll have to prepare. Find a way to get Miss Hudson out of the flat or at least give her a heads up. Then there was the outfit. Did John only want him to wear the lingerie or would he prefer to undress him? Revealing it piece by piece. Slow and steady as he’d said.
There had been a bra that had come with the purchase. He wasn't sure John would be into that. Again he wondered if it would be too much to add. He had concluded before he took the photos, that the knickers would be enough. This was something to consider. John would also be hungry when he got off work, famished even. There was that to deal with as well.
First, Sherlock goes down to tell Miss Hudson. When he knocks on her door, he can hear music playing and the sound of her sweet voice singing along. She opens the door with a smile, she's dressed and her hair is done and she smells of Arpége and tea. “Oh, hello dearie. I just put the kettle on. Would you like some tea?” Sherlock nods and steps in.
She's cleaned it seems and she looks like she is preparing to leave but for how long? Sherlock sits in one of her too-comfortable chairs in the sitting room and soon he is offered tea. He's thinking of a way to tell her but before he can, she begins talking about her sister. Sherlock is hardly listening. He sips his tea and intergects his opinions when appropriate but otherwise, he is still thinking about how to tell her. “You know dear, it's a time for love and celebration. Time to love while we still can so don't hold back, both of you. I expect this much from you boys. I'll be gone before John gets home. I have my own plans to attend to. Go at it and enjoy your Valentine’s Day. Alright? No need to sit here blushing at me. Save that for John, dear.” Sherlock gapes. Miss Hudson just pats his cheek with a soft fond smile and fills his tea cup. Sherlock finishes his tea and tries to leave with his dignity. That woman can be oddly perceptive at times.
Sherlock showers when he gets back up to his flat. He does his hair in the way he knows John likes, he prepares himself and decides to wear the full set, down to the hosiery. When he looks at himself in the mirror, he determines that he looks sexy and that John would like it. The lilac colour suits his skin tone nicely, making the pink in his skin-pop. He has to stop his mind from wandering to thoughts of John undressing him, piece by piece. He takes several breaths but his cock is uncooperative. He throws on John’s dressing gown. He hardens as he waits. He fills his time with inane activities preparing, making the bed, getting out the lube, wet wipes, and water. He thinks that maybe he should have added rose petals like in the movies, maybe a few candles. He decides against it. He brings one of the lamplights in for better warm lighting instead of using the overhead light.
When it's just about time for John to get home, Sherlock is thrumming with anticipation. He tries to busy himself the best he can. John texts 5 minutes after he gets off work.
“Almost there. Felt indecent for the rest of the day thanks to you. Could hardly focus.”
“You're welcome. Hurry home. -SH”
“Ha, don't you worry. I'm hurrying.”
——————————————————————
John’s feet can't carry him quicker. He's panting even before he goes up the steps to his flat. He catches his breath when he gets to the door. He pauses and just breaths for a moment. When he’s gathered himself he makes his way to their bedroom. The door is agar and he can hear a soft groan coming from inside. Sherlock is lying there, hair tousled rubbing his nipple through what seems to be John’s dressing gown. John stands in the doorway surprised and then he smiles. It must have been hell for Sherlock to wait so long and it seems that his patience has snapped.
“Hi, gorgeous. Is that my dressing gown?”
Sherlock’s eyes flutter open and he sits up. How long had he been touching himself while John watched? Probably too long.
“Couldn't wait? Got impatient did you?”
Sherlock smiled back at his husband.“You've been ages, John.” John steps in closer and Sherlock stands to meet him. “That is my dressing gown. It's short on you.” John looks down at where the dressing gown stops and raises an eyebrow. “Tights,” John says breathlessly as he stares at the lilac-coloured legwear. “My hello kiss,” John grins and wraps his arms around his husband's waist and kisses him softly and gently, with none of the raging heat Sherlock had imagined. The way John kisses is the way John fucks. By kissing John he knows almost exactly what he is in for. John seems to be intent on going slowly. It makes Sherlock shiver. John slides the silk dressing gown off of Sherlock’s shoulder and it falls to reveal exactly what the detective has been hiding. John pulls away to take a peek.
“Let me get a look at you,” he says gently. He steps back and Sherlock lets him look. John looks at him and his breath picks up, colour dots his cheeks, and when he looks up at Sherlock, his eyes are ravenous. Sherlock feels himself grow weak at those eyes. John steps forward and kisses him hard, hand flying to his husband's chest to rub a thumb over a hard pink nipple. Sherlock breaks the kiss, throwing his head back.
“Oh,” he says. John lowers his head and sucks Sherlock’s nipple through the lacey fabric. The doctor swirls his tongue and bites gently. Sherlock moans. “You look so beautiful, Sherlock. So fucking gorgeous.“ John takes the other nipple into his mouth and sucks fabric just thin enough. Sherlock holds John’s head and lets him suck. John pulls back and takes his shit off. Sherlock gets on his knees and undoes his belt, the button, the zip, he pulls John’s jeans down along with his pants and John chuckles at the swiftness of Sherlock’s movements.
“I'm not going anywhere, Sher-” Sherlock, without preamble, takes John into his mouth. John groans up at the ceiling. “Fucking hell!” Sherlock hums and sucks him, bobbing his head and hallowing out his cheeks. John watches mesmerized by the beauty on his knees before him, sucking his cock. John whines, he grabs his husband's head gently and thrusts himself in and out of the other man's mouth slowly, careful not to gag him.
John’s head is swimming with arousal as he moans out his pleasure. He watches as his husband sucks him down. “Yes,” he rasps. Sherlock pulls off just when John is getting too close too soon. He stands. John kisses him again and they move back towards the bed. “Turn around,” John demands. “I need to be in you.” Sherlock does just that, lying with his head on the pillows and pretty bottom in the air. John goes for the lube as he positions himself behind Sherlock. He covers his two fingers with the lube. He moves the knickers with one hand and slides his finger into Sherlock with the other. He finds that Sherlock has already prepared himself. He slides another finger in. “John,” Sherlock says muffled by the pillow. John slides his fingers out, ready to replace it with his tongue but before that, he moves the knickers over just a bit so he can palm and stroke Sherlock's leaking cock. His husband whines and tries to speak. “I've already prepared,” Sherlock says breathing heavily.
“I know, love,” John speaks softly in a whisper. He is so soft with him. He drops Sherlock's cock and touches the lace with his hand, reverently. “I just love burying my face between you and licking you. This fucking gorgeous hot hole. I want to feel it around my tongue. Don't you like it, Sherlock, feeling my tongue inside you?” Sherlock can hardly breathe. He croaks out, “Y-yes, John. Yes,” John parts him and licks him, just a swipe, just a quick little thing but Sherlock groans, bucking slightly and then presses himself back against John.
His husband hums and licks inside. Sherlock lies there and feels it, John’s tongue probing him again and again. Sherlock is whining, Sherlock is rocking back against his husband. “John,” he groans. He tries to move his trembling hand back to John. His hand brushes against the doctor as weak as a kitten, pawing at John.“Please,” he groans “Please, John.” He is at the soldier's mercy, caught up in a whirlwind of John. His hands, his mouth, his tongue, his body. All of Sherlock is focused on one point, one grounding point to keep him steady even as his body trembles with the heavy heat of desire. John, always his steadiness.
Sherlock is slack-jawed, salivating, eyes glazed over, body lithe and obedient. All he can do is let John fuck him with his tongue and take control.
John understands. He leans back and positions himself. He grabs the lube again with shaky hands and rubs it on his cock, readying himself. He takes the head of his cock and rubs it against Sherlock’s hot hole. John pushes in slightly, there is hardly any resistance but he can feel Sherlock squeezing him. Sherlock whines out. His head is swimming and he wants it. He wants it so badly.
“I've got you, Sherlock. Shh, it's alright, love. Just take it, hm? Take it.”
John rolls his hips, watching himself sliding in slowly to the hilt. John is shaking. His entire body is begging him to pound into his husband, to give it to him hard but John steadies himself and feels himself being cocooned in the heat of Sherlock’s body, adjoined and united in this special way. Itamacy that makes John’s entire body sing.
Sherlock reaches back just as John goes to hold his hand. He grips his hand him. Sherlock breaths steadily relishing in the feeling of his husband sheathed inside him. Sherlock feels himself pulse around John’s cock.
John groans and throws his head back as he grips Sherlock’s hips and begins to thrust steadily inside. Slowly keeping a rhythm. Sherlock moans and whines below him. “John,” he says like a sob. “Sherlock,” John says groaning hard trying not to let his hips pound into the other man. He wants it slow like dripping honey. “Please John, please,” Sherlock begs, pushing himself onto John, meeting his thrusts. They continue that way until Sherlock lifts his head after one particularly urgent thrust from his husband and begs, “Fuck me, John. Please, I need you to fuck me.” That does it. John slams into him, gripping his husband with both hands and ramming into him. They both cry out in sync.
John feels his orgasm approaching, it had been on a simmer but now it's a burning flame rising and threatening him. “Sherlock, love, oh, fuck, touch yourself. I can't-” Sherlock doesn't need to be told twice. He can hardly wait any longer. Strokes himself once, twice as John fucks him. He cries out as he feels his orgasm building. When John brushes his prostate Sherlock all but yells out his release into the pillow. Sherlock sees stars. John isn't far behind. He spills into his husband with a long groan and loses himself for a moment. His whole body shakes and spasms as he comes. He almost doubles over but catches himself with one hand on the bed.
He lies next to his husband who seems to be dead to the world. John himself feels fuzzy and faint. He wipes the sweat from his forehead and just breathes. He comes to when Sherlock is peppering kisses on his shoulder. “You’re falling asleep, John,” Sherlock says. A smile spreads across John’s lips. He giggles. “Am I? You’re to blame.” Sherlock returns his husband's soppy smile and kisses his cheek. “Aren’t you hungry, John?” At that moment John noticed exactly how hungry he is, Sherlock had a way of doing that. “Starving! I don’t think we have much in at the moment except your- oh! Damn! Your gift! I forgot to give it to you!” John shoots up like a bullet. “I’ll be right back! Almost forgot.” John grabs his dressing gown off the floor and John races up to the empty bedroom. Sherlock smiles.
When John comes back down Sherlock is sitting at the kitchen table in his blue dressing gown. John’s got purple flowers wrapped in a bow and a box of chocolate in his hand and something else in a brown paper bag that looks to be a wine bottle, ah, Sherlock’s favourite wine then. John sits it on the table next to the takeout container Sherlock ordered when he was preparing earlier.
“I’m sorry! It’s a pretty shite gift compared to yours and you gave me such a great gift-“
“Hush, John.” Sherlock grabs John and forces him down to his lap. John sits and Sherlock kisses him then lies his head on his husband's shoulders.
“You’ve given me a perfect gift. Thank you, John. Happy Valentine’s Day.”
John smiles and kisses the top of Sherlock’s curly head.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, love.”