Sherlock didn’t know what had possessed his flatmate. It was definitely something intriguing to say the least. It was just like John to be so unexpected, changing Sherlock’s view of him every single time the detective thought he finally had him completely figured out. John Watson’s many layers continued to fascinate and finally Sherlock had struck upon one of a musical turn.
John was playing Sherlock’s violin, and he was playing it well.
It struck Sherlock as odd that John would even so much as touch his violin without permission. Regardless of the fact Sherlock took the liberty of helping himself to all of John’s possessions, John would never just take something of Sherlock’s. That was the first peculiarity. The second was that John actually knew how to play, or was at least half decent at it. Sherlock kept no sheet music so either John was playing by memory or had downloaded something. If the former it implied years of dedicated practice, and honestly just when had this ex-army doctor had the time? The latter seemed to imply that John had practiced at one point and had the passing fancy to do so again, which Sherlock highly doubted. John wouldn’t touch Sherlock’s things on a mere whim, it had to have been torturing him for months, the temptation slowly wearing down his self-control until he gave in.
Sherlock pressed his ear against the door, listening carefully. The notes were smooth and played by a steady hand so John knew what he was doing. Sherlock wanted to go in, to see how John was holding his violin, to see if he closed his eyes when he played or if he swayed with the music, but Sherlock knew the second John saw him, he would stop, and possibly flee the scene whilst muttering his thousand apologies. As unpredictable as John’s actions were, Sherlock always knew how John would react.
He would stop playing soon, Sherlock could tell his piece was coming to an end and he made the decision to catch him in the act, slowly slipping into the kitchen and silently pouring himself a glass of Claret (music was always best enjoyed with wine and he intended on making John give him a show) before wandering straight into the sitting room. As expected, the second John realized Sherlock’s presence he stopped playing, lowering the violin quickly as though he thought Sherlock wouldn’t even know he’d been playing it.
‘Sherlock, I…’ John started to explain but Sherlock held up his hand to silence him. He slinked his way over to the sofa and sat, kicking his feet up onto the cushions as he made himself comfortable.
‘Go on then,’ Sherlock said, looking up at John as he took a sip of wine. ‘Play.’
John visibly swallowed, some of the colour draining out of his face as he realized Sherlock wasn’t going to just let him explain himself or apologize or even simply let him run away to his room. Hesitantly he brought the violin back up to his shoulder and rested his chin against the rest. His eyes flitted everywhere except for where Sherlock was seated and he slowly brought the bow up to glide across the strings in a weak sounding note that made Sherlock frown.
‘John,’ he said, waiting until John finally looked at him. ‘I heard you before; you were good. Don’t expect to get out of this by playing like you don’t know what you’re doing.’
John closed his eyes as Sherlock mentioned he’d already heard him playing, some colour coming back to his cheeks in the form of a flush. ‘How long were you listening for?’
‘It hardly matters,’ Sherlock replied. ‘Play.’
‘Look, if this is some sort of punishment for touching your stuff, Sherlock, I’m sorry,’ John said, lowering the violin. ‘I won’t do it again.’
Sherlock started to despair of him. ‘John, I want you to play because I want to hear it. You won’t get out of this. You’ve shown some talent, I want to see how good you are.’
John looked uneasy but started over, the first note bolder but Sherlock could still sense John was holding back. He sighed dramatically, almost jumping when John played the first note again, loud and strong like it was meant to be played before launching into the rest of the song. Sherlock’s brain was quick to realize John was playing one of the detective’s own compositions, not a single note wrong, not a single beat missed, regardless of the fact Sherlock had never written it down. John only knew it from the times Sherlock had played it in the lull between cases and yet he was playing it as if it were his own. Sherlock was struck speechless; John had learnt it by ear, memorized it, and was now playing it back to him with just as much enthusiasm as he.
John closed his eyes and swayed with the notes, his fingers flying over the strings as he played with a grace not unlike Sherlock’s own. The man was amazing and Sherlock felt his heartbeat fall in time with the notes. He was unable to take his eyes off of his flatmate. He had thought John moderately attractive before this, nothing particularly special but definitely not ordinary. He hadn’t entertained the thought of dragging him off to his bed, though he had seen that John’s attraction to him would have ensured willingness if Sherlock had actually tried. Now, however, Sherlock felt a deep desire to jump him where he stood, to have him render him senseless with passion and fuck him into oblivion. He wanted those fingers to dance across his body the way they danced across the strings, wanted John on him, in him, taking him while his music still rang through Sherlock’s ears.
He wasn’t sure where this urge came from, but it was becoming hard to ignore. Perhaps it was the wine. Yes, most definitely the wine. Sherlock had drunk half the glass already so that must be what was impairing him so. He was careful not to show his arousal, concentrating hard on not getting an erection, his tight trousers would give him away and he didn’t want John to catch him out in case he stopped playing.
Sherlock was somewhat saved from his inward battle by John’s failure to remember how the piece of music ended, playing something along the lines of it but oh so wrong, Sherlock feeling it like a mental slap, grateful it managed to bring him back some control over himself.
‘Sorry,’ John muttered as he lowered the violin. ‘You rarely finish your songs; I can’t remember how that one ends.’ Sherlock silently stood, placing his wine glass on the table as he reached out for his violin. John handed it over, his steady hands not betraying his obvious discomfort of this situation. Sherlock brought his violin up to his shoulder, keeping his eyes on John as he played for him the ending of his piece, handing the instrument back in an obvious sign to try again. John hesitated slightly before taking it back, realizing Sherlock was going to be insistent about this regardless of what excuses he gave.
He played the ending back to Sherlock as sure as Sherlock had played it himself before looking at him, silently begging him to end this already and let him leave. Sherlock was still too awe struck to respond immediately, having to shake his head to bring himself back.
‘Wonderful,’ Sherlock breathed before clearing his throat, trying not to appear so affected by John’s talent. ‘But that’s not the tune you were playing when I came in.’
John blushed hard at that, Sherlock immediately realizing he had been playing an original composition.
‘From what I heard, it was… good.’ Sherlock inwardly cringed, so rarely did he give out compliments that he was utterly hopeless at it. ‘Please?’ he asked. ‘I recognize talent when I hear it and I hardly expected this of you.’ John frowned at that and Sherlock realized his words had come out badly. ‘I didn’t mean… I always imagined you the type to prefer to run around a field chasing after a stupid ball than pick up an instrument. As skilled as you are, you’ve hardly my finger span, you would have had to work harder to reach the notes, but then again I don’t suppose you’re the type to give up when you truly want to succeed at something.’ Sherlock let a smile touch his lips, John – if it was even possible at this stage – turning even redder at Sherlock’s words.
‘Play,’ Sherlock said again, taking up his seat on the couch once more. ‘You know I won’t let you leave until you indulge me.’ That sounded too sexual for Sherlock’s liking but there was nothing he could do now the words were out of his mouth.
With the slightest hint of a raised eyebrow, John took up the violin once more. Sherlock’s compliments must have worked for John didn’t seem quite so hesitant in playing for him anymore, his bow striking the strings in staccato notes that were timed perfectly with Sherlock’s heartbeat, or maybe it was the other way around? Sherlock dare not think that John was controlling him so with something as mundane as his own violin, but what else could this be? Well-played music pleased Sherlock, but it had never aroused him like this, each long note John played like a gentle caress across his skin. He hated that he was thinking like this, feeling his mind betray him much like his body, failing in his determination not to get an erection. He began to wonder if he should have just let John run away, save them both from the embarrassment of Sherlock’s rebelling libido, Sherlock contemplating saying something harsh about his composition so John would leave, but then John spoke, without stopping his playing, without halting his sway, and without opening his eyes.
Sherlock stopped breathing. Had he been so obvious that John knew of his predicament without even looking at him? He felt like a fool, a hot flush blooming across his cheeks as he had to bite his lip to stop letting loose a whimper. Pathetic!
‘Do it,’ John said, opening his eyes to look down at Sherlock. ‘I want to see what my music is doing to you.’ John licked his lips, a single note suffering from a slightly unsteady hand before he managed to get his control back. Sherlock let out the breath he’d been holding, the previously denied whimper leaving his lips as he slid a hand down his front to cup himself through his trousers.
‘Fuck,’ John swore as Sherlock let his head fall back, moaning a little as the pressure in his cock was finally relieved. It wasn’t enough though and Sherlock looked to John, as if seeking his permission, before unzipping his trousers and sliding his fingers down into his underwear. John played on, his tempo guiding the speed of Sherlock’s hand along his length – a perfect rhythm giving Sherlock no chance to stop and think how ridiculous and slightly perverted this was.
John’s song came to an end, that final sharp note spiking pleasure through Sherlock’s body before the silence rushed back in to claim him. John kept his eyes on Sherlock, something about the way he looked at him forbidding Sherlock to take his hand away from his arousal. John reached down to the coffee table and snatched up Sherlock’s wine glass, throwing back what was left of the drink before resting one of his knees between Sherlock’s legs, kneeling on the couch as he leant down dangerously close to Sherlock.
Sherlock cleared his throat. ‘You realize that the amount of alcohol you consumed was not enough to impair you in anyway, nor excuse you from any action…’
‘If you don’t want me to kiss you, I won’t,’ John said, stopping just short of Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock let out a shaky breath, making John’s mouth quirk into a smile. ‘But I think you want me to.’ Sherlock wasn’t given the chance to say anything more to that as John closed the distance between them and crushed their lips together. Sherlock’s violin fell the inch from John’s hand and clattered onto the floor, unharmed, as his fingers moved to tangle in Sherlock’s curls, tilting Sherlock’s head back to deepen their kiss.
Sherlock honestly had no idea how they came to this; as particular about details as he was, he couldn’t remember when John’s hand had replaced his own on his arousal, or when John had strayed from his lips and found those sensitive spots on his neck, set upon torturing him. Clinging desperately to John’s jumper, Sherlock couldn’t remember a time when he had felt so out of control, the noises John was pulling from him as his calloused hands rubbed roughly over his sensitive skin were frankly embarrassing, and the flush from his cheeks was beginning to spread across his body.
Sherlock’s lips were snatched up again in a round of kisses ending with Sherlock desperately clawing at John’s back, another layer of John being revealed though this one didn’t quite surprise Sherlock. John ‘three continents’ Watson didn’t get that nickname for being a lousy kisser.
John’s mouth abandoned Sherlock’s again to trail down his neck, kissing as far down Sherlock’s chest as he could before he was hindered by Sherlock’s shirt, the good doctor changing tactics and closing his mouth over Sherlock’s cloth-covered nipple, flicking his tongue out and soaking the material through. Sherlock couldn’t help the arch of his back, nor the keen of his flatmate’s – we’re they still within the parameters of that particular relationship? Sherlock wasn’t sure – name. He could feel John smirking against his skin as he moved back up to whisper in Sherlock’s ear.
‘Could we move this into the bedroom?’ John asked, surprising Sherlock with how sinful his voice had become.
‘Oh god, yes,’ Sherlock replied, his voice not as smooth as he had hoped but that was mainly John’s fault for cupping him as he had when Sherlock tried to speak. John chuckled in his ear before scooping Sherlock up, the detective wrapping his legs tightly around John’s waist, thinking for a second John would drop him. He gave no indication that he would, holding Sherlock firmly with his hands on his arse, offering him a squeeze as he nibbled at Sherlock’s lips once more. John was stronger than Sherlock had estimated, the ex-soldier still maintaining enough strength in his arms to carry Sherlock down to his room.
John pushed him up against the wall, just short of Sherlock’s door, snogging the life out of him and letting him drop down slightly so he could roll their hips together. It probably should have hurt when Sherlock threw his head back and connected with the wall but his pain receptors weren’t given a chance to respond before John had his body humming with a pleasure overload. Sherlock was worried he wouldn’t last until his bedroom if John kept doing that with his hips.
‘John, please!’ Sherlock should be ashamed to be this needy but goddamn this man, he was driving him out of his senses! John eventually peeled him away from the wall, hoisting Sherlock up higher on his hips like the fully grown man was little more than a child in his arms before kicking Sherlock’s door all the way open and revealing his room. Not quite the disaster area John was obviously thinking it would be, thanks to Sherlock having had a cleaning fit the previous week and tidied meticulously, otherwise John probably would have gotten the room he had visioned.
Sherlock was a little put out at John’s huff of laughter at his silk sheets, frowning at him as the doctor plopped him on the bed. ‘Don’t sulk at me,’ John said, kissing along Sherlock’s jaw line. ‘Considering how much you seem to loath sleeping, I was just expecting a horrible, wooden-slated, single bed, hidden away in the corner. Now I find you have a massive king sized bed with fitted silk sheets…’ He smirked before jumping up on the bed and hovering over Sherlock.
‘When I sleep, I want to sleep well,’ Sherlock explained, watching John as he nodded thoughtfully before descending on him almost too quickly for Sherlock to keep up. The heat of John’s mouth around his cock made him instantly buck up, digging his fingernails into John’s hair as he let loose a moan. ‘Are… are you going to undress me at some point or are you planning to fuck me through my clothes?’ Sherlock panted, uncomfortable still wrapped in material, not believing John hadn’t even taken his jumper off yet.
John hummed a yes, making Sherlock curse as the vibrations coursed through his body, having no idea which situation John had just said yes to. Not like he cared, as long as he was fucked, John could do whatever the hell he pleased with his clothes.
That wicked mouth pulled off his cock with the most obscene noise, John making his way up Sherlock’s body to kiss him once more as his fingers teased the buttons on his shirt. Sherlock all but yanked John’s jumper over his head, throwing the wretched thing off into a far corner before letting his hands run across John’s body, palming him through his trousers, noting that John was not lacking in that department at all.
‘Lubricant… condoms,’ John grunted, finally pulling Sherlock free of his trousers. Sherlock swore. Things needed to actually have sex were not things one would usually find in Sherlock’s room, and it just so happened that this was one of those times.
‘The closest you’ll find to lubricant is salve,’ Sherlock said, ‘and condoms very rarely make it into my top drawer as I’m not normally one to have spontaneous sex.’
John breathed a laugh in his ear. ‘Now I feel special,’ he said before kissing Sherlock’s cheek. ‘I’ll go and get what we need. Stay…’ he kissed the centre of Sherlock’s chest, ‘…here.’ He kissed Sherlock’s stomach before moving down and flicking his tongue out over the head of Sherlock’s cock, making Sherlock curse again as John disappeared out the door. Sherlock pulled his shirt off as he listened to John belting up the stairs to his room, hearing him rummaging around in a couple of drawers before coming back down. Sherlock was confused for a second as John’s foot falls seemed to head back towards the sitting room, only working out what John was doing a mere second before he heard the bow glide across the strings of his violin, once more back in those oh so capable hands.
‘John…’ Sherlock moaned, his heartbeat increasing as the composition washed over him, the thumping in his chest slowly being drowned out by the music as John came closer and closer back towards Sherlock’s room. John had opened his trousers at some point and now they just barely clung to his hips as he played to Sherlock, the bulge in his pants clearly visible as he stood in the door way with his legs spread, eyes locked with Sherlock, fingers flying over the strings and the bow striking each note perfectly. He played until Sherlock was almost writhing with anticipation, pausing only to throw the lubricant at him and tell him to prepare himself as he continued to play.
Sherlock hastened to comply, squeezing out far too much in his enthusiasm and dipping his hand immediately down between his legs, arching his back as he teased a finger inside, intent on giving John a show. When Sherlock had worked his way up to three fingers, John abandoned the violin, setting it on Sherlock’s desk before practically jumping right back on top of him. He pulled Sherlock’s fingers away and pinned his wrist to the mattress, leaning down to kiss him again before losing the rest of his clothing, pulling the condom out of his back pocket before throwing his jeans to the floor.
‘Yessss,’ Sherlock hissed, waiting for John to tear open the packet and roll it on. ‘Hurry up!’
‘Impatient,’ John complained, smiling as he grabbed for Sherlock’s lubricant covered hand to slick himself up. He moaned as Sherlock started stroking him, letting him tease him with his clever fingers before slapping him away and sitting back on his heels, motioning for Sherlock to come and set himself in his lap.
‘Slowly,’ John said as Sherlock set himself up, hovering over John’s cock.
Sherlock only shot him a look that said “really, John? You expect me to take this slowly?” before sitting himself straight down, taking John all the way to the hilt.
‘Why do you never listen to me?’ John moaned, not quite complaining as Sherlock settled himself into a position that would work the best for them. Sherlock just leant down to kiss him, tilting John’s head back as he raised himself up before sliding back down. John moaned into the kiss and bit down on Sherlock’s bottom lip. He was a lot more domineering than the cuddly jumpers would ever lead you to believe. It wasn’t long before Sherlock was losing what little fight for dominance he put up, John throwing him back down onto the mattress and beginning to ravish him mercilessly.
Sherlock had never been taken quite so skilfully, every thrust stealing his breath and making him cling on tighter to the man who was sending him wild. John’s fingers were all over him, playing him like he had done his violin, those lips almost permanently attached to his throat when they weren’t upon his own, that skilful tongue demanding entrance into his mouth. Sherlock couldn’t hold back his moans, shamelessly showing the throes of ecstasy John was making him feel, in turn making John set free his own groans of pleasure at seeing Sherlock so lost to his touch.
The sounds they made together were worthy of a symphony, John’s song still humming through Sherlock’s veins, his thrusts in keeping with the rhythm in his head. If Sherlock had any function left in his brain he would swear John was doing it on purpose to drive him out of his mind, and it was obviously working.
John grabbed Sherlock’s leg and threw it over his shoulder, his hand sliding back down his thigh to curve down around his buttocks, giving his arse a bit of a squeeze as he drove in deeper, harder, making Sherlock arch into each thrust, his back strung taut like a bow.
‘My God, you have such a gorgeous arse,’ John panted, folding himself forward, lips brushing against Sherlock’s ear. Sherlock could only moan in response, trying to rock harder back on John’s cock.
‘I… I really don’t know how much longer I can… last,’ Sherlock panted, still clinging on so tightly. The music in his head, the fingers that created those notes all over him, the fact that, on top of being able to seduce Sherlock with his own violin, John was just downright fantastic at fucking, was all too much for Sherlock to process, desperately needing his own crescendo.
John gave his arse another squeeze and bit his ear. ‘Let me hear you when you come.’
Sherlock swallowed thickly. ‘I… I won’t scream if that’s what you--’
John cut him off. ‘How would you know? I’m not finished with you yet.’
John played him well, Sherlock’s piano moans quickly escalating to forte as John sent him hurtling towards the end. Much like John’s song this was expected to end on one final note, and as desperate as Sherlock was to change the end of this composition and finish it as a duet, he simply could not hold out, pleasure building too quickly to even attempt to control it.
He cried out, finishing their joint composition and making such a mess between their bodies, arching into John’s final thrusts, finding the line between pleasure and over simulation growing closer and closer in John’s staccato pace but never quite crossing it.
John came with little more than a low moan, not quite the finale that Sherlock had, but then John was still grinning. He was, after all, the composer, and Sherlock had been his instrument, John’s joy coming purely from being able to play him, and by god had he made Sherlock’s body sing.
‘Fucking hell,’ John panted, lips attacking Sherlock’s jaw line as his body gave up and collapsed.
Sherlock moaned in response, feeling a sharp twinge as John forced his leg just a touch too far. ‘As flexible as I am, do you think…?’
‘Oh, shit, sorry,’ John slurred, helping Sherlock get his leg off his shoulder before rolling off him and laying down next to him. John carefully removed the condom and threw it in the hazardous waste basket Sherlock (disturbingly) kept right next to his bed.
‘So…’ John started, clearing his throat, clearly trying to think what to say. ‘Is this…?’
‘Awkward?’ Sherlock asked. ‘It is now.’
‘Right. Thank you for clearing that up.’ The silence stretched a bit longer, Sherlock taking a moment to try and make sense of all that had just happened and failing miserably, instead turning his mind back to John, trying not to blush as he remembered how little it took for him to spread his legs.
‘When did you learn how to do that?’ Sherlock asked eventually, seeing the awkward quiet starting to get unbearable.
‘The sex or the violin?’ John asked making Sherlock roll his eyes. ‘I started violin when I was seven.’
‘It was your sister’s violin you learnt on,’ Sherlock said.
John turned to look at him. ‘How did you…?’
‘You’re left-handed, yet you had no difficulties playing my right-handed violin, in fact you looked quite at peace with it, so obviously you learnt on one, but why?’
‘Left-handed violins are more expensive,’ John offered but Sherlock shook his head.
‘Parents don’t put a price on their children. Had the violin been brought for you it would have been one to suit the fact that you’re left-handed.’
‘You’re right,’ John said, ignoring Sherlock’s “I know”. ‘My sister managed to convince mum that she really, really wanted to learn how to play the violin. My parents couldn’t hire one as Harry was in the habit of destroying other people’s things, only caring about her own possessions, so they saved up. It was hard considering the massive drain my dad’s drinking habit put on their funds but she got enough in the end. Harry had two lessons and decided she hated it. She’d already managed to dent the woodwork so it couldn’t be returned. I hated to think mum had wasted all that money on my selfish sister so I started to play, found out I quite liked it. It helped me think. Though I had to leave it behind when I went to uni and dad ended up selling it, used the money to buy yet more booze to drink himself to death with, so I haven’t played in quite a while.’ John paused. ‘I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have touched your stuff but it was killing me.’
‘You could have asked,’ Sherlock said.
John shook his head. ‘You would have wanted to listen, and I didn’t really want that.’
‘You should have known you couldn’t hide something like this from me.’
‘Should have, but I’ve gotten away with it before.’
Sherlock raised his eyebrow though he had known by the way John had been holding his violin that this wasn’t the first time he had played it. ‘Why didn’t you want me to listen? The result seemed quite agreeable,’ Sherlock said as he stretched, John grinning at him as he felt all the little aches and pains that came with a damned good shag.
‘You’re better than me,’ John said, making Sherlock sigh.
‘So? You’re better than me at kissing, I didn’t shy away.’ John smirked at him. ‘In fact can we…?’ Sherlock didn’t get a chance to finish that request, John cupping his cheek and leaning over him to kiss him, tongue sliding hot into Sherlock’s mouth as Sherlock’s struggled to fight back.
‘You’re getting better,’ John said, pulling away for air.
‘I’m a fast learner,’ Sherlock informed him, pulling him down for another kiss.
‘Fuck… Sherlock… seriously…’ John started, speaking between Sherlock’s nips to his lips. ‘Unless you want… another go…’
‘I have a better idea,’ Sherlock said. ‘Would you play for me again, John?’
‘Um… if you want me to…’ John crawled off the bed and gathered up Sherlock’s violin, giving the bow a quick rosin before striking the first notes of the piece, watching as Sherlock stood up and approached him.
‘Keep playing,’ Sherlock instructed, walking around behind him, wrapping one arm around John’s waist, spreading his long fingers on John’s stomach, pressing his chest to John’s broad back and leaning ever so slightly down to whisper his observations in John’s ear.
‘Perfect posture,’ Sherlock remarked. ‘Fine stance. Steady hand. Good memory for melody, fine ear for the notes. I’d say you’re every bit as good as I.’ Sherlock let his hand wander down to John’s thigh, hearing the slight stumble in the notes. ‘However your concentration needs working on.’
‘I have perfect concentration,’ John retorted, sliding his gaze across to him. Sherlock raised his eyebrow.
‘I can think of one or two things that would break that,’ Sherlock stated, squeezing John’s thigh. The realization of what he had gotten himself into appeared too late on John’s face, Sherlock whispering low in his ear, ‘Don’t lose your concentration and I’ll let you come,’ before dropping to his knees and spinning John to face him.
It took a couple of attempts at starting but John managed to play through Sherlock’s frantic bobbing between his legs, even if all his notes blurred into one as both his composition and his self reached their blended climax. It was too late for Sherlock to punish him for it and just made the standard that much higher when it was Sherlock’s turn to prove his concentration, and considering John had already manage to turn the man into a jibbering mess once this evening, Sherlock never really stood a chance.