#adlock

Fifty-seven. Sorry, what? Fifty-seven of those texts - just the ones I’ve heard. How thrilling that you’ve counted.

@giftober 2024 | day 17: Phone call/Text

My ship history

1,007 wrds

CW: Overstim, SubTop John | 3rd POV

Late night tea stirs. Sherlock ponders, staring— calculating for what felt like hours. A knock, he looks over to see John in his pajamas. “You okay in here?” his voice soft with expression.

“fine. pondering.” Sherlock denies eye contact, focusing on his honied tea.

“Stressing, you mean.” John walks over, sitting down next to him on the couch. “you still.. thinking about her? Adler?” The Woman. Pieces of her mystery clouded his mind. Was it interest? Obsession? Intimacy. Intimidation. “Of course not. There’s more to the mind than a lover. An attachment.” Domination—scents like a reminiscent.

“Yes, I know, but.. you’re thinking about her. See it on your face. Touching..yearning.” he chuckles. “Never thought I’d see something like that from you, Sherlock.”

His spoon pauses its stir, looking at john. “How so?”

john clears his throat, eye contact wavy. “Well.., you’ve never looked..at me… like that.” his eyes scatter john’s figure—his expressions, his tone. Sherlock sighs, “We are just roommates, john.” he bluffs. “are we?” the demeanor of the room quiets—shifts. “What else would we be?..”

john retreats, thinking back to the other night. They were intoxicated, fucking on this very couch. Still roommates. “I suppose you’re right.” He lifts himself from the couch. “I don’t plan on moving out, by the way, i just.. thought that maybe we’ve gotten… closer. Anyway, I should probably head back to bed, work in the morning and all that. Night, Sherlock.” He heads towards his room upstairs, wondering if that step was too far out.

He closes his bedroom door, climbing back into bed.

Couldn’t sleep. It was like it was all he could think about. The other night, they went out drinking. It was Molly’s birthday so she invited them and a few other friends out to celebrate. one thing led to another, and they were on the couch, in a daze. (fucking right on Mrs. Hudson’s new couch.)

It got him hot all over again. they were easy to see if anyone walked in, easy to hear too. thats probably why his dick is hard again. His hand wandered down to the aching bulge in his pants underneath his covers. He reimagined what he could, stroking his dick, moaning unconsciously.

(their lips pressed against one another, heavy warmth in their chest and spit. John lays him back onto the couch, the fuzz of their pajama pants rubbing friction against each other. Their lips open in unison, taking each other’s tongues into their mouths.)

His tongue. his groans. he’s moist already.

(john grinds between his legs, dryhumping into him, his tongue thrusting into his slick mouth. “I want to touch you, Sherlock..” john’s mouth wanders, kissing down Sherlock’s neck as well, sucking any place he could reach. “make you feel good,...deeper than this..” Sherlock moans, feeling him grind against his hole. “Ohh…” Sherlock strokes, his legs folded, a pleading, moaning mess he’s become. lips parted, he takes john again, their tongues overlapping into eager tension.)

His dick throbs, squirting against the covers. He bites back his moans, trying to go backwards. Back to when he got to make his partner cum on himself.

He’s gonna cum on himself. again.

(john shifts, grunting, his bent boner continued to press at Sherlock’s hole through his fuzzies. “all this friction… fuck, Sherlock..” he takes Sherlock, stroking him at a quickened pace, his foreskin wettening his thumb and pointer. Quicker—john strokes, pulling his foreskin farther and farther back with every squelching stroke they share.

“i love watching you melt like this.. all for me..” john mumbles.)

Oh fuck. oh fuck.

2nd cumshot.

(Sherlock arches. his voice cracks, looking at him, water bubbling in his eyes. john slows his stroke, pressing his thumb into the slit of his penis. “I’ve imagined you in every way possible…” Sherlock pants, sweating, trying to stay quiet. “touching me…loving me…” fucking you, blowing you…. “I…”

“Sherlock, I do love you..I’ll never stop. No matter how much you push me away…” His eyes soften, a small smile on his lips. “...no matter how much you claim to dislike what I do for you…” His eyes wander down, soaking his fingers. “..to you.” John pulls his cock out, slapping his tip against Sherlock’s, his foreskin pulled back. john uses his hand to lather and finger Sherlock’s hole, watching his expression. “fuck..” john moans.

“you’re squeezing on my fingers already, baby… mm..”)

If he wasn’t tired he’d probably fuck himself thinking about him, trying to replicate any feeling of pleasure to savor such a feeling.

Faster—he pumps, milking himself, thinking of filling him up. he would fill him up so good… just thinking about it makes him thick. he doesn’t want to let go of that feeling. that vulnerability. that deflowering moment.

he’s gonna cum again.

(his pointer and middle squelch at his rim, watching his fingers suck and fuck in and out of the detective. Sherlock groans, grinding down onto him, grabbing both their cocks with one hand, pumping at john’s pace. they moan together, pumping each other faster by the minute. their bodies hump and grind together, the rustle of the couch adding just enough friction collision to send john over the edge first. “cumming!” john pressures, thrusting in and out of Sherlock’s palm, nutting first on his stomach and chest. Sherlock swallows, fucking himself against john’s hand. make me cum. please make me cum.

Sherlock’s eyes widen, gasping, feeling john massage over that sweet spot of his. he tenses, squeezing tight on curved fingers, feeling his orgasm close. “i’m about to–” he grunts loud, holding his tongue almost, shooting cumshots into the air and on his stomach. Partial drips down his length, john stroking him achingly slow once again. he pumps out the cum even more, watching Sherlock’s legs cave. “fffuuck…” Sherlock groans.)

"It was not that he felt any emotion akin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that one particularly, were abhorrent to his cold, precise but admirably balanced mind. He was, I take it, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world has seen, but as a lover he would have placed himself in a false position."

why take this at face value?

i thought we established that:

watson is an unreliable narrator

he's a hardcore romantic whose idea of love is "i fell in love 30 seconds after seeing mary and married her in 4 days". he probably doesn't think anything lesser than this is real love anyway lol. he's an outlier who should not be counted

he idolizes holmes, and that includes seeing him as a cold and distant thinking machine above all emotion including love. but we know this just isn't true.

“You’re not hurt, Watson? For God’s sake, say that you are not hurt!”

It was worth a wound—it was worth many wounds—to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking. For the one and only time I caught a glimpse of a great heart as well as of a great brain. All my years of humble but single-minded service culminated in that moment of revelation."

only in the later cases he finally recognizes that THERE IS "loyalty and love behind that cold mask", there IS "a great heart"

4. holmes himself is lowkey tsundere. in early cases he can't admit himself that he is more than an emotionless thinker

"I fear that it may be the last investigation in which I shall have the chance of studying your methods. Miss Morstan has done me the honour to accept me as a husband in prospective."

He gave a most dismal groan. "I feared as much," said he. "I really cannot congratulate you."

I was a little hurt. "Have you any reason to be dissatisfied with my choice?" I asked.

"Not at all. I think she is one of the most charming young ladies I ever met and might have been most useful in such work as we have been doing. She had a decided genius that way witness the way in which she preserved that Agra plan from ali the other papers of her father. But love is an emotional thing, and whatever is emotional is opposed to that true cold reason which I place above all things. I should never marry myself, lest I bias my judgment."

he doesn't in plain text admit that he would miss his friend and doesn't want to be deserted for a wife. he instead tries to distance himself talking about emotions being opposed to his cold reason

so why couldn't he be pining for the woman who beat him and changed his worldview, while also respecting her intelligence and her choices?

i'm not saying this interpretation is correct. not saying holmes must be attracted to women. seeing him as aroace has a huge lot of evidence. seeing him as attracted to men and/or having romantic chemistry with watson is also valid. i don't want to erase anyone

i just mean that watson's unreliable narration and these characters' personalities leave room for different interpretations

"This is how I want you to remember me: The woman who beat you."