#johnlockedatbakerst

Hey Lovely!

Ahhh, sadly I do NOT, and I am also sad, because it was on my MFL list and I never got around to reading it :(

We’re ... working around his issues with counseling. He has PTSD and he’s had some bad experiences with counselors, and it’s colored his entire perception of counseling as a whole. I try to work with that as much as I can, and I know I’m not without my own issues (C-PTSD from childhood abuse, anxiety issues, likely mild depression, etc), and we both have a tendency to get defensive and have to cool down, which doesn’t help either when we try to talk.  

When your masculinity so fragile you can't handle people being professional - what, he expects you to act like a waitress who works for tips, chatting to keep him happy? At least your boss has some sense. He should really get some repercussions for recording you without your consent, too.

Oooh, this is a new one! 

Sherlock was able to see at a glance that John liked to be called Captain and be obeyed. He could tell in the clench of his fist and the set of his jaw that he liked to be in control. Now, this didn’t mean that he was cruel or mean or anything like that. John was a passionate, giving, indulgent lover. But when he gave a command he expected it to be followed. 

Sherlock could also tell that John had a bit of a wild streak. He had a penchant for danger - going into the army, being a field medic, agreeing to move in with a man he knew less than a week, shooting a man for a roommate he barely knew - and this translated into a desire for slightly more risky sex. Hand jobs against the wall in the hall when Mrs. Hudson was watching her daytime telly, enthusiastic snogs and frotting in alleyways on the way home from a case, sexting while on the train or at work to get him through the monotony of daily life. Even fucking against the window in the flat. Risky, but controlled. 

Sherlock saw at a glance that John also was quick to praise. He wanted his partners to feel good, feel like they chose correctly in their choice of partner. He talked a lot during sex, making up for times when conversation outside the bedroom was harder. It was easier to speak when there were hormones driving your words. 

Sherlock encouraged and helped cultivate John’s kinks. He loved watching John’s face soften, silently saying you see me, you know me. 

What Sherlock didn’t know was that he had a whole slew of kinks himself. He never really thought to explore beyond the “quick fuck and get out” method of sex until John. He knew he liked to be kissed, he knew how he liked his cock sucked, and he knew he liked his prostate stimulated and that he was a size queen. 

But John made him realize that he wanted to be praised. He wanted to be told he was doing well, that he was pleasing his partner. John didn’t even have to get Sherlock’s pants off for that one to settle in; all it took was one exchange brilliant - do you know you do that aloud - sorry - no, it’s...fine. It was more than fine and only made better with addition of John Watson’s hands on his body. 

John discovered that Sherlock liked a little bit of pain - a spanking here, a tug of the hair there, a hickey or two strategically placed. The first time John’s teeth made him come he damn near blacked out with pleasure and all he could think was I want that again and again until I forget my own name. 

John was the one who also discovered that he had been craving sensual intimacy. Sherlock now knew why no one else had ever really satisfied; none of the others wanted to care for him beyond their sexual exchange. Sherlock, despite all arguments to the contrary, wanted to be held and kissed and petted. Even during their more “vanilla” romps, John would hold him close and tell him he loved him and kiss him until he was gasping. He lit Sherlock up from the inside out and made him feel cherished. 

Sherlock gets the surprise of his life when he sees John go absolutely bonkers on a dance floor during a case. 

He’s never seen him dance anything that wasn’t strictly choreographed. By him. With hours and hours of practice. To only have him look passable. 

This is...different. 

Originally, they hadn’t intended to stay and “make merry” after their case was done. Originally, Sherlock just wanted to hand of their embezzler that had made the club his preferred spot to unwind and then go back home with John. Maybe John would put the kettle on and Sherlock would play the violin. Perhaps they would sit with a finger or two of whiskey and rehash their case. Or, if Sherlock was very very lucky, John would recommend some telly and they would fall asleep on the couch, laying against each other until the morning. 

But then the club owner had said “whatever you want, it’s on the house. All night long!” and John had grinned up at him and said, “just a drink or two, yeah?” 

Sherlock had reluctantly agreed -because let’s be real, how can he resist when John looks so carefree and happy and like sunshine is pouring out of his eyeballs when he’s having a good time- but once he saw what happened to a happy drunk John, he couldn’t force himself to complain. 

John had removed his usual, comfy, stuffy but shockingly cute jumper, tossing it at Sherlock shouting over the loud music, “I’m going to dance!” He undid the first three buttons of his dark colored button down and rolled up his sleeves, sliding fingers through his slightly sweat-damp hair back and gave Sherlock the biggest smile before dashing off to the throbbing mob on the floor. 

Sherlock’s jaw hit the ground, his mouth suddenly dry, his hands suddenly moist, and his prick having many opinions on this new-found development. Sherlock watched in rapt fascination as John gyrated, shimmied, swayed, jumped, and writhed with intoxicated vigor. He soon became the center of several people’s attention and found himself the meat of a very human sandwich. Before this occurred, Sherlock was having a lovely time watching his crush flatmate dance. But, seeing the introduction of two partners, he was suddenly irate that he wasn’t on the dance floor and once again the center of John’s attention. 

Sherlock watched as John’s hands gravitated to the waist of the attractive woman to his front and tilted his head to allow the man behind him to whisper into his ear. When said man’s tongue flicked out to taste his skin, John’s mouth dropped open and Sherlock decided they’d both had enough. 

He marched across that dance floor and unceremoniously shoved John’s dance partners out of the way before grabbing his wrist and dragging him into the cool, night air. 

“Sherlock! Sherlock! Sherlock are you even listening to me?!” John wrenched his arm back, stopping their fast paced retreat from the club. “What is going on?”

Sherlock whirled on him. “I might as YOU the same thing!”

John’s glassy eyes shined in confusion, his eyebrows knit together. “What did I do? I was just having fun.”

“Since when do you have that kind of fun?! Since when do you dance like you’re working for tips?! Since when do you let men lick your neck, John?! Hmm???” 

John blinked owlishly at him before a wicked grin tugged at his lips. “That rile you up, huh? Seeing me with another man?” 

Sherlock crossed his arms, huffed, and refused to answer verbally whilst in his mind kept screaming he said not gay not gay not gay not bloody gay. Every protestation John had ever uttered whirled in his mind all the while John’s sexy stupid smile tugged at the breath in his lungs. He finally cleared his throat and said with as much righteous anger as he could muster, “your previous statements led me to believe you had no interest in the attentions of men.” 

John slowly, confidently closed the distance between them. Sherlock could smell his many drinks on his breath and Sherlock knew, objectively, you couldn’t get secondhand drunk on someone else’s breath but looking at John’s lips he was willing to give it the old college try. 

“I think,” John said, looking up at him, “that someone is jealous.” Sherlock sputtered in misplaced indignity and tried to run but John caught the sleeve of his coat before he could make it too far. “Hey, come on! I’m not teasing,” John insisted. 

Sherlock averted his gaze, cheeks pinking in embarrassment. “Then what, pray tell, are you doing?” 

“Deducing,” John said simply. He pulled Sherlock close, looking almost surprised at how willingly Sherlock came. He closed his arms around him and leaned up to whisper in his ear, “take me home and I can show you all my good moves.” 

Sherlock swallowed thickly. “Y-you mean...dance moves?” 

“For starters,” John said, voice dripping in flirtation. “We can work in some other “moves” later, if you like.” 

Sherlock liked. Sherlock liked very much. He had never dared hope before now that John would one day say those words to him. Then Sherlock’s heart fell when he realized that John only behaved this way because he was drunk. He gently detangled himself and said, “you’ll regret this tomorrow. You’re drunk and uninhibited and you will wake up hungover and embarrassed and I can’t lose you John-”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” John interjected, hands coming up to cup Sherlock’s face. “Slow down, love.” Sherlock’s panicked eyes darted to John’s relaxed ones and John continued. “You’re absolutely daft if you haven’t discovered by now my embarrassingly huge attraction to you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s mouth dropped open. “What?” 

John smiled, suddenly beaming at knowing he had surprised Sherlock. “Absolutely daft,” he confirmed before rising up onto his toes and inching his face closer. “Sherlock, I would very much like to kiss you then take you home and dance and fall asleep next to you, probably still in my cloths if we’re being honest, and wake up and share a cuppa with you in the morning.” He smiled and added, “does that sound good to you?”

Sherlock licked his lips and whispered, “yes, John.” 

True to his word, John gave him the snogging of his life, complete with tongue and hands in his hair. They flagged a cab and swiftly made their way home where John showed him some very non-regulation dance moves before they collapsed onto the couch and fell asleep. Their necks ached, their backs ached, their mouths were parched. But the sight of John waking happily in his arms was worth any hangover Sherlock would ever have. 

Later there would be questions and stories from uni. Later there would be laughter and nostalgia and more tea. Later there would be showers and brushing of teeth and redressing in comfy pajamas. Later there would be more dancing. Later there would be lots of horizontal gyrating and dancing between the sheets. But for now, Sherlock wanted John to make good on his promise. 

Sherlock tilted his head down to press a chaste kiss to the corner of John’s mouth. “Tea?”

Hehehehehehehehehehe yes. 

Imagine when John finally bites the bullet and goes to pick out his new frames he grumbles the whole time about “being old” and “showing my age” and “dottage my arse” 

Sherlock grins cause he’s like, “honestly John, you’re being ridiculous. You’re no good to me if you can’t see” and John’s like “watch yourself or you’re sleeping on the couch tonight” and Sherlock’s retort dies on his tongue cause John turns around wearing these