Sherlock Holmes & The Knights Templar

Sherlock's Heart

“Home,” Sherlock thought wearily as Mrs. Hudson opened the door for him and John.

As soon as they were in the flat Mrs Hudson fussed over them like a mother hen, “Oh, John, Sherlock, you both look done in. Now, I’m not your housekeeper, but I have some tea and biscuits ready for you boys.”

Sherlock nodded, his gaze far away, seeing things that only he could see, problems, solutions, deductions, murder, violence; these were the things that Sherlock felt at home with, not love, not lust, not passion, and certainly not longing.

“John, have some tea and biscuits, I’m going up to draw you a bath,” Sherlock spoke softly, keeping eye contact with John and Mrs. Hudson, but John knew that Sherlock was far away for he had learned long ago that Sherlock practiced intense scrutiny as an art and John was the only person that could tell whether he was actively engaged in any given situation or not. John looked into the vacant depths of Sherlock’s eyes for he was definitely not engaged in the domestic scene before him.

Sherlock trudged up the stairs feeling as if he were a man of eighty years or more and after he ran John a bath Sherlock sat down on the cold tiled floor and smoked a cigarette. Closing his eyes Sherlock let his mind drift, so that when John timidly knocked on the door Sherlock jumped up confused for a moment or two. Taking a deep breath, Sherlock acclimated himself and let John in. As John stood before him, all rational thought disserted Sherlock, as he slowly, silently, methodically, helped John out of his coat, then opened his shirt button, by button until the shirt fell on top of the coat, the undershirt was next, gently Sherlock slipped it over John’s head, letting it fall, and then Sherlock’s hands shook as he divested John of the rest of his clothing, until John stood naked before him in his socks.

Motioning for John to sit on the toilet, Sherlock slipped off John’s socks, pausing to sniff John’s toes, for he loved the smell of John’s clammy feet. Gently, Sherlock massaged John’s feet and then helped him into the tub, it was then that Sherlock noticed the bite on John’s shoulder.

“John, that looks like a bite.” Sherlock said slowly as he examined the small puncture marks on John’s pale skin.

“It is. After I left here Moriarty materialized out of nowhere, offered to take me away to the country and when I refused he bit me. Oh, he also said I could bring you along and that you could be our little sex pet.” John said impishly as he grinned at Sherlock’s shocked expression.

“What did you tell him?” Sherlock asked as he knelt down on the ground and peered at John intently.

John laughed, “Weren’t you listening? I told him no. Why did you want to parade around in a collar and chain as my little pet?”   

Sherlock dashed out of the room and in a few moments came back with a black, wicked looking spiked collar, which he held out to John. John took it and chuckled. “So, that’s what drives Sherlock Holmes, nuts, a collar? You know that after we all three pleasured each other that Moriarty would probably kill us don’t you?”

Like an enthusiastic puppy Sherlock threw off his clothes, tossing them on top of John’s and then he clumsily lowered himself into the tub. Splashing in the water, John laughed as Sherlock thrashed around like a silly seal. After his performance, Sherlock suddenly became serious as he inched himself forward until he could wrap his legs around John’s waist. He then pulled John closer and became to kiss him with a force that made John’s head spin.

“He wants me to seduce him,” John thought in a panic for he wasn’t sure he could take the lead. However, as John looked down into the depths of Sherlock’s shinning eyes, he knew he had to try. John got out of the tub and then helped Sherlock out, watching in fascination as the water ran down Sherlock white, translucent legs.

John smiled at Sherlock and then picked him up and carried him into the bedroom. Once they reached the bed Sherlock slid out of John’s arms like a slippery eel. Fearfully, John lay down by Sherlock’s side, positioning Sherlock’s pliant body between his legs.

“Sherlock, two times in one night might be a little ambitious, things being the way they are with me,” John’s voice trailed off as Sherlock leaned his head back and let out a long, low moan. “Umm, Sherlock I’m not there yet, are you starting without me?” John asked trying unsuccessfully to keep the nervous laughter out of his voice. Sherlock leaned his head forward, his eyes full of vulnerability; he kissed John on the lips, and then gently moved his fingers pushing in the places that John loved most.

“John, take me,” Sherlock breathed as he moved so that John could easily penetrate him. John started to hyperventilate as he complied with Sherlock’s request.  “I can’t do this,” John thought as Moriarty’s face swam before him.

As if reading his mind, Sherlock whispered into John’s ear, “John, please make me burn, make me beg, make me scream, tease me, break me, fix me, fu—“ Sherlock’s voice trailed off in a growl as John began to clumsily acquiesce to his requests.

Afterwards, John felt embarrassed, for his performance had been dismal making him feel worse than ever. Sherlock usually fell asleep after sex, but this time he rolled over and pulled John into a suffocating embrace. “Thank you, John,” he whispered in between kissing and licking John’s face.

John tried to pull away from Sherlock, but Sherlock held on to him tightly. “Sherlock, I have to take a whiz,” John said desperately, for he was about to weep uncontrollably.

Sherlock didn’t loosen his grip, “Go ahead, urinate, John, nothing could be worse than Magnusson, taking a piss in my fireplace.”

John struggled for a moment or two and then began to weep as he apologized to Sherlock over and over, “Sherlock, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” John cried out as he clung to Sherlock’s arm.

Sherlock spoke to John in French, Italian and some Asian dialect that John didn’t even know, each phrase the same as it lovingly wrapped itself around John’s fear and anguish, dissipating his negative self-destructing emotions until John lay silent in Sherlock’s arms.

“Sherlock, thank you for helping me to heal, for loving me for…” John’s soliloquy was cut short by an interruption from Sherlock.   

“Oh for God’s sake John, quit reading more into it than need be. I was horny, nothing more. I also needed to engage in sex for the case I am currently working on,” Sherlock said smugly, all traces of gentleness gone.

John smiled and leaned forward and kissed Sherlock, “All the same, thank you.” He whispered.

Sherlock looked bored and it was only until John fell asleep in his arms that he whispered, “You’re welcome, John, my Doctor, my love, my heart.”