Baker Street Boys

15(i)

*John hears Sherlock getting off at 221B for an experiment. John then can't stop thinking of Sherlock, so he gets off at work. But what happens when John tells Sherlock his confession? Will his asexual flatmate have to take a new perspective into consideration?

*Enjoy your reading :)

Chapter 1

John exhaled, rubbing his eyes fervently, feeling individual capillaries break from his lack of sleep. Hopefully I'll manage to catch a quick nap before Sherlock drags me around for some new case he's probably-

John's thinking was interrupted by a text. He rolled his eyes and pulls his phone out of his coat. As predicted, Sherlock had a new experiment. Surprisingly, though, he did not want John to return home instantly.

"Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do, then?" he sighed, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

He was too tired to deal with his demanding flatmate. I need sleep. Sherlock will just have to keep his experiment out of the bedroom, he convinced himself to return home.

John grabbed his bags and shut his office door behind him. "See you, Sarah," he smiled at his superior.

"Take care, John," she smiled back.

He made a mental note to talk to her more.

After I get some sleep, he reminded himself as he yawned, trotting down the stairs and out into the crisp London air.

He pulled his coat in tighter, feeling the chilling wind bite down to his bones. He increased his pace, eager to finally pop into bed.

He fumbled for his key when he reached the door. "Gotcha!" he pulled it out and quickly let himself in. He jogged up the stairs quickly.

Erk. Foomp. Errrrk.

John stopped, not moving his foot. Were the stairs just squeaking and thumping, or-?

Foomp. Foomp.

"Definitely not the stairs," he mumbled.

"Mmph. Oh!" someone emitted some rather raunchy noises.

John recalled what Mrs. Hudson had told him when he moved in; Mrs. Turner did have married ones next door.

But these...noises sounded strikingly familiar. So what, John? You've heard people get off a few times? Now move your ass along and get to sleep.

He nodded, agreeing with his mind, and continued to hike up the stairs. He fetched his keys and opened the flat, welcoming the burst of warm air greeting him.

"Ah! Oh God yes!"

John froze. Those noises sounded close...too close. That couldn't be-?

"For SCI-Ah!-SCIENCE!" the voice let out a struggled groan.

That was definitely who he thought it was. John grimaced, not sure how to take his new discovery.

He slowly crept along the hallway, hoping he could inconspicuously sneak into his room. What Sherlock doesn't know won't-

"Hello John," came the ragged voice from the other room.

"Shit," John cursed under his breath. "I was just, um, going to my room..." he cringed, awkwardly tried to stop the conversation.

"Oh, no need to be frightened. Just an experiment."

"Right, of course," John shook his head as he continued to his room.

He crashed on his bed, exhaling deeply, "Oh-kay." He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, and let sleep overtake him.

When John woke up, Sherlock was nowhere to be found in the flat. Not that he was complaining. I'm sure he's off on a case, or some sort of...experiment. He gulped. He hoped this type of experimentation wouldn't become a regular occurrence around the flat.

He shuddered, shaking his thoughts away. "Work time," he muttered decisively, grabbing his bag and swinging out the door.

"Morning," he breezed past Sarah and into his office, giving her not two seconds of reaction time before he shut his door.

He unpacked his bag and threw off his coat. "Work, work, work," he reminded his brain. He swung open his office door and gave a half-hearted smile to Sarah, who looked at him with equal interest and worry. He just smiled wider.

He returned to his chair and twiddled his thumbs. No matter what, though, he could not take his mind off the events from the previous day. The noises that came out of his flatmate...

He flexed his hand, tracing a line on his jeans. He couldn't keep this up. He decided he had to do something about this or he wouldn't be able to focus for the rest of the day.

He got up swiftly, walking to Sarah's office, tapping lightly on the door. "Can I have the key to the storage closet? Getting low on latex gloves, and I want to stock up before the clients start rolling in."

"Sure," she smiled, digging around in a drawer for a minute before producing the key. "The should be on the top right shelf."

"Great, thanks," he smiled, grabbing the keys and heading to the closet. Let's make this fast.

John quickly opened the closet and shoved himself inside. "Be patient," he implored his aching lower body. He ripped open his jeans, yanking them and his boxers down to the linoleum floor. He took a shaky breath as he took his throbbing cock in his hand and closed his eyes.

As he moved his hand up and down, pumping slowly, his mind was back at 221B, listening to the grunts and moans, oh god the moans, coming from Sherlock's room. He began pumping faster, breathing sharply. He could himself getting bigger, stiffer; he massaged every fold, every nerve. He wanted every single spot to reverberate with the pleasures in his mind as he thought of the one and only Sherlock Holmes.

He felt himself go weak, felt the sweat building up on every conceivable spot. He knew this couldn't last much longer. He staggered backwards, trying to maintain his balance while still working himself up. His breathing became more and more labored as he suppressed groans, letting out a few animalistic grunts.

As he felt himself nearing the edge, he reluctantly let go of himself. I don't want to have to clean up this whole closet, he winced at his fierce erection. He breathed deeply for the next two minutes, then carefully pulled his pants up over his raging bulge. "I'll finish this later," he mumbled to himself. "If Sherlock's still not home," he quickly added, remembering the entire reason for his awkward experience.

He finished dressing himself, grabbed a box of gloves, and used his clean hand to open the closet. He scampered out and into Sarah's office, silently smiling and handing her the key, hoping his lower region wasn't visibly noticeable and that his musty scent would not pervade the air.

He hightailed back to his own office, glad his mind was a bit clearer. Yep, Sarah certainly is a great boss, but one thing's for sure. Sarah Sawyer was certainly not the name in my head for the last couple of minutes. He bit the edge of his lip at his realisation, laughing it off, and deciding to return to his thoughts later.

For now, though, he had to work. "Work, work, work," he muttered as he dropped the box of gloves on the counter. He leaned back in his chair and waited for the customers to come in, anxious to have some sort of distraction to get Sherlock off of his mind.