John watches as Sherlock quickly flips through the case files laying spread over Lestrade's desk. The DI is out getting them coffee, having been ordered away by the consulting detective for 'trying to think'; the man had left grumbling under his breath about how he was sick of taking orders from a brat. John had to hide the smile that threatened to break over his face upon hearing the man's complaints.

"John." The doctor straightens at the call of his name. Sherlock is looking over at him, having straightened from his crouched position; he stabs a long finger onto one of the papers, watching John's face closely. "Please tell me what you think."

John's brows furrow but he complies; the photo is of a woman's body splayed in a rather awkward looking position. Her hands are in the anatomical position and nailed to the ground in a mockery of the crucifixion; Her mouth is stitched together while her eyes are left open due to her eyelids being cut off.

The doctor grimaces, looking back to Sherlock with an expression of disgust. "I don't know what you want me to see."

Sherlock makes a small groan, his mouth pulling down in a frown. "The woman is missing her eyelids, but her mouth is sewn shut. What do you think this says about the criminal?" The detective glances to the doorway, watching as Lestrade walks through it, a sour expression on his aged face.

John itches the side of his nose, studying the photo more closely. "Um…well…I guess it could be that he—"

"She." The doctor pauses, glancing toward Sherlock with an eyebrow cocked.

"She was trying to punish the victim for something that she had done. Maybe…something she had said, thus the sewn mouth?" John shrugs his good shoulder, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

A small smile perks the edges of Sherlock's mouth; he lightly rests his hand on John's arm. "Excellent, you've very nearly grasped it." The doctor rolls his eyes but he nods at his flat mate's compliment.

Lestrade coughs softly, placing their coffees on his desk. "So, other than the killer being a female, is there anything else you've figured out?"

A bored expression crosses Sherlock's face; his fingers tap out a rhythm against John's arm. The doctor blinks, his head going fuzzy for a moment as all he can do is focus on 'middle, fore finger, middle, ring'. He doesn't hear Sherlock's answer; it's muffled and low, and goes straight to his groin.

'W-what the hell is going on?' His face flushes, and his knees feel weak. The tapping rhythm begins to grow faster; John swallows thickly, rooted to the spot as Sherlock and Lestrade speak. He chews on the inside of his mouth, trying not to moan as waves of pleasure wash over him. 'Jesus Christ!' He pants mentally. Sherlock has turned to him, grey-blue eyes calculating and burning. John licks his lips as the detective parts his.

"John?" The voice is too low, too sultry for it to be legal. John groans loudly, doubling over as his legs give out. He rests his forehead against the DI's office floor, cumming in his pants like an adolescent school boy.

"Oh god…" He murmurs, swallowing his embarrassment as he hears Lestrade awkwardly clearing his throat and shuffling out of the office to find something to clean the mess. John looks pointedly at the floor, counting the dots speckling the tile.

The office chair moves, and Sherlock kneels beside the doctor. His long fingered hand threads through John's sweaty hair as he murmurs softly. "Well, that went better than expected, doctor."

John frowns; he lifts his gaze from the floor to meet Sherlock's. The detective watches him like a cat playing with a mouse. "What…what do you mean 'that went better than expected'?" He tries to ignore the softly stroking fingers, instead focusing on building his anger against his flat mate.

Sherlock strokes his thumb over John's neck; he rests his chin on his hand while a fascinated expression crosses over his face. "I had read about soldiers being conditioned and I had wanted to see if I could do it myself." John's eye began to twitch. He sat up completely, ignoring the way his pants clung to his thighs because of dried cum.

"AND YOU DIDN'T ASK?" To his credit, Sherlock doesn't flinch at John's yelling. Instead, he drags his thumbnail across the doctor's cervical vertebrae. John chokes slightly, body still sensitive to touch because of his orgasm; he tries to rely on a glare to stop the detective's hands, but it withers and dies before it becomes of any use.

"It wouldn't have worked if you had known about it." Sherlock doesn't add the 'duh' at the end. John sucks in a deep breath, his hands shaking as he tries to take away his focus on the detective's petting fingers.

"Jesus…" He sighs roughly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Fine. Whatever." The hand on his neck stills, causing him to blink up at his flat mate.

Sherlock stares at the doctor, his grey-blue eyes unreadable. They flicker downward then back. "You forgive to easily, John." John opens his mouth to retort, but is cut off by the detective's covering it.

His eyes slide closed as he's pushed to the tiled floor; he hears the office door open, and Lestrade's exclamation of "Oh piss!" before they're left alone to their own devices.

()()

Feh, so my first Sherlock fic...