A/N: Okay, after writing that, I fele the need to go re-read 'A Cure For Boredom' by emmagrant01 on AO3. :D

They dated for three weeks before John got too restless.

He didn't think it would be like this. And he lasted for as long as he could, sticking strictly to kissing and hand-holding and hugging and cuddling (all of which felt very surreal; him, doing these things with Sherlock Holmes? He honestly hadn't the faintest idea how it was possible, but here it was, happening to him).

He wanted to wait at least a full month, or even a week or so more than that, but when it came down to it, John actually… really… loved Sherlock. And it pumped him so full of all the chemicals Sherlock liked to rattle off like the alphabet that he was about to burst from them if he didn't find release elsewhere soon.

He took one look at Sherlock's neck and collarbones peeking out of his button-up shirt, or the way the buttons were stretched over his chest, or how certain trousers were too tight in the crotch area and it showed, and knowing he could have that, taste it and feel it all over…

Well, it drove him a little mad, trying to hold himself back. He was never a sexual person, but Sherlock was an anomaly. After the door was opened for John, telling him that it was okay to have the detective, Sherlock became the sort of anomaly that John wanted to make a slow, sensual study of.

And with the way Sherlock eyed him sometimes, looking him up and down, eyes raking over John's body – it was evident that the restraint was reciprocated, and the sentiment was the same.

It was back and forth, indirect temptation, and sad to say, John had to be the one to cave first or else it would never happen, because Sherlock respected John enough not to cross the line he laid down when this began: I decide when we have sex. I will come to you about it when I am bloody ready and want it.

And now was the time.

They came home from a rather complicated case's wrap-up, the smell of Scotland Yard's offices a bit rank on his clothing and skin.

"I'm going to take a quick shower," John commented idly as he shrugged off his jacket. He made his way to the bathroom while Sherlock busied himself with making way for new experiments by clearing away his most recent one, the one that had been pertinent to the latest case.

In the shower, that was when it dawned on John that he was aching to have sex. Jonesing for it like Sherlock often does for a cigarette.

It was as though his sex drive was switched from lukewarm to boiling in a matter of minutes. It made him shiver all over, the shower water running of his skin, giving him goosebumps due to the internal/external contrast. He felt arousal pool in his groin like a coiling snake, and all at the thought that he could just walk out there and say it, and he would get it, no slow lead-up or foreplay necessary. He could see that naked body again, feel it against his own, skin on skin, and –

John grit his teeth and didn't need to look down to know that his prick was half-erect already. He turned off the water and stepped out of the stall. He dabbed himself mostly dry, ruffled his hair, and tied his towel around his waist loosely. The bulge was apparent; he didn't care. With a flushed face, he left the steaming bathroom and walked into the living room.

Sherlock was in his chair, staring at the fire, perhaps lost in thought. But John's showerfresh scent jarred him from it, and he turned his head to look where John was standing behind his own armchair. And as Sherlock's eyes greedily took in John's state, it took him less then a second to deduce aloud, "Now?"

"Right fucking now, yes," John returned breathlessly, and he lost a bit of his courage as Sherlock stood and moves gracefully around the chairs to stand in front of him, taking him by the face and pressing their mouths together, his eyes closed.

John permitted his own lids to lower until everything went black and he could feel Sherlock's tongue prodding his lips. He opened his mouth and lifted his hands to begin unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt. Sherlock tugged on John's bottom lip, earning a groan, and then stated, "This is inefficient. Go to my room. I'll be right behind you."

John giggled at the unintended innuendo tacked onto the end as he turned and went where directed. Sherlock, meanwhile made hasty work of stripping himself bare, tossing his clothes onto the back of John's armchair, since it was nearby and convenient. Then he walked down the hall to his room and shut the door behind him. John was on his bed, sitting, and Sherlock crawled onto it and leaned on all fours between John's legs, his mouth meeting John's throat before John can speak.

"Go easy on me," John whispered. "I'm new to this, remember?"

"How could I forget?" Sherlock teased as he ran a hand up John's leg, stopping at the towel still around his waist. Sherlock made no offensive remark about John leaving the quasi-garment on and instead slowly untied it and, kissing John, had him lift his hips so Sherlock could toss the damp cloth onto the floor.

He eased John onto his back and moved a knee between John's legs, brushing his inner thigh. John made a soft noise and his legs locked together when Sherlock put a hand between them to wrap slackly around the base of John's erection.

Sherlock worked him with a few brief pumps, careful and tender, before sliding his hand up John's abdomen and rubbing it over his left pectoral, feeling out his soft chest hair, thumbing his nipple, and mapping out the scar on his left shoulder.

John's kisses became increasingly clumsy as Sherlock felt along his body. Sherlock released his mouth, then, and chose to kiss petal-soft along his neck and across his collarbones and between his pectorals, kissing above his heart.

John huffed an embarrassed laugh, not accustomed in the least to having anyone be so gentle with him, nearly worshiping his body as he moved down it, eyelashes fluttering, eyes clearly open, taking in the sights as he placed scattered kisses in places he thought deserved proper attention. "Who would have pegged the great Sherlock Holmes as a tender lover?" John said not unkindly, his voice quiet.

Sherlock glances up from under his brows and they lifted as his whole face lit up with a rarely genuine smile. "No one. Because I have never been anyone's lover. I have had sex, of course, but I have never loved the person I partook in it with."

"But you love me," John said. "Of course you must. You wouldn't have been so patient and gentle if you didn't." And his tone was pure awe and he felt a flood of flattery and happiness at the thought, and it brightened his insides.

Sherlock nodded, moving down between John's legs and raising his knees. John planted his feet firmly on the mattress and felt his breathing pick up into high gear as he peered down at Sherlock, watching the taller man press kisses along John's inner thigh, moving down the back of it as he hiked up his leg with one hand, the other propped on the bed to keep him upright where he lay on his stomach, legs dangling off the end of his bed.

His tongue poked out and licked lightly down John's thigh until he reached the bottom of one cheek, and he kissed it. Then he moved inward, and John's length dribbled a droplet of pre-come from the sheer anticipation and intimacy of it.

And then John blanked for a failing second because he never knew what the hubbub was about when it came to someone's mouth on genitalia, but he would be damned if Sherlock's tongue and lips on his balls and working up along his shaft was the best damn thing he had ever felt in his life. He gasped and craned his neck back and gripped the sheets, trying to focus as Sherlock's warm mouth closed around the head and sucked hard, tongue swirling along the slit, lapping off the bit of pre-come that formed there moments ago.

John felt dizzy. When Sherlock removed his mouth, John exhaled loudly and dropped his head onto the pillows, trying to breathe.

"You're very sensitive," Sherlock noted quietly, sitting up and leaning over John, looking him in the (flushed) face. "Are all virgins that way? I've never dealt with one before, and I don't recall being this sensitive to stimuli myself."

"Only ones that hardly touch themselves and waited way too many years to be with someone to have gained any sort of idea what it feels like to have someone touch them like that," John replied at length, his heart hammering in his ears. "So don't be surprised if I don't last very long."

"Then I better get to business," Sherlock said with a smile. He kissed John and felt up along his sides, ghosting over his ribs. "How far did you wish to go tonight?"

"Thank you for asking first," John murmured, "Because I don't think I could do the full-anal thing right out of the gate."

"I had. It was a mistake, which is why I asked," Sherlock answered truthfully. It had been a mistake; he wanted to be rid of his virginity at the time, it was true, but hadn't meant to go the full mile, and he didn't very much care for the sore burn in his rear the following morning because his partner wasn't considerate enough of him, and didn't factor in that Sherlock had never before put anything in there, ever. "I have other plans, then. Roll onto your side for me?"

John did so, not knowing entirely what to expect. He brought one arm up under the pillow and fisted the top of it as he nested his head into it. He could smell Sherlock on the pillow and it was high-inducing, smelling his natural scent so closely, different than how it smelled actually on his body and clothing. He closed his eyes and felt Sherlock shift to lie behind him, snuggling up close, his erection hard and warm and wet against his cleft. Hang on, wet? – Oh. He recalled, then, hearing a drawer open and close and something slick for a moment before he felt Sherlock against him. That must have been Sherlock applying lubrication to his prick.

Sherlock's hand gripped John's hip and he leaned in and kissed the top of John's left shoulder, following the curve with kisses until he was planting them softly on John's trapezius and the back of his neck. Then Sherlock's hand slid down John's pelvic bone to his member, gripping and rubbing the thumb as far up and down it as he could reach.

John bit the inside of his cheek and leaned back into Sherlock's body, his free hand reaching behind himself to grip Sherlock's arse.

Sherlock began to rock and rut up against John's back, length sliding between John's cheeks and head touching the base of his spine with every little rub upward, moving in time with his hand on John's length. It was strange but not unpleasant; it felt oddly delicious, actually, the way Sherlock slid along John's skin and worked along John's arse. And Sherlock's grip and rhythm and methods of wanking John off was of the highest skill' at least, John thought so. It felt phenomenal, Sherlock's fist around him, and he shallowly thrusted up into it and ground back against Sherlock's prick, enjoying the sound that emitted from Sherlock's mouth, breathy and hot in John's ear. And he really, really liked the sparks of pleasure washing over him and electrifying him in waves throughout his body, leaving his toes tingling and his heart as flighty as a butterfly.

All too quickly, Sherlock gave a quick twist to John's prick, and the pleasure built up to soaring, whitening levels. John cried out as a few ropes of semen uncontrollably left his body while he clenched a fistful of Sherlock's arse cheek in his hand. The army doctor shuddered with orgasm, his brain forgetting how overwhelmingly lovely that particular mix of chemicals was.

Panting, John tried to calm down his body while Sherlock whined and rubbing harder against him, and maybe it was the virginal experience, but John felt a little guilty for reaching bliss so soon in the act.

So he Stilled Sherlock with a pat to his thigh and rolled onto his other side until he was facing the dark-haired man. "Here, let me." And he gently pushed Sherlock onto his beck and slithered down until he was eyelevel with Sherlock's arousal.

"John, you don't have to feel obligated to –" the detective huffed huskily, propping himself up on his hands. His pupils were blown wider than they were earlier, and his cheeks were tinted a rarely seen shade of pink.

"Hey, I'm the virgin here," John said, "And that means I want to know what it tastes like, what you taste like, and I want to know if I can be any good at this. Let me find out."

Sherlock swallowed thickly with a spark of further arousal and nodded, closing his eyes and angling his head back as he submitted to John's wishes.

John took the base in one hand and flicked out his tongue, touching it to the shaft and giving a short lick upward. Sherlock hummed, and John took that as encouragement to continue.

He pretended it was a particularly good lollipop or Popsicle, lapping and suckling and swirling his tongue, taking as much as he could comfortably fit into his mouth and trying his damndest not to knick poor Sherlock with his teeth.

The ridges of his teeth rubbed a little anyway. Sherlock sucked in air, but it sounded like he liked it, so John didn't try as hard to avoid it next time. He was slow, savouring the odd, salty-tangy skin-taste, and faintly he tasted honey, and wondered if that was the flavour of the lube or if Sherlock naturally tasted a little caramelized, a little sweet.

It was when he took the tip into his lips but kept his teeth closed, moving his lips and running the top across his teeth, Sherlock jerked backward, out of John's reach, and yanked him up so spare him getting a load shot in his face. He trembled, legs clenching John's waist as Sherlock kissed him, groaning into John's mouth and stretching up into John's body, arcing off the bed as he rode out his orgasm.

Breathless, Sherlock settled John atop his torso and held him there, idly stroking his hair. "No coordination or style or pattern, and certainly inexperienced and messy – I have your saliva coating my testicles, you know – but not the worst I've had."

"Critic," John muttered as he kissed Sherlock's chest and along the one collarbone he could reach. He ran a hand casually up and down Sherlock's side. "What did you expect? For me to be a natural? And besides, I made you come, didn't I?"

Sherlock grinned and nuzzled down into John's hair, his nose tickling John's right ear. He brought his legs up to wrap around John's, and it was more or less like being with a friendly python, but somewhat adorable. "You did, and I think, with practice, you'll be just as good as I am at giving oral. One day."

"Well, you hardly started on me. How should I know how good you are, and what to take notes on?" John added with a smirk of his own.

"Hmm, valid point, Doctor Watson," Sherlock said very professionally, as if they weren't talking about sex at all. "I will have to teach you well, then. We can start tomorrow morning."

John flushed a deep crimson. "Sounds good," he said quietly, shifting a little to make himself more comfortable. "But for right now, I kind of just want to sleep. Uhg, but sex is so messy. I feel like I should shower again."

"Yes, that is the trouble with sex," Sherlock agreed offhandedly, with a yawn. "Drowsiness and sticky substances. But after skipping sleep for so many days because of our recent case, I am opting not to move, and because I am selfish, I demand you not move, either. So you will have to forget about it for the night. We'll deal with it in the morning."

"Fine, fine," John sighed, but he really didn't mind as much. It felt nice, here in Sherlock's arms, their skin touching in so many wonderful places. He rather liked it. And John didn't think sex with just anyone could be this enjoyable. Only Sherlock.

"Goodnight, then, John," Sherlock murmured. John lifted his head to glance briefly at Sherlock's alarm clock. It was past one in the morning. My, how time flew by. They got home slightly under two hours ago.

"Goodnight, love," John said sleepily, and if Sherlock noticed the slip, he seemed content with it, because he didn't comment on it.