Yeah.. so.. not what I usually write, but what the heck? I felt like being sentimental so I took a break from my studies (a very long break, it turned out, but I'm not complaining, though my teacher probably would be) and wrote this wonderful... something. I have no idea where it came from, to be honest. I mean, I'm no good writing smut and such, but I would say I've got a pretty vivid imagination. And I'm a diligent researcher. So I used both of these qualities, and tada, satisfactory result. Enjoy and remember - reviews are like food to my fingers. Review, and I shall type stories tirelessly. :)

What Sherlock Holmes Gets Off On

"He gets off on it,"

He gets off on it. Huh.

John looked at Donovan with a barely suppressed smirk. The snarky comment that would without a doubt put her off for a good few hours was held back with great effort. But, really, with that kind of statement, did she honestly expect him to let it go and move on?

It struck him that Donovan really thought Sherlock got off on cracking cases like this. But that was ridiculous. Almost ridiculous enough to make him laugh shamelessly in her face.

Flashes of a long, thin body lying on the soft mattress of a large bed, almost molding into it as pleasure sketched across the elegant, pale face in pained ecstasy, filled John's vision. Fingers, strong and unyielding but horribly precise in their movements, stretching towards him in a silent question, the expression pleading, eyes shining with innocence even after everything they've seen. A moan, a low, baritone voice carrying out such an erotic sound, a surprised tone present at the edges of the breathy string of incomprehensible words.

No. Sherlock did not get off on cases. But Donovan didn't know that. And she didn't need to know. She wouldn't know.

"And you know what?" she continued.

John's mind worded his comeback out for him, 'Yes, I do. Bye.' but he didn't act on it.

"One day just showing up won't be enough. One day we'll be standing around a body, and Sherlock Holmes will be the one that put it there," she said, and John wondered if she realized how desperate, how absolutely weak she sounded.

When John left, it was with the image of Sherlock Holmes trembling beneath him, mouth open around uneven pants as he came, looking positively fragile as he got off. Got off on being loved.