
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1026460.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Sherlock_(TV), Sherlock_Holmes_&_Related_Fandoms
  Relationship:
      Sherlock_Holmes/John_Watson, Sherlock_Holmes_&_John_Watson
  Character:
      Sherlock_Holmes, John_Watson
  Additional Tags:
      Teacher-Student_Relationship, Alternate_Universe_-_Teachers, Fluff, Fluff
      and_Smut, Student_Sherlock, Teacher_John, Sexual_Content, Oral_Sex,
      Alternate_Universe, Alternate_Universe_-_Student/Teacher, Anal_Sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-11-01 Completed: 2013-12-30 Chapters: 3/3 Words: 8491
****** Carried Away ******
by lokiarrty
Summary
     "John was battling with himself internally. Letting Sherlock kiss him
     was a mistake, wanting Sherlock to kiss him again was wrong. He was
     Sherlock’s teacher, no matter how mature or smart Sherlock was, he
     was still his student, even if it didn't feel that way."
     John Watson, a 29 year old teacher would not have expected his
     relationship with his student, Sherlock Holmes (17), to go so far.
     What starts out as a few innocent experiments turns into an affair
     that neither participant is willing to stop.
***** The Build Up *****
 
John Watson had always thought himself to be a moral man. Honest, hardworking,
and kind were just of few of the traits he valued in himself, but that was
before he met Sherlock Holmes. He found that his moral stance faltered when he
was near him. Sherlock was an arrogant, stuck up, know it all and John was in
awe of the boy. He was far more intelligent than any other student John had
ever had, and most likely the smartest person he had ever held a conversation
with. It seemed as though it was destiny that Sherlock would be placed in
John’s advanced Biochemistry class because a) John found class to be less
boring when he had a student who could keep up and b) John had been the first
teacher to give Sherlock praise instead of detention for knowing more about the
subject than his teacher. Sherlock had latched onto that feeling of praise and
one day after class he asked Mr. Watson if he would assist him on an experiment
he had been working on alone at home. He found he needed more than two hands
and an extra set of eyes to make sure the entire experiment didn’t fail… or
rather explode. John agreed and soon this became a weekly affair. Every Tuesday
Sherlock would come by after school and they would set to work. Then every
Tuesday became every Tuesday and Thursday, then every Tuesday and Thursday
became every Monday through Thursday. And soon Sherlock was spending every day
after school with the only teacher he deemed worthy to work with. 
They worked well together. Sherlock would bark orders and John would comply,
eager to see how the genius worked. Sometimes Sherlock would ask John questions
about how certain chemicals worked together, or how many drops of acid it would
take to change the chemistry of a cell, and it made John feel helpful when he
could provide the answer. Most of the time Sherlock would say or do something
John found amazing and he would give him small praises like “fantastic”,
“amazing”, “clever”, and Sherlock would smile, unable to contain the happiness
those small words gave him. 
Their entire arrangement was a sort of reversal of roles; John now becoming the
student and Sherlock the teacher. Sherlock would walk into John’s classroom
after School and right away he would start explaining what experiment they were
going to do that day. He always had to have a few ideas in mind because some of
the experiments he wanted to do, John deemed too dangerous to try, or that
there were not enough materials to complete it, and they always completed the
experiments no matter how late it got. Some days they stayed in until well
after dark and John would order take away for the two of them. Sherlock never
wanted to eat but John found with a little persuasion he could get Sherlock to
take a few bites. The days that Sherlock ate an entire meal felt like miracle
to John and he’d smile at Sherlock and Sherlock would blush and say “I need to
eat sometimes.”
One day John was sitting on a stool, staring into a microscope and trying to
distinguish the bacteria from the white blood cells extracted from an infected
cat when Sherlock pressed his chest to John’s back. It was very brief and only
done so that he could reach over to grab his notepad. It was innocent enough.
John knew Sherlock didn’t mean anything by it. He couldn’t have. He couldn’t
have know John enjoyed the warmth that Sherlock provided, or how it made him
shiver when he felt Sherlock’s breathe against his neck. No, he couldn’t have.
The next time they came into close proximity was when they sat side by side
eating on one of those rare days that they stayed in late and Sherlock actually
ate. John had a small red couch in the back of his classroom. It had been a
gift from his predecessor who said “Sometimes you’ll want to take a nap instead
of eat lunch.” John had laughed but he couldn’t deny that he had used it for
just that reason a couple times. Now he sat next to Sherlock eating and
listening to him rant about how his history teacher Mr. Anderson was an
incompetent idiot who must have gotten his degree out of pity. 
“He’s been constipated for the last three days,” Sherlock said like it was
common knowledge. 
John choked on the food he had been eating and began laughing, Sherlock
bursting into laughs with him. They were laughing so hard that John leaned over
to rest his head on Sherlock’s shoulder to stop himself from falling completely
off the couch. His shoulders were shaking violently, and the room soon filled
with their giggles. Sherlock stopped laughing at the contact of John’s forehead
on his shoulder and just smiled down at him, watching the way John lost himself
in the joke and laughed like Sherlock had never seen him laugh before. John
lifted his head and smiled up at Sherlock, apologizing for using his shoulder
as leverage, then continued on giggling as he finished eating. Sherlock didn’t
take another bite, instead he watched John eat with a small grin on his face. 
Soon physical contact became second nature: A hand on the small of a back when
looking at the others work, standing shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip,
playfully bumping the others hip with a smile, resting a forehead on the others
shoulder when they stayed in late. John knew it wasn’t a proper student teacher
relationship, but this whole arrangement wasn’t very student teacher
relationship-y. Sherlock was more mature and intelligent than some of the
professors John had had. So that’s what John continued to tell himself when he
often massaged Sherlock’s shoulders as he watched him work.
Of course all of the physical contact and playful smiles thrown back and forth
were saved for their after school activities. During class John had told
Sherlock to keep quiet and be nice to his less intelligent peers and to let
them answer the questions. That didn’t stop Sherlock from making John smile
when he would roll his eyes or sigh heavily when one of them made a stupid
statement. It also didn’t stop Sherlock from complaining about it after school
while they worked. 
                                   ....*....
John caught Sherlock smoking out by the football field during lunch one time.
He was furious at the boy for doing something so idiotic to both his body and
his brain. He went up to Sherlock and threw the cigarette to the floor,
grinding it into the ground with his toe. 
“Are you really that stupid,” John said furiously.
“It helps me think,” Sherlock shrugged.
John held out his hand with an impatient grunt. “hand the rest of them over,”
“But-”
“If you don’t, I’ll stop letting you use the lab and working with me after
school,” John said sternly. 
Sherlock handed over the half empty packet of cigarettes with a sigh. John took
them and dropped them to the floor, smashing the box of cigarettes with his
foot then walked away. Sherlock decided he never wanted to disappoint Mr.
Watson again. 
Sherlock came in the next day with silent remorse. He didn’t have to apologize.
He didn’t have to say a thing. John could see the apology on his face and he
smiled back at Sherlock for reassurance. Sherlock went back to normal and they
both pretended that nothing had happened.
                                   ....*....
Sometimes John would give Sherlock a ride home. It was a very rare occasion as
Sherlock had a driver that would usually pick him up anywhere at any time with
a simple call, but days that they finished late and John claimed to have
nothing else to do, he would drive Sherlock home. They always rode in silence
with Sherlock’s head resting on John’s shoulder. When he first did it John had
drove stiff and uncomfortable the entire way. The next time it happened he was
more relaxed and he slumped back against the seat to allow Sherlock to rest his
head more comfortably on his shoulder. It was on a cold foggy day that Sherlock
grabbed John’s left hand and warmed it in his. 
“Your hands are cold,” Sherlock said cupping his hands around John’s and
pulling it up to blow warm air into the cocoon he had created. 
John looked down at him and was met with soft eyes and a soft kiss placed on
the back of his hand. 
He didn’t know why he did it. He didn’t know why he didn’t stop himself. But
Sherlock had looked so sweet and nice and calm that John couldn’t stop himself
when he leaned down and placed a kiss on Sherlock’s temple. 
They continued working on experiments after school but Sherlock seemed to lose
all concepts of personal space after that car ride home. When he was examining
what John was doing he would place his chin on John’s shoulder, press his chest
 against his back, and wind his arms around his waist. When they would stay in
late and he watched John eat he would rest his hand on John’s leg and rub lazy
 circles with his thumb. When he was ready to leave he would grab John’s left
                             hand and squeeze it. 
                                   ....*....
It was on a rainy day just two months after they had started this whole
arrangement that Sherlock kissed John. They finished working on an experiment
and John helped Sherlock clean the station and pack his belongings into his
bag. John walked with him to the door while they discussed what they might do
next when John reached out to open the door only to have it slammed shut by
Sherlock. John looked up at him in surprised and then was surprised yet again
when Sherlock leaned in and pressed his lips lightly against John’s. It was
chaste and quick and John was left standing there in shock as Sherlock opened
the door and left without a word being said. 
John thought a lot about that kiss. The way Sherlock had closed his eyes and
had the softest expression as he leaned in and pressed his perfectly bowed lips
gently against his. How Sherlock’s hand had rested against his cheek and
brushed against his jaw line as he left the classroom. Everything about it was
sweet, and nice and…John was battling with himself internally. Letting Sherlock
kiss him was a mistake, wanting Sherlock to kiss him again was wrong. He was
Sherlock’s teacher, no matter how mature or smart Sherlock was, he was still
his student, even if it didn’t feel that way. John decided that night, as he
replayed the events of that evening over and over in his head, that he would
stop whatever it was they had gotten themselves into. He was going to tell
Sherlock that they could no longer work together, that they had gotten too
close. Tomorrow. John told himself. 
Tomorrow, he said again the next night.
Sherlock had walked into John’s classroom the next day with a determination on
his face that John had never seen. John stood from his desk ready to give his
speech about how they had gotten too close, that he was breaking every rule as
a teacher, that his feelings for Sherlock and Sherlock’s feelings for him were
misconstrued, but he didn’t get to say any of that. Instead Sherlock walked
right up to John, placed his hands against either side of his face and pulled
him in for a kiss that was anything but sweet. It was all lips and teeth and
John let out an involuntary moan that told Sherlock everything he needed to
know to keep going. He pushed John against the wall and crinkled the poster
John had there of the brain. John’s hands found their way to the front of
Sherlock’s school uniform shirt and he used it to pull Sherlock closer to him,
deepening the kiss and letting Sherlock press and open his lips against John’s.
Their lips moved sloppily against one another and Sherlock bit at John’s lip
drawing a moan from both of them. Sherlock then moved to John’s neck nipping
and kissing at it until he got to John’s ear.
“I’ve never wanted anyone like I do you, Mr. Watson,” Sherlock growled and John
shivered. He pressed his hips into John’s and moaned against his ear, then he
took the lobe in-between his lips and pulled at it. 
“Sherlock, please,” John groaned against the touch. This was wrong on so many
levels, but John couldn’t stop himself from running his hand through Sherlock’s
curly hair and using it to bring him closer. Sherlock moved to kiss and suck
and bite at John’s neck all the while rubbing his rather prominent erection
against John’s hip. John was reduced to moans of pleasure and before he knew it
Sherlock was on his knees mouthing at John’s erection though his trousers. 
John grabbed at the wall breathlessly saying protests that were ignored by both
Sherlock and his own body. His hands went to Sherlock’s shoulders and pulled
him closer, needing, wanting more pressure on his growing erection. Sherlock
rubbed his face against John’s penis with a breathy moan before he pulled away
to work John’s trousers open. He fumbled at the buttons and pulled at the
waistband bringing John’s trousers and pants down around his thighs at the same
time. Sherlock took a second to admire John’s cock before he went forward and
pressed teasing kisses from John’s groin to the tip of his cock.
John let out a whimper and braced himself against the wall, his legs spreading
further. 
Too far, this is going too far, he kept telling himself, but each time he even
thought of stopping, Sherlock would stimulate do something his tongue or his
hand that would have John whimpering and moaning and thinking of nothing else
but the sheer pleasure of the act. 
Sherlock ran his open mouth from the base of John’s cock to the tip where he
took it in his mouth and licked at the glands. He moaned at the taste of John’s
arousal and grabbed the base of his cock and worked at the tip with tight lips
and a swirling tongue that had John dizzy.
John unconsciously pushed his hips forward and wrapped his fingers into
Sherlock’s hair, biting at his lip to muffle the moans that continued to escape
his lips.. Sherlock took this as an invitation to take him as deep as he could,
and bob his head back and forth, slowly, teasingly, and John was moaning and
pulling at Sherlock’s hair to the point of pain, but Sherlock kept going,
increasing the pace, watching John’s face and the moans he was eliciting from
his teacher. John looked down and meet Sherlock’s eyes which only made his cock
twitch and harden even more than he thought possible and he bit his lip harder.
Sherlock moaned around his cock and went to undo his own jeans finally freeing
his hardened cock and took it in his hand pumping it at the same speed he was
bobbing his head. He looked up through his lashes at his teacher who was now on
the edge. The way his eyes squeezed shut, and his hands gripped tighter in
Sherlock’s hair, Sherlock found John to be irresistible when he lost control
like this, giving into the pleasure, giving into Sherlock, it was almost too
much, and soon Sherlock was coming in his own hand, moaning around John’s cock
and sounding more like a muffled scream, and John couldn’t take anymore. He
came in Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock tried to swallow as much as he could but
some of John’s cum fell from the side of his mouth and it was both the most
arousing and horrible thing John had ever seen. Ever done. 
John had cum in his student’s mouth. Everything about that was fucked up. He
had woke up that morning with the intention of never seeing Sherlock after
school again and instead of telling him that their relationship had gone too
far he let Sherlock give him a blowjob, and a bloody good one at that. John
closed his eyes and slid to the floor with a sigh. 
“I fully intend to that fantastic cock of yours inside me next time,” Sherlock
said resting his head against John’s shoulder.
“Oh fuck,” John sighed.
“Yes, precisely,” Sherlock smiled. 
John went home that day filled with guilt and confusion. Sherlock tried to tell
John that what they did was anything but wrong and he had succeeded just
slightly. 
“I knew I wanted you ever since you agreed to working with me. And I know that
you want me too. The way your pulse increases whenever I’m close to you, or how
your pupils dilate. Just because I’m your student doesn’t mean you should feel
guilty for wanting me back.”
Sherlock had said as they laid on the red couch at the end of the room. They
had made their way to the couch when John decided that the floor was
uncomfortable and that cuddling on the couch together would probably be the
most innocent thing they had done that day so fuck it. John drew lazy lines
across Sherlock’s back while Sherlock traced circles on John’s chest. John
couldn’t take back what they had done so he closed his eyes and pretended that
Sherlock was just any other sexual partner he had ever had and not his
student. 
“We shouldn’t do this,” John had said lazily.
“It’s too late. Might as well indulge in it now, Mr. Watson,” John cringed at
that.
“Please don’t call me Mr. Watson. It makes me feel like a cradle robber and I
already feel horrible about what we’re doing,” 
“I‘m 17,” Sherlock complained.
John groaned and rubbed his hand across his face.
“John,” Sherlock whispered.
“Hmm?”
“I’ve never wanted anyone before,” Sherlock confessed.
“Sure you have,” John said grabbing Sherlock’s hand and rubbing small circles
with his thumb.
“No…I really haven’t. I never had erotic dreams or fantasies until I met you.
But it’s not just sexual. I crave being near you. Talking to you. I don’t know
why. You… you’re a puzzle John Watson, and I want all of you. I need all of
you.”
John opened his eyes and met Sherlock’s. 
“Sherlock,” John said squeezing Sherlock’s hand. 
“Don’t say we can’t. Don’t tell me lies when I know you want me too. I nee-”
John pressed his lips against Sherlock’s cutting him off. That simple gesture
sealed what they had together. Whatever that was.
And so there John was, lying in his bed unable to push the guilt he felt away,
but also unable to deny the fact that he was intrigued by his new relationship
with Sherlock.
That perfect, intelligent, intriguing, Sherlock. 
***** The Fall *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
The days to come after Sherlock and John’s relationship changed were only
slightly similar to the ones that had come before. Sherlock would still walk
into John’s class room after school and present a new experiment or continue on
with an old one, but more often than not Sherlock and John would find
themselves on the red couch with John being straddled by Sherlock and snogged
so thoroughly that John felt like he was a teenager again. It was in moments
like these that John was reminded that Sherlock was indeed, no matter how he
held himself or spoke, a teenager. Sherlock’s body reacted so readily to
John’s, simply craving the contact.
John never initiated the touching or the kissing or the rubbing; instead he
would just help Sherlock work and occasionally give him praises on his genius.
This was a surefire way to get Sherlock to start fidgeting, his breathing and
pulse to increase, and when John saw what his words of praise did he would
continue to tease him by leaning over Sherlock while he worked, getting as
close to the boy as possibly without actually touching him. He would let his
breath ghost over Sherlock’s neck and hum small encouragements, and lick his
lips when he knew Sherlock could see him in his peripherals. He knew what it
did to Sherlock. He may have the mind of a scientist, far more advanced than
everyone he met, but his body still reacted like a 17 year olds body did.
Sherlock usually tried to display his will power by continuing the experiment
but the tell tale signs of a forming erection were always there and soon John
would be pushed over to the red couch for a make out session while Sherlock
rutted against him and moaned in the wanton way that always made John’s body
shutter. 
John also began giving Sherlock a lot of rides home. Sometimes Sherlock would
just lay his head on John’s shoulder, other times he would try to unbutton
John’s trousers which always ended in John pulling over in a dark alley and
both of them climbing into the back seat. 
John loved getting Sherlock to lie down on the back seat while he slowly
undressed him. Sherlock wasn’t very patient, he would usually throw his hips
up, or work to unbutton his shirt and pants himself. John would smile and huff
out a small laugh before he began planting open mouthed kisses down Sherlock’s
body until Sherlock was squirming and begging him to touch him.
On days like that John found that he felt even guiltier about their
relationship. He knew he was in too deep, leaving the relationship now would do
nothing but make Sherlock angry and himself depressed. He had become accustomed
to Sherlock being there to accompany him during his after school hours, along
with his drives home. He loved the way Sherlock’s eyes beamed when he found
something new that was interesting, or when he made deductions that seemed
impossible. He loved being able pick his brain and see how it worked. Mostly he
couldn‘t help but feel special that Sherlock had somehow latched onto him. John
was an ordinary, short, blonde, normal, teacher, nowhere near as amazing as
Sherlock who was smart, creative, arrogant, beautiful, and enigmatic. John
didn’t want to lose that feeling of being special. Without Sherlock he was just
a boring teacher, teaching bored students. With Sherlock he was in a dangerous
situation, full of secretes and experiments and sex. Being with Sherlock made
his adrenalin kick in, his senses heighten, it made him feel alive. Sherlock
made him feel alive. So leaving the relationship was never considered, but he
also knew he would have to take some precautions. 
John was lucky that his classroom was located in one of the more secluded areas
of the campus and his doors automatically locked when they closed. Though
locked doors didn’t mean he couldn’t get caught. Sometimes Sherlock wasn’t as
quiet as he should be during their extracurricular activities. If someone
walked by the classroom those noises couldn’t be mistaken. Also, even though
the doors locked the janitor and a few other teachers in his building still had
a key. If they happened to come in while they were in a compromising situation,
he would most likely lose his job and be sent to jail.
John expressed these concerns one day to Sherlock who just laughed.
“I know the thought of us possibly getting caught turns you on. Me being loud
only makes you harder, but if you’re so scared of me being too loud I could
quiet it down, though if you must know, I’ve taken it upon myself to make the
walls sound proof,” Sherlock’s smile was smug.
“Okay genius but what if someone walks in,” John couldn’t hide his anger and
slight embarrassment for not knowing the walls had been sound proofed. 
“Easy, no one will,” Sherlock stated.
“And how do you know that,” John crossed his arms.
“Well seeing as the janitor that cleans the science rooms only does so on
Friday mornings before you arrive and never sets foot inside otherwise and the
fact that you are friends with all other teachers in this building makes it an
easy deduction the no one will be coming into this room without knocking or
asking for permission before hand, so as for your concerns about being caught
it seems I have already thought of and created a solution for,” 
John couldn’t help but smile at Sherlock with his stupid smug expression. The
boy was an insufferable tosser at times; always thinking he knows more than
everyone, and bugger all if John didn’t love that about him.  
“Come here,” John demanded. 
They ended up testing the sound proof walls that day.
 
                                   ....*....
It had been a month and a couple days since their affair had started and
Sherlock had yet to experience what he had said the first day the affair
started. To say that he was patient was a lie. He was nervous. Sherlock had
never been penetrated before but he couldn’t deny the thought of John doing it
to him was a very arousing. He hated himself for it but he wanted it to be
special. Sentiment. Such a waste, yet he couldn’t help it. He imagined John
being patient and affectionate like was in his nature. He also didn’t want it
to be done in John’s classroom, or in the car. He had been to John’s flat once,
even if it was only for a short while, but he knew when he was in there that
that was where he wanted it to be done. John had a small flat that was very
John. Sherlock didn’t know why, but he liked everything that was John. He
wanted to know everything that was about his teacher. While in his flat he
found out he had an alcoholic sister, he had almost joined the army, and had a
love for some movies that Sherlock had never watched before. Apparently
featuring James Bond… 
On the ride home before the start of the Christmas break, Sherlock was
unusually fidgety and when they came to the cross section that meant, right
turn home, and left turn John’s place, he asked if he could go to John’s flat.
John didn’t know but he had been planning this for a while. His parents, who
never really noticed his absence anyway, were out of town visiting his older
brother Mycroft. He wasn’t planning on going home that night and he knew that
John didn’t have any plans for that weekend either. So, he asked in a soft,
pleading voice, that he knew John would never be able to deny, if he could stay
at John’s place the night. He rubbed his face against John’s shoulder and
looked up at him from under his lashes just to seal the deal and was rewarded
with a yes.
They made it to John’s place and went inside the small flat that was so very
John with its white walls and smelling of black tea. John went to the
television and put in a DVD. 
“Today you’re going to experience something you have never experienced before,”
John said and Sherlock’s mouth went dry. 
“Oh?” Was all Sherlock could say.
“Yes, your very first James Bond Movie,” he said enthusiastically. 
Oh. Was all Sherlock could think. 
John made them both cups of tea and they sat on the couch together watching
something Sherlock could not focus on. Instead his senses were all geared on
John’s hand that kept rubbing his thigh. When the credits rolled John turned to
him with a smile and Sherlock leaned in and kissed him. It was slow and nice,
which then turned into frantic and wanting. 
“John,” Sherlock moaned as John kissed his neck.
John hummed in acknowledgment. 
“I want you,”
“I want you, too,” John said pulling off and meeting Sherlock’s eyes. 
“No, I want you,” Sherlock whined, “I want you to…” He trailed off.
John bit his lip and his pupils dilated and Sherlock could tell John wanted
that too. 
“Bedroom,” John said and they made their way over. 
Sherlock was uncertain about what he was supposed to do; he stood by the bed,
tense and nervous. John caught on right away and stood behind him, wrapping his
arms around him, his chest pressed against Sherlock‘s back. He kissed at his
neck as he unbutton Sherlock’s shirt. 
“Relax,” He said softly and Sherlock could feel his body go slack against
John’s. 
John continued to kiss Sherlock’s neck until his shirt was completely
unbuttoned and then he slid it off his shoulders. He planted a few more kisses
on Sherlock’s neck and shoulder blades before turning him around and kissing
his mouth slow and languid and Sherlock whimpered against him. John’s hands
found their way to the buttons of Sherlock’s trousers before they were pushed
down and kicked off. He maneuvered them onto the bed and Sherlock fell on his
back with John on top of him. John went into kiss him again, caressing him, and
whispering small encouragements, and if Sherlock didn’t know any better he
would have thought John was about to make love to him. 
Just like in Sherlock’s fantasies John was patient and there to cater his every
need but he didn’t know it would feel like this. He didn’t know that his
stomach would feel like they were filled with butterflies, or that his body
would react to such the simple touch of John’s hand holding his. He didn’t know
he would miss the feeling of John’s mouth and body on his as he sat up to grab
lubricant and a condom from his nightstand. He wasn’t even gone for very long
but in those few seconds Sherlock missed him. 
Before John climbed back on top of Sherlock he pulled off his jumper,
undershirt, and jeans. The new skin to skin contact had Sherlock’s body
tingling. John kissed him once more before he sat back on his heels and pulled
Sherlock’s pants down exposing him completely. Sherlock had never felt self
conscience about his body before, but in that moment he was. Everything was
exposed and John was looking down at him like he was the most beautiful thing
he had ever seen before. His heart was beating fast, but it was more than just
the state of arousal, his heart ached as though someone had grabbed it.
The last coherent thought Sherlock had before John kissed the inside of his
thigh and worked his lubricated fingers on him was “what is John doing to me?”
It wasn’t a question of sensations but of thoughts. John had invaded Sherlock’s
thoughts until he was all Sherlock could think about. John likes me; John wants
me; John…
Sherlock groaned as John worked his hand slowly up and down his erection and
traced circles around his entrance. The first slide of John’s finger inside him
felt like an unwanted intrusion. John pushed in more and slowly the feeling of
intrusion felt more welcome and then in a sudden movement the feeling felt like
nothing more than pure ecstasy. He let out a moan and John smiled as he
continued the motion. 
“I’m going to add another finger,” John huffed out. His voice was shaky with
desire and it made it that much easier to say yes to him when he knew John
wanted him as much as he wanted John. His yes earned him another kiss on the
inside of his thigh.
The added second finger made him feel a slight burn with the added stretch. It
was soon forgotten when John found his prostate again and his head fell back.
Soon John was adding a third finger and Sherlock was pushing into them, craving
more, wanting to feel that final stretch that would be John, completely and
fully connected to him, in him, feeling him, and giving into his want. He loved
the look of want in John’s face.
He was saying something incoherent and John’s fingers withdrew from him.
Sherlock was panting and he looked over to see John placing a condom on and
coating it with extra lubricant. Always so gentle, John wanted to make it as
comfortable and pleasurable as possible for Sherlock and for some reason that
made Sherlock’s heart ache again. 
John grabbed a pillow and placed it under Sherlock’s hips and angled himself so
that the head of his penis was pressing lightly against his entrance. Sherlock
tensed and closed his eye, waiting for the intrusion, but was only met with a
soft kiss.
“It’s okay,” John was muttering, “I’ve got you, just relax,” 
Sherlock nodded, not trusting his own voice and was kissed again. He felt the
tension in his body melt away. John pressed the head of his penis slowly
inside. He waited for Sherlock to nod before he continued forward, taking it
slow until finally he was fully seated in Sherlock. They stayed there for a
while for Sherlock got used to the feeling and then he was pushing back against
John urging him to move. John started out slow, moving in and out as they
moaned in unison. Then he leaned forward and Sherlock gasped, his legs wrapping
tightly around John’s waist. His head fell from side to side with him moaning
into the pillow beneath his head. John was moving quicker now, pumping in and
out of Sherlock and saying little things like “you feel so good,” “so perfect,”
and “Oh god Sherlock you’re perfect.” Sherlock didn’t really hear much except
for the white noise in his ears and his own whimpering and moaning. 
He was so close. He could feel his stomach pool up with that incredible warmth
and his whole body was shaking and contracting, but he couldn’t he needed, he
needed…
John’s left hand found its way to Sherlock’s neglected erection and began
pumping it hard and fast and Sherlock forgot everything else except for the
feeling of John moving in and out of him while his hand wrung him out. His
entire body shook and his body convulsed, crying out John’s name as he came so
intensely that he felt he had passed out. When he came to John was pulling out
if him, panting and slowly pulling off the condom, tying it and getting out of
bed to toss it in the rubbish bin. He came back with a moist handkerchief and
wiped Sherlock and himself down before lying next to him was a sigh of
content. 
“That was amazing,” John said.
Sherlock stayed quiet, curling into John whose eyes were already closed.
Sherlock watched him fall asleep and tracked his sleep cycle calculating when
he had entered REM sleep to distract himself. He was exhausted but he couldn’t
stop thinking about why he still felt that tingling sensation throughout his
body. Why did his heart still lurch? Why did it make him so happy to hear John
saying small encouragements toward him? Why had he felt so complete as John
finally penetrated him? And then it hit him. He felt stupid for having taken so
long to reach the conclusion. It was plainly obvious and annoyingly
sentimental.
He was in love with his teacher. 
 
                                   ....*....
Sherlock spent a lot of time at John’s flat over the Christmas break. He took
this time to learn everything he could about his teacher; what shampoo he used,
what books he read, what shows he watch, what movies were his favorite, why he
disliked his sister, how his parents had passed away, what sounds he made, how
fast his refractory period was, what made him sad, what made him happy…
There were so many things that Sherlock had learned, most of them in seconds of
seeing the evidence before him, but what he couldn’t deduce, what he couldn’t
see, was why he continued to accept Sherlock’s company. And so Sherlock
continued to go to John’s where they did domestic things and had plenty of sex,
and Sherlock watched John with a wide eyed amazement that John hadn’t thought
this whole affair was tiresome yet. He hoped it would never come to that.
Sherlock’s parents took him on holiday from Christmas Eve until the end of
break, and in that week of John’s absence he went over his data on John. By the
time school started up again his research had come up inconclusive. 
Chapter End Notes
     Sorry it took so long to get this chapter up, far too much school
     work but good news I'm done for the semester! Last and final chapter
     will be up within a weeks time. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and
     thank you for all the wonderful kudos and comments. They are much
     appreciated.
***** The Reason *****
 
 
When school started up again there was a clear change in John and Sherlock’s
relationship. One small change came in the form of Sherlock no longer being in
his class, the more noticeable was the change in how Sherlock acted and reacted
around John. That week apart had somehow made Sherlock more open to him. He
learned that Sherlock had a brother he despised, parents that paid little
attention to him, a love for mysteries(which he figured out on his own long
ago), and played violin. He had to privileged of listening to him one Friday
evening when Sherlock showed up to his flat having texted him that he had a
surprise for John.. It was amazing to watch Sherlock lose himself in something
that he obviously loved. He said it helped him think but from the way his eyes
closed and his body swayed to the music it was less like it helped him think
and more like it helped him escape. Escape the endless amount of thoughts that
crowded his mind.
It occurred to John that day that, like the violin, he was a method of escape
for Sherlock as well. When Sherlock was bored and restless he turned to John to
look for something to occupy his brain. When he had a sulk he’d silently seek
out John and curl himself around him. John had only ever seen the open
expression that Sherlock wore while he played the violin once before, and it
had been the first time he and Sherlock had shared the night together. He knew
that Sherlock would never open up like this to anyone else. This was for John
and John alone. So he cherished it and didn’t bring up to Sherlock that he knew
his secret, that he needed John. Until the day came that Sherlock no longer
needed him, John would be there for him.
He also didn’t tell Sherlock that he loved him. John was fond of Sherlock,
adored him, and wanted him to be happy. He wanted him to do his best in
everything and one day when Sherlock came to say he had officially quit smoking
and hadn’t had a cigarette in three weeks John told him he was proud of him. He
could see from the look on Sherlock’s face (surprise turned into a shy smile
and cast down eyes) that Sherlock had never been told that someone was proud of
him before. His heart clenched at this new knowledge. So he hugged him, and
Sherlock hugged him back. 
 
                                      …*…
 
They rarely stayed after school any more. John was nervous about being caught
and Sherlock couldn’t blame him. He liked it better at John’s flat anyways.
John had allowed Sherlock to turn his small kitchen into an area for
experiments and he much rather fall into bed than that uncomfortable red couch.
He couldn’t deny John’s classroom bore sentiment. When he’d come to visit John
during lunch break he couldn’t stop the smile the spread across his face every
time he saw the poster of the brain, where he first gave his unsuspecting
teacher a blowjob. (He couldn’t help but remember the look of arousal and
nervousness that had played across his former teacher’s face.) He remembered
the long hours they spent together working on experiment after experiment,
John’s fascination with him growing each time he flaunted his genius. The
classroom represented the time he and John had spent learning each other, and
it bore all the memories of having his teacher fall for him. 
They seemed to fall into an easy routine: Lunch in John’s classroom, sex in
John’s flat, grading papers for John/experimenting for Sherlock, and end the
day with either a ride back home or (if his parents were out of town) a night
in with John. It all felt easy to Sherlock. He never thought he‘d be one for
domestic bliss, and even when he claimed boredom, John seemed to always be the
cure. One kiss, one touch, and Sherlock’s boredom seemed to vanish. John even
learned his weakness for unsolved crimes. 
John was the only person he had ever opened up to. The only person he willingly
sought help from. John cared for him, and knew him better than anyone ever had.
John accepted him, faults and all. John knew how to calm him down, make him
smile, make him laugh. John was the only person he deemed worthy to try and be
better for. John was proud of him. John was the exception from every other
person Sherlock had met. 
 
John was his and his alone, and he was John’s. 
 
 
 
                                      …*…
 
To guess that Sherlock was the jealous type would have never crossed John’s
mind. He thought Sherlock would have seen how uninterested he was by the new
substitute teacher. He thought Sherlock would have seen how he had turned her
down on countless occasions. 
Sure, she was nice enough, with her long blonde hair, feminine curves, and
pretty green eyes, but John found her banal. Their conversations were on the
verge of dull, and she seemed to have an obsession about the weather. There,
however, was no denying the flicker of anger Sherlock had in his eyes when he
stopped by John’s classroom to see her sitting on his desk, batting her
eyelashes and twirling her hair. John watched Sherlock make a hastily escape,
and wished he could have kissed the doubt from his face. The woman left not to
long after that, and John spent the rest of the day hoping Sherlock would
realize he had nothing to fear. That he wasn’t interested in her. He got a text
at the end of the day that read:
 
Don‘t need a ride. Meet at Flat.
-Sh 
 
John didn’t know what to make of this. They usually rode back to John’s
together. He decided not to dwell too much on it and grabbed some Chinese take
away from Sherlock’s favorite restaurant.
John had barely got his key out of his pocket before the door flew open and
Sherlock pulled him inside. The door was slammed shut and John was pushed
against it, Sherlock’s mouth mashing with his. At first he didn’t know what to
do, he still had the bags of Chinese in his hands, but the possessive way that
Sherlock was pushing against him, made it an easy decision to drop them by the
door and just let Sherlock take control. 
John, having predominantly only been with women, had never been picked up
before, and yet it had felt so natural. Sherlock was manhandling him toward the
bedroom before he grabbed John’s arse, hauled him up, and slammed him against
the wall, pressing his lips to John‘s neck. John wrapped his legs around his
hips while Sherlock rubbed against him and whispering something that sounded
very similar to the word, mine. Sherlock had never left marks before, but there
was no doubt that John would be wearing a scarf for the next couple of days by
the way he was sucking and biting at John’s neck. 
When they finally made it to the bed they were naked, having worked off their
clothing on the way. Sherlock pushed John onto the bed and took the time to
placed a kiss all the way from John’s left ankle up to his mouth, every now and
then stopping the suck or bite at the skin. Sherlock had never paid this much
attention to his body before and John was moaning and arching under every touch
that Sherlock provided. When their lips meet Sherlock pressed his body flush
against John’s and they moaned into each other’s mouth rubbing against each
other. 
“Mine,” Sherlock was muttering, and John wasn’t sure he knew he was saying it. 
He got up and John groaned at the loss but before he knew it Sherlock was
kneeling over him with a bottle of lube and was urging John to flip over. John
did as he was told like he always did when it came to Sherlock and felt hands
rub up from his arse cheeks to his shoulder blades and Sherlock grabbed at his
shoulders and pulled him back so that Sherlock’s lubricated cock could rub
against his crack grazing over his entrance. He moaned and Sherlock copied the
motion a few more times and then he was pushing John’s shoulders down so that
his arse was up in the air. John had remembered how wonderful that sight had
been when he had Sherlock in this position and he wondered if Sherlock was
admiring it as much as John had. 
Wet fingers were probing his entrance while Sherlock’s other hand held his hips
steady. One finger soon became two, then three, and before he knew it John was
bucking back and fucking himself against Sherlock’s fingers. Sherlock bit his
lower back before taking his fingers out and replacing it with his cock. He
slid in slowly and they both relished in the feel of being joined. Sherlock had
been in John once before, but John had been in control. He had straddled
Sherlock’s hips and fucked himself against Sherlock cock. This time Sherlock
had all the control. After John pushed his hips back against Sherlock’s and
groaned for him to start moving Sherlock pulled out all but for the tip of his
penis then pushed hard back in. It was hard and fast and the room was filled of
slapping flesh and moans. Sherlock leaned forward and nipped at John’s shoulder
blades, the words “Mine, only mine, no one else’s” were growing steadily louder
and John found himself answering them, whimpering out the words, “yes, yours,
yours, I’m yours.” 
Sherlock was pounding into him, the angle allowing him to graze across John’s
prostate with each thrust and John let out a loud cry as he came without having
to touch his own cock. The orgasm washed through him and his spent himself
across his mattress, moaning has he felt Sherlock’s thrusts sputter and his
cock twitch inside him as he came inside of John. Sherlock fell on top of him
and they stayed like that until their breathing went back to normal. Sherlock
rolled off of him and onto his back turning his head so that they were staring
at each other. 
“Jealous much,” John grinned.
Sherlock looked up at the ceiling and began to laugh and John joined in. They
ended up eating their food in bed, Sherlock taking great admiration in all the
marks he left across John’s body. 
It was while they were cuddling together watching Goldfinger that John told
Sherlock he loved him. He hadn’t meant to say it aloud. He was just admiring
the way Sherlock’s face looked in the dark with only the televisions glow to
illuminate his features. His strong cheek bones looked even more defined and
his blue eyes seeming to glow bright against the light. Sherlock had turned
from the telly to look back at John and it just slipped out. 
“I love you,” it was soft and low, and he knew it was the right thing to say
when Sherlock’s eyes went wide and his features softened. In that moment he
looked his age.
He didn’t say it back, but John didn’t mind, because the smile and the kiss
that followed were all he needed. The words “mine and no one else’s” echoing in
his mind. 
 
                                      …*…
 
The end of the school year came too soon, and Sherlock was suddenly graduated
and set to enter University come early September. 
“We have all summer,” Sherlock had said. 
But summer went by quickly with the new experiments in both chemistry and the
bedroom. Sherlock also found that with enough persuasion he could get the
Detective Inspector to allow him to look at unsolved case files; he actually
helped to solve one of them and was met with praise and admiration for his
clever deductions. He had never felt so alive, and John had never looked so
proud and amazed by him. 
“That was amazing Sherlock. Hell, I knew you were a genius but to see you work
like that, it was… You are really something Sherlock,” John continued to give
praise and voice his admiration for a very long time after that case. They
barely got through the threshold of John’s flat before they were both at each
other. They didn’t even make it past the entryway. 
As soon as the door was shut and locked, their mouths connected and their hands
pulled and yanked at each other’s clothing. John pushed Sherlock against the
wall and opened up Sherlock’s trousers, his hand plunging into his pants, and
taking Sherlock in his hand. He went fast and kissed Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock
was already close but he climaxed to John’s words about how turned on he had
been when Sherlock made those deductions. How much he wanted Sherlock when he
saw him work. He spent himself in John’s hands to those words and couldn’t wait
to show off his deductive skills again for John.
 
 
With occupied time, summer slipped away. One more week and he would be off to
University. They wouldn’t be far but they also wouldn’t be able to see each
other as often.
They spent a weekend together, thinking of nothing but each other. They lay
together, Sherlock’s limbs wrapped around John’s body possessively, listening
to each other’s breathing.
“Are you excited for Uni?” John whispered.
“I can already tell I’m going to hate it,” Sherlock answered.
John chuckled bringing Sherlock closer to him.
“What will you do when I‘m not there to bother you?” Sherlock’s voice was soft
and vulnerable, and he wished he’d sounded less so.
“Miss you terribly,” was John’s response.
They laid in comfortable silence. 
“You know… you’re only going to be about 35 minutes away,” John said.
“Yes well, I guess I’ve just grown accustom to you always being near,” Sherlock
forced himself to admit.
“Yeah,” John kissed his temple.
“It’s mostly because I love you,” Sherlock blurted out.
John stilled. 
“John, you see but you do not observe, I’ve told you I love you in every way
but vocally,” Sherlock whispered. 
He felt John smile against his temple.
 
Sherlock went through his archive of John Watson again, searching the data he
collected along the way about the man. Before, his ideas had come up
inconclusive. Now, they were just as unclear, but he had theories. He didn’t
mind having to collect more data on him. He would never mind learning all he
could about John Watson. 
 
~The End~
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