Chapter Text
“John. Honestly. What is the fascination with sex? It’s disgusting.”
John looks up from his book. Sherlock had been quiet a few hours, staring at the ceiling on the couch. It was nice, quiet. “Right, time for the sex talk, eh?” John scratches his forehead, readying himself for the conversation about to be had.
“It’s pleasurable, yes.” Sherlock continues, “necessary for procreation. But there are steps taken, to prevent procreation, so obviously it’s mainly enjoyed for the pleasure. I can receive pleasure by my own hand. What is the point of bringing another person into it? They have their own needs, why would I be interested in fulfilling another person’s needs when my priority is myself?”
“Sherlock, your ignorance is showing.” John’s eyes do not leave the book, although his concentration is wavering.
Sherlock perches himself on the edge of the sofa. “Ignorance?” He says, “Elaborate.”
Time to wrap up the book. He places his bookmark and closes it, placing it on the end table attention turned towards Sherlock. A glance shows John that Sherlock is awaiting his reply, although he’s not sure how he’s going to explain the details of sex to a self-proclaimed sociopath. “Sherlock, when two people are in love…” John trails off, collecting his ideas in his head. “They want to...touch each other.”
“John. I don’t need this described to me like I’m some virgin. I know about sex. I know it’s pleasurable and...passionate. I’ve never understood the whole passionate aspect of it but perhaps because I’ve never experienced it.”
“So…” John turns his eyes, “you are a virgin? Like Mycroft…”
“Mycroft.” Sherlock says it like a disease. “He’s a sod. But he’s correct, I have never indulged in the act.”
“Sherlock.” John says, “where is this coming from?”
“The pub, John. Do you understand?”
And...nope. John is not talking about the pub.
“The blonde. I saw the strand of blonde hair on your shoulder, on Thursday night. You were intimately involved with her, where? Obviously not here, and obviously not her place because she lives far and is married. Oh, but she didn’t want you to know about that part I would imagine, otherwise you would’ve stayed the night there, but you were home at approximately midnight.”
“And...there it is. Right. I’m getting a drink.”
“It was quick, dirty. You felt shame. You are not that guy, John, who shags and runs.”
“Sherlock.” John sighs across the kitchen, loud enough for Sherlock to hear. “Can you just, not?”
“Am I upsetting you, John?”
“I’m certainly not proud of the alleyway shag, no.”
John pours the whiskey into a lowball glass with some ice and downs it in one gulp. It burns his throat and ears, hit by a dizzy spike.
“Okay, Sherlock.” John says, after a moment. “Please don’t deduce me. Especially not my sex life. I’m your friend, if there’s anything you’d like to know, just ask.”
“I simply don’t understand, normally I can understand things, John, better than anyone. This I don’t understand.”
John takes a seat in his armchair. “I was lonely. I was drinking my sorrows away. An attractive woman shows interest to me in that state, of course I’m going to grab that opportunity and run.”
“And what could possibly make you feel lonely?”
“I just am. It’s stupid, but I’m not seeing anyone. I have...needs. I just like to…” John looks down, suddenly feeling vulnerable, “...be wanted. Sometimes.”
Sherlock’s head tilts, and John immediately regrets his confession.
“I’m just an ordinary old sod.”
“John.”
“Yeah.”
“Wrong.”
“No.”
“Yes, wrong. I’ve literally spent the past five hours, lying on this couch, thinking of you. Why am I thinking of you? I’m trying to understand you, trying to understand why you feel the need to lower yourself to the deeds of ordinary people when you are capable and deserving of better.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Sherlock continues, “I feel something, akin to guilt. I feel something for you, like I want it to be better. What could I do?”
Staring, John doesn’t say anything.
“And then I thought, if I could provide your sexual needs for you, you wouldn’t feel the need to be ashamed. Because we are something. We…”
Pacing is interrupted and suddenly his lips form into a perfect O as a realization hits him.
“It’s about trust, isn’t it! Yes! Your mood is awry over a trust problem. You didn’t trust her, and now you know why you didn’t. She betrayed your trust. Do you understand?”
“Uh..”
“It’s not about love, John. It’s not about romance. It’s about trust. Oh, it makes perfect sense!” And just like that Sherlock is braced on the arms on either side of John, in his face. Inches apart.
“I know what you need, John.” His eyes are staring down at John, staring hard. It’s unsettling.
“Don’t you feel it too? I trust you, you trust me. I know you do, which is why we should do it.”
John opens his mouth to talk, promptly closing it. “Um. Sherlock-”
“You’re not gay.”
“I’m not gay.” John says in one breath.
“Why should that matter,” Sherlock retreats off the chair, towering over John’s seated position. “We would just be friends helping each other. In fact, it would be useful for cases. I need firsthand experience with sex.”
“So..let me get this straight. You think we should have sex with each other, us. You and I,” John points back and forth, “because...we trust each other?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Right.” John says, rubbing both his eyes. He might need more to drink.
“John.”
“Jesus, what!?”
“I’ve had opportunities. I’ve never taken them. I want it to be you.”
“And what is so bloody special about me? You keep saying you trust me. I trust you. Trust, what the hell is the bloody deal with trust! It takes a hell of a lot more than trust, it takes...physical attraction.”
A moment. A heady stare between them.
“You’re not attracted to me.”
“I didn’t say that. I meant-”
“It’s fine.”
“...why would you be attracted to me? I’m just...me.”
Suddenly Sherlock is back in front of his face, inches apart, just like before.
“Would I do this if I weren’t?” And just like that, the space between them is closed by Sherlock, mouths drawing together. John is too stunned before realizing what’s happening, before he returns the kiss.
It becomes deeper, as John is getting into it, and then…
Sherlock pulls back.
“Do you understand now?”
John, stunned, somehow manages to nod, agape.
“You...want me?”
“I want you, John.”
“And this isn’t uh...an experiment of some sort? I’m not a giant lab rat to you right now?”
Sherlock’s brows draw.
“Right. Um.”
“Would you like me to kiss you again?”
“Oh god, yes.”