Nailed

When he had crawled into the drawer, he hadn’t realised how tight the confines were. When John joined him, he immediately realised his mistake in more ways than one. As soon as John adjusted himself so they could both fit, barely, Sherlock lifted his feet and hooked them to the rail deep on the inside of the cabinet and pulled the drawer closed around them. They both heard the door to the morgue open almost instantly after that.

It took the man two hours to vacate. Two hours! They randomly heard drawers opening and then a few minutes later, closing. Sherlock had a pretty good idea what the guard was doing, but he really didn’t feel like voicing his opinion to John. He had felt John’s penis grow hard and then soft several times in the two hours. He was pretty sure John understood the implications of the sounds they heard after each drawer opened. The erection phenomenon had happened twice in that time with him, coinciding with two of John’s more…turgid…arousals. He just considered them lucky as the guard left the room, shutting of the main lights, that the man hadn’t opened their drawer. He did muse that it would have been interesting trying to see how or even if John would try to explain their presence.

He had felt the heat seeping from his body, except where John awkwardly laid half on top of him. John cleared his throat and then spoke hoarsely. Sherlock wasn’t sure it was the cold or if it was the embarrassment of knowing that his ever observant friend had realised what had physically gone on during their forced period of silence, but he didn’t ask.

“We’ve got to get out of here before we freeze to death,” John said as he tried to move, sliding himself more on top of Sherlock. Sherlock had to stifle the groan he felt growing. He grunted instead when John placed himself fully on top of him.

“Try to slide the drawer open,” Sherlock said gruffly, hoping it sounded like he was hoarse from the extended silence.

John tried to push against the back of the drawer with his feet three times. He only succeeded in rubbing his body against Sherlock. Sherlock also tried, but was impeded by John’s weight. They tried together as well with no success. They were stuck. And it was getting colder. John was already shivering and he could feel the cold seeping into his back through his wool coat. He searched for some hand hold, some crack. He tried putting his feet on the rail to push, but nothing worked.

“Sherlock, we won’t make it another hour here,” John said through chattering teeth.

“I know,” Sherlock replied, “I’ll think of something.”

His biggest problem was being able to feel every inch of John on top of him. It made his brain go to mush, something he didn’t like very much. But it was John, so he was a little more tolerant of the absolute distraction. They both tried ineffectually pushing to open the drawer again. The friction that built between their bodies gave Sherlock a wicked idea. He knew there was no way John would go for it normally, but he had to try. It was really their only way of keeping warm in the small confines of the cabinet.

“John, we need to keep moving to produce heat.”

“But it’s too damn tight in here,” John complained. Sherlock felt the stiffness grow in John’s pants for a moment before he dropped his head to Sherlock’s shoulder and began breathing deeply. He felt the erection subside and held his tongue. He knew John’s embarrassment of knowing Sherlock had known John had been excited would be too much for John to handle if voiced.

“John,” he said, hoping he sounded more matter-of-fact than he felt, “You have to think of Sarah.”

“I have to what?!” John exclaimed against Sherlock’s shoulder, “Why on earth would I have to think of her now?”

“Yes, think of Sarah, or one of those girls in the porn websites you visit.”

“I-I…what? Sherlock!” John gasped with his head still lowered. “You don’t make sense.”

“We need to get warm or we’ll die. This will produce plenty of body heat.”

“Why? What? Have you finally gone mad?” John asked, raising his head, looking right into his eyes, “Why don’t you think of… I don’t know…Molly?”

“Because that wouldn’t help at all,” Sherlock said sharply, trying to keep calm and not blurt out all he knew or felt.

“So, I don’t know… think about your things…I don’t know…I don’t want to know. I guess.”

“Shut up, John. Just think about something that will please you.”

“No, absolutely not! It’s embarrassing! I’m here, on top of you…I can’t think about anything, my God!”

“Okay, so we’re going to die here. Let’s see how embarrassed you will be when you’re dead!”

“Why does it have always to be me? Why don’t you do something once in a while?”

John railed at him and he took it. For all his inability to understand most of the human population and their stupidity, he understood John’s embarrassment. John was not gay. How many times had he said as much? And yet, how many times had he gotten an erection in the two hours they had laid in that blasted cabinet? Four? No, five. He let John’s voice wrap around him. The displaced anger had already slightly heated John’s body. That was good. But Sherlock could still feel the cold growing around his toes.

He reached up and grabbed a fistful of John’s hair, tilting his head back and away from him. Without thought or meditation, Sherlock did what John had wanted. He did something. He lifted his head and pressed his mouth to the pulse point in John’s neck. He heard the soft gasp escape John’s mouth and felt the shiver that had nothing to do with cold run down both of their bodies. Sherlock concentrated on exploring all the edges, curves and valleys of John’s throat, nipping and lapping and sucking at him like a dying man parched for drink.

He knew the moment John had lost all thought of things being awkward or embarrassing. He felt all the tension that had been throughout John’s body coalesce in his groin. John forced his head down to look at Sherlock. He dropped his hand to John’s neck. John looked as if he was about to say something and Sherlock was prepared to stop him, but instead, he dropped his mouth to Sherlock’s.

Sherlock felt his erection grow in that one fierce kiss. John was an expert at kissing. There was no doubt in Sherlock’s mind. John’s mouth took his desperately, heatedly, even angrily as if he was disgusted that he was kissing his best friend. But for someone so angry, he was very gentle when he licked Sherlock’s lower lip and nudged his tongue between Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock felt every nerve in his body go on high alert with the heat of John’s kiss and groaned. John’s mouth dropped from his lips to his throat and Sherlock’s groan turned into a long, low moan. John stopped moving, stopped kissing, stopped everything.

“Oh shit…” he breathed against Sherlock’s neck, “This is the most embarrassing thing…” he gasped and kissed Sherlock’s Adam’s apple, “…I have ever done.”

“You’re doing well,” Sherlock said, trying to keep his voice steady, “Keep going.”

John thrust his hips into Sherlock tentatively and Sherlock almost whimpered. When he thrust against him a second time, Sherlock stifled the groan. On the third thrust, he felt it necessary to protest as much as he was truly enjoying John’s rutting.

“John…it…uh…it’s too much,” he stammered tightly. His voice strangled on every sensation John was unknowingly eliciting. He bit his bottom lip, trying to concentrate, to calm himself, to remember that John was only trying to keep them warm.

“M’sorry…m’sorry…. Uh… m’sorry,” John kept murmuring against Sherlock’s neck, but he wasn’t slowing the pace. Instead, he was thrusting harder at every word.

“Don’t be…sorry,” Sherlock breathed as he put his hands out to touch the cold side walls of their small prison to ground himself back to the solidity of their surroundings, “No…” he tried to continue the thought, but then John’s teeth were at his collarbone and all thought went out the window. He heard himself sigh, “My— uh…John….”

Sherlock started moving his hips in tandem with John. He heard himself almost chanting John’s name and forced himself to concentrate, to try to ignore where all of this was leading, trying to focus on staying warm, not getting off, as much as right at that moment, all he wanted was to get off with John.

John nipped at the flesh just below his ear and he almost forgot himself again.

“John,” he breathed out again, “John, please.”

John thrust harder than before. Sherlock grabbed John’s hair and pulled his head back, severing the skin to skin connection. John continued to thrust his hips even once he met Sherlock’s eyes.

“John, you can’t,” Sherlock panted roughly, “You need to…hold it.

When John stopped moving, he almost cried out, but swallowed and continued on a normal but restrained voice, “But you can’t stop either.”

He could see panic in John’s eyes. The need was too much for him to stop. Sherlock drove his hips up, indicating that his need was just as great.

“I can’t,” John growled as he closed his eyes, “not with you rocking your hips like that.”

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock said with a suppressed smirk, “I can’t stop either.”

John took his mouth again with such ferocity it left Sherlock breathless. When John’s tongue pressed against his willing lips, Sherlock readily opened to him. As their tongues battled for dominance, both of them groaned. John continued to push into him, his tongue copying the movement into Sherlock’s mouth. For a brief moment, Sherlock wondered what it would be to be filled with John on both ends. He thrust his hips into John with more force at the wonderful thought as he willingly accepted John’s tongue. He occasionally trapped John’s tongue with his lips and sucked on it, wishing it was another part of John’s anatomy. Sherlock realised that John must have thought the same thing at some point as his thrusting got harder and faster and more erratic. Sherlock continued to pace him as best he could, but it was becoming more and more difficult.

John suddenly tore his mouth from Sherlock’s and groaned. Sherlock felt the added warmth of John’s semen seeping through his jeans and realised what happened as John buried his face in the curve of his neck. Sherlock grabbed John’s hips and thrust up into him one last time as he felt his orgasm overtake him. He held John tightly, wondering how this would change things…or if it would change anything.

Neither of them moved for several minutes. John seemed content to lie in Sherlock’s arms as he came down from his orgasm. Sherlock was more than content to hold him tightly as they each seemed to try to catch their breath. All too soon, Sherlock caught his breath and started assessing the situation. He realised that what body heat they had created was quickly dissipating. He also noticed that the warmth from John’s orgasm and his was quickly becoming a cold, wet, sticky mess.

Then he saw the thin line of light. He said John’s name. He said it again. Finally, John looked up from his shoulder, having a difficult time meeting his eye.

“John,” he said softly as tilted his head to look up at the small crack of light, “I think it’s unlocked now.”

“What? How?” John asked incredulously.

“I think it was the movement,” Sherlock said matter-of-factly. There was no need to say what he really thought; that while they had rutted against each other, the rough motion of their bodies against each other had forced the lock open. He knew John would be back to embarrassed if he said that.

He reached up and prised his fingers into the small opening.

“Push, John.”

He felt John brace himself against the walls an almost cried out as he pushed, pressing his body into Sherlock’s one last time. The drawer slid slightly forward and Sherlock grabbed the handle of the drawer above to keep their drawer from sliding back closed.

John climbed out awkwardly, obviously trying to make sure he didn’t press into Sherlock again. That gave Sherlock pause. Perhaps he had made some kind of noise when John made his final push? He couldn’t remember. When John reached down to help him off the drawer table, he let his worries fly from his mind and tried to straighten his clothes as best as possible. John looked like he’d just been shagged in his clothes, which of course he had, so it went to reason that he looked the same. Sherlock caught his eye and held the inquisitive look John was giving him.

“You’re fine?” Sherlock asked.

“Yeah,” John replied and then looked away quickly. Sherlock could see he was uncomfortable. He noticed the flush growing along John’s neck and face but figured it would be better not to say anything.

“And you?” John asked after a brief hesitation.

“Fine,” Sherlock choked out, not really fine at all with John being so uncomfortable. He wanted to talk about what happened, but he had learned from John that sometimes things needed to simmer before they could be devoured. He made the grand gesture as best he could, “Ah…um…John…can we not-“

“Yes,” John replied, jumping on his question, “Absolutely!”

“Okay, then,” Sherlock said quietly as he leaned down to pick the lock to the morgue door so they could escape.

As they rode in the cab towards Baker Street, Sherlock quietly filled John’s room in his Mind Palace with every detail of what had transpired. He would never delete those moments, especially the sound of the sigh of his name on John’s lips as he had come. It had not been Sarah that John had been thinking about as they had rutted against each other for warmth.

He closed the door to John’s special room and began his mental trek back to the outside world. Suddenly, he remembered the original mission.

“The nails, John!” he gasped out, shocked it had taken him nearly the whole trip back to Baker Street to realise, “We forgot the nails!”

John smirked at him and he gave him a questioning look. John leaned in to whisper to him so the cabbie couldn’t hear.

“You’ve been nailed once tonight. Let’s just go home.”

Sherlock could feel the flush creep up his neck at the bold statement John had made. It was not a comment he had ever expected from John…at least not so soon after the incident. He looked at John grinning and giggled. John started laughing and he couldn’t help but laugh himself.

And with that, Sherlock knew things were different, but they really hadn’t changed.