visual-attitude asked: How about Jim and Sherlock having phone/SMS sex while John is watching Sherlock? Now that would be a huge turn-on.
More of a drabble than anything else! WARNING: PORNY! I hope you like it babydoll!
The first buzz comes at 9:32 am, as Sherlock lounges on the sofa in his dressing gown and John lazes through the paper.
Sherlock reaches for his phone - checks it. Something he’s been in the habit of doing more and more, lately. John chalks it up to his improving manners, but he wonders if there’s more to it.
I’ve got something for you. [Photo incoming…]
Sherlock’s face doesn’t register surprise. Doesn’t register anything. He knows the number. He knows the point of the text. Not the first time.
A hand on an erect penis.
He types his reply.
He rests the phone on his chest and stares at the ceiling.
"You’ve been better with your phone lately." John ventures. "It’s good. Maybe you’ll actually pay attention when it’s important, sometime. When it’s an emergency."
"Hmmmph." Sherlock replies.
The phone buzzes again.
How do you know?
The trim on the wall in the background. Standard width. It’s a question of perspective. That penis is larger than yours. Also, he has a freckle between his third and fourth knuckle. You do not.
The next message makes Sherlock smile.
Good, good. Perhaps I have one of my own now. Authentic. Any guess as to who that one belongs to?
Check the paper. Page four.
Sherlock rolls up and walks to John, who has been pretending not to eye him from behind the paper.
"Excuse me." Sherlock says, taking the paper from John’s hands. He releases it easily, but not without complaint.
"I was - I was reading that, you know."
"I know, just a moment." Sherlock flips the pages and sees the headline. "Thank you." He drops the paper back into John’s hands, still frozen in the air, and flops back to the sofa.
The controversial Oxford professor, recently dismissed after a scandal with his student. He had a perfect alibi, but the photo evidence simply couldn’t be refuted. That was one of yours?
It was. Are you impressed? Getting one of your own, for me?
I’m rather sure you are, from where I’m looking.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. He knows Jim watches, but he can never be sure from where. As soon as he thinks he’s found the last camera, there seems to be another. Along with that, he shows up at all hours. As soon as John is gone. As if he’s camped out nearby, watching through a pair of binoculars.
John is staring at him.
"Who you texting?"
John looks him over. He clears his throat as he notices the - uh - the growing - is that a hard-on?
Sherlock rolls over, as if he’s heard John’s thoughts.
Sherlock, darling. John is feeling left out. Shall I text him, as well?
Aren’t I enough?
Of course you are. You’re more than enough. Say, why don’t you send him out for groceries? You two are running low on both oranges and bread.
Why would I? Plan on dropping in, again?
After last time, would you blame me? I can still taste you. It’s been haunting me. I haven’t eaten in a day. Worried I won’t be able to remember the flavor of your come.
Sherlock curls into himself a bit more.
“No one sure has an effect on you, when no one texts.” John’s voice is clearly annoyed, barely cloaked in flat nonchalance, shooting into Sherlock’s back.
I’m touching myself for you, darling. Would you like a photo?
No, thank you. I’d rather see it in person.
Look outside, then.
Sherlock hops from the sofa to the window, and pulls the curtain aside eagerly.
"What is it? Something wrong?"
"No." Sherlock spots Jim on the sidewalk, leaning against a tree, phone in one hand, the other hand in his pants. Staring up at the window.
He lays back on the sofa and texts again.
You’ll get arrested doing that.
You are so precious. You do remember who I am, don’t you?
Sherlock resists the urge to sneak his own free hand between his thighs, craving the friction of his wrist, his arm, anything.
"You know, I’m not blind." John finally lays his paper down. He hadn’t been reading it, anyway, Sherlock knows. "I can see that you’re…"
"That I’m what?” Sherlock challenges.
The phone buzzes again. Sherlock grabs it.
Sweetheart, I think Johnny wants to play. I’m going to text him.
Jim, I’m serious.
John’s phone buzzes on the table. He reaches for it.
"John, don’t look at that message."
John rolls his eyes and looks to his phone. He nearly spits out his coffee.
"Mind your business, Sherlock." John begins typing out a reply, his composure lost, clearly flustered.
What did you send him?
Don’t worry, darling. John recognizes when it’s really my cock, too. How about I come up and we put the phones away? I think we’ve all got some explaining to do.
Sherlock sees John starting to blush, sees the way he crosses and uncrosses his legs as he pretends to get back to the paper. Sees the way he nervously watches his phone, waiting for the next message.