Playing Dirty

Chapter 5

I'm calling your bluff, John.

~~~

John stared back for just a beat too long, then chuckled falsely and wiped his mouth with his napkin. He jabbed the air with his finger. "I see what this is. Nice try. No, you're just angry because you're losing. You can never handle losing, Sherlock."

To John's surprise, his flatmate didn't even put up a fight. "Hmm," Sherlock sighed. "All right then." He avoided further eye contact and flagged their waiter for the check.

John's brow furrowed. Sherlock had switched so suddenly to his usual aloof self, all business, doing god knew what in that mind of his. Losing himself, leaving John behind while he went off wherever it was he went to.

John found himself suddenly feeling sick with regret.

~~~

By the time they had left The Dome to hail a cab for the ride back to their hotel, John was pretty sure Sherlock was royally pissed off at him. He was trying to think how to go about apologizing for his experiment, as it seemed he may have pushed his friend too far.

So he was completely thrown off his guard when, instead of hailing a cab, Sherlock grabbed the front of his jacket and hauled him into a darkened alleyway. With his characteristic air of intimidation he crowded John up against the side of a building, then leaned in so closely their noses were practically touching. Sherlock made no other move for a long moment, his catlike eyes meeting John's with that piercing look.

"What...what are you doing?" John asked, wary but calm though he was still recovering from being pulled around like a rag doll. He bore this unusual turn of events the way he handled all of Sherlock's impromptu stunts: curiously, but without batting an eye.

"I am running a counter-experiment."

"Ah...okay."

Sherlock moved so his mouth was positioned next to John's ear. "Research: my flatmate John Watson. Done," he murmured, and John tried to stifle a shudder brought on by the detective's proximity and the very real feeling of the sudden, shared body heat. He was moderately successful.

"Problem: John Watson has pushed me past my physical breaking point." Here John actually felt Sherlock's lips brush his ear, and he suddenly couldn't draw enough air. "Hypothesis—" Here Sherlock's voice dropped to a whisper, "—he secretly wants me to do the same in turn."

John's eyes closed as he felt Sherlock's warm lips suck gently at his earlobe. A heavy breath escaped him. He felt the soft scrape of Sherlock's teeth and dear Jesus fuck, he was already completely hard, despite the stoic front he'd managed to maintain at the restaurant. He mentally surrendered.

"Independent variables...." John felt Sherlock's fingers brush his wrists, and the odder sensation of the stroke he followed through with, running the tips of his fingers down along John's. "Variations on touch." He found a place on John's neck he must have found appealing, because he began to suck there firmly, tongue undulating softly against skin.

"Oh, God," John whispered, unable to stop the small tremor that ran through him.

"Controlled variables..." Sherlock whispered over the tender place he had just marked, "persistence..." Sherlock found John's wrists again and pinned them against the building. In the inadequate lighting, John was still able to see the detective's lips curl in a mischievous smile. "Patience..." here he skated the tip of his nose lightly along John's and once again paused. "Passion...." His voice had grown quieter and quieter, the sussurus of intense desire, his breath against John's mouth.