Family Deductions

Sherlock quickly stripped down to just his boxers, which were already showing clear signs of his arousal, his erection pressed uncomfortably against the fabric as he watched John undress admiringly.

He made his way to the bed and impatiently tugged at John's ear with his teeth, helping him slip off his shirt.

Sherlock grinned at the idea of a massage and was about to say something when John's fingers tracing round his nipple reduced his words to a gasp of delight.

"Massage sounds good," he managed to choke, and lay back down on the bed, his head on the pillow, waiting for John to collect the items required.

John's desire for Sherlock was heightened by the insistent teeth on his ear and as the detectives long fingers delicately helped in peeling off his shirt off he uttered a strangled little sound of arousal and pleasure.

His breathing rate was speeding up at being the object of Sherlock's desire. Knowing that Sherlock was watching him undress sent a jolt through John's body, making him catch his breath.

John hurriedly pulled a bottle from the bedside chest and filling a beaker with boiled water in the kitchen dropped the bottle in to warm the sandalwood and almond massage oil.

Sherlock lying seductively on the bed set John's heart pounding in his chest. Breathing raggedly, his erection straining against the thin covering of his boxer shorts, John set the beaker on the cabinet and then knelt on the bed by the detectives hip. He leaned across with his hands on both sides of the detectives shoulders and hungrily began to kiss and nibble Sherlock's neck.

When John returned with the bowl, Sherlock grinned and rolled over onto his stomach, his erection pressing a little uncomfortably into the bed.

He sighed happily as John began to kiss him, tingles shooting down his spine. He tried to relax his body in preparation for the massage. "Hmm, you're so good at this John," Sherlock purred, closing his eyes.

John smiled at hearing Sherlock's compliment “Mmm relax.” whispered and stretched across to the beaker for the oil. He poured a little of the warm oil into his palm and swinging his leg over the detectives hips knelt astride him.

He trailed his palm down Sherlock's spine from his neck to his hips and then ran both hands lightly and smoothly up over the pale skin, his thumbs on the sides of the detective's spine. His heart was pounding as at the top of his first pass John brought his thumbs together then gently continued the motion outward over the detectives muscular shoulders.

John felt the muscles under his hands tense. He waited until Sherlock relaxed again, and smiling, lightly dragged his hands down the detectives back until the heel of his hands reached Sherlock's hips.

Sherlock's breathing was noisy and ragged, struggling to hold back a moan as John's hands worked magic on his shoulders. It was difficult to relax when every touch from the doctor's expert thumbs were sending more shockwaves to his groin, which was now throbbing with desire.

But at least now his mind was entirely focused on John, and on the sensations his partner was providing. It was the only time he could switch off, the only time he could stop himself from thinking too much. It was one of the many powerful effects John had over him.

"Mmh God.." Sherlock mumbled, as yet another sweep from John's hands caused him to tremble slightly. He reached his hand behind him and tugged at his own boxers, trying to pull them down and free his trapped erection a little.

John never tired of admiring Sherlock's handsome form or of running his hands across some part of it. His passes over Sherlock's torso gradually increased in pressure and he opened his fingers to begin widening the circles and swirls. His now uncomfortably tight shorts bore a damp patch testifying to the desire he felt.

The uneven sound of his breathing and the feel of Sherlock under him increased John's ache to both take possession of his partner as well as give everything of himself.

John was struggling to concentrate as Sherlock wriggled and his hand went to his waistband. The doctor immediately swung his leg over to slide off the bed and freed Sherlock from his boxers pulling them with confident hands over the detectives cool thighs and off the long lean legs.

He consigned the detectives underwear the floor and quickly took of his own boxers dropping them without thought.

John's focus was completely on Sherlock, his body gleaming invitingly in the soft light, as he got back on the bed.

Sherlock gasped a small sigh of relief as John helped him off with his boxers. At least now he was a little more comfortable, although he was still getting rather flattened into the bed. He rolled slightly to one side and turned his head to watch admiringly as John got fully undressed, his top teeth toying with his bottom lip, struggling to contain himself a while longer before resorting to begging.

As John returned to his side Sherlock could feel his hot flesh glide against his, the tip of his erection touched Sherlock's thigh and he shuddered, turning round to get a better look. He noticed it was glistening in the dark half light of their bedroom and he could hold off his need no longer.

"Please John..." he whispered breathlessly. "...Take me."

Heart thrumming in his chest, Hamish struggled to remember how his father's had caught him to deal with a hostage situation, which was what this was no doubt.
First, don't panic- John's voice echoed in his ears, easier said than done, he thought, gritting his teeth a little.
Hamish felt a slight sweat break out on his forehead as his attacker came into view. He was average height, greying hair and a face furrowed with deep wrinkles and worry lines, definitively ex-army (look at the way he carries himself, and the callous's on the right hand).
"Hamish Watson-Holmes, I believe?" he asked with a snarl. "What a pleasure to meet you."
"Who are you?" Hamish growled, he had to growl otherwise his voice would shake and give the game away.
"Oh yes, where are my manners?" he drawled, his obviously 'cockney' accent coming through his posh London one a little. "My name is Sebastian Moran, but you sweet tart," he shot him dirty smirk, "can call me Seb."
Hamish fought to urge to struggle backwards, gritting his teeth. Moran. That name rung a bell. He thought desperately, trying to search the 'mind palace' that Sherlock had insisted he make from the age of about 6. He'd never got to grips with the method and had trouble remembering the palace layout let alone the information that was supposedly stored in there. But the name came to him. Yes that was it. The slight moment of triumph was washed away by the second wave of panic which hit his stomach and almost made him gag. Moran- assistant to Moriarty, currently second most dangerous man in London. Well actually first, seeing as Mycroft would never lay a finger on Hamish.
"What do you want with me?" Hamish whispered, only just managing not to whimper.

Even when not in the grip of passion that his partner created in him John could not deny Sherlock anything he needed. Now he had to fight to control his desire to answer Sherlock's plea.

Sherlock looked so beguiling, the dark curls framing the high cheekbones of the face he loved and the clear eyes now dark with widely dilated pupils, but John, his heart pounding and his body taut with want and need, had to answer “Not yet” lovingly into Sherlock's back. Not yet, not when he could take Sherlock higher, not until the love of his life was truly ready.

John stroked and petted Sherlock, his own erection seeping fluid, until he was in danger of losing his self-control then took a little more oil onto his palm and began stroking down to Sherlock's entrance circling it gently, waiting for his partner to move against his hand.

Sherlock groaned when he was denied the attention he needed and buried his head into the pillow to stifle the noises he was making as John continued his onslaught. He'd always been such a terrible tease, driving Sherlock completley out of his mind before giving in.

He felt his lover's fingers grazing round his entrance, the massage oil lubricating it nicely, and he moved his hips backwards towards John's hand, hungrily eager. "More," he demanded, gripping up the sheets in his hands in frustration.

John whimpered quietly as every muffled groan and noise that Sherlock made served to strengthen his resolve to take Sherlock a level higher. Feeling the detective urgently pressing against him made the doctor's body shudder. Hearing Sherlock demand more John changed his position and whispered into Sherlock's ear making his own demand in a tone of steel “Please.”

As Sherlock's hips rocked back John's finger slipped into the hot opening pressing and massaging his lover's prostate, gradually opening him for a second well oiled finger. “Good?”

Panting, his senses reeling, he took his lover's throbbing erection in one hand and began a steady stroking, working luxuriously up and down the length, and rolled his slowly hand over the end distracting from easing in a third slippy finger and working round unpredictably brushing against his lover's prostate gland.

Sherlock collapsed the top half of his body back down onto the bed again with a sigh, knowing that he'd have to be patient until John had prepared him properly. He actually quite liked it rough and painful but John was always so kind and careful not to hurt him. It was endearing, and it felt great to know he was so well loved.

"Please..." he grinned, rolling his eyes. "You just enjoy making me beg don't you?" he added, although his last words were turned more into an inarticulate moan as John finally inserted that first finger, quickly followed by a second, nudging up against his prostate. Sherlock jerked his hips backwards trying to get him to go deeper. "Uhhh...yes...good..." he murmured, his heart beginning to pound wildly.

As John's hand snaked around the front to reach for his arousal Sherlock quickly shifted up his legs so he was lying virtually on his knees, his ass sticking up in the air, providing easier access all round. A third finger delved deep inside him and Sherlock bit into the pillow, his body shuddering.

"Please..." he mumbled again, his voice muffled by the sheets. "Please," he begged. "John...."

John smiled contentedly. Of course he enjoyed hearing his lover ask for what he wanted, and yes, it boosted his ego to cajole his lover into asking. And when John heard the pleas it meant that Sherlock was feeling, not analysing, just experiencing. And yes, before they became parents the mad detective would have the doctor so undone and desperate to cum that John would beg, loudly, uninhibitedly, practically sobbing.

And John was now becoming very desperate.

“Jesus” he muttered incoherently and bit his lip, his body trembling as Sherlock responded to his fingers rubbing and stroking.

John groaned as Sherlock moved himself into position ready to take his length, legs splayed, the beautiful, rounded arse up. He bent to give the soft flesh between the cheek and thigh a little bite and stroked his lover's inner thighs.

Withdrawing his fingers causing Sherlock to hiss John slid his hand to Sherlock's hard arousal, dripping with excitement, and drove himself deep into the warmth of Sherlock's body. “Oh God.”
Jeez, so tight. John began thrusting in a steady rhythm almost withdrawing and then driving deeply breathing deeply, sweat forming, being swept up by his need.

Sherlock's whole body was tense, on edge, almost trembling with anticipation as he became aware of John's movements behind him, preparing to take this one step further. God he needed it so much at that moment, his mind vaguely trying to recall the last time they'd had sex. Over a week ago. He was desperate.

Sherlock gasped as John removed his fingers, his hole now gaping and empty, the muscles around his entrance twitching, waiting to be filled. Seconds later he was tearing up the sheets between his fingers, yelping as John slammed deep inside him, the sharp stab of pain momentarily shocking him as he felt himself clenching on and off around John's hard length.

"God..." he panted, lifting up his upper body slightly to rest on his elbows. He turned his head to one side and craned his neck to look back at his lover, the muscley contours already beginning to shimmer with sweat as he started to thrust in and out inside him. Sherlock grinned up at him before turning his head back round, his eyes fluttering closed slightly, concentrating on the sensations sweeping through his body.

“Fucking hell you feel tight love” John gets out on one breath running his thumbnail up and down his lover's sweet spot, his eyes closed and head back, moaning as Sherlock bucks against him one hand steadying himself on his lover's hip.

“You feel so good” John manages shakily, moving his hips against Sherlock in a rolling motion, “so good”, his voice hoarser than it ought to be.

Then John is thrusting in long and short strokes angling to slide over, press on Sherlock's P spot, stimulating the nerve endings keeping up the firm rhythmic movement, deep, stronger and steady while he has a hand slung under Sherlock, teasing the edge of his cock making him squirm and writhe, rolling his hand over the head, increasing the tension of his fingers.

John feeling himself getting to the point of no return has to ask “Sherlock, touch yourself” his voice thick and incoherent needing to hold onto his lover's hips with both hands.

Then it's John feeling that it has ceased to be John and Sherlock and it's now like one being set on an orgasmic course, in union, connection, sensation enveloping them, blotting out thought and sense, increasing his pace, his thrusting hard, urgent, driving and pushing them on with every stroke, physically throwing them both toward their climax.

Close to coming it's like running toward danger and John is thrusting, pushing, driving, intent on taking Sherlock there with him until in wild involuntary movements his back arched, head thrown back, mouth open, a heartfelt cry escapes his lips as he is coming forcefully, buried deep in his lover, hearing and feeling his lover moving, and his hips jerk in spasms, until all he can do is moan, collapsing forward, drawing in air as if he has suddenly remembered to breath, sweat rolling off his forehead dripping onto Sherlock's back.

"You don't feel so bad yourself," Sherlock replied in a whisper, his mind shutting down to everything except John.

"God...fuck me..." He mumbled incoherently before letting out a strangulated moan as John began to respond to his demands, the thrusts hitting hard and deep, every single one of them sending him further into ecstacy.

Sherlock moved his hand down and quickly took hold of his own length, taking over from John who was now using all his strength to pound him relentlessly.

Sherlock grabbed hold of the bedstead with his other hand whilst he pumped himself up and down quickly, in time to John's wild thrusts.

As the pace increased, so did the intensity and Sherlock could tell he was approaching orgasm fast. He desperately tried to hold off as long as he could, but when he felt John practically exploding inside of him that was all he needed to send him over the edge into his own delightful climax.

"J-Johhhn," Sherlock gurgled, the pleasure shooting like electric through every millimetre of his body as he released himself messily into his hand and on the bed.

Immediately after he collapsed forwards, gasping and panting, John still a heavy but pleasant weight on top of him, his body tingling from head to toe.

“Sher-lock” the last syllable fell from John's mouth as an incoherent moan as he heard his lover say his name. It sent a massive shiver like an electric charge through him and reverberated in his core whenever Sherlock said his name like that.

As he realised his lover was climaxing John smiled, his chest heaving and heart hammering, it was so typical of Sherlock to be able to teeter on the edge of orgasm but to retain his prodigious control of his body and generously wait for him to fall apart first.

He sighed raggedly and quickly pushed himself up off Sherlock's prone body to let him breathe properly. Moving disengaged them. John, still dizzy looked at the glorious mess they were both in through half closed eyes. With a contented grin plastered on his face he carefully eased himself to lie down on his back beside Sherlock to recover and stretched his arm to him.

"Okay, I'll tell you straight." Moran crouched in front of him, locking his dark eyes with Hamish's grey-blue ones. "My boss likes to, um, how can I put it, play with his food. So we're going to play a game. It's very simple; your going to make a phone call for me to your father." the strangers thin lips twisted into a dark grin. He reaching into his back pocket, making Hamish flinch (he knew what else was sometimes kept in criminals back pockets and he wasn't ready to be looking into a barrel just yet). Morna produced a small pager and a mobile. "Read off this. One word wrong and BOOM!" Moran shouted, foul breath blasting him in the face and causing Hamish to jump and begin to tremble a little again. Taking the pager cautiously from his kidnappers outstretched palm, Hamish had a sickening sense that he knew this game. "The Great Game..." he whispered under his breath, quite enough for Moran not to hear. Was Moriarty back? (impossible, Sherlock had seen him shoot himself on the rooftop) Or was this Moran guy just copying the late psychopaths old ways.
"Ready?" Moran asked, pressing dial on the mobile and holding it to Hamish's ear, forcing him to take the small device. Hamish shook so much he could barely hold to phone and his palms were moist with sweat.
Pull yourself together Hamish Bryon Watson-Homes.
As the line connected the pager flicked into life and Moran retreated into the shadows of the huge cellar.

Hello cutey. The words started to scroll across the pager.
Such a shame we couldn't meet in person, maybe another day when we're not both so busy.
Now, repeat after me.

The phone rang. Each ring seemed to last an eon and Hamish's mind flicked back to his home where his too father's would undoubtedly be curled up in bed together, John keeping an eye on the time and checking Hamish wasn't longer than he planned, and Sherlock mulling over the results of their experiment which was only hours ago. Oh God he felt sick.

Finally, the ringing ceased as the phone was snatched up. Oh God.

Sherlock gasped as John rolled off him, that odd sensation of him slipping out, and his entrance still twitching around the empty space. He sighed happily and rolled over onto his side, still breathless.

He groaned slightly as his skin touched a cool wet patch he'd created on the sheets and he looked down at the extra mess in his hand, forcing himself to sit up and grab a tissue off the bedside table, wiping it off before collapsing back down again and turning to face John.

Sherlock snuggled up next to his partner, gently running his fingertips along the man's sweaty sparkling chest. "You were incredible as always," he whispered into John's ear. "I love you."

Just then Sherlock's phone started ringing. He groaned loudly at the interuption to their special moment, but at the same time couldn't help noticing a slight quickening of his heart beat as he realised this could be a new case coming through. It was certainly odd to get a phone call that late at night. Then again, it could just be Hamish trying to get another couple of hours staying out time.

Either way it appeared they weren't just going to hang up and go away. "Better get that," he mumbled to John before hauling himself up out of bed. He grabbed his trousers off the floor, pulling out the phone from his pocket. It was a withheld number. He pressed the call button and answered, "Sherlock Holmes?"

The tone of Sherlock's voice was surreal. Annoyance mixed with slight confusion and the perpetual arrogance his father always had. He had to bite his lip to stop himself crying out 'help' or something equally as stupid, but it wasn't long before words started flowing across the pager.
"Hello... sexy." he started, voice hoarse and trembling. "Did you really think I was a gonner? Oh always so quick to jump to conclusions aren't you dear Sherlock. You're not what you used to be. What happened to the cool, arrogant little bugger who would come out and play? Well this time you have no choice Sherlock. If you want this lovely product of your loins back, that is." Hamish swallowed as the pager stopped its stream of text, straining his ears for his dad's response.

It made John smile to see Sherlock wiping and dabbing with tissues then flopping onto the wet patch. He pulled Sherlock into his body for a cuddle, the fingers tickling his chest, and he felt very much loved.

“Mmm, flattery gets you everywhere,” he joked “I...” he was cut off in mid sentence by Sherlock's phone ringing, “love you too,” he rolled his eyes in sympathy as the detective groaned and went to take the call.

For a moment there was silence on the line, and Sherlock was about to ask whoever was on the other end to speak up when suddenly his blood ran cold.

"H-Hamish," he stammered, his heart pounding as he listened to the rest of the words, already knowing exactly what game they were playing and who was behind this. He reached out to grab John's hand and squeezed it hard.

Sherlock could feel the rage and hatred quickly building up inside him and he gulped to control his anger, mentally locking it away in his mind palace. He needed to focus.

"OK. You have my attention," he replied coldly. "What next?"

John sat up, his eyes narrowing, when Sherlock faltered over saying their son's name and grabbed his hand and squeezed it forcefully. He got up without speaking and pulled fresh clothes out for both of them, his concerned face asking 'What?' as he tried to read Sherlock's now unreadable features.

"Remember twenty years back when we played that little game, that Great Game? Well I thought I'd see if your still on form- wouldn't want you to slip behind me you see." Hamish gulped, of course this was what the whole ordeal was about- it was nothing more than an elaborate game to Moriarty. "As it's been a long time, I've been a little more generous with this one. You have ten hours to solve it. Pay attention now because this is your only clue." the pager stopped for a moment before an instruction scrolled across the screen,

Now, press send would you.

Hamish took the phone from his ear and was surprised to see a ready made message on the small screen. It had a picture file attached but he had no idea what it was and could only hope that it wasn't something that would panic his parents, such as a picture of him unconscious and tied up. He pressed send immediately; co-operation was his only option.

Missing:
bit.ly/RzfEkx
Find the body.

Sherlock concentrated on slowing down his heartbeat as he listened to the next instructions, trying to detach himself from the situation. This was not his son Hamish speaking. This was Moriarty and every little possible thing he said could be a clue.

He glanced briefly up at John who was clearly already worried, despite him having said nothing. He was getting clothes out of the wardrobe and Sherlock stood up, pulling on his boxers with one hand, still holding the phone to his ear.

Once Hamish had finished speaking he heard a small beep in his ear, to say his phone had received a text message, which he understood to be the clue, which meant they were at the end of their conversation. The game had begun and they had 10 hours.

"Stay calm. We'll find you." Sherlock spoke coolly into the phone, then quickly hung up before Hamish could say anything back and risk his life.

He leapt up and grabbed his trousers, dragging them on, then his shirt, speaking urgently to John. "It's Moriarty. He's back. I don't know how, but he's orchestrating things somehow from behind bars. Some of his people have Hamish. He's playing a game with us John. A game which I don't intend to lose."

Having finished doing up the buttons on his shirt, Sherlock picked up the phone again and opened up the message, standing close to John so he could see what it said. The word "Missing", then a picture, then the instruction "find the body." He clicked on the picture file and stared at it.

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"Cartier," he mumbled, biting his bottom lip thoughtfully. "Cartier necklace. Two rings...find...the body...." He tossed the phone down on the bed and began pacing up and down, thinking.