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Sherlock desperately paced around the corpse. He had been at the crime scene for hours now. He had jumped off the sofa the moment Lestrade had texted him. He had drunk several mugs of tea and didn't use the loo before leaving. Now he was having a problem.
John had watched Sherlock for a while now. Of course he had been following him. He had given his opinion regarding time and cause of death and was even praised by Sherlock. But he was behaving weird. Restless. He normally didn't pace like this, at least not at a crime scene.
John was worried about him. Perhaps he was in pain? But why? He bit his lower lip. Should he ask? He wasn't sure about what to do.
“Let's go, John. Quickly.” He hurried by him and John looked at Lestrade. Then he made a phone sign and ran after him just as he always did. He reached him at the curb in front of the house they found the dead woman in. He already had hailed a cab and climbed inside. John followed quickly and gave Angelo's address. Sherlock's head quickly moved to the side.
“Damn, I forgot I promised him dinner. How am I supposed to make it through dinner? I don't do public loos, for God's sake!” John watched him squirm and now decided to ask.
“Sherlock, what's wrong with you? Are you feeling bad? Do you want to go home? We could take our dinner with us?” Sherlock looked at him and was tempted for just a second. But then he slowly exhaled.
“No, John. I am just fine. I promised you dinner. We will be having dinner. Don't worry about me, please?” He smiled an absolutely false smile and John saw it but he didn't insist. He was hungry after all. And Sherlock was grown-up, well, mostly. He should know what was best for him.
They arrived at Angelo's and were ushered over to their favourite place at the window. John smiled when the candle was brought. He quickly chose for him and Sherlock and also ordered water and wine. He saw him swallow when he poured them water.
And then it him. Sherlock needed to piss. Desperately. John suddenly felt hot. He knew about his habits by now and that he never ever would use a public rest-room. Oh, he bloody well would enjoy this from now on.
Was he being mean living out his kink, well, one of them, right now? How often had he pressed his ear against the bathroom's door when Sherlock finally had dashed inside and banged the door close behind him in the last minute. He inwardly sighed. Of course he had never told him. Jesus, Sherlock didn't even know he liked him.
Sherlock wondered while looking through his long lashes at John. Did John suspect anything? He looked harmless as ever. But Sherlock knew by now to never underestimate him. He tried to relax and carefully changed his position. He pressed his thighs together. Suddenly John stood.
“I'll be right back.” John went to the loo. John. Went. To. The. Loo. Fuck. Bloody hell. Sherlock started to sweat and felt beads slowly run down his back. He took the opportunity to press his fingers around his member beneath the expensive material of his trousers. It made it better. But the moment he had to let go again it became worse.
When John came back the dinner was brought, too. Sherlock for once shovelled his food into his mouth to speed everything up but John kept eating slowly as ever. He continually poured water and wine into their glasses and made him drink.
When John asked him if he wanted dessert sweat was running openly down his cheekbones. He suffered from cramps but was still able to hold it. He had been doing this for years. His body couldn't be ruling his mind. His mind was ruling his body.
A tiny drop sipped into his boxers and he bit his lip to refrain from groaning.
John kept watching him. He would make him go to the loo right now. He couldn't possible piss into his bespoke dress trousers which cost more than John's monthly salary. At least not in a restaurant. At home was a completely different topic or so John thought smiling to himself. So he cleared his throat.
“Sherlock, go right now.” He stared into his eyes and Sherlock stared back. Stubbornly he shook his head. His eyes were wet already.
“No ...” He weakly wheezed. “Can't ...”
“Sherlock, I swear to you. If you will wet yourself inside this place I will come into my trousers. Please don't make me. I am over that age for a very long time.” Sherlock stilled and tried to process John's words.
“That would be utmost horrid for the both of us then, wouldn't it?” John thinly smiled.
“It will be utterly humiliating for you only if I have to force you into diapers, right?” Now Sherlock was getting hard, too. John's voice. Oh God, this was Captain Watson talking. He never told him how much he was affected by it.
His hand found its way down again and pressed hard on his cock. He was completely erect by now and his trousers were tented. He swallowed.
“Please, John, you have to help me.” Sherlock's voice was rough and John kept constantly leaking into his pants. They stared into each other's eyes. John licked his lips and Sherlock groaned quietly.
John's eyes widened. Sherlock was as aroused as he was. Fuck. They couldn't possible disappear into Angelo's rest-rooms, could they? But Sherlock needed to piss. And he needed his help. So God help him. John stood and grabbed his bony wrist.
“Move.” Sherlock was grateful, so grateful, and it showed on his face. John pulled him behind and locked the door.
Sherlock stared at the tiles and swallowed. He cringed pressing his long legs together. John shoved him forward. He pushed his hands off his groin and quickly opened his belt. Sherlock gaped down but stood stock still.
John swallowed and just concentrated on the task at hand. Task at hand. He almost giggled hysterically. He opened the button and pulled down the zip. He turned Sherlock around and moved him close. He stood half beside and half behind him. He stuck his hand into his boxers and took his cock between his firm fingers. Sherlock's breath hitched and his hands landed flat on the tiles. He moaned. Unguarded. His body shook when John pushed his legs apart with his foot.
“Let go, Sherlock.” John gently told him. But Sherlock kept shaking his head.
“I can't, John. I just can't ...” He sobbed it out. John knew exactly what he was meant to do. He was a doctor with kinks, for God's sake.
“Don't get this wrong, Sherlock, mate. But we need to get rid of it, OK?” His dominant hand stroked Sherlock's erection and his other hand pressed on his bladder. Sherlock was panting heavily. His eyes were closed and he was so tense that John wasn't able to do anything. Until he remembered his former threats. He stood on his tiptoes and roughly whispered into his ear.
“Keep thinking of the diapers. I am a doctor. I can handle it.” Now he jerked and lost a few drops. John felt his cock pulse. Well, if he needed some threatening he would help him with that.
“So you like to be manhandled. I wouldn't have guessed, you know? The great Sherlock Holmes does have kinks. You surprise me every day, Sherlock.” All the time he kept stroking him.
Sherlock was panting raggedly by now but his body had started to move with John. His fingers scratched over the tiles. And he begged. John realised a bit too late but then he just grinned and pressed down both on his prick and bladder. Sherlock let out a rough barking noise and shook.
“I can't understand you, Sherlock. What did you say?” He almost sobbed out his answer.
“Please, do something, John. Please! Please!”
“Since you are begging so nicely ...” John increased his pace and twisted his wrist while pressing his thumb on the slit. Sherlock's knees buckled. Tears were running down his cheeks.
“Let. Go.” John hissed and his right moved from his bladder up to one nipple. He evilly twisted it making him shriek. Then he came. He shot his load over the tiles and into the loo. When his erection flagged he finally was able to piss.
And he pissed for a long time. John held him all the time. And when he was done John let go and turned around to wash his hands. He felt Sherlock's eyes on his back but he very calmly dried his hands before turning around.
Sherlock stood there with his spent prick still hanging out of his flies. He stared at John's. When John turned around again and raised his brows he slowly tucked it back in and zipped up. He buckled his belt and straightened his posture.
“Wash your hands.” Sherlock at once did but didn't say a word. Only when they were back at their table he ordered dessert for them.