Chapter Text
"Play with me."
John Watson has spent far too much time being disturbed and his attention demanded at short notice. He has learned to be available at any given moment simply because Sherlock demands his time. He could choose to ignore him, (and on some occasions does just that) but because Sherlock is both his best friend and clearly needy beyond belief, John looks up from his book and smiles.
"Play what?"
"A game," says Sherlock and settles his hands on his hips. "Anything. Just something."
"Right," says John and looks round pointedly. "What?"
Sherlock sighs heavily. "You could think of something."
"Well, yes, I could. But then I'm not the one climbing the walls because we haven't got a case. You pick something."
Sherlock huffs and leaves the room. John truly doesn't expect to see him again for hours, but Sherlock stomps back in a few minutes later and drops a battered, discoloured box on the table. John glances at the box over the top of the book and raises an eyebrow. "Chess?"
"It's a game."
"Yes, I know it's a game, but it's probably going to be over quickly," says John. "You're going to turn out to be some secret grand master and it'll take five minutes for you to feel smug. No."
Sherlock sits down opposite and comes very close to pouting. "I'm not a grand master."
"Couldn't be bothered?" asks John and Sherlock shakes his head.
"It's not my kind of game," he admits with some reluctance. "You can't interrogate the witnesses and there's no evidence to collect."
John clears his throat. "It's not a puzzle, you mean? We could do a puzzle, if you like."
"Chess," says Sherlock. "I'll play you."
"Well obviously."
"No," says Sherlock and gestures to John. "I'll read you. I'll beat you by reading you."
"Charming," says John. "And reading me will help you win?"
"Yes."
John sighs and puts the book down. "What the hell. It'll stop you moping for half an hour." He gestures to Sherlock and scrubs a hand back through his hair. "Go on then, you set it up."
Sherlock bites his bottom lip. "Not sure how."
"What?" asks John and glances at the seal on the box. The box itself is old and the cover faded but John hadn't noticed the tape was still in place before now. He looks up at Sherlock and grins. "Sherlock, have you ever played before?"
"No," says Sherlock. "I tried, once, but chess is Mycroft's game."
"Ah," says John. "Anything he can do?"
"I just don't see the point."
"But you want to play now?"
"You're not Mycroft."
"Oh, you've spotted that," says John and pulls the lid off. A layer of dust ghosts the table and John brushes it away. He takes the board out and lays it flat on the surface. "Well, I used to play on the school team. I won't be a total walkover."
"I'm sure you'll be adequate."
"I thought sociopaths used flattery to get what they want."
"That's other people," says Sherlock. "I don't need to bother with you."
"I think that might be a good thing," says John and tosses the instructions to Sherlock. "Go on. You read. I'll get everything in place."
John doesn't bother to watch Sherlock reading the instructions. He won't explain the game and frankly it won't make a difference either way. John hasn't found much that Sherlock can't become expert at if he deems it necessary. He doubts Sherlock will ever find chess necessary if he hasn't already, but John likes the process of Sherlock learning anything. He's sure that the first few moves will be shaky but then Sherlock will learn and flourish and though John thinks he may win one game, but he won't win if they play more than once.
None of which really matters to John, because being with Sherlock is his favourite thing in the world. He hasn't said the words out-loud and doesn't plan on doing so. Sherlock is a wild and crazy beast, a creation that is three dimensional when everything else is just so flat. London was a series of lines to John before he took the first scary step on Sherlock's adventure and now everything shines to him. The world is beautifully, gloriously terrible and it's all due to the man he's about to play with. It's the dazzle that leaves John happy to indulge Sherlock in the small things, especially when they don't include dead body parts.
He's aware that no matter how many girlfriends he acquires, Sherlock is always the object of his affection and that the natural thing to do is to make love to that object. But Sherlock clarified that aspect of their friendship early on and so John has a very healthy relationship with his hand and the privacy of the shower. John has slowly come to terms with wanting Sherlock and has defined himself so many times by the absence of a physical relationship. He was spent time explaining to people, almost painfully, that they are not a couple, that he's not Sherlock's date, that John isn't gay.
He isn't. Life would be so much easier if he was, because then John could spend some time finding himself a man who could take Sherlock's place. But he has no desire to explore male flesh if it's not part of Sherlock. All his curvaceous and soft history with women is secure and John could and does say honestly that he's not gay, except when it comes to Sherlock, because there John has no choice whatsoever. Simply put, he wants and since he isn't going to get, no other man will do and no woman can give him a satisfactory alternative. John doesn't say that part, but it echoes in the small hours and he lives with it quietly during the daylight as he desires his flatmate.
So instead of acting on it, John sets up the board to play chess and knows that watching Sherlock move the pieces across the board will make him hard. All it really means is that John will be showering before bedtime and Sherlock will be amused for a time while they play. It saves on plaster and wallpaper at the very least and John thinks it's a good trade.
"Okay," he says as he settles the last pawn into place. "Are you being white or black?"
"Black," says Sherlock and John rolls his eyes. "Why?"
"Nothing," says John. "Just can't imagine you playing white."
"It's two colours, John. I can only be one of them."
"Yeah, sure," says John and grins as he moves a pawn forward. "So Mycroft's the business at this?"
"Please, let's leave him out of this, hmm?" asks Sherlock and moves before he looks back at John. "You said you'd play with me."
"I am," says John and plays. A few moves in, Sherlock has swiped his fingers over his mouth and chin and is starting to play with some finesse. John grins at him when Sherlock makes a move that won't succeed but will result in a petty little sacrifice. John plucks the black pawn from the table and drops it down to the side. "First blood," he says and Sherlock arches an eyebrow.
"There's no penalty for losing a piece," he says. "I could lose all but one. It's in the rules."
"Yeah, but you won't win with only one," says John and tips the pawn as Sherlock glares at it. "Say goodbye, Sherlock. This little fella's gone."
Sherlock sighs. "You only know if your strategy's worked at the end," he says and John shakes his head.
"Well no, you can figure it out as you go along," says John. "If you know what you're doing."
"Fine," snaps Sherlock and shakes his head as John makes a move to prevent Sherlock taking a piece. "When does this become interesting?"
"I thought you were going to read me?"
"I have," says Sherlock and sighs in disgust. "Your smugness is putting me off."
John chuckles. "Really? I'm better than I thought."
"No, you just don't think I'm any good and you're not playing your best game," says Sherlock. "It's frustrating."
"I'm playing," says John and takes another piece. Sherlock lets out an annoyed huff and John grins. "Okay, I was sort of thinking about the last game I played."
"You're making the same moves?" asks Sherlock and frowns. "Oh, not those moves."
"Hmm?"
"John, I'm not quite sure how this relates to sex, but whatever you're thinking about, it isn't taking my bishop."
"What?" John and clears his throat. "Oh, well. No, I was just reminiscing."
"About the last time you played," sighs Sherlock. "Fine. I'm sure you let her win in trade for sex."
"Well sort of," says John and licks his lip as he plays. "We played strip chess."
"You did what?"
"You know? Where you have to take something off every time you lose a piece?" John shrugs. "We never actually finished the game."
"Was she a bad player?"
"No, she just wasn't wearing very much," grins John. "Anyway, you'd owe me both your socks by now."
Sherlock stares at him and at the black pieces on the side of the board. He bends down and draws off black cotton and sets them on the chair next to him. He stretches long fingers across the board and John bites down on his bottom lip as his pawn is removed from play. "One of yours," says Sherlock and John clears his throat.
"Wait. Sherlock," he begins reasonably. "When I said we were playing strip chess, we weren't really playing. It was just foreplay."
"I'm playing," says Sherlock and nods to the now abandoned piece. "You owe me a sock."
John stares and then with a sigh he bends and pulls his left sock off. "Fine," he says and makes another move. "You're wearing less than me and it's getting chilly."
"I don't feel the cold," says Sherlock and makes an aggressive move on the board. John's right sock is abandoned quickly afterward.
"You definitely feel the cold," says John and curls his toes in against the chair. Sherlock does not like to lose and neither does John. On the other hand, Sherlock's feet are bare and John can add up the number of layers Sherlock's wearing compared to John and finds the odds are stacked rather heavily in his favour. And as much as John doesn't really care about the outcome of the game, he can't quite shake the possibility of a naked Sherlock at his table. At the very least it will give him additional spank bank material.
Sherlock's playing improves rapidly with the additional clause. John's jumper is the first casualty and both their watches lie on the table after a brief discussion on whether they constitute clothing. John takes off his shirt and though the tshirt beneath is thin, the flat feels impossible warm and John concentrates on the board as he counts the possible items Sherlock has left. He takes Sherlock's rook and glances at the man to find Sherlock already unfastening his shirt. Bare, supple flesh is revealed and John's cock gives an involuntary twitch as Sherlock draws shirt away from nipple.
"You know," says John. "We could stop this now."
Sherlock folds his shirt and looks back at John. "Afraid you'll lose?"
"No," says John. "But you don't have much left and I hate to watch a grown man cry."
"I don't cry unless it suits me," says Sherlock and John huffs and claims another pawn. Sherlock's belt joins the shirt on the table and John swallows against a dry throat. Sherlock makes a smart move while John's distracted and John pulls his belt free of the loops and drops it. Sherlock smirks and takes an inconsequential pawn as John pulls his tshirt over his head. "We're even again."
"Not really," says John and straightens up in his chair. He might very well be battling against an erection that's making his jeans uncomfortable, and he might not be the alabaster statue across the table, but John has no worries about being seen naked. His body is weathered and comfortable and he likes his skin. He likes it best when someone else is appreciating it and while Sherlock doesn't reach across and stroke, John takes the gaze as a compliment. "You learn fast."
"It's simple strategy," says Sherlock and glances down as John makes the next move. Sherlock's bishop leaves the board and his queen is in danger. "What happens when we run out of clothes?"
"Technically I think we just get cold," says John. "But we'll just finish the game."
"Right," says Sherlock and clears his throat. "I'm about to get a little cold, John. Do you think we could have tea?"
"If you're just in your pants, I don't think tea's going to cut it," says John and gets up from the table while it's still possible. At least his jeans keep everything almost where it should be. He concentrates very hard on pouring out whiskey, but he can't ignore the whispery rush of zip and the sound of trousers slithering down legs that are for the most part an unknown part of John's flatmate. He walks back to the game and sets the tumbler next to Sherlock as the man folds his trousers.
All John can think about is the amount of skin visible above the table and unseen below it. All untouched by John, at least when it's just skin and he sits down carefully, aware that his own cock is busy reminding him that John Watson might not be gay for all men, but Sherlock's the exception that proves the rule. He aches to touch, but he's disciplined enough to clear his throat and wait for Sherlock to make the next move. John drinks deeply from the glass and feels the whiskey puddle warm in his belly. When his knight is taken out of commission, Sherlock raises an eyebrow at John.
"That was clumsy," he says and John licks his bottom lip.
"Thought you'd do something else," says John and stands up gingerly, aware that Sherlock won't turn away. He won't take himself off and allow John the privacy of removing his jeans in peace and John is visibly hard beneath them. He turns slightly and unfastens the denim, preparing himself to settle down in nothing but his pants and hears the creak of the table. John turns his head and notices Sherlock leaning on one elbow, eyes very firmly fixed on John's fingers. "Do you mind?"
"Not at all," says Sherlock and John swears that there's a twitch of a smile at the corner of the man's mouth. "Pray continue."
John rolls his eyes and skins his jeans off, dumping them in a crumpled heap as he sits back down again. There are more pieces on the board than there are clothes on either of them and there are more white than black pieces discarded. John can feel his cock standing proud in his pants and though he's been more naked often, he didn't think being this close to Sherlock and almost discovered would make him harder. But he throbs and John's cock aches when Sherlock stretches a bare arm across the board to move a piece. His knuckles brush John's chest briefly and John can't quite breathe. His skin flutters and Sherlock glances up at him.
"I could take you now," he says and John looks down at the board.
He's dangerously close to losing the game and he isn't at all sure that this should be in any way a lengthy process. He wishes he'd worn more clothes. He wishes Sherlock had worn less. He's very conscious that his cock is pressing the elastic of his pants and that if he has to take them off he'll be naked and hard in front of a man who has said clearly that sex is off the table. The trouble is, it's all sex for John under the table and he huffs out a breath and makes a move.
"Check," he says and forces a smile. "Your move."
Sherlock frowns and moves out of check quickly. It's seconds between moves and pieces should be lost but aren't until John really has no choice and he takes Sherlock's queen. He holds his breath as he removes the piece from the board and only as he sets the felt bottom on the table does John risk looking back at Sherlock.
"Check," he says quietly and Sherlock raises an eyebrow before he stands up. Here, for the first time, John is presented with Sherlock wearing nothing more than his underwear. He can see, (though he doesn't stare as openly as he wants) the firm muscle of the man's thighs, the hair that dusts his belly and the promise of a feathery darkness beneath the black shorts he wears. He can see the way those shorts cling and makes far too many mental calculations of the parts of Sherlock still hidden before Sherlock hooks his thumbs into his shorts and pushes down.
John reaches for his drink before shorts pass down over elegant hipbones. He catches his breath mid drink and coughs, the whiskey going the wrong way. Instead of being able to subtly check out the penis of the world's only consulting detective, John spits alcohol across the table and chokes. He spreads his hands on the table and knocks the board, sending pieces flying as he tries to get his breath back. It's somehow worse when he feels Sherlock's elegant fingers on his back, even if they do bang hard on his skin. John is being touched and he has no idea if the man's still wearing shorts or if a thoroughly naked Sherlock is standing very close indeed.
"I'm all right," he manages and looks down at where the game has been knocked from the board. "Shit."
"I would have won," said Sherlock and John hurriedly nods and tries to get his breath back.
"Fine, yes, you would have done," he says and reaches for his shirt where it rests on the table. "I'll clean this up tomorrow. I think I'm done for the night."
He gets up from the chair and turns quickly toward the stairs, his shirt pressed against his groin and he thinks he just might make it from the room safely before Sherlock calls his name. He risks turning round and is presented with Sherlock's back. His very naked back and the shorts have gone somewhere, leaving John unable to ignore the delicious shape of Sherlock's bottom. There's a dimple at the base of his spine and it's more muscular than John expected. It's a ripe peach of a bottom and John is consumed with the urge to sink his teeth into a cheek and feel the give beneath his lips. It takes every ounce of self control to keep the growl from his voice. "You won," he says. "I said I'll sort this tomorrow."
"Thank you for playing with me," says Sherlock and reaches for his clothes. He offers John his profile and for a second John thinks he catches sight of a penis that isn't entirely unaffected by the naked skin of an ex-army doctor. Just a glimpse of pink and almost hard and then it's covered by Sherlock's neatly folded clothes.
"Well we can alway play again," says John with effort and Sherlock shakes his head.
"I'm done with chess," says Sherlock and moves to leave the room. He pauses at the door and looks back at John. "Maybe next time you can choose what we play."
"Right," says John and steps back. "Could be anything."
"It could be," says Sherlock and smiles. "Anything you like, John."
"Righto," says John and pauses before he escapes to offer a single word. "Snap?"
"Strip snap?" asks Sherlock and nods. "Let's see how your powers of observation have improved."
He walks out the room, leaving John to exhale hard and wonder whether he's gone slightly mad. Always a risk, living with Sherlock, but he hasn't taken his pants off before and John knows damn well why he didn't turn Sherlock down. What he doesn't know is why Sherlock has offered anything that could be turned down. Naked games aren't the sorts of things John usually does with his friends, but then Sherlock isn't like any other friend he has and it's always possible that there's a hidden agenda on this. It would be the only thing that is hidden and John groans as that image, naked detective with a more than casual interest comes back to him.
He races up the stairs and pushes his pants off fast to take care of his aching cock. Only as he comes with his hand slick with sweat and semen does John recall the little smile given as Sherlock caught him looking. He drops his head back against the pillow and John determines that next time, he won't be caught. He won't be the one peeking, though he will look if given the opportunity because he's a sportsman all the way. With a grin, John closes his eyes and wonders when Sherlock will next get bored.
Let the games begin.