Well, that’s a bit hot, isn’t it?
The restaurant was empty – it was getting quite late –
And with food on the house for him and his date,
The setting was perfect, he had to admit;
The only thing left was for him to submit.
These things he was feeling, he’d ignored for too long;
He could mask them no longer; they were now far too strong,
He had to allow this small moment of leisure,
And submit to desire – succumb to the pleasure.
“It’s Wednesday,” he said with a sly little smile.
“No need for food, I’m okay for a while,
But go ahead and order, I insist that you must,”
And he sat back and waited, consumed by his lust.
This was not his division – to borrow the line –
For his game was in the solving of crimes,
But how could it hurt to allow one slip of bliss –
An experiment of sorts, of the things he has missed.
He couldn’t help staring, as the feelings began brewing
And he bit his bottom lip, aroused by the chewing.
A hand down his pants, subtly as he was able,
He played with himself underneath the table.
John looked up from his plate, then quickly back down.
“Are you—” he said, with a questioning frown.
Sherlock gave a low moan and arched in his seat.
“Obviously,” he said. “Now shut up and eat.”