Archive of Our Own ^beta

It's not very often that I, Sherlock Holmes, get flustered or aroused. I have mastered and controlled my libido for the last twenty-three years, unwilling to use my genitalia for anything other than passing waste but there was something – bewitching about watching the small baby suckling from its mother.

I am thankful that I have very tolerant and good friends. Believe me when I say that I am not the easiest person to be around, not only during my dark moods but on an average day with my hurtful deductions and thoughtless comments. I do not mean to be callous or cruel, I am merely being honest but it often drives away people who I could possibly befriend. That had happened numerous times from childhood which is why I am grateful and extremely thankful for my blogger and best friend John Watson. His wife Mary too (despite the black mark against her name for almost killing me) has become a close confidant to me, and I enjoy the closeness which this relationship provides.

Becoming a godparent (in name only, not in those antiquated rituals of church-going) to their child has given me a new perspective on life and I am constantly intrigued by every movement of the baby. It's soft gurgles and its loud cries are all fantastically useful to my scientific studies, and I find myself watching her often, including when she feeds.

Watching those small pink lips wrapping around Mary's exposed nipple is a sight which has embedded itself into my mind palace. I find myself watching as she suckles, how her tongue clicks with each suck of milk, the creamy goodness resting on her tongue and slipping from the side of her mouth with each gulp. Mary has noticed, of course, she is extremely intuitive and I am sure that she has changed how she holds the baby in order for me to have a better view. Her warm smile tells me that she doesn't mind, not even when I have to sneak from the room, ashamed and red-faced at the flush on my cheeks and throat. Arousal is a menace for those with pale skin.

Her visit was unexpected, especially considering it was late at night and in the middle of a heavy downpour of rain. Puddles had formed outside the door, the pattering of rain against the window leaving me relaxed and happy as I listened to the sound of nature. The downstairs door opened, two voice's conversing on the stairs which I recognised as Mrs Hudson and Mary before footsteps told me the latter was coming up. Sitting up from my reclined position on the sofa, I frowned in the direction of the doorway, watching as she beamed a smile at me.

“Hello.” She grinned, taking off her coat and hanging it up in an attempt to dry it off.

“Hello.” I parroted, “You're – here?”

Mary smiled, messing with her hair in the mirror before turning to me, her position dominant yet warm – motherly, in fact.

“I came to look after you.” She tutted, sitting in John's chair and pulling off her jumper to expose her nursing bra. Her breasts had increased two sizes and were full and leaking against the fabric, I could see the circle of escaped milk getting bigger.

“I… I...” I stumbled, unlike myself.

“Come here.” Mary insisted, tapping her knee “I'll look after you.”

“Mary… this isn't – but John...” I stammered, nervous yet already aroused and hard in my cotton pyjamas.

“John wants me to look after you. Care for you. That's what I'm doing.” She said softly, tapping again “Come on. Scoot over.”

I did – God, I moved faster than I thought possible with an erection. I climbed onto her knee and nuzzled my face against those sweet, sweet breasts. My face was slick with milk before she tutted playfully and gave me access to her nipple via the bra. Her face was soft, her hands tracing shapes in my hair as she whispered: “Go ahead, drink up.”

My mouth found her teats, wrapping my lips around that small nub was like an electric shock through my body as I sucked, feeling the sweet liquid beginning to trickle onto my tongue, down my throat, surrounding me with affection as I drank, regressing to another time, a simpler time when all was well and I was free and small.

“Clever boy, my clever little boy.” She was cooing now, holding my head steady to her breast.

“Yesh.” I lisped. I haven't lisped since I was a child, but suddenly it was there again.

My hands which had been tangled in my dressing gown now moved. One moved to her hair, tangling my fingers in her short blonde strands whilst the other palmed at my cock, harder than I had ever known it before. I moaned, whimpered and grunted with joy as more and more of the silky liquid splashed against my tongue.

“You can play.” Mary whispered, her finger moving to wipe away a stray river of milk which trailed down my chin “If you need to.”

I couldn't help the whimper which escaped my lips as I wrapped a hand around my cock, my hand ducking under the waistband in my urgency. Stroking rapidly, hard and fast, I suckled and slurped, making filthy noises whilst Mary stayed stoic above me, stroking me lovingly and soothing my sounds with praise.

“You're such a clever boy. So sweet and lovely.” she hummed, her eyes straying to the bulge in my trousers where my hand worked frantically, almost pushing me over the edge.

“That's it.” Mary cooed, sighing softly as she said the words which would send me flying over my peak, “Be a good boy for mummy.”

I climaxed with a hissing sound through my nose, my tongue still clicking against her breast as I rode the waves of pleasure, my ejaculate soaking through my trousers as I shuddered and shook with over-sensitivity. Mary stayed with me the entire time, stroking my face and cooing until my body returned to normal and I removed my mouth from her breast. Mary fastened herself back up, pulling me into her arms and allowing me to stay protected and safe.

If John saw the bottles of expressed milk in the fridge the following week, he said nothing.