John's POV
John was trying to update his blog but nothing was coming to mind, he had typed up the last case already, it had been a few days since then. The last couple of days has been quite, even Sherlock had been unusually quite, of course there had been the odd noise's, Sherlock playing the violin at odd times in the night and occasionally bangs and smash of his experiments but it had still been unusually calm.
At the current moment, as he sat in front of his laptop, Sherlock was laying on the sofa reading something about Psychoanalysis, which was typically normal, what wasn't normal however, was that he was quietly reading out loud. It was a strange experience, John listened intently to see if he was hearing things but he wasn't, He listened intently and heard Sherlock lisp as he spoke. It nearly made him laugh, Sherlock Holmes has a lisp, how had he not noticed before? They had been living together for almost a year and he had never noticed. It took most of his strength not to giggle, he would never have guessed. When you think about someone with a lisp you think cute and quite, not tall and baritone.
He leaned back in his chair and turned his head and watched. He felt a giggle bubbling back up and couldn't seem to stop it coming out, he lifted his hand to cover his mouth but Sherlock had noticed and turned, frowning slightly "What?"… "John, what's the problem?". He was still lisping and John couldn't stop giggling. He finally caught himself and seen Sherlock's frown deepen. He didn't know, it shocked him, Sherlock didn't even know that he done it. Now that, that was shocking, He knew something about Sherlock that he himself didn't know and he wasn't about to tell him. "Nothing" was all he said in reply and turned back to his laptop trying not to smile.
John lay in bed later that night, still rather pleased with himself. He chuckled to himself before letting his mind calm, so sleep would claim him.
Sherlock was laying on the sofa, reading that Psychoanalysis book, lisping heavily on his p's and s's. John walked up behind him and knelt behind him, placing his hands on Sherlock's shoulder's to hold him back as he tried to sit up. "John, what are you…" Sherlock sounded so confused, "Keep reading", "John, what the hell are..", John tightened his grip on Sherlock's shoulder's, feeling the silk slip under his hands, "Keep reading" is all he could reply. Sherlock read on from where he was, confusion still clear on his face.
John leaned forward slightly as Sherlock read on. John wasn't really paying attention to what was being said, he caught odd bits like "Only members of their own sex can rouse their sexual wishes", John looked to the side of Sherlock's face at the sentence and noticed a slight pink on his pale face which made him smile. He started to examine what he was doing but stopped himself before he could, he followed the pink from his Sherlock's face to his jaw and down his neck, before he could stop himself he slid his right hand from Sherlock's shoulder, up his neck and softly gripped his jaw, making him stop reading, and tilted his head to the right before leaning forward and pressed his lips softly against the side of Sherlock's neck. Sherlock moved his jaw slightly, as if to speak but he caught him, moved his right hand up slightly, just enough for his index and middle finger to cover his lips before kissing up his neck slowly. He was nearly at the top when he felt Sherlock's tongue dart out and flick against his finger, shocking him and moving his hand slightly, enough for Sherlock to speak. But what he said was not what John had expected. He expected him to jump up and glare, instead, he turned his head to the left slightly "John, please" was what came out. John looked at him, his pupils were blown wide and his lips slightly parted, the 'please' came out lispy and almost sounded like a purr and he just snapped, moved his hand into Sherlock's curls, tightened his fist into them and moved forward and took Sherlock's mouth with his.
John sat up quickly gasping as he looked around. What the hell was that? He fell back down on his bed and sighed before falling still. 'This can't be happening' he mumbled to himself, he was hard; he got hard, from a dream about kissing Sherlock. Groaning he leaned over and picked up his phone, 2:34. He sighed again before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and looked down and frowned. Where did that dream come from, it was Sherlock, how could his mind come up with that. It was confusing, against his better judgement, trying to figure out how it happened, he thought about the dream, replayed it. Hands on his shoulders, long neck, pinked cheeks, lisp, "John, please". His eyes snapped open as he felt his cock twitch. "Dammit", he slipped back into bed. 'Think logically John, I'm straight, never been attracted to another man, never considered it. Until now, obviously, so what's different?' It was Sherlock, he was attracted to Sherlock.
"Oh my God" he said, covering his face with his hands. Was he? Really? He closed his eyes and brought up and image of him, typical Sherlock, lying on the sofa, stretched out, hands under his chin, eyes closed. He was attractive, he already knew that, he was straight but he could always admit if a man was attractive or not, it just never felt anything. So what's different about Sherlock, why him? He went back to the image he had, Sherlock's eyes closed as he lay in his thinking position, then his eye's suddenly popped open and he smiled and John felt all the air in his lungs leave like he'd been punched in his gut. Imaginary Sherlock raised his eyebrows "Haven't you figured it out yet John?" he asked, he leaned up on his elbows, making a few curls fall in front of his face and whispered "Your in love with me".
John's eyes opened, he was just about to scream at his imagination, scream at him at tell him he was wrong, he couldn't be in love with him. But he couldn't the word's just wouldn't come out. He couldn't say it, because he knew it was the truth. "Dammit".
John lay in bed for a while after his unique discovery and finally came to terms with it. He was straight, it was just Sherlock, which in a weird way gave him some comfort, he didn't want to think about that too much, 'That makes sense Watson, well done', Ok, maybe he did need to think about it. He closed his eyes and brought up an innocent enough image again, 'Sherlock sitting in the kitchen, looking down his microscope, he walks in, pulls him up by the shirt, spins him around and rips open his shirt.' Well, that was unexpected, he actually wanted to giggle at the image but stopped himself and closed his eyes again. 'runs his hands up his chest, around Sherlock's neck and pulls him down and kisses him, Sherlock whimper's as John licks his bottom lip but opens his lips for him, not wasting time, he slips his tongue in and caresses Sherlock's tongue with his own, causing them both to shake, John pulls away slowly and looks at Sherlock "God Sherlock, I want you" Sherlock's eyes open wide, eye's glazed over "Please John" ' John's cock twitched, bugger.
He quickly takes care of himself, cleans himself up and sighs. When he finally calmed down enough to think logically, he sighed again. There were a few options: 1, Tell Sherlock. 2, Continue as normal and hope it disappears. Or option 3, Move out.
Option 1 wasn't much of an option, he could just imagine it, storming downstairs and blurting out "Sherlock, I love you" and Sherlock would just say "I know", not even looking at him just reading as if it was nothing. Even just thinking about it made him flinch, absolutely not an option.
So that left 2 and 3, well continuing as normal would be difficult but not impossible, as for moving out, he could but the thought of it wasn't nice. Baker Street was his home, he loved the flat, even if it did look like a bomb site most of the time and he had come to care for Mrs. Hudson a great deal. So option 2 it was.
He wouldn't get back to sleep now, too much going on in his head so he just lay there and let himself come to terms with his new discovery. It was strange really, thinking about Sherlock in this new light, but surprisingly it didn't feel that odd, considering he was male. He had never really thought of Sherlock as anything, yes, they had become friends, but he never put him in a guy-friend/girl-friend category, he was always just Sherlock.
He lay there for a while longer, he knew he would have to get up soon though, there is only so much lying around he could do before he got restless.
Sherlock's POV
Sherlock put his book down and frowned, John's reaction earlier was bugging him for some reason. Not for the fact that he didn't know why it had occurred, it was more than likely over something tedious. It was the look on John's face, there was amusement, shock and then he looked almost smug. It hadn't bothered him until now and he had no idea why. What did John know that would make him smug?
A few idea's crossed his mind but he dismissed them quickly. It can't be of importance and no doubt it won't be any relevant data. The only thing that come to mind was that John knew, but he couldn't know, obviously, he had made sure that John didn't find out and if he did, no doubt he would have left, he wouldn't stay, that's the whole reason he could never find out.
It was a little after 2am, John would be in his deep sleep now, he wouldn't stir until past 7 at the earliest, and it was Saturday so he didn't have work. Sherlock never let himself fully relax until after 2, by then John would be fast off and he could lower his guard. Everyone assumed that Sherlock had been clinically diagnosed as a sociopath, but he wasn't, sure he had aspects of it but not completely. No one knew it was mostly a cover, with the exception of Mycroft of course. He hated to think of it, he wishes his brother didn't know but there was nothing that could be done. When Sherlock had started to build his walls around himself Mycroft had noticed, of course, as much as he hated to admit it, Mycroft was very observant. Mycroft had known him before the walls, although that was a very long time ago. He hated to think of before, near the end it had been bad, but his childhood had not been all bad.
He never let himself remember the times before, it was too late. When he remembered he felt too much and it was harder to put his walls back up, so he just didn't. Thankfully, Mycroft never mentioned his mental status to anyone. Deep down Sherlock knew that his brother did care about him, he had more than proved it many times, not outright of course, but when Sherlock had relied on drugs it had been Mycroft who got him clean. Although Sherlock did not remember much from his drug days, he did remember getting clean, unfortunately. Mycroft could have sent someone to get him, put him in a rehab centre and just left him, but he didn't. He had collected him himself and stayed with him through the worst of it no matter what he done to make it otherwise.
Sherlock sighed, although remembering his addiction was rather painful and rarely occurred, it was one of the things that kept him off of drugs. Now his barriers were lowered, Sherlock relaxed more and just let his mind roam free. He had no case, his current experiments did not need tending to until 6:15 so he had a few hours to just be.
He got up slowly and stretched before making his way to the kitchen and filling up the kettle. He could remember the first time John had seen him making tea, he looked so shocked, had assumed he couldn't make it. Sherlock smiled at the memory, it had been amusing to watch John come to terms with the fact that he could, infect, make tea and even more shocked that he did have some basic cooking skills. But, the most amusing had to be when he found out he could drive.
John had accidentally nudged his wallet off of the kitchen table and picked it up, it had fallen open when it fell and landed with his driving licence face up. John had stared at it for a full minute before looking up at Sherlock. "What's this?" he had asked making Sherlock roll his eyes at the stupidity of the question "It's a driving licence John" and John just kept looking from Sherlock to the open wallet. Sherlock had raised his eyebrows at him and held out his hand for the wallet, "But it's yours" John had replied, making Sherlock chuckle, "Of course it's mine John, great deduction, what gave it away, the picture or the name?" he had answered sarcastically. John seemed to come to his senses, he shook his head and laughed as he handed it back.
It was a fond memory, Sherlock enjoyed making John shocked through nothing more than core skills. The kettle boiled and Sherlock finished making his tea and made his way back to the sofa, sitting down and crossed his legs in front of him. He knew it was a slightly childish position but it was comfortable and when there was no one else to witness, what was the harm. He sat there for a while holding his tea, enjoying the warmth from the cup and looked around the living room. It was rather chaotic but organised, John had been living here for 11 months now and there was traces of him everywhere. This was home, he couldn't think of anywhere else he could settle.
A couple of years back he never would have thought of himself this comfortable in one place, never mind having a flatmate and certainly not with a friend. John was rather a surprise. He had only initially looked for a flatmate to help with the rent, he had declined Mycroft's assistance. Finding a good assistant had been a welcome advantage and gaining a friend had been quite a shock. He was rather content with his life as it is, he had his cases and experiments and he had found a home and John. The past 11 months has been quite a rollercoaster for Sherlock. He had had a large amount of cases, some intriguing and some very dull but John had gave assistance when asked. John had quickly ingrained himself into Baker Street and by default, into Sherlock's life, it had gotten harder for Sherlock to keep his walls up after a while and he had came to care for the doctor quite deeply, more than he should. It had been more difficult to hide his feelings than he had expected. John was more intelligent than he gave himself credit for and he had good instincts. Before Sherlock had realised his feelings he had considered dropping his walls slightly whilst he was at home, John was his friend after all, he trusted him completely and knew he wouldn't judge or intentionally do anything to hurt Sherlock, but as soon as he had realised his affections for the man, it could not be an option, to many chances of John finding out.
He sat sipping his tea considering what life would be like if he could let his guard down without John knowing how he felt. It was a nice thought really. And just for a moment he let himself think of what it would be like if it was mutual. He knew it could never be, but it does not stop us from dreaming. Outside, not much would change really, they would still run around chasing criminals and solving cases. Sherlock sighed happily at the thoughts, but inside, job out of the way, just to be able to relax at home without fear or worry, to be able to openly feel, and John, to see John smile, hold his hand, to be able to be held by him and look at him, to feel his chest under his hands and kiss him. God, how he wanted to kiss him. To touch him and taste him, hear him moan. Sherlock had to swallow a moan of his own, he never meant for his thoughts to get that far, but now he had he was hot and had a painfully hard erection. He had never had a problem in this area before John, he wasn't asexual like everyone thought, he was gay but no one knew, except Mycroft again. He has never really been attracted to anyone before though.
Knowing his erection wouldn't go away anytime soon on it's own he sighed and made his way to his bedroom, disposing of his tea on the way. In the safety of his room he sighed and undressed before laying on his bed and let his mind wonder again.
John. Kissing him, his hands touching me, running over my skin.
Sherlock bit his bottom lift softly at the thought and closed his eyes, bringing his hands up and running his hands over his chest softly. He found that imagining it was John instead of his own was greatly satisfying so he continued with his thoughts whilst his hands replaced Johns. Running over his chest and thighs, avoiding where he was sensitive for a few strokes before running his fingertips up his thighs and stomach up to his over-sensitive nipples and squeezing softly, making him whimper softly. He knew he was torturing himself but when his mind conjured up John doing these things he couldn't help it.
He run a hand down and run his fingertips over himself and moaned quietly before gripping himself and started stroking himself slowly, still playing with his nipple, softly squeezing and grazing his nails over the hard nub. It didn't take long to feel the tightening in his stomach, he held John in his mind and gripped himself more tightly and stroked faster. He imagined John saying his name, when he felt his climax coming he done what he always done, he imaged the impossible, most amazing thing he could, John's voice in his head "Sherlock, I love you" and he came hard with John's name on his lips.