John Watson really needed to find his own place; living with his sister was becoming a nightmare. Of course if he had someone else to go to after he was invalidated from Afghanistan, he would had never recurred to Harry.
Sleeping in that old couch was becoming deadly for his back, the cold showers he had to take because 'that gas bill was getting too high' were also deadly during winter but frankly, he was so tired to fight with Harry over literally every little stupid thing, every single day and also to have to deal with her alcoholism…real problem was he wasn't able to afford his own place with that army pension. He had to soldier-up and 'hang in there'.
He also needed to find a job, he was bored out of his head but mostly he needed the money, he needed to get out of Harry's house.
He went to a job interview at a private practice not very far from John's old med school: St. Bartholomew's Hospital and even though the head doctor that interviewed him was very impress with John's 'over qualified' résumé, John was certain they wouldn't call him back.
Who'd want a crippled?
As he was walking through the park near St. Bartholomew's Hospital on his way to catch the tube, John walked into an old friend from medical school: Mike Stamford.
They had some coffee at the park while catching up on their lives. John expressed to Mike his inability to afford his own place.
"Couldn't you get a flatshare or something…?" Mike suggested.
"C'mon…who'd want me for a flatmate?" John said and Mike chuckled "…what?"
"You're the second person to say that to me today"
"Who was the first?"
"Oh this bloke that sometimes works at the lab. Apparently he found a great deal at this place but he also needs help to pay the rent…hey, want to meet him? You know, talk to him maybe you two could…"
"Ah, I don't know…" John interrupted "…I just…I don't know"
"I thought you couldn't stand living with Harry any longer"
"Yeah, well…uhm, yeah…you're right, yes…ok…do you have his number? I'll give him a call"
"He's at the lab right now back St. Bart's. If you're not busy we could go right now…"
"Yeah, ok…let's meet this guy"
After Mike finished his sandwich and coffee (he was on his lunch break after all), Mike led John to one of the labs of St. Bart's. When they got inside, John was surprised at the great improvements around the place compared to the last time he was there many years ago.
"A bit different from my day…" he said.
"You've no idea" Mike chuckled.
There were two people in the lab, a man and a young woman…the woman was looking through a microscope and the man was just sitting next to her, listening to her.
"You were right" the woman said "…it is magnesium silicate"
"Of course it is" the man replied and then turned to the door where John and Mike were standing "…Mike, can I borrow your phone?"
"I'll bring you that cup of coffee you wanted" the young woman said.
"Yes. Thank you, Molly"
"What's wrong with the landline?" Mike asked as he searched his own pockets and Molly walked out of the lab.
"I need to send a text…" the man said and lifted an iPhone from the table "…my battery died"
"Sorry, I left it on my other coat"
For some reason, John didn't hesitate and offered his mobile to the man.
"Here, use mine" he said as he took out the phone from his coat.
"Oh" said the man. He didn't stand up from the chair; he just extended his arm out, asking John to bring the phone to him.
John smirked, finding hilarious how lazy the man was…but instead of saying something, John limped with his cane in hand towards the man. When John was about to place his mobile on the man's palm, the man lifted that same hand to shake John's in a greeting manner.
"And you are?" he asked.
"Old friend of mine: John Watson" Mike said as John shook the man's hand just before finally handing him his mobile.
"It's already on text message mode" John said "…it took me a while to find it when I first got this phone a few weeks ago"
"It would've taken me ages…" the man said as he typed away not even looking at the keys "…Afghanistan or Iraq?"
"I'm sorry…what?" John asked confused.
"Which one was it? Afghanistan or Iraq?"
"Uhm…Afghanistan. I'm sorry, how did you…?"
"Here's your coffee" the young woman suddenly reappeared, placing the cup of coffee in the table right in front of the man whom immediately turned to her as he returned the phone to John.
"Molly…did you put some more of that perfume on?"
"Ah…yes…I…" she shyly replied.
"It's too strong. It gives me a headache…" the man said as he grabbed the cup of coffee and took a sip.
"Ok…" Molly said and slowly walked out of the lab.
"How do you feel about the violin?" the man asked as he took another sip of his coffee.
John wasn't sure if he was talking to him and Mike just smiled.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"I play the violin when I'm thinking and sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you?" the man said as he turned from looking down at his coffee to look up at John "…Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other"
John scowled confused and then turned to Mike.
"Ah you told him about me?"
"Not a word" replied Mike.
"Then who said anything about flatmates?"
"I did" the man said as he finally got up from his chair and grabbed his scarf and coat from the chair next him and started to put it on "…I told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for and now here he is just after lunch with an old friend clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. It wasn't a difficult leap"
"Yeah…how did you know about Afghanistan?" John asked, still confused.
"Found a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it. We'll meet tomorrow evening, seven o'clock….sorry I got to go"
The man walked straight to the door but halted as he heard John's voice, keeping his back to the men in the lab.
"Is that it?" John said "…we've only just met and we're going out to look at a flat? We don't know a thing about each other, I don't know where we're meeting…I don't even know your name"
The man slowly turned around and kept his bright green eyes on John.
"I know you're an army doctor and you've been invalidated home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother and you're tired of living with him possibly because he's an alcoholic…and I know that you've got a psychosomatic limp. That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?"
John stayed still and astonished.
"My name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street. I'm sorry I really must go now, I think I left my white cane at the mortuary" the man said and then just left the room.
"White cane?" John asked.
"Ah, yes…" Mike replied, "…he's blind and yes…he always talks like that"
The next evening, John met the man at the accorded address. He met his future landlady, Mrs. Hudson. She was a lovely older woman that happened to know Sherlock for a few years and that was why she was giving him a good deal on the rent for such a great location.
Sherlock had already moved some of his stuff in and it was quite messy but John didn't commented about it thinking it was a bit rude since the man was blind.
"It is very nice" John said.
"Yes, well I'm sorry for the mess…I'll tidy up before you move in"
"You can wait until I'm here and I could help you out" John offered.
"I'm blind, not disable!" Sherlock said upset "…I am capable to such easy tasks like cleaning a bloody room, you know!"
"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed "…Dr. Watson was not insulting you! He was just being kind!"
Sherlock lowered his head, a combination of both anger and embarrassment showing on his face.
"Yeah, I didn't mean to upset you. I'm sor…"
"No…" interrupted Sherlock "…you don't have to apologize"
"Now I hope I don't have to come up all the time and make sure you two are playing nice and being good flatmates…" Mrs. Hudson joked and they both smiled "…I'll be back, I'll bring you some tea"
After Mrs. Hudson left them alone, Sherlock sat in a chair and John sat in the opposite one, resting his cane on the armchair.
"So…uhm…what do you do for a living? You work at St. Bart's?" John asked curiously.
"Only if I've to run some tests at the lab…and before you ask, yes…Molly helps me out a bit with those...oh! and she also gives me some access to the morgue, which is always fun"
"Fun?"
"Anyway…" Sherlock continued "…I'm actually a consulting detective. The only one in the world, I invented the job."
"What does that mean? Is it like a private detective sort of thing?"
"It means that whenever the police is out of their depth, which is always, they consult me"
"Oh…" John said "…and uhm, are you any good?"
Sherlock gave him a crooked smile.
"When I meet you for the first time yesterday, I said Afghanistan or Iraq…You sounded surprised"
"Yes, how did you know?"
"I didn't know…I noticed…I deduced it"
"How?" John asked again.
"When you walked to me to lend me your phone, I heard your pace…limping, I heard your cane. Then we shook hands, I felt your skin…rougher and a bit dried, you've been exposed to the sun a lot. And before all that, when you entered the room with Mike, you said to him: 'A bit different from my day…' – says trained at Bart's…so you're a doctor. Your limp sounds very bad when you walk but you never ask for a chair when you stand like you forgot about it so it's at least partly psychosomatic for perhaps some kind of post traumatic disorder. So, wounded…exposed to sun recently…trained at Bart's: Army doctor, easy. Where would an army doctor get wounded in action under the sun these days?...Afghanistan or Iraq."
"I…uhm…"
"And there is your brother…"
"Hmm?"
"When you lend me your phone, I felt the engraving in the back: Harry Watson…clearly a brother, I don't think a close cousin would give you such gift. You're quite close to your brother, that's why you're living with him but I think you're just now tired of his drinking…"
"How can you possibly know about the drinking?!" John asked surprised.
"I wasn't really sure but thanks for confirm it" Sherlock smiled "…there's scratches all over the phone. The power connection has tiny little scuffmarks around it, every night he plugs it in but his hands are shaking…you'll never find those marks on a sober man's phone, never find a drunk's without them."
John was gaping, trying to think what to say.
"That…was…amazing!" he finally said and Sherlock furrowed his brow.
"You really think so?"
"Of course it was! It was extraordinary"
"That's not what people normally say"
"What do people normally say?"
"Piss off"
John laughed out loud and Sherlock smiled amused.
"Did I get anything wrong?" Sherlock asked curiously.
"I am an army doctor trained at Bart's, invalidated from Afghanistan…and yeah, Harry is a drinker…"
"Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything" he kept smiling proudly.
"Harry is short for Harriet" John said and Sherlock's smile disappeared.
"Sister!" he exclaimed annoyed "…there's always something!"
They were interrupted by the sound of a dog barking, it was Sherlock's phone.
"Ah! Speaking of work!" he said as he took out his phone from his jacket and answered"…Lestrade?"
After Sherlock exchanged a few words with Lestrade, whom apparently was a Detective Inspector for the MET, Sherlock asked John if he'd join him for a case.
"You really want me to go with you?" John asked.
"Well, yeah…As a military medical man, I might need your help. What do you say? Want to see some more injuries or violent deaths? Bit of trouble too…?"
John's body was suddenly filled in anxiety and adrenaline, oh he had missed that feeling. He needed this.
"Oh God, yes!"
"Ah, Sherlock…you're finally here"
"Where's the body, Lestrade?" asked Sherlock.
"Over here" said Lestrade grabbing Sherlock's forearm and leading him into a little hallway in the small house as Sherlock used his white cane to measure the space around them for future if necessary data. Lestrade suddenly noticed John following them "…who is this?"
"He's with me, Lestrade" replied Sherlock.
"But who is he?"
"I said he's with me!"
"Wouldn't be better if I just wait fo…"
"No!" Sherlock interrupted John "…come along"
Since Lestrade didn't object, John kept following them.
"Louis Bell got home at five thirty and found his wife, Gina, beheaded in their bedroom, you can interview him later if you want, he's outside…" said Lestrade as they all entered the bedroom.
John felt a bit dizzy at the sight of the head-less body on the floor and the immense pool of blood all around it just as the woman's head rested not so far from the body.
"Have you found the weapon?" Sherlock asked.
"Not yet" Lestrade replied "…but it had to be a very sharp blade to able to do…that"
"Obviously" said Sherlock and then turned to John's direction "…Dr. Watson, could you please verify for me the accuracy and method of the injury on her neck…"
"We have a whole medical team here…" interrupted Lestrade.
"They don't work well with me. Please, John?"
John turned to look at the Detective Inspector whom just shrugged and granted him the access. The doctor slowly approached the body.
"Uhm…" he cleared his throat "…what exactly do you want me to see?"
"Everything"
"Well…"
"Does it look like the murderer butchered it repeatedly or like in a single blow?"
John carefully observed.
"It looks very even. A clean single blow sounds good to me…"
"Must had been a very long, sharp blade" mumbled Sherlock.
"Like a sword?"
"Precisely. John, is there any scratches in the walls? I don't think she just stood there and let him chop her head off…he probably chased her around, swinging the weapon a couple of times"
John stood up and inspected the wall near the body.
"Yes! You're right, here are a few scratches definitely made with the blade. The wall is made of wood, they're easy to spot"
"Excellent. Was the murdered left or right handed?"
"The m…how am I supposed to know that?!"
"Oh for God's sake! Why can't you people just use your eyes properly?! You do see but do not observe!" he said annoyed.
"Tell me what you want me to observe!"
"Perhaps you can feel it too…" Sherlock said dropping his white cane and abruptly walked to John and grabbed his hand to place it on the nearest wall "…Can you feel the scratches?"
"Yes…"
"Can you feel their depth? Is the depth of the scratch deeper on the right side or the left one? Did the murdered used more pressure on the left or right side?"
"Ohh…I…understand…"
Sherlock removed his hand from John's and started to feel the scratches on his own. After a few seconds, both of them said at the same time: "Left handed!"
"That's brilliant!" John exclaimed excited.
"You got something?" Lestrade asked.
"Not much" said Sherlock "…take me to the husband"
Lestrade led them back outside of the little house where the victim's husband was talking to other policemen.
"Mr. Bell…" Lestrade said "…this is Sherlock Holmes, he needs to ask you a few questions"
"More questions? My God…My wife's been murdered!" the man said exasperated.
"I understand but…"
"Mr. Bell…" Sherlock cut in "…did your wife happened to acquainted, I don't know some ninjas or sword aficionados?"
The victim's husband, Lestrade and John turned to look at Sherlock quite confused.
"Sherlock…." John mumbled.
"You think this is funny?!" Mr. Bell said upset.
"No, I'm just trying to figure out the kind of weapon used. I'm intrigued by the way your wife was beheaded…" said Sherlock.
"Sherlock…" John mumbled again, a bit embarrassed by Sherlock use of words and lack of sensitivity.
"Don't you all think it's strange?...In present times, a murderer chooses a sword? I'm sorry, Mr. Bell but what first come to mind is either someone with an obsession for ancient swords or someone that works at a museum…"
Suddenly they all went silent and John turned to look at Lestrade who furrowed his brow to Mr. Bell.
"Problem?" Sherlock asked sensing the tension.
"Mr. Bell, don't you…?"
Lestrade couldn't finish his sentence since Mr. Bell suddenly pushed Sherlock, making him fall to the ground and started to run away.
"Get him! Get him!" Lestrade started to yell to his men before helping Sherlock get off the ground "…are you alright?"
"I'm fine…what just happened?"
"Well, you got it right…apparently the murdered works at a museum, like Mr. Bell"
"Fun was over too quickly" Sherlock mumbled disappointed "…John?"
"He's gone after him" replied Lestrade.
"What?" Sherlock asked surprised.
"He ran after him…"
It took John a few streets to tackle Mr. Bell to the ground, some policemen were running behind him so it didn't took that long for them to arrest Mr. Bell.
John didn't even notice he had drop his cane just before he began running after the murderer, it wasn't until he return to meet Sherlock and the detective handed him his cane with a crooked smile.
"I bet that was fun for you" he said.
John took the cane in his hand and just chuckled incredulous of what had just happened. It was in that moment he realise how glad he was he met Sherlock Holmes and the new exciting life he had been brought to.
The very next day after that case, John moved into 221B Baker Street and the next couple of months his life made a 360 degree turn; he went from bored, depressed and lonely to entertained, satisfied and had become great friends with the detective.
He enjoyed assisting Sherlock at crime scenes, giving his medical insight once in a while and even learning one or two things from Sherlock too. John found it fascinating and somehow unreal the accuracy of Sherlock's deductions given the fact that he was blind and he got his deductions from his other very developed senses.
"That was amazing!" John couldn't help himself on praising his friend every time Sherlock was able to somehow see important clues at crime scenes than not even Lestrade's best qualified men could ever notice.
"Do you know that you say that aloud?" Sherlock asked him once.
"I'm sorry, I'll shut up…"
"No…it's fine" Sherlock blushed.
John also started writing a blog, documenting their cases and praising Sherlock. The detective used his screen reader software on his laptop to read John's blog and he loved to pick on him accusing him of a lack of writing talent; John didn't mind, he writes his blog to let people know about Sherlock's skills and not to be claim the next Shakespeare.
"I hope you don't mind me asking, I'm just really curious…" John asked Sherlock one morning while having breakfast in the kitchen.
"Curious? About…?"
"Well, uhm, about your deduction methods. Did you started at a young age? Were you…were you born blind?"
"No"
"No what?"
"I was not born blind" replied Sherlock, he really looked uncomfortable talking about it.
"We don't have to get into details if you d…"
"It's fine…" Sherlock said "…it's just that…I hate telling people I'm wrong or in this case, I was wrong…"
"What happened?"
"I was seventeen and I was very stubborn…basically an experiment that went wrong. My teacher had told me it wouldn't work and that I shouldn't dare to try it. I really thought no harm would be done if I tested the Potassium Chlorate but…"
Sherlock didn't finish his sentence; he just remained still and pensive.
"Were you alone when it happened?" John asked.
"Yes, I was on my own. I actually passed out because the gas, my mother found me a few hours later and that wasted time was the main factor as for why I'm blind now…if only we'd have gone to the hospital sooner…"
"I'm sorry…" John suddenly felt bad to have brought the subject.
"I was depressed for months and I was behind on finishing my A- levels...My parents got me a tutor: Jonas Grün..."
Sherlock stayed quiet again, as if reminiscing...not touching his breakfast in front of him anymore.
"German?" John asked curiously.
"He...changed...everything" Sherlock whispered.
"Oh" John said and Sherlock blinked as he slowly was brought back to their conversation.
"Yeah, well...he helped me. He helped me to...you know, deal with the new me"
"Was he like a...?"
"A special teacher for the blind?" Sherlock interrupted "...yeah, I supposed so but for me he was more than that..."
An awkward silence invaded them, John was curious to ask his friend what he really meant by that but he was actually more concerned of that strange feeling he was experiencing when Sherlock mentioned his old teacher. Was it jealousy?
What? No. Of course not!
"Ah, God! No...not like that..." Sherlock exclaimed stammering, slightly blushing. John found it somehow endearing.
"What I meant was..." Sherlock sighed "...he helped me to...realise I was still functional. I mean, everyone knew I was clever but without my sight I thought I had nothing; I couldn't observe...but he taught me to trust my other senses, if I put the same trust I had on my own sight on my other senses, I shouldn't be wrong..."
John kept listening attentively.
"Of course we started with the basic stuff, I had to learn Braille, how to use the white cane and the bloody Tellatouch – which by the time I got to Cambridge I tossed it in the nearest bin on my first day..."
"What? How did you take your notes then?" John asked and the detective smirked.
"I didn't need to" he replied as he tapped his own forehead "...I just paid extra attention in class and memorized most of the lectures. By that time, Mycroft had already bought me a computer...so I used that for assignments"
"You just sat there and listen..."
"Most of the time, yes...some classmates would call me robot...just talking when asked to"
"Well that's just rude!"
"Anyway, I've sidetracked...I was telling you about Jonas..." continued Sherlock "...every day after the regular Biology or English lessons, we'd go to an empty room and...again! it's not what you're thinking!.."
"I didn't say anything!" John chuckled "...continue"
"We'd use it because it was quiet...he helped me to identify different sounds: glass, metal, liquid...and then he showed me the difference between textures and then scents..."
"Impressive"
"Anyone could learn it, John...if they put their minds into it..."
"I suppose so but you were very young"
"But willing to learn and willing to never be labelled as just 'the blind one'..." he added.
"You are something else, Sherlock Holmes" John murmured without really thinking before saying it.
"What do you mean?"
John was gaping, uncertain of what to reply. He was glad Sherlock couldn't see his worried expression and his soundless "fuck!"
"Uhm..." he cleared his throat "...I just, I mean...I'm just...glad...you turned out to...be...this great at your deductions. I mean, you so well know how lost the MET would be without you!"
Sherlock furrowed his brow but slowly smiled.
"I suppose you're right"
"So..." John tried to change the subject "...have you seen Jonas Grün again? I mean, if he was such an important person in your life I suppose you have seen him again"
"He's dead"
John remained silent and hating himself for unintentionally hitting on delicate subjects on Sherlock's life.
"He was mugged at Paddington Station on his way to meet me for our lectures...he never showed up. That was when I decided what I wanted to do for a living"
John felt terrible. Terrible of thinking that he was somewhat glad Sherlock was blind. He couldn't imagine what Sherlock would do if he ever notices John staring at him for hours while he's sitting in his chair reading a book or just thinking.
He'd sit in the kitchen table, pretending to have some tea while contemplating Sherlock's presence across the room. There he was, deep in thought and concentration, glowing thanks to his position near the window, the sunlight accentuating the highlights on his dark hair, making him look paler than he really was...and his eyes, those eyes more bright and beautiful than the sun itself.
Those thoughts were heading into a dangerous territory...and John knew it.
It was no brainer the fact that John was fascinated by Sherlock's intellect but this...this was physical attraction and his own brain was starting to mess with him, confusing him even more than he already was. But he couldn't help it...
John would look at Sherlock and mesmerized his unique beauty. He found himself incapable not to think of the word "beautiful" when thinking about Sherlock. He wondered if there had been others in the same situation as him? Unable to look away from Sherlock, amazed by both his brain and looks.
Has he ever been kissed? Touched? Loved?
What John thought he needed was to stop having those kind of thoughts about his flatmate...it was wrong. John didn't dare to make a move or say something to Sherlock because it could complicate their daily life, their friendship...and he didn't want to risk any of that.
So he'd just sit quietly in front of him, staring at Sherlock's bright eyes and wishing they were really looking at him...and not because they looked like an empty stare, they were full of life, it was because Sherlock would never know the devotion John was giving him with his eyes and worst of all, he'd never reciprocate it.
John was sent to Cardiff for some medical conferences, at first he wasn't sure when he'd be able to go back home but after five days, the conferences were over. He tried calling Sherlock but his phone ran out of battery; he'd end up arriving unexpectedly in about three hours.
The flat was very silent when he finally arrived, no sight of Sherlock.
"Sherlock?" he called out but no response.
As he stepped into the kitchen he heard the shower running...Sherlock was taking a shower. John just shrugged and took his baggage up to his room.
After a few minutes he came back downstairs and Sherlock was still in the shower, he then just started flicking through the pages of the newspaper that was laying at the top of the kitchen's table next to Sherlock's laptop.
John was too distracted reading the paper that he didn't notice when the water in the shower stopped running and his flatmate stepped into his room through the bathroom door that lead to his bedroom. John was about to call Sherlock and let him know he was home but as he looked up to his left towards his flatmate's room when he heard Sherlock already walking around it, he remained silent at the sight of Sherlock walking to his dresser fully naked and grabbed a pair of socks from the top drawer and then walked back out of John's sight inside his room.
John stayed still and it seemed that Sherlock hadn't acknowledged John's presence in the flat.
The doctor found himself walking practically on his tiptoes towards Sherlock's room, one tiny sound would put Sherlock on alert mode. John was having an inner argument with himself because this was wrong, it was wrong he needed to be quiet and try to spy on his friend, his very naked blind friend…but he was dying to see more…in detail.
When he finally reached the bedroom's door, he stood still and of course, quiet; Sherlock was standing next to his bed where he had previously place the clothes he'd wear, his back was towards John and he was rinsing his damp curls with his towel.
John's heart was thumping inside his chest, excited at the sight of Sherlock's defined muscled arms, thighs and back. His eyes were scanning Sherlock's entire body and John felt somehow angry, he couldn't believe his friend was this gorgeous! Well, it's not as if he hadn't thought about it before. He licked his lips as he stared at Sherlock's firm arse, his jeans started to feel a bit too tight on the crotch area too. He bit his lower lip as he took a step forward and tried to take a peek at Sherlock's front but as he did so, the wooden floor squeaked under his foot.
Shit! – he didn't think through what to do if Sherlock suddenly noticed him. He didn't move, he didn't even dare to blink. Sherlock had immediately turned around towards the door and cover his lower body with the towel as soon as he could.
"Who's there?" Sherlock asked panicked.
John thought about it for a few seconds before replying.
"Uhm, it's me…"
"John?!"
"Yes, uhm…sorry, I was…just…"
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"I was just…just going to close the door. I'm sorry!"
"How long have you been here?!"
"I just arrived, I swear. I'll just close the door, ok?"
"Thank you"
John was about to step outside and close the door behind him but he couldn't take his eyes off Sherlock's chest. The man was so fit and once again, the light coming through the windows helped to emphasize his pale body, making it glow and turning it into a sort of magnet attracting John. Finally John closed the door, but he remained inside Sherlock's bedroom…once the door was closed, he regretted he stayed inside but once again he hadn't think it through and now it was too late.
Sherlock remained still.
"You still here?" he suddenly asked furrowing his brow. John swallowed nervously but took a few steps forward.
"Yes"
"Why?" Sherlock tightened his grasp on the towel.
John felt there was no turn back now and he kept walking towards his friend. When he was just a few inches apart in front of Sherlock, he placed his left hand on Sherlock's neck, making him startle.
"John?"
John didn't reply, he couldn't say a word. He wanted to touch…he slid that hand down to Sherlock's chest, caressing his pectoral muscles, feeling the light chest hair on his fingertips and feeling Sherlock's heartbeat accelerate.
The detective didn't push him away, he didn't stop his friend…he let him touch him.
"What are you doing? What are you doing?" the detective slowly panted with his eyes closed.
Instead of replying, John move his hand back on Sherlock's neck but this time to pull his head towards his own so he'd finally kiss those lips he longed so much. Sherlock didn't push him away, he kissed back…pressing his lips awkwardly but tightly on John's, opening his mouth so he'd allow John's tongue to play with his own. Their kiss was desperate, wet and messy; John held Sherlock's head on both his hands, tilting it as he pleased to be able to kiss him in the right places. Sherlock gave a few moans before groaning and placing one of his hands on his crotch over his towel.
"Fuck, I'm sorry…" Sherlock said and blushed as John stopped the kiss to look down at Sherlock's hand covering his obvious erection "…I don't…I…"
"It's ok" John smirked and removed Sherlock's hand from his crotch to placed it on his own covered boner. Sherlock gasped but kept palming desperately John's cock through the fabric.
John kissed, sucked on Sherlock's neck and groaned against it as his friend kept touching him…he removed Sherlock's towel with a single, strong pull and immediately grabbed Sherlock's arse, pulling him to him.
Sherlock groaned and began to work John's belt and to undo his trousers as well; he pulled his trousers and pants down to his thighs then grabbed John's cock and began to stroke it.
"Aaah, Sherlock…!" John panted as he started to unbutton his own shirt.
When Sherlock felt John removing his shirt, he slid his hands up to John's chest and stomach.
"Where is it?" Sherlock asked as he kept moving his hands.
"Hmm?"
"Ah, here it is…" Sherlock mumbled. His fingers found John's scar on his shoulder and he attentively caressed it, feeling the wrinkled and stretched skin. John looked up at Sherlock's face and he noticed he had that intense stare he pulls whenever he makes a deduction, he figured he was probably making a whole theory about John's wound. Suddenly, Sherlock slid his hand over John's shoulder to his back, feeling the scar in there, where the bullet had exit "…neat"
"Yeah…" John said dismissing Sherlock's comment and returning his lips to the detective's neck but Sherlock stopped him.
"No, wait…"
"What's wrong?"
Sherlock didn't answer and moved both his hands to John's hair where he ran his fingers through it.
"Being a soldier I figured you had shorter hair. It's shaggy…" he finally said.
"Yeah, well…I haven't had a haircut in a while"
"You have blonde hair in my dreams"
"It is blonde…wait, you dream about me?" John asked curiously, his hands resting on Sherlock's hips.
"Sometimes…" he said and moved his hands to John's face "…though your face is always a blur"
He traced John's eyebrows with his fingertips, then his cheeks, jaw, mouth and nose.
"I like your nose" Sherlock said and John chuckled. He then brushed his fingertips on John's eyelids and kept them there.
"They're blue" John said, referring his eyes colour.
"I wish I could see you" Sherlock whispered. John felt a bit sad but chuckled again.
"I don't think you'd like me if you see me" John joked.
"Oh, I doubt it" Sherlock said and John just needed to kiss him and touch him even more.
The doctor pulled Sherlock's head towards his and their lips met again. Their kisses were sloppy and desperate…they were both naked and in need of contact. Their hands explored each others bodies while their cocks were rutting against each other, leaving drops of pre cum on their stomachs on every other up thrust.
"Please, John…please….John…" Sherlock pleaded panting.
John took a step back, releasing Sherlock from their embrace and just when Sherlock was starting to miss the heat of John's touch, the doctor grabbed his throbbing member to hold it against his own and stroke them together in a rapid and firm grip.
"Oh yes…!" John hissed.
He had never seen anything more beautiful than Sherlock's flushed face and torso, writhing in pleasure and thrusting towards him asking for more contact. John spit down on his dicks, trying to make the friction less dry and painful. After a few more strokes, Sherlock was moaning and digging his nails on John's shoulders.
"C'mon, c'mon…" John encouraged as he kept wanking themselves.
Sherlock came with a loud groan, spilling on John's hand. John released both their cocks and grabbed Sherlock's waist as he pulled him to him and began to rub his dick against Sherlock's thigh until he came.
John rested his forehead on Sherlock's shoulder as they both were trying to catch their breath back. Sherlock took a few steps back until his back was against the wall and he slid down until he was sitting in the floor, still breathing heavily.
John followed Sherlock and sat next to him in the floor.
"Are you ok?" he asked concerned.
"Yes" Sherlock replied quite pensive.
"Was that…was that your fir….?"
"My first time with another person? Yes…"
"Do you…do you regret it?" John asked and Sherlock huffed a laugh.
"I've never wanted someone to touch me this bad since Jonas Grün…"
"Your teacher?" John asked not really surprised, he remembered the fondness on Sherlock's words when he told John about him.
"Yes. The difference here is that he never touched me…" he smiled "…you did"
John smiled and placed a hand on top of one of Sherlock's and squeezed it.
"John…is this…was this a one time thing?"
There was some concern on Sherlock's words but John couldn't hide his amusement because not doing this again was the last thing on his head.
"Oh, I doubt it" John replied and leaned to his side to kiss Sherlock's cheek.