A/N: I've had a horrible past few weeks, so I decided to cheer myself up.
Pretty much PWP without the actual porn. *Shrugs*
As usual, the boys of 221B don't belong to me. I'm just playing in Mofftis' sandbox.
Based on the prompt "After a nearly disastrous case, Sherlock and John share a tense taxi ride back to Baker Street. With emotions running high, they finally arrive back at 221B, and then…"
The door to 221B Baker Street flew open and John Watson was slammed against the nearest wall. His mouth was suddenly covered by his flatmate's. John's eyes widened in surprise. He had been dying to kiss Sherlock ever since the night at the pool. But Sherlock wasn't interested, was he? John paused a second to contemplate that thought then decided hell, who cared? John's eyes closed and he wrapped his arms around the consulting detective. He pressed closer to Sherlock, pulling the man closer to him and moaning against his mouth at the first tentative touch of Sherlock's tongue against his lips.
"God, Sherlock," John gasped between kisses, "I love you." Sherlock froze against him and pulled away, eyes searching his own.
Realizing what he had said John started to correct himself. "I'm not... I mean I don't..."
"Shut up, John," Sherlock breathed, and crushed their lips back together, steering them both towards Sherlock's bedroom.
Later, as John and Sherlock lay together in post-coital bliss, Sherlock stroked his fingers through John's hair and asked, "What is it that you love about me?"
John kissed his temple, then nuzzled his neck. "I love the way you say my name in that sultry voice of yours. I love your curls and the fact that your eye color is ever-changing. I love the way you look at me like I'm an interesting puzzle to solve. I love the fact that you are so intelligent, but yet so bloody ignorant at the same time. I even love the way you swish around in that damn Belstaff coat of yours like some tall, posh, lanky statue. I love you, Sherlock. God help me, but I do." He smiled and then said tentatively, "But I thought you were married to your work."
"I could have lost you tonight," Sherlock murmured, turning and burying his nose in John's clavicle. "Three centimeters to the right and the bullet would have hit you in the head. I don't want to ever lose you. You make me want to be a better man.
I love you so much, John Watson. I've loved you since the night you shot the cabbie, but I couldn't allow myself to even begin to hope that you felt the same about me. The work is important, yes, but you're the most important person in my life, John, and I don't know what I'd do without you. I'll never tire of hearing you say that you love me." He ground his hips against John's side.
John grinned as he rolled on top of the consulting detective and started kissing his way back down Sherlock's chest. "I love you. I love you. I love you."