Ring … Ring … Ring...
"Bloody ... FUCK! …" Why is it that the moment I finally fall asleep someone has to call me! Reaching out in the darkness to grab my screaming mobile, I of course knock it to the floor; half empty coffee tumbling to the floor next to it. Prying my insomnia-drugged eyelids open I take in the picture on the screen, "Son of a …Sherlock?!" Grabbing it from the floor I slide the touch pad, "Sherlock, I thought you and John were in Dart—".
"Lestrade … I … I don't know what's come over me … I am fairly certain that—no, NO it's just NOT possible!" Taking a shuddering breath, I hear Sherlock heavily sigh into the phone. His voice is trembling with anxiety and fear, more emotion than I usually hear from his sensual tone. His haste brings back memories of how I ended up being his last thread between true madness and his usual intense insanity.
"What do you mean you found him this way!? Donovan, he is as white a sheet! Why is he asleep in my office?"
"Sir, he said he had an appointment with you and wanted to wait. I thought he was a … friend of yours."
"No, I've never seen him before in my life," I said, reaching out to grasp his wrist, "Jesus Christ … he is freezing! Get me a blanket and some coffee." Kneeling next to the sleeping figure on my floor, I saw a man who, with a bit of effort could quite easily be the most beautiful creature I had ever seen: long sharp features and skin so pale and perfect it could be made from stone. His breathing was shallow, and his skin was as cold as ice, but he was simply … asleep. Wrapping him in the blanket, I tried to wake him.
"Come on, wake up …" I said, lightly slapping his cheeks. I waved the coffee under his nose and I saw him begin to stir. Then out of nowhere, he sparks to life, his arms flailing about, sending hot coffee all over my chest and stomach.
"Son of a BITCH! Ouch! … Wait … calm down, its ok son …you're in New Scotland Yard, everything is ok." His eyes were like wild fire, green and glowing bright. It wasn't fear that I saw lurking in those Gaia pools, but … annoyance.
"Why did you wake me up?!" His voice was like smoke and sex, flowing over me and quickly settling in my groin.
" I waited over 4 hours for you to show up Inspector! The least you could do is wait for me to wake up!" I was shocked so far out of my comfort zone by both the velvet beauty of his voice, and the scarily offensive way in which it was delivered. But it was oddly … arousing to see this man so animated.
"Ok … you filthy wanker, up you go." I grabbed his coat sleeve in an attempt to help him to his feet, before he rips his arm from my grasp, loses footing and falls to the ground.
"Holy hell Donovan, he is high as a kite!" Looking down at the mangled body of this dark angel at my feet, I see his eye lids flutter and a grim smile creep across his face.
"You … yes you there … Inspector … aren't worth the metal in your gun! How could you not SEE that the murderer was his sister! HIS SISTER! It was so obvious…but noooo you're just so very … igno-, igner-, STUPID …. Hahaha… oh my head…" he said, weaving his very dirty fingers to the mop of what could be stunning hair. He coiled himself on the floor mumbling.
"Christ … let's get him to the hospital…"
Four hours later I was sitting next to the bed of this oddly gorgeous dope fiend watching as he slowly came out of delirium. I wanted so much to just leave and go back to my desk, but something in those eyes keeps me glued to his side. They were like magnets to my soul. I needed to see him lucid, see what had brought him to my office in the first place, and hopefully see if his conceit was a side effect of the drug; no one can be such a dick all the time … right?
Coming back to the real world, I find myself out of bed and pacing across my bedroom floor. Taking a deep breath, I try to calm Sherlock enough to grasp the situation. "Wait ... slow down Sherlock, tell me what's going on, are you alright? Where's John? Take a deep breath, and talk to me Sherlock." Jesus, I haven't heard him like this since…hysteria dripping with delirium ... Oh god, please not drugs again… I hear Sherlock on the other end follow my words and breathe in heavily.
"God … Greg ... I don't know what's happening." Heaving a deep sigh once more, he continues: "As you know we are here investigating a case involving the murder of a man's father twenty years ago, it was believed that there may have been genetic testing done at a local MOD facility called Baskerville. The client very strongly believes that a large dog-like animal killed his father decades ago, which of course is highly improbable. But with the chance of genetic mutations occurring so close by, my natural assumption was that it was related." Sherlock's voice shakes as he takes another deep breath and at this point, I am nearly shaking as well. I hate hearing him like this, his usual frozen exterior cracking, allowing his emotions to cascade over him. These types of situations are usually what lead him right down the road to drugs. I can't see him go through that; no part of me will allow this man to fall again; not after all we've been through.
"So you're telling me that you were bored, and so you decided to try cocaine. It allowed your mind to focus and work at a level you found acceptable, and you then just decided to stay high?! I mean I knew you were using, but I never thought it was something you intended to keep up. It wasn't that long ago that I sat by your bedside you selfish git! Didn't I make my thoughts on the subject clear to you then? So, how long this time Sherlock?!"
"Approximately two weeks this time, I think … I don't understand why you are so upset Greg. Everything was perfectly under control. You knew that when I get bored, I turn to drugs, and I … couldn't reach you!"
"Christ, Sherlock, I was at work! And it was nowhere near under control, you're in the hospital again! One day that 4am phone call won't be to come help you home, it will be to identify yo-…" The knot in my throat choked me, I barely knew this man outside of crime scene tape, and yet the thought of losing him brought me to weeping. Jesus, Lestrade …
For two years now, I had fought and pleaded for him to stop doing this to himself. Ever since that day he showed up in my office, I have been helplessly enamored with this creature. How could he not see what this was doing to him … and to me?
"Greg, I really just want to go home, but they won't let me be alone this time… is it possible fo—"
"No way Sherlock … I have to work tomorrow, and after last time I really don't think it's a good idea." A jolt of arousal surged down my spine. "Why don't I call Mycroft? He can arrange for you to be taken care of." At the mere mention of his brother's name, Sherlock buried himself under the thin blankets of his hospital bed, his frail limbs trembling and I could hear his breath shudder slightly. The sight of this was killing me, tearing out my very soul knowing that no matter what I do or say, nothing will pull him away from the drug's erotic hold.
Without moving from under the cocoon of blankets, Sherlock says, "I will NOT allow you to call Mycroft. If you don't want me anymore, fine. I will just sign myself out. But I refuse to stay here. Go away, Lestrade. I'm not your problem anymore."
My guts twisted and churned and my eyes stung as I practically jumped onto the bed, "My problem, Sherlock …" I said, reaching out to rest my hand on what I think is his shoulder, "You aren't a problem. A pain in my arse of course, but not a problem." Heaving a deep sigh, my voice barely above a whisper, I said, "… God, can't you see how much-." Against my better judgment, I took a deep breath trying to calm my nerves, "Get your things Sherlock, let's go."
The last time this happened, I woke up with him in my bed, curled around me seeking warmth and affection. It took every part of me to pry my body from his grip and I spent that night scratching his head so that he could sleep. All the while, the only thing I could think about was allowing him to wrap further around me, touch me, feel me and consume me. Just as I have always wanted to do to him. We did fall asleep that night, and when I woke up it was to his mouth surrounding my cock in a flawless blowjob. Despite my conscious mind screaming for me to pull away and maintain the line between Sherlock and myself, that momentary respite from my longing was exquisite. When I saw his perfect mouth wrapped around me, his eyes looking deep into mine and the true passion and admiration hiding there, I came with such intensity I saw stars. It was so hard for me to look at him after that, and I hadn't heard from him for nearly 3 months until the hospital called that morning to tell me of his latest overdose.
Instead of taking him to the dingy flat he called home, I again brought him back to mine. Despite the withdrawal of the drug trying to claw its way from his body, he did his best to allow me to sleep. My brain however wouldn't allow it, images of the man writhing on my couch, covered in a cold sweat while trying to keep his moans of discomfort to a minimum filled my head. I knew that if I went to him, I wouldn't be able to control my need to comfort him, my need to just hold him and make everything ok again. I wanted the genius bastard I knew was in there, the man I saw vague glimpses of at crime scenes and the station occasionally. It was as if he were two separate people: the junkie and the angel, the demon and the madman. One never knew which version they had until he spoke; you were either washed with condescension and insults, or flattery and madness when he was high. There were very few moments of in-between. But those brief moments were what mattered; I longed to see that look in his eyes while he devoured me. Only I wished it would occur when I was capable of responding by more than erotic release. A particularly tortured groan flowed through the flat, and I heard the blankets fly off the couch as Sherlock crept into my bedroom.
"I know you're awake Greg, I can hear you thinking. I can't sleep, I'm so cold …"His voice was so soft and soothing, nothing like it can be when you are the brunt of his wrath.
Flipping back the duvet, I said, "Well then, in you come, let's see if we can't warm you up some." By the light from the street, I could see relief wash over him as he climbed into the bed. Wrapping my arms around his fragile frame, I pull him into me. His leg wraps around mine as I rub his back and card my fingers through his hair. Holding his trembling body close I was hoping that the weight of my body on him might allow us both a few hours of sleep. But I didn't want a repeat of last times actions.
"Sherlock … don't feel that you have to do anything for me when you wake up. I care for you, way more than I should, but I don't want you to feel like you have to pay me back."
"I'm not a whore, Greg. I did it because I wanted to. I have always wanted to, but I thought you felt it was inappropriate so I never said anything."
"Oh," puffing out a breathy laugh, I said, "So you thought if you caught me unawares, you would be able to gauge my feelings for you without the risk of direct rejection?"
"Something like that … you seemed to enjoy it when you woke up however."
I could feel the smirk forming on his face and the truth of his comment settled in my stomach. God, yes I had enjoyed it … I thought of little else since it happened. However, I refused to become involved with him while he was on drugs.
In the most casual way I was capable I said, "Sherlock … do you want a relationship with me, or are you just interested in getting one off?" The silence in the room suddenly became crushing; I could feel his breathing and heartbeat suddenly pick up. It was as if time stopped briefly and all I could hear were our accelerated, deafening heartbeats.
I could feel his breath hitch a few times as though he was going to say something, but each time he stopped. It began to feel like whatever it was he felt about me, he was either ashamed of it or thought I would reject him. Pulling him closer to me, I just took a deep breath and tried to relax. Maybe he would answer me in the morning, or never … maybe I didn't really want to know.
Suddenly his body tensed and he pushed himself up, forcing me onto my shoulder, resting his head next to mine, his lips next to my cheek. He reached up and turned my face towards his. I could see his eyes shut tight, and he had almost a pained expression on his face.
"It's ok Sherlock … this is fine, you don't have to answ—". Slowly his lips brushed against mine. His trembling hand slid into my hair while his surprisingly soft plush lips moved over mine, grasping my bottom lip between his. It was the most beautiful kiss I had experienced, full of everything I had grown to love about this man. Slowly his tongue slid out and tangled with mine, and despite the trembling that I could feel in his hands, his mouth was deliberate, soft but purposeful. My hand slid along his back and the side of his face, pulling him closer to me. Our kiss became full of passion and longing as our arms wrapped around each other, our tongues softly sliding together, our low sighs and moans filling the silence around us. It was unlike any other kiss I had experienced; he became more and more pliant in my embrace, his mouth allowing me to lead the kiss. Pulling back I needed to see his eyes, he may be trying to tell me with his mouth what he hadn't words for, but his eyes were more expressive than even that perfect kiss could be.
Torturously slowly, his lifted his lids, his dark eyelashes long and heavy and when those green orbs locked onto mine, I saw everything in him that I knew was there. All of the heartache and pain he had suffered through early in life, the parts of himself he sectioned off to avoid future turmoil. He was completely open, staring deep into me. I had never wanted anyone so much in my whole life, I wanted to kiss that pain away and show him that love isn't bad, that being with someone completely can have more reward than he could ever imagine … if only he would let me. Giving in to the need we both felt, I pulled him to me and kissed him deeply, his body went limp around me and I knew then that I was his and he was mine.
"Sherlock … wait … not tonight …" I felt him tense up as the walls around his heart threatened to close him off again. "No, no, that's not what I mean …," I said, smiling at him. I kissed him deeply again, holding him close. "No, I don't want our first time to be in any way influenced by drugs, and I can't even begin with you if I know that you will do this again. One thing I know about myself is that I am not capable of watching someone I love fall down such a dark hole. You are so much better than this Sherlock. But I can't be by your side, if you won't let me and I refuse to compete for your affections with a drug."
Taking a deep breath, my stomach tightened and tensed as I continued: "If you decide that when your withdrawals are through, that you want me in your life enough to completely stay free of it, then we can continue." I took another deep breath as I felt the anxiety well up within me. I said, "If not, I will expect you to be gone when I wake up. You can still consult on cases, when you aren't high of course, and I will always help you when you need me, but I can't …be with you … like this …" That was quite possibly the hardest decision I ever had to make. I didn't want to wake up without him, but the other option would've been much worse. Pulling him to me again, I kissed him once more, thinking that if it is the last time, I would at least have something to remember. I put everything I could into that kiss, all the admiration I had for his mind, the passion I held for his body and the need I felt for his broken soul all flowed freely through my lips and tongue.
"Get some rest, Sherlock…"
Getting more comfortable, he slid down and put his head on my chest once more, "Goodnight, Greg …I'll see you in the morning."
The next morning I woke up to find Sherlock wrapped around me, his fingers carding through my hair, just looking at me. It was rather unsettling to wake up to those eyes staring back at you, but I had never been so happy to see them.
Ever since that night we had had a very good relationship, he stayed off the drugs and we saw each other whenever possible. We decided in the beginning that we needed to keep our relationship a secret. Sherlock didn't want to jeopardize my job, and he thought it would look bad if he also happened to be sleeping with the cop that let him consult on cases. He felt it would undermine his abilities, which in typical Sherlock fashion was purely logical. As much as I wanted the world to know that I was shagging the most beautiful man in London, I knew that it wasn't really worth the trouble it could ultimately cause both of us.
"This can't be happening. It isn't logical!"
Sherlock's exclamation drags me from my reverie as I try to make sense of his ramblings.
"Greg … Henry took us to through the moor to a place called Dewers Hollow… to take a look at the scene where he claims to have seen … HA … seen … this hound." His voice takes on a shrill hyperactive tone when he repeats the word 'seen'. "It was dark of course, and there was this immense fog settling in the hollow and out of nowhere … I … I … JESUS!"
"Sherlock … Sherlock … breathe …. Calm down, its ok, I need to you relax and tell me what happened." It is getting harder and harder to maintain my calm composure; all I want is to wrap my arms around him, as I know he needs me to. I would never get to Dartmoor fast enough for him, but the sound in his voice, isn't helping me to maintain logical thought. Standing up I grab my trousers and a few important items, throwing them into a bag as I try to get more information from Sherlock's shaking voice.
In a voice I barely recognized, that sent chills all through me, I softly heard, "I saw it … the ... the hound … I SAW it Greg!"
Jesus … he is on drugs…that same hysteria was creeping its way back into his tone. Fear slid down my spine like wet ice as it occurred to me that despite the years we have been together, he could very well have gotten high. Flying down the stairs, I climb into my car, speeding towards Dartmoor, still listening to Sherlock's mumbled incoherent ramblings.
"Sherlock, what do you mean you saw the hound? You mean a dog?"
"Greg … you aren't listening to me, it was a gigantic hound! It was much larger than any normal dog, black as night with glowing red eyes! Glowing Greg! They were actually phosphorescent! How is that even possible!? It's not! Even with the genetic testing and such they're doing at Baskerville, glowing eyes are completely ridiculous! More than just the eyes should glow… that doesn't make sense."
"Ok Sherlock …," I said, taking a deep breath, "Where is John, did he see this hound too?"
"No, of course not, he broke away from us before we got to the Hollow and we ran into him leaving the area. There is no way he didn't see at least a shadow, this this was gigantic! As usual, he more than likely saw but didn't observe. Why is it that people are incapable of just LOOKING?! The unbelievable ignorance of the human race astounds me!"
"Ok Sherlock, I get it, everyone is stupid, but that isn't really helping. I need you to calm down and breathe, you aren't making sense and I need you to relax. Does the hotel there have a pub or somewhere you can get a drink?"
"A drink?! That's your solution. Lestrade, I saw a massive hound with glow—"
"Sherlock…," I said, my patience wearing thin.
"Fine … fine … a drink. You know, I thought that calling you would help … "
"Sherlock … it will help, I'm on my way there I shouldn't be more than an hour away. So I want you to get yourself a drink and try to just relax and when I get there we can talk about this and see what we can do to fix this."
In the smallest voice, I had ever heard come from him, reminiscent of his huddled frame in a hospital bed, I hear him shudder, then nearly whisper, "There's nothing wrong with me … I saw it … with my own eyes… god Greg … hurry." Then the phone line went dead and my foot slammed down on the accelerator.
About thirty minutes later, I get a text from John.
Sherlock has lost his mind. If you don't have anything on now, I could use your assistance in Dartmoor. I am very concerned; I have never seen him like this.
– JW
"Great, now he has blown up at John, that's keeping it together Sherlock!" I mumble to no one, putting my phone in my pocket. Ten long minutes later, my car finally pulls into the lot of the Crossed Keys. Stepping from my vehicle, I pull out my phone and quickly send two texts.
John. I will head that way in the morning, try to get some sleep and leave him alone until I get there. Whatever he said, you know Sherlock; try not to take it personally.
–GL
Heaving a big sigh, I can just imagine the anger Sherlock must have instilled in John. He would more than likely go to his room and in a fit and try very hard to avoid Sherlock for as long as possible.
Sherlock, I am here, what room are you in? Meet me there.
–GL
Pulling my bag from the car, I walk around the outside of the hotel waiting for a reply from Sherlock. I really hope that John isn't out here burning off steam. A loud howl off in the distance sends chills all through me as I turn my back on the hotel and look out in to the darkness. Sherlock's words echo through my mind … "black as night with glowing red eyes! Glowing Greg!"… "Jesus" … is this place supposed to be this creepy? I nearly jump out of my skin as the chime of my phone penetrates the silence of the night. Looking down I see a reply from both Sherlock and John.
Greg. I will not speak to Sherlock, or tell him that you are coming. Meet me in the pub of the Crossed Keys at noon. –JW
Sherlock, known for his ability to be condescending through voice as well as text, only sends a number.
234 – SH
Shaking my head, I still can't believe that I have somehow made it up here in dark of night because my junkie boyfriend, soon to be possibly ex-boyfriend, has decided to get high … while on a case … "what the fuck Sherlock!" Anger slowly creeps into me as it occurs to me that this may not be the first time he has done this since he supposedly quit. What if he has been doing it all along, just hiding it from me? I don't know how he could possibly keep this from John, but I suppose if we can hide our relationship from him so successfully then Sherlock could more than likely hide his drug habits.
Taking a few deep breaths, I calm myself down enough to go into the hotel. I really don't want to believe that Sherlock has been using again, still, or any combination thereof. But he sounded so … lost and confused. Slowly approaching the door to room 234, I hear his frantic mumbling from inside the room. I knock lightly a few times and abruptly I hear Sherlock whisper, "John?" from the other side of the door. John … always John. Biting back my jealousy and rage, I respond.
"No Sherlock, it's me."
The door flies open and my arm is quickly grabbed as I'm tugged into the room by a flurry of sky blue silk and wild green eyes. Looking around the room once I gain my footing, it looks as though it could have been a very nice place … before Sherlock checked in. Lamps were over turned; casting sickly spotlights on pictures and statements, loose pages stuck to the walls above each night table with … god knows what. Pictures of everything from logos to people tacked to everything that held still. Piles of paper were leaning haphazardly against the pillows on the bed and the blankets tossed about with no sense of purpose. Turning my attention back to Sherlock I drop my bag and peel off my coat. He is still near the door, his forehead pressed up against it with his palms placed on either side of his head, flat against the hard wood. He was breathing heavily and it was obvious from across the room that he was shaking violently. Seeing him like this rips a hole in me that unsuccessfully tried to fill with anger, but his vulnerability at this point shatters me resolve. His sharp angles are shadowed in doubt, casting an even more frightened light on his features. Nearly running to him, I pull his hands from the door and turn his body towards mine. Taking his face in my hands, I tilt his head up to face me. His eyes shut tight; his breathing rapid and tremors run the length of his form.
"God, Sherlock … open your eyes, it's me, look at me love." Slowly his eyes open, seemingly afraid of what he might see when everything comes into focus. Those wild fire eyes lock onto mine and I can feel his body relax. Pulling him towards me, I press our bodies tight together, wrapping my arms around him. The shaking subsides and he takes a few deep breaths and pushes us towards the bed. Landing on my back, with my feet still firmly on the floor, he lies on his side next to me and wraps himself tightly around me. His arm around my chest, hooked under my body and his leg tangled over my knee. Softly rubbing his back, I reach up and run my fingers through his hair. This whole scene stilling me with its memory, shaking me to the core as I recall the reasons behind every other time Sherlock has woven himself around my body in such a way.
"I'm not on drugs Greg … I swear to you, I haven't touched it since … I promised." He wraps his arms tighter around me, nearly squeezing the air from my body.
"Hush … its ok love … just relax and breathe … I'm right here …" Several long minutes pass and I slowly feel his body unwind and his heart rate decrease. He is not asleep, but it's obvious that he is much more at ease than he was earlier. Prying myself from his grasp, I sit up and move to clear the bed of the loose sheets of paper and stray pictures. Sherlock curls in on himself watching me as though I might run away at any minute; he becomes more tense as I pick up my bag. Opening it, I peel off my shirt and drop it inside, then remove my shoes and socks, turn off the lights and climb into the bed. Bracing my back against a few pillows, I get comfortable, and then beckon Sherlock to join me. He crawls up the bed with a sensual prowl that immediately inspires my cock to jump to attention. I'm trying very hard to remain collected in this situation, sex isn't what he needs right now, but the way his eyes take in my body isn't helping.
"You drove all the way up here in just your pajama pants? Greg … what would happen if someone saw you!" Sherlock says with mock surprise.
"Shut it you, come up here and tell me what happened, maybe we can make sense of it."
Heaving a deep sigh, the predatory sexual edge drops from his motions as his body weakens and crawls tight up against me under the blankets. Curling my body to wrap around him protectively, I continue to rub his shoulder and try my best to erase the thoughts that he had betrayed me.
"It was …unbelievable Greg… Henry has been in therapy all his life for what he saw in the hollow all those years ago. I thought he was delusional, or at the very least being overly dramatic. So of course, we go to the crime scene and it is the perfect area for delusions. A large valley situated among rocks and tall trees, dark and ominous, and a low fog has settled at the floor of the hollow. Henry, John and myself were walking towards it when a path that led to the bottom of the hollow. I was examining the area when we heard a low growl coming from the edge of the incline. All we could see at first were shadows and hear the trees rustling as something … large … circled us. Looking around I noticed that John was missing and I was gripped with this terrible fear …" Sherlock looks up at me, and this fear is written all over his face, it would have killed him if something had happened to John on a case, but torn apart by some beast that he can't understand seeing would be particularly devastating. Compassion and concern wash over me and I kiss his forehead and urge him to continue. His hands begin to shake as he wraps himself tighter round me. I respond by turning on my side and holding him tightly against my body.
"Looking back around at Henry who is screaming hysterics at this point, I could just barely see the shadow of this … creature …stalking us, moving just to the edge of the incline. I shine my torch directly on it, bathing it in more than enough light to see it clearly, but …I don't know… I couldn't have … it's just NOT POSSIBLE Greg!"
"Breathe Sherlock …you're perfectly safe right now, nothing can get in here, and I am sure that what you saw will be completely explained." At any other time my tone of voice would send Sherlock into an outrage, claiming that I was talking to him like a victim … but in this case, he really was a victim; of what, I still can't piece together, but it has obviously left him fractured.
"It was right in front of me, I could see the glisten of its fur, blacker than the night itself, its eyes were …glowing … not from a reflection of my torch, but actually phosphorescent! Glowing completely of their volition! How would one even gather the necessary genes to gain that result? … imagine the abilities one could achieve with—"
"Sherlock …"
"Right … it was growling low in its throat, it was a huge beastly animal, much larger than any wolf or dog. It was easily the size of a horse, large and stalking around us. For the first time in my life, I couldn't count on my eyes, my observations to tell me the truth of the matter. The beast was right in front of me, and I couldn't believe it …can't believe it." His body is back into convulsing and gripping me tighter, his heart rate has increased and he is beginning to break into a sweat.
"Ok, take a few deep breaths for me … wow…I can understand your phone call much better now…I was convinced that you had somehow gotten your hands on cocaine and were falling into the delusions again." Clearing my throat, I continue, "for jumping to that conclusion I am sorry Sherlock. I trust you implicitly. You just sounded so…familiar…I have never heard you so flustered and awestricken aside from when you're high." Breathing a sigh of relief at admitting to him that I was very certain that he had broken his word, I held on to him and kissed his hair. He turned his head towards mine and leaned forward just enough to brush his sweet lips against mine. My whole body tingled and tensed at his touch, god what this man can do to me with just his lips is nearly embarrassing. Sliding our lips together, he reaches up and pulls me tighter to him, deepening the kiss. His hot tongue dances with mine and a low moan escapes between us.
"Drugs! That's IT!" pulling just far enough away for me to see the glimmer of insight in his eyes. "Of course, I had to have been high! Greg … you continue to surprise me!" Wrenching himself from my grasp he leaps off the bed and begins to pace around the room mumbling about hallucinations and possible ways drugs could be introduced into his system.
"Um … Sherlock…you just said that you didn't use anymore… what exactly are you thinking, someone drugged you and Henry? Wouldn't they have to be drugging Henry for YEARS? But John didn't see anything, you said he showed up near the end just after you and Henry got out of there, but he didn't see anything. How would a drug get to Henry and you, but not John?" Stopping his pacing he abruptly looks at me with a combination of awe and insult.
"No Lestrade" yes there's the insult…he only uses my last name when I have said something he finds particularly obtuse. "You wouldn't have to keep Henry drugged, just have him drugged when he returned to the hollow, which would allow him to be in an altered state. ". Sherlock's voice begins to gain speed but becomes little more than a whisper. "But who would know he was going to the hollow, why would they wait until now to do it … what if he chose not to go, would the drug affect him outside of these delusions… Louder Sherlock looks at me as though I said something brilliant and mutters "… hm… you have a point there". He continues his pacing, mumbling something about food. Pulling myself back up the bed to recline on the pillows again, I get comfortable. My mad genius quickly forgets my presence.
My eyes wash over his gorgeous form, god this man is truly stunning! Long lines and sharp features, he is in his element. His brain moving a mile a minute as he quickly makes sense of his earlier terror. My face breaks into a full grin as it occurs to me that in less than an hour of my arrival, he has gone from lost and confused, back to the Sherlock I know and love. God … he is …beautiful…those lips forming words that he only occasionally vocalizes, his hands so expressive. Long capable fingers that add exclamation to every thought grace to each insult and passion to his every movement. His muscles taught, flexing with each step, the blue silk stretched perfectly across his shoulder blades. Jesus Lestrade… get it together!
"Ok, I am gonna need a coffee for this… black two sugars right? I will be back as soon as I can". Getting up I pull on my shirt and slip into my shoes, hoping that there is someone downstairs than can make me some coffee, its only … damn… midnight. Swiping the room key from the desk I leave Sherlock to his ramblings, pretty certain he won't even notice that I have left.
There once was a time, when his attention to detail and inability to focus on what he considers trivial used to bother me. When he got lost in a case, it could be as long as months before I saw him privately. But those times, no matter the frequency were what kept it all worthwhile.
In the beginning Sherlock was a very difficult man to care for, his haphazard way of taking care of himself and his blatant refusal to answer his body's needs would leave me a worried basket case. Not being able to let on about our relationship made it even more difficult, it's not as if I could stop him in the middle of a deduction at a crime scene to ask if he has been eating. That would be a bit obvious to all involved, and most already think we are shagging. It took nearly a year before we even got to that stage of our relationship. Most times, he would simply sneak in; or break in as it were, in the middle of the night, strip completely naked and crawl into bed with me. Just lying there, our limbs tangled with one another, relaxing in each other's warmth.
When he first began doing that, it took every fiber of my willpower not to jump him. Hell, who am I kidding, it takes all of my will power now, not to jump him. But it became our normal routine, even when his mind was lost in a case. He told me once that lying next to me, watching me sleep helped him sort his thoughts and be able to clear his head. It was definitely creepy at first to know that Sherlock snuck into my bed to watch me sleep. But the first time I woke up and saw him, asleep with his head resting on my chest, long arms tight around me, it stopped being creepy. One glance at his face, calm and completely relaxed … vulnerable… and I was in love. Sherlock became my drug and I was lost in the throes of simply being in his presence.
I mean, yes; Sherlock is a beautiful man, there are few that would deny that, but it's so much more than just his physicality that calls to me. He is like a vortex, anyone who encounters him wants to be near him, despite his ramblings and insults, the moment you become lucky enough to see him smile… it's all downhill from there. Even John, with all his strength and understanding was lost in one night with Sherlock, the perfect accomplice to his nightly treks across London.
When I met John, I was instantly green with jealousy. I knew then that Sherlock wasn't the kind of man to cheat on me, but I also knew that John was the kind of man that would balance Sherlock's madness and smooth his rough edges. Angles and thorns that I had become increasingly fond of and hoped wouldn't change too much.
Soon after their partnership formed, it was quite clear that John was the perfect assistant to our disturbing genius. He allowed Sherlock his moments of madness, kept him alive, protected, and even made sure he ate regularly. It killed me to know that another man was seeing to Sherlock's wellbeing, but it was better than my concern outing us to the entire department. Occasionally Sherlock has to remind me of who comes first in his book, and as much as I hate that I still get envious of their relationship, Sherlock makes sure to see to my concerns without me ever having to voice them. I think he somewhat enjoys making me jealous, even after years of growing together and loving one another, it makes him happy to know that I would rather die than let another take him from me.
Luckily, there are people milling about in the pub downstairs and have no problems what so ever preparing a few coffees and some biscuits for me to take back to the room. It was obvious that they did not recognize me and considering the hour, I was thankful to get out of there before they happened to ask why I was there, small hotels tend to keep an eye on the visitors of their paying guests.
Getting back to the room, Sherlock is exactly as I left him, pacing and mumbling, his fluid movements are the epitome of grace. Even strides are purposeful across the plush carpeting of the room, his dressing down flowing behind him and curling around his legs as he turns. Abruptly Sherlock stops his pacing, and stares right into my eyes.
"Coffee! Greg … pure genius!" he strides over to me and takes one of the coffees off the tray, sets it on the night table and climbs into bed. Shaking my head, I set the tray down and remove my clothes again, picking up my cup and getting back into bed.
"Since you're not one to state the obvious, why is coffee genius in this case?" I had already mixed the coffees to our specific likings, his with sugar, mine with sugar and cream. Taking a sip of the scalding nectar, I allow the flavor to sweep through my mouth, warming my throat as I swallow. Leaning my head back on the headboard, I close my eyes; waiting for Sherlock to explain what he will claim is of course, obvious.
"It's obvious Greg, Henry and I both take sugar in our coffee, John however, does not. So there has to be some mind altering substance in the sugar we have ingested."
With this deduction, the gulp of coffee I had just pulled quickly comes back out, over the side of the bed. "Christ Sherlock, you could have warned me! What kind of drug is it?"
"Well, a hallucinogen, of course. But I doubt that all of the sugar in Dartmoor has been tainted". Sherlock says with a smirk, taking a sip of his coffee.
"Git"
"Oh relax Greg; I will of course have to check this hypothesis in the morning. How would you get John to drink coffee with drugged sugar in it I wonder?"
"Sherlock, you can't drug John, you have already screwed things up with your rather insulting outburst earlier this evening, and I think tomorrow you need to be apologizing, not drugging him for your own amusement." Shaking my head I look over at him and the look of almost …regret stuns me. He must have really laid into John for his to appear apologetic.
"I knew he would call you, what, did he ask you to come up and restrain him, keep him from shooting me or something? "He says, trying to be sarcastic, but clearly looking anxious.
"No" I say softly rubbing his shoulder, "He asked me to come up and I told him I would be here in the morning and that it would be best if he left you alone until then. I am to meet him downstairs at noon tomorrow. That should give you more than enough time to find a way to patch things up."
Sherlock turns and places his empty coffee cup on the night table before turning the light off and sliding down beneath the duvet. His bright eyes look at me just over the edge of the blanket, dripping with lust I see him slowly blink before I turn and quickly dispose of my coffee and slip next to him.
"Jesus Sherlock, you change gears so fast it makes my head spin, one minute there's brilliant deductions and the next your trying to seduce me. I never know what to expect with you."
"True, but you love it. In my own defense I have been trying to seduce you off and on since you got here."
"Haven't been trying very hard then I take it, I'm not that difficult to win over you know." Turning my body to face his, I lay my hand on the side of his neck, pulling his face towards mine.
"How about if I try a little … harder …" His voice reaching obscene levels with its gritty tone. The way he says harder makes my cock follow it like an order. The kiss starts sweet and chaste; his lips so warm and sweet cause me to melt, pulling him tighter to me. I wrap my arm around his neck, my fingers lightly tugging his hair, as I brush my tongue across his full lips. The heat from my tongue brings a hitch to Sherlock's breath, his lips part and our tongues briefly touch, sexual current slides through both of us as we pull our bodies tighter together. It has been nearly a week since we have had the chance to do more than sneak a quick kiss when no one is looking. My body craves this man; I need his hot skin pressed against mine, his hands touching me. I pull back and slowly try to tug Sherlock's dressing down from his shoulders. "Why didn't you take this off before you got into bed?"
Smiling as though he knows a secret I am not aware of, his voice is heavy with arousal and he says," because Greg … I greatly enjoy the look in your eyes when you watch me undress."
"Oh. God. Yes …please do so…"Sitting up to see him a bit better, the light from the parking lot is shining into the window, casting an angelic glow onto Sherlock's lithe form. He slowly reaches up and pulls the dressing down from his frame, letting it fall to the floor. His deft fingers drag up his chest as he reaches and unfastens each button of his crisp white shirt. Not parting the fabric, just leaving it tucked in but completely unbuttoned, he reaches his trousers. My eyes follow those fingers until I realize that he has stopped moving, his index finger lightly tapping on his belt buckle. I drag my view up his torso to look into his eyes, his lush mouth curled into a sexy smirk that makes my stomach flutter, and his eyelids are heavy and blinking slower than usual. He tilts his head down, looking at his hands and I follow his gaze, watching as he unbuckles his belt, and then he slide it torturously slowly through the belt loops. He then unbuttons his trousers and pulls the tails of his shirt from his waist, parting the fabric so I can finally see the smooth milky texture of his perfect chest. It was obvious that I was holding my breath for that moment, and when I release this, it comes out in a rather embarrassing shutter. "Show off ..." I say, laced with arousal and affection.
"Yes..." he purrs, "and you love it".
Lowering himself on to the bed on his knees, he slides in front of me, his trousers open reveling a perfect line of soft hair trailing down from his navel. Reaching forward I pull the zip down, revealing … "Jesus Sherlock". The man knows what it does to me when I see his lack of pants… without thinking I lean forward and place a soft open mouth kiss just above the neatly trimmed hair at his groin. Reaching my hands inside the wait of his trousers, I slide my fingers around his waist, and firmly grab that perfect arse. He balances himself on my shoulders, and just hovers in front of me, looking down as I slowly tongue up his abdomen.
Removing my hands from his pants, I sit up on my knees, and slide my palms up his chest and over his shoulders, sliding his shirt down his arms and off, tossing it to the floor. The light hits his body so perfectly, casting shadows over each rise and fall of his flesh. Rising up I am just about his height, his deep eyes are a fiery green and soaked in desire. His lips are parted, and his breath coming in quick gasps as he looks down my body. My pajama pants are the only things blocking his view from absorbing all of me, but it is more than obvious that I am inspired by Sherlock's teasing. His hands on my shoulders are the only touch we share now, an inch apart we hover over each other, feeling the arousal build as we stare deep into each other. His trousers have fallen to just around his hips, and the heavy bulge, curling to the seam of his thigh is the only thing keeping them from falling to the mattress. His breath quickens, just as mine does, the electricity in the room builds as we slowly inch closer and closer, my arms rise up, one wrapping around his waist, the other reaching up his back. My fingers are lightly teasing the flesh between his shoulder blades then I place my palm softly at the base of his neck. Leaning in, I hover, my mouth just outside of touching his, I can feel our breath mingling together between us. Our eyes never leaving each other's, turning my head slightly, I give him my best-wicked smile as I pull him hard towards me and press our mouths together. His tongue darts into my mouth, teasing at my lips and taunting my tongue; I chase that hot muscle back between his lips and pull him even tighter to me.
His hands are clawing through my hair and at my neck, his left thumb pressed lightly just above my collarbone, long fingers curved over my shoulder, gripping me firmly. My arms slide down his smooth back until one of my hands is just at the top of his trousers. Slowly sliding under them, I skim the tips of my fingers along the cleft of his arse, reaching deep into him I feel his tight pucker flutter against my finger. His mouth opens just enough to let beautiful deep moan into the room. The sound of his gravely moans his tongue so silky and hot sliding against my own fuels my desire for him even more. My other hand reaches down into his trousers and slides them off his hips. His perfect cock springs free, bouncing against my own through the thin cotton of my pajamas. Grabbing his arse with both hands, I pull him hard against me, forcing fierce moans from us both.
I am no longer capable of controlling myself, gliding my hands up to his shoulders I push him down flat onto the bed, his dark curls form a devious halo on the pillow. Standing up I pull his trousers free, watching as Sherlock slides his long legs free, his body perfect and patient, spread before me. A feral growl escapes my body as I kick my own pajamas off. A cocky grin spreads across Sherlock's mouth; mine as well, when he notices that I too have neglected to wear pants. Crawling over Sherlock's prone body, I feel his hands reach up to slide across my sides, towards my arse where he grabs me tight and pulls me down to him. Biting at my bottom lip, he arches into me, forcing our bodies hot against each other. His tongue slides into my panting mouth as I lay astride his thighs, slowly grinding our hips together. Our kisses become nothing more than tongues colliding through our moans and quick breaths. Sliding my lips across his jaw line, down to that beautiful acre of perfect neck, I find the spot I know makes him writhe and tease and taunt it with my tongue. A shuttered breath escapes his body and he tilts his head allowing me to dive in. my arms are wrapped under his shoulders, holding him down as I lick softly just where his neck meets his shoulders. Teasing his flesh, feeling him quiver is the most exhilarating feeling, knowing that with just a touch on his sensitive flesh his brain can go from fast deductions to nothing more than passion and need. Feeling him squirm, I know he is craving the agony of my mouth, biting into him always yields a groan worthy of orgasm on the spot, and actually has once before. This time is no different; his scream is a combination of a growl and an agonizing moan as he arches hard into me, nearly throwing me off his bucking hips. God how I love this feeling, such power and lust washes over me at his inability to control himself.
"God…Greg….I can't….I need you…Jesus…!"
"Beautiful…. I love it when you like this…reduced to nothing but desire…" growling into his neck, I rise up and slowly kiss and bite down his torso, taking each hard nipple into my mouth, teasing it, tonguing it and biting down just hard enough to hear him moan my name before inching lower. His hands clawing at my hair, trying to push me faster towards his heavy cock, rising his hips up and doing everything in his power to get more now makes my mouth water and my skin tingle. I have always loved taking him deep, down my throat, but each time it's better than the last, It is as much torture for me as it is for him, but that moment when the fat tip parts my lips, is enough to send hot spikes all through my groin. Pausing to tongue and nibble each hipbone, then tease the creases between his thighs is such a treat, he simply spreads and allows it this time, instead of throwing my on my back and reversing the taunt. Taking a moment to look up to his face I see that he is very still, watching me with severe interest. I think he gets as much pleasure from seeing his prick penetrate my mouth as he does feeling it. But that crease between his eyebrows just as my tongue laps the underside is all the incentive I would need, the intensity of his eyes and the exquisite moan that follows are all just icing on the cake.
His cock fills my mouth perfectly, I am nearly capable of taking him to the hilt, but what I can't reach is fine with him, as long as he gets to see me try. Long ago he made it quite clear, that when taking him deep I was never to use my hands, it destroys his view according to him. So I slowly roll my tongue along the underside of his hot prick as I slide him deep into my mouth. Each pull and slide of his skin against my tongue drags deep moans and whimpers from Sherlock, his hips rise and fall, meeting my mouth with his thrusts.
"Oh God…Greg…stop…please….I want to come inside you…."
Well. That's…new… usually it's the other way around, he rarely wants to fuck me, not that I don't crave it most of the time, but once we finally get down to that portion of our sessions, we are too interested in the sensation to worry about the specifics of it. Knowing that when he actually does top, he seems to get a bit… reckless, I rise off him, and get the lube from my bag. I hadn't planned to get this far, but you can never be too prepared. Shortly after we started sleeping together, Sherlock insisted that we get regular checks to avoid having to use condoms, he said he greatly enjoyed the feeling of coming inside me, and I can't say that I disagree. The first time the condom broke, we had truly astounding orgasms, and then terrible anxieties that proved fruitless. Ever since, we have remained monogamous, and thoroughly enjoyed the lack of latex separating us.
Sitting inside Sherlock's spread thighs; I bend my knees over his legs and quickly lube my fingers. Throwing the lube up near his hips, I lean back, bracing myself on one hand and start to prepare myself. Sherlock has a rather substantial manhood, thick in all the right ways, so three fingers usually prepare me just enough to feel the burn. Seeing as how I am so wound up now, I think two will be good enough. Slowly teasing myself, I trace the outside of that twitching muscle, a soft moan escapes my lips and I open my eyes to see Sherlock staring intently right into me. His gaze flicking between my fingers and my eyes, as he slowly lubes up his cock. His deft fingers wrapping around that perfect member send shivers up my spine, god I love to watch him do this, my breathing picks up and of course, he knows exactly how much I enjoy watching him. He slowly drags his palm down the thick shaft cradling his balls with his pinky and ring fingers, and then slides back up just over the head. Tilting his head back at the sensation, he arches, slowly thrusting in and out of his palm, tonguing and biting on his lower lip as his eyes open again and bore into my lustful gaze. While watching him all movement stopped, I may have even stopped breathing, I can't be sure. Noticing that I am frozen in the spot, my finger just pressed outside my body, he tilts his head down, his eyes never waivers from my own.
"Greg …" arousal and lust distorting his tone to the point of sheer mind fucking makes me moan at just the utterance of my name on his lips. I can't even speak to reply, which is fine because he continues anyway.
Moaning once more, deep and throaty as his hand grips his cock, he shutters then says, "I am going to fuck you so hard…you will be screaming my name".
"Oh…fuck…Sherlock…Jesus…" quickly pressing two slick fingers deep into my body, I moan loudly and arch my hips against my hand. Spreading my fingers, I do my best to ease the muscle in preparation for Sherlock. Seeing his hands, he is using both now, one on top of the other gripping myself firmly, sliding his fists up and down his cock, I lose all interest in myself. Pulling my fingers free, I take the lube and apply a bit more to my entrance, then crawl over Sherlock's hips. Hovering just over his groin, I reach back and take his quivering cock from his grasp, and position him just against the cleft of my arse. He reaches around and grabs my hipbones, arching up into me, trying to dive right in but I rise up just in time.
"Patience…" I say with affection and only a slight smirk on my face. How growl of frustration and desire is enough to make my cock jump, he grabs hold of it and slowly pushes his hand down its length.
"Patience … Patience… Detective Inspector…have you met me? I. Am. Not. A. Patient. Man!" he says punctuating each word with the rise of his hips and clench of his palm.
"Jesus Christ Sherlock! … Give me a minute, yeah? You're gonna make me come before we even get to it." Pulling from his grasp, I re-position myself and grab his hard, heavy prick, slowly forcing it just inside me.
"Ahh … God …" we moan nearly in unison at the initial burn and push of our union. My lack of preparation gives more stretch than usual, but it's so perfect I consider doing it more often without properly stretching myself beforehand. His moans are guttural and perfect and make me want so much to just slam myself down onto him, take him down deep into me. But instead, I slowly inch onto him until my arse is resting flat against his hips, his prick driven hard and deep into me. He throws his head back against the pillow, gripping my hips as we both revel in the perfect feeling we have so long been missing. Falling forward a bit, I kiss at his gaping mouth, his eyes shut tight, concentrating on the feeling of my body clenching around him. Tilting his head back up he grabs me by the back of my head and shoves his hot tongue into my mouth, our tongues fighting for control as I clench harder around him, then slowly slide up. His cock nearly comes out of my body before I grind back down onto him.
"Christ Greg … you're so…tight…Jesus…harder…move!" his exclamation drives a quick laugh from me as I follow his instructions, and quickly grind down onto him. Sitting up I balance on his chest as he arches into me, trying so hard to fuck me as he wanted to, but realizing that he wasn't in control, he growls again in frustration. Reaching up to my shoulders, he lifts himself up, bracing himself on one arm; he reaches around and grabs at my arse, raises his hips and puts his feet flat on the bed. Putting as much of my weight onto my legs as I can, I feel him begin to thrust into me. His eyes are looking directly into mine as I feel him go deeper and deeper, slamming into my body, pulling deep grunts and whimpers from my throat.
"I told you Greg … you will be screaming my name!" He grunts into my mouth, his tongue teasing at my open lips. Up to this point, I have to say, I hadn't tried this position, well, not with a man anyway. His arm begins to shake, but it was feeling so exquisite I couldn't bear stopping him. But, I did want it to last, so I ease all of my eight on to his hips, effectively halting his thrusts.
"Sherlock, back up, brace yourself on the headboard", I breathlessly try to force his movements by lifting up off his cock. He quickly slides back, his shoulders pressed against the headboard, while the pile of pillows supports his back. Climbing back onto him, I grab the sides of his face and pull him into a deep kiss. His mouth teasing and taunting me as our passion for each other flows through our tongues. Positioning myself onto his cock, I slide down onto him without breaking the kiss. Moaning into his mouth, I feel his legs spread, bringing one knee up, his foot flat on the bed, and then his hips arch up, thrusting his cock deep into me. Parting our kiss, his eyes open and bore into mine once again, his thrusts bouncing my vision blurry, but I am not capable of breaking the intensity of those wild fire eyes. Reaching around my back, he wraps his arms under my own, and grabs my shoulders, pulling me down onto him as he thrusts upward.
"FUCK … Sherlock…GOD!" I tilt my head back and grind down on him, my cock pressed against his breastbone and my stomach, leaking beads of pre come all over the both of our chests. Each thrust causes a new bead to well up, a new quiver of my muscles to clench around him. Noticing that the headboard is mounted to the wall, I reach up and slide my fingers around the edge of it. Bracing myself, I raise up a bit and Sherlock pistons his hips, pushing himself hard into me, rocking faster and faster as he chases his orgasm. Each thrust hitting my prostate so perfectly I think I might be able to come from this alone. But then one of his hands wraps tightly around my leaking cock.
"Oh yes…yes…fuck…fuck me Sherlock…!" arching into his palm, my the sweet burn of the impending orgasm rushes through me, my balls tighten and I can feel my cock swell under Sherlock's talented fingers. My body quivers and clenches around Sherlock, pulsing and milking his cock as I start to come down into the sheer bliss of his hard arousal sliding across my prostate, it's so sensitive its painful, but it's beautiful to feel his body buck against me. Looking down into his eyes, I see his brow crease slightly, his jaw clench, head tilting back, eyes closing and he grips my hips and thrusts deeper inside me.
"Oohh God...Greg…Yesss…."
Smiling down at him, he needs and extra push, leaning so press my lips against his ear, I breath heavily and say, "God Sherlock…you feel so good inside me, that thick cock stretching me, my tight arse milking the come out of you … come for me Sherlock… I want to feel you swell and thicken…. Mmmmgodsherlock. Fuck me…come for me….yess…"
"Oh FUCK Greg...God...yes….yes…." thrusting hard into me, I feel exactly what I wanted, his cock trembles and swells, then the warmth of his orgasm pulsing into me. His body is worn and weak, riding him through his climax, as his body is lost in wave after wave of pleasure. Falling against his chest, I softly kiss at his neck and jaw line, waiting for our breathing slow. Once it does, I kiss up his jaw and take his lips between mine, tasting his soft mouth as we melt into each other's arms.
As our bodies come back under our own control, we side apart and lie next to each other. Sherlock cleans himself off a bit and tosses the tissues over the edge of the bed, then curls into my arms, his head pressed into the crook of my arm. His weak arms are still trembling as they wrap around my chest, haphazardly playing with the fuzz on my chest. His breathing hitches as if he wants to say something, but doesn't, then moments later he does it again.
"Ok you, out with it, what's wrong?" I say softly, reaching my hand up to tug at his hair.
"Hm? Oh nothing, I just…Greg … I really do appreciate you coming all the way here tonight. I know I am not an easy man to be with, and I try your patience, but I do love you and it means the world to me that you would …" his breath stutters seems to come out in soft gasps.
"Sherlock, hey, its ok… you know I love you and regardless of the situation all you ever need do is ask, and I will be there. You have done the same for me week after week. And yes, you are not easy to be with, but I wouldn't have it any other way." Kissing the top of his head, I feel him hum against me pleasantly. Heaving a deep sigh, we both slide towards sleep.
"Oh, shit…John! How…um…" Sherlock nearly sits up, all of a sudden wracked with concern as to how we will account for my arrival.
"It's taken care of, I will just go out in the morning and drive around, survey the area a bit, and show up around noon to meet John. When you see me, just act as you normally would."
"So be a right bastard and demand to know why you have invaded my investigation…got it."
"Be sure to apologize to John tomorrow, I don't know what you said, but it really bothered him. He is your best friend and in fact, he is your only friend. Before you say it, I am not your friend, I am your boyfriend; there is a big difference, without John, no one would be able to keep you grounded. Unless you want to take our relationship into the open, which I doubt, you need him just as much as he needs you".
"This doesn't bother you at all?" Sherlock looks deep into my eyes with this comment, and actual concern shines through.
"At times, yes, it does, but as long as I am certain in where I stand, I would prefer John to be a staple in your life. I can't be there all the time, despite what I may want. I need to know that when I can't be there, that someone is keeping you safe, doing your apologizing for you, since you are completely incapable of doing it yourself…among other things…" I smile into his skin and lightly kiss his forehead.
"Just one thing Sherlock… he is to remain just a friend…hands off the doctor please…"
"Oh, didn't you know Detective Inspector? He isn't Gay!" Sherlock says, chuckling softly.
"So he keeps telling me…"
Pulling him to me, I kiss him deeply, letting our tongues lazily explore each other's lips as we curl up tightly together and for the first time in months, actually fall asleep.