I lie awake in a state filled with that of sorrow and the unknown due to Sherlocks shrieking violin. I listened both in agony and awe as he streaked between the strings in such an angelic grief stricken way that it was sure to quite even the most fuss driven baby. I stared up at the dun-colored ceiling as Sherlock played on into the night.

I did my best to drown out the shrieking of the violin as I did most nights. I keep to myself as did Sherlock, that was our agreement. That was what we agreed upon... I shut my eyes, letting Sherlocks violin filter throughout my ears. I immediately opened my eyes and pulled myself out of bed to pull on a pair of jeans. Screw the agreement.

I soundlessly made my way to the living room where he stood stood staring at his violin as he played. I leaned against the doorway trim as he played on, failing to notice me. Suddenly, as if I had called out his name, his eyes snapped to mine. He seemed to be studying me, his face a contortion of deep thought, yet he continued to play. No words were needed.

Finally I felt the need to break the silence that stood between us like a solid wall of 7in thick glass. "What's going on?"

Sherlocks face didn't change however he stopped playing at the sound of my voice. "What brings you to the conclusion that something is wrong?"

"The way you are playing."

"I play every night."

"It's different."

"How so?" He asked. I furrowed my brow as he asked me this wondering why he felt the need to ask.

"It's filled with grief." At this Sherlock looked at me dutifully before gently turning and placing his violin on its rack as if it were porcelain on sharp terrain.

"My mother." He said.

"What about your mother?" I urged.

"She was murdered. This morning, 9am. That is where I went, not to the laboratory." I stayed silent, soaking in the information that Sherlock told me as to not confuse anything. I waited him to continue. He slowly walked over to the window in the kitchen and looked out across the street. "She was murdered at 9am, her throat sliced and I know who has committed the deed. Yet, I find no joy in this job right now." He walked in front of me and leaned against the table.

"It's not uncommon for you to not find joy in your job when a loved one is involved. Why should you?"

"I have always loved me job."

"So one day it was bound to be shaken." Sherlock stared at me long and hard.

"I am not sad."

"Your playing begs to differ."

"My mother beat me night after night, my dad threatening to kill me every time I took a breath. I grew up with rags on my back though my father was a wealthy man. He was also involved in 5 ruthless affairs. He killed my mother." I stayed silent. Sherlock turned his head away. "I am not sad. I am anxious."

"I am sorry about your mother despite the fact. Even if she was unkindly, it is still a great hardship when our family leaves us." I whispered to Sherlock.

"John?"

"Yes?"

"What would you act upon doing if I kissed you? Right now." Sherlock asked, comfortable with his question.

I willed my cheeks not to flare. Truth be told I had never fallen in love with any certain gender, just mankind itself. "I reckon we'd have to find out. I'm not sure." Sherlock eyed me before looking away. He began to walk away from me before pausing. Within a moment I was pinned against the wall. Sherlocks forehead grazed mine as he breathed in uneasily. I looked up him wide eyed. Without hesitation Sherlock kissed me. The kiss was so sudden that my eyes stayed wide open in alarm.

"What would you do if I stuck my tongue in your mouth?" Sherlock whispered. I tilted my head dumbfounded. Rather than wait for me to reply, Sherlock bent his head down again, running his tongue across my teeth before forcing my mouth open. I tried to decide how I felt about it. Sherlock pulled away. He was across the room in a second. We stared at each other for what seemed like hours but could only be a few seconds. Sherlock searched me for any signs of approval. I finally decided.

"Sherlock." I said regretfully.

"Yes?" I stayed silent for a second.

"I-," I couldn't explain it. Next thing I knew I was striding across the room and grabbing Sherlocks face, bringing it to mine. Or tongues clashed as if the gods had awoken. Sherlock pulled away from me. I turned away from him.

"Excuse my actions John." Sherlock panted. "I know that this is new to you-," I stared at him shocked.

"Well this isn't new to you?"

"Newer. I have slept with a man before but you- you're different. I had no relations with the man. It's abnormal what I feel for you. You're new." I didn't know what to say. "Is it wrong to have ? Thoughts. About you?"

"What kinda of thoughts?" I asked.

"Thoughts that involve..." Sherlock bent his head to my neck and ran his tongue across it. "Physical contact?"

"I wouldn't call it a bad thing necessarily." I swallowed. Sherlock again had me pinned, this time on the couch. I let out a feeble whimper as my face was pushed into the sinister leather as Sherlock bound my hands behind my back with an unknown object.

"I'm sorry John but I can't stop."

"And we won't stop." I whispered. Sherlock roughly ridded me of my jeans and boxers growling at the sight of me bound before him. I could hear his fly unzip making me anxious. Suddenly he was into me and I let out a sharp groan with him at the suddenness. "Jesus Sherlock." I hissed as he kissed my back.

"Hmmm John." He moaned into my back as he continued. I dug my teeth into the couch as the pace grew faster and the pressure harder. Sherlock snaked his arms around my thighs grabbing my hard length and jerking it as he pleased. We matched moans as Sherlock began to fall apart behind me. He nipped my back as he hit his climax as did I and buried his face in me. We both struggled to regain our breath, neither of us daring to move from the fear of losing one another.