I get out of bed, having been staring at the ceiling for the last two hours. I don't want to go downstairs but I need it. It's like there's a magnetic pull, drifting me downwards towards his room. My feet have a mind of their own as they carry me down the stairs. I open the door to his room, standing silhouetted in the doorway as I stare into Sherlock's room.

He doesn't wake, but then I didn't expect him to. Sherlock has always been a heavier sleeper than I am, especially after a case. He'll be dead to the world but I think I can find a way to rouse him. I keep my footsteps light as I walk across the floor to his bed. A few floorboards creak underneath me but he still doesn't stir from his sleep.

I pull back enough of the covers the allow myself to slip underneath. Sherlock is sleeping on his side away from me. I fit my body around him and notice that he is delightfully naked. I know he did this in anticipation of me. He always knows when I need this, probably better than I do. He can predict me better than anyone and yet he doesn't grow bored of me. It's astounding and not something to be wasted.

I snake my hand over and grasp his cock, stroking it slowly. Sherlock groans in his sleep and presses into my touch. I gently press kisses to the nape of his neck as his cock twitches and throbs in my hand, growing hard. He's always so responsive, even to the slightest touches.

I feel his hand move to my hip, his fingers digging in slightly. He's at least partly awake so I tilt my head up and nip at his ear. There's so much I want to say but I keep silent, working his prick, massaging my fists along his length. He starts moving in his sleep, thrusting into my grip on him, gasping that sounds too loud in the quiet room.

"John." He said barely audible but I hear it. He's more awake now and participating more. His body is gleaming with sweat and I catch it on my tongue, running it over his back. He moans quietly and thrusts harder, looking for release. I'm anxious to give it to him.

I slip my other hand between his legs and start to fondle his sack, kneading and gently tugging until Sherlock bites down his cry and comes all over my hand with his whole body shuddering. I keep stroking until he's finished and kiss anywhere I can.

Slowly, I pull my hands away and instead press the come covered fingers to his opening. I use one hand to spread his cheeks while the other works him open, past the ring of muscles until I'm buried to my second knuckle. I stretch him open with three fingers, wetting him with his own come. His face is hidden in his pillow and he's biting down on it to keep from making any noise.

I crook my finger and caress his prostate, making him writhe against the bed and listen as he pants into the pillow. I'm impatient to get to the next part so I slip a forth finger in, making his back arch. I press open mouth kisses to his back, trying to sooth him. He grows compliant in my hands as I feel his whole body relax.

I slip the fingers out, my cock straining against my pajama bottoms, a spot of wetness from where I've leaked. I pushed them down my thighs until they're almost to my knees. Scooting closer, I press the head of my cock into his hole, feeling him open for me. I move in slowly, his insides stretching to accommodate me. It all wetness and heat and I'm going to lose myself in it.

Sherlock's breathing has become ragged as he does sharp inhales through his nose. I want to ask him if he's alright but I can't speak. It's like an unspoken rule between us and if I utter a word, the bond between us will be broken. Instead I ease out slightly, trying to gage Sherlock's reaction. He counters by pushing back against me, impaling himself on my cock. I want to swear, I want to cry out in ecstasy but I don't dare.

I settle for biting down on what skin on his back I can get between my teeth. For a moment we stay perfectly still except for my teeth working his flesh between them. I know his impatience will give out before mine and he starts to move, gyrating against me to take more of me inside him.

I soon join in, thrusting myself against him, our bodies sliding together and pulling apart in waves. I roll my hips, trying to switch up the angle and find that spot again. I won't last long, Christ how I've needed this. Sherlock and I have found our rhythm and I drive into him as deep as I can as he clenches around me.

With one final thrust and my teeth sinking into the skin at the back of his neck hard enough to leave a mark, I come hard, my body convulsing against him as I spill myself inside his hole and my vision goes white. I rest my forehead on his back until my orgasm subsides. I hear him sigh in contentment as I lace my fingers through his. I'll have to leave soon, this is part of the unspoken agreement. But for now I'm allowed to just hold him.

This whole thing started just after Moriarty and the pool. Once we were released from the hospital, we went to our separate beds but didn't stay there for long. Sherlock snuck upstairs just after three in the morning and I awoke the moment my door opened. He looked uncharacteristically nervous as he made his way over to my bed.

I opened my mouth to ask him what was wrong and what he was doing in my room at such a late hour. He silenced me with a kiss, telling me everything I needed to know. His lips, eyes and touches communicating everything he was too afraid to tell me. The look in his eyes is haunting, like there's something just behind them. I know it's what kept him awake.

I thought I almost lost you.

His hand gently rubbing up and down my arm.

I can't believe I almost got you killed. I'm an idiot.

His lips urgent against mine as our breath mingled together and our tongues found each other.

I'm glad you're alive. I need you in so many ways.

And in the wee hours of the morning, the only light in the room coming from the streetlamp outside, it all felt very surreal. I did not think Sherlock was capable of such emotions, of such affection. But it was all clearly laid out for me, his body language enough to tell me how wrong I'd been, so very wrong. It had all been there, hiding underneath the surface. This was how he revealed himself to me, letting me strip away all the walls he'd put up and allowing me to see everything.

So it continued, with neither of us acknowledging it or mentioning it. It was as if it happened so early in the morning, a stolen moment between the two of us, it wasn't real. It was real enough when it was happening but when I'd wake in my own bed with no sign of Sherlock, it was hard to believe I hadn't just imagined it. It could so easily have been a very vivid, ongoing dream.

Yet there were moments when Sherlock's and my eyes would meet and I'd see that look flash over his eyes. That startling vulnerability that made me fiercely protective of him. That's how I knew it was real, that it wasn't just an elaborate dream.

It didn't happen every night, far from it. The most likely time was just after a case when we were both struck with what dangerous lives we led and how often we came to meeting death. It didn't matter who came to whom in the middle of the night, we knew we would never be turned away by the other. And even though we were never allowed to spend the night in each other's beds, when I went a night without, I could feel it. It was like a hole in the pit of my stomach, an ache yearning for that closeness that I only found in silent moments of the morning.

Then somehow it all went wrong. It was just after a physically and mentally draining case that had spanned two entire weeks. By the time we finally caught the killer, we were both exhausted. We chatted quietly over dinner, Sherlock looking more haggard than usual and on the verge of wasting away. It was strange, this companionship we felt during the day, so different to the intensity of our nightly escapades.

As Sherlock said goodnight, retiring to his room a little earlier than usual, his eyes lingered on me for longer than necessary and I understood exactly what he wanted. The long hours between Sherlock going to sleep and the time until I felt it was safe and late enough to go to him dragged on endlessly. I tried updating my blog about the case but I couldn't keep my eyes open. I watched some mindless telly for a few hours but even that wasn't enough to make the hours pass.

Instead I went upstairs and showered, cleaning away the dust and grime I had accumulated during the case. The hot, streaming water felt wonderful on my aching muscles and joints. My shoulder was a bit stiff and I massaged it and rolled my arm, trying to get it to loosen up. I finished off by brushing my teeth and slipping on my underwear, not bothering with anything more.

I lied in bed, staring up at the ceiling and tried to make time go faster just by sheer force of will. Slowly my exhaustion overtook me and I fell into a dreamless sleep.

I was stirred away by a rough hand on my shoulder, shaking me. Sherlock was standing by the bed, his eyes narrow and accusing. It was as if he believed my falling asleep was a rejection of some kind, which couldn't be further from the truth. I'd wanted to go to him and wished I could have done so right away. Sometimes this game of ours was so tiring. I wasn't sure what we were frightened of. Maybe of what it would mean if we broke out pattern.

But any anger or irritation I felt quickly dissipated when Sherlock got the same look in his eye. That hesitant glance that made him look almost like a child. I ran my hand down his arm and laced our fingers together, pulling him towards the bed. I shifted over, allowing him room to join me and with a heavy sigh he climbed in next to me.

He curled up against me, resting his head on my shoulder. He tilted his head up and I brought mine down so our lips could meet. The kiss was soft and almost chaste, just lips pressed against lips.

Do you want to have sex?

I parted my lips a bit, communicating an answer.

If you want to.

Sherlock dated his tongue in between my open lips, just once.

I'm not sure.

I brought my arms up and help him close to me, rubbing my hands along his back.

We could just lie here.

He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his soft curls tickling my skin.

I don't know what that will mean.

I ran my thumb along his cheekbones.

Why does it have to mean anything?

He left out a huff of breath and kissed my skin, his hand running along the inside of my thigh.

If we don't have sex then I don't know what this is.

I put my finger under his chin and guided his face up so he met my gaze. I gave him a few short kisses and then rested our foreheads together.

It's whatever you want it to be.

Sherlock blinked a few times and tried to look away.

I don't know if I'm ready for that yet.

I brought my chin forward so our lips were almost touching but not quite.

I'm willing to wait.

He pursed his lips into a straight line and broke away but not going far, his head dropping to the pillows in exasperation.

What if I'm never ready?

I ran my hand down along the side of him, grabbing his arse and pushing our bodies flush against each other.

You need me. You want me.

He dropped his head onto my shoulder.

What if that's all it ever is?

I pressed soft kisses to the top of his head.

We'll get there. I know we will.

He swallowed hard and wrapped his arms around me, clutching me.

What if I can't be what you need? What if I'm never enough? Will you leave me?

I moved my hands, one stroking his hair, the other soothingly rubbing his back.

I wouldn't do that. I never could do that.

And for a long time we just held each other, with Sherlock hiding his face from me. I didn't press it though and soon I fell asleep, the heavy conversation draining what little energy I had left. It was a good thing we weren't planning on having sex because I didn't think I would be up for it.

Instead I stroked and soothed the man in my arms, trying to let him know without words that I didn't need him to be anything else. This was enough, this would always be enough.

"I love you." I whispered, not sure if Sherlock was asleep or awake. Either way it didn't matter. It would go unmentioned the next morning, whether Sherlock heard or not. Another moment I was forced to keep to myself but at least I had Sherlock to share it with. Even if it never was said again, at least he knew. I could give him this, in the wee hours of the morning. Just another stolen moment.

When I finally awoke the next morning, Sherlock was gone. That wasn't so strange; in fact it was part of our routine. Still, I felt a pang in my chest because I'd foolishly thought last night had been different. Had he woken up in my arms? It had been silently agreed upon that waking up together was too intimate. Or at least Sherlock had agreed and I didn't argue the point, which to him was as good as concession.

I made my way downstairs, running my hands through my unkempt hair as I went. I searched around the flat but there seemed to be no sign of Sherlock anywhere. I went into my coat pocket and pulled out my phone, wondering where he could have gotten to so early.

Is there a case then? JW

I waited a few minutes, holding my breath. If there was a case, why hadn't Sherlock woken me? Had last night made things awkward? That wasn't part of our unspoken agreement. Things weren't supposed to get weird between us. Not even after the first time it happened. We were very good at not talking about it and pretending it hadn't happened at all, at least during the daytime.

No. SH

Then where are you? JW

Thinking. Might be gone for awhile. SH

Thinking about what? Why can't you think at home? JW

Please John, I need to work this out for myself. I can't be around you right now. SH

My stomach churned uneasily. What was Sherlock thinking about that meant he couldn't be around me? Obviously this was about the previous evening and I almost kicked myself. How could I have been so bloody stupid? Sherlock had been unsure about everything last night and I had to go and pile on extra pressure. Idiot.

I puttered around the flat for two days with nothing much to do but wait. I checked my phone obsessively, hoping for something from Sherlock. Instead there was nothing but deafening silence. Maybe that was all there ever had been. All I knew was I was going out of my mind worrying about where he was and what that marvelous brain of his was thinking over.

I'm starting to worry about you. If you can't come home, at least tell me you're all right. JW

I sat in my chair, clutching the phone in my hand and waited for it to buzz. Instead I heard footsteps on the stairs and Sherlock burst into the flat as if nothing was wrong. I stood quickly and turned to face him but his eyes were vacant, his face blank. I shuffled from foot to foot, wondering where to begin. I was relieved that he had finally come home but was terrified of what conclusion he had come to

"Are you going to tell me where you were?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

"No."

"Then are you going to tell me what you needed to think about?"

"I can't."

"Fine." I said storming off and taking the stairs two at a time to retreat into my room. My heart was pounding, wondering what the hell was going to happen to us.

There came a light knock on my door and I pulled it open quickly. "What?" I snapped at him.

"I'm not in love with you." Sherlock replied simply as if he were telling me the weather.

"Good, great." I said slamming the door in his face. He reopened it straight away and stepped into the room. He looked calm while I was boiling with fury. He'd just had the nerve to inform me that he wasn't in love with me and now he refused to leave me alone. Why couldn't he permit me to rot in peace?

"John, I'd like to keep having sex." Sherlock informed me slowly.

"Oh would you?" I practically shouted.

"Yes."

"Well that's too bloody bad for you then, isn't it."

"Why is this an issue? It wasn't before." Sherlock asked, looking somewhat flummoxed.

"Well it bloody is now!" I yelled, grabbing the nearest thing, which happened to be the book by my bedside table and flung it angrily at the wall. "You disappear on me for two fucking days then stroll in here, tell me you're not in love with me and expect me to be ok with that?"

"Of course, why not?"

"Because it's not right. It's not fair." I felt one step away from stomping my foot on the ground like a child. Petulant tantrums were more Sherlock's thing.

"I was simply being honest and I needed time to gather my thoughts. John, I care about you." Sherlock said taking a step towards me.

I instantly took a step back, sucking a breath in through my teeth. "Don't."

"I'm not capable of love." Sherlock said softly.

"That's bullocks. Complete and utter bullocks."

"I can't change how I am and you can't change me either, no matter how much you wish it."

"I don't want you to change."

"Then why are you offended when I tell you I don't love you? It's not personal John, it's how I am. Such an emotion is beyond me."

"I don't believe that." I said with conviction.

"Then you're a fool." Sherlock turned on his heel and headed for the door.

"What is it?" I couldn't help asking.

"Pardon?" He half turned back, hand still on the door.

"If it's not love, what is it?"

"I'm not sure." Sherlock answered honestly, his eyes flickering down to the floor. "I spent two days trying to figure it out and I'm not closer to an answer than I was when I started."

"Then how do you know it's not love?" I asked confused on how he could be so sure.

"Because it can't be." Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly and I swore I could have punched him in the face.

"Get out." I said with my jaw clenched, my hands curling into tight fists at my sides. If he didn't get out of my sight soon I would not be responsible for my actions.

"John-"

"Out, now. Get out of my room Sherlock." I said grabbing him roughly by the arm, opening the door and shoving him into the hallway. Sherlock let out an indignant little huff before I slammed the door yet again. I paced around my room, tugging at my hair roughly, on the verge of ripping it out of my head.

I flopped onto my bed, burying my face in my pillow and shouting myself hoarse. I forced myself to take deep breaths, in through my nose and out my mouth. I heard my phone buzz on my bedside table and grabbed at it. When I saw the new message was from Sherlock, I thought about not reading it but I couldn't help myself.

How long do you think you'll be angry with me? SH

Not sure yet. JW

I heard a ding close by and realized Sherlock was still right outside the door. I slipped off the bed and went to the door, sliding down it and sitting on the floor. I pulled my knees up to my chest and let my head fall back against the door. This was a right, proper mess.

Please let me come back in. I don't like you being cross with me. SH

Sherlock, I'm usually cross with you ten times a day. JW

Not about things like this. I'm worried you're going to move out. SH

That thought really hadn't occurred to me. JW

Please let me come in so we can talk. SH

No. JW

Why not? SH

Because I don't really want to be around you right now. JW

But you're still talking to me. SH

Yeah, we'll it's different when I don't have to see you. JW

Please John. Sh

No! JW

PLEASE! Let me fix this. SH

I don't think you can. JW

I can try. We'll just talk. SH

I'm not really in the mood to talk right now. JW

Then we don't have to talk but let me in. SH

Fine. JW

I stood up and wrenched the door open only to find Sherlock had been sitting against it while we texted each other. I held out my hand and helped him up to his feet, pulling him into the room and shutting the door behind us. I crushed my lips against his, all the rage that had been consuming me earlier was pouring out of me and into that kiss.

Sherlock kissed me back with just as much intensity and he walked me backwards until my legs hit the bed. I fell backwards onto it, Sherlock clamoring over me. We kissed until we were both gasping for air and I could feel Sherlock's arousal against me.

I ran my hand down the middle of his shirt, fingers grazing along the buttons, making what I wanted clear.

Strip.

Sherlock nodded and began undoing the buttons with precision. I pulled my jumper up over my head and discarded it on the floor. Sherlock and I had never shagged in the daytime and being able to see so much of him was enthralling. He was all sharp, harsh lines and pale almost translucent skin. I ran my hands along his sinewy chest, having felt along it dozens of times but it was different when I could actually see.

He undid the buttons at the cuffs and his shirt as it slid away in one fluid motion. Simultaneously we both reached for our trousers, undoing out zips and pushing them down our legs. I grabbed Sherlock and pulled him down on top of me, his cock rubbing against my stomach while mine rutted against his thigh. We kissed deeply, a messy tangle of tongues.

Sherlock smiled against the kiss and I opened my eyes to find him staring at me.

This is new.

I nipped at his bottom lip teasingly biting at it lightly.

I know.

He ran his fingers through my hair and stroking behind my ear.

I thought you were mad at me.

I trailed my hands up his back and down again, digging my fingernails in just so and making him groan.

I was. Still am. You're doing a good job of distracting me though.

Sherlock wrapped his long, slender fingers around my prick and did a few quick upstrokes, making me arch my back into the touch.

Then I'll continue to do so.

I flipped us over awkwardly with both of our trousers still round our ankles. I licked my palm a few times, lined up our cocks and took both of us in hand.

Good.

Sherlock began rocking his hips up, making our cocks slide against each other as I continued to wank us. The only sounds in the room were our panting, suppressed moans and the delicious sound of hands rubbing slick skin.

More. Don't stop.

I devoured his lips with my own, listening to his breath hitch as his orgasm snuck up on him and he spilt himself over my hand. I furiously jerked myself and with a few artful tugs, I came with a shudder over him. I dropped boneless on top of him and he wrapped his arms around me, holding me close. It took a while but our breathing finally returned to normal. I grabbed a few tissues and cleaned up the cooling emissions between us and we settled into my bed, facing each other.

Sherlock took my hand and began tracing the lines of my palm.

I'm no good with words.

I smiled back at him.

I know.

He raised my hand to his face and kissed the pulse point on my wrist and sighing against it.

I don't know if I'll ever be able to tell you what you mean to me.

I brushed his fringe away from his forehead and kissed the skin there, then his nose and finally a quick kiss to his perfect lips.

I don't need you to say it. I just need to know that you feel it.

Sherlock chewed his lower lip pensively before inching closer, throwing his arm over me and kissing along my collarbone, settling at the wound on my shoulder and running his tongue along the scar before pressing his lips to the middle of it.

I do. I could only feel it for you.

I smiled again, stroking my thumb along the nape of his neck.

That's good then.

Sherlock's eyes flickered up and locked on mine, doubt evident.

Is it enough though?

I grabbed either side of his face, forcing him to look at me. Our eyes stayed on each other as if they were stuck that way, neither of us able to break it. I pressed our faces together just barely, our lips grazing each other's.

Of course it is you idiot.

Sherlock nodded his head just slightly and we both broke out into smiles. Sherlock cuddled up against me, fitting himself to my body.

Glad that's settled.

I hummed my agreement quietly, pressing soft kisses to Sherlock's temple and hairline, feeling the man relax in my arms. Before long I heard his breathing deepen and settled and knew he'd fallen asleep. Sherlock asleep was such a rare sight and now that I could actually see him, I drank the sight in leisurely. He looked so calm, peaceful and impossibly beautiful. I reveled in the fact that I was one of the only people ever privileged enough to see Sherlock in such a state. I held him a bit closer and realized that neither of us would be forced to leave. We could just stay, sated and sleep in the same bed together. It felt as though something had, in fact, been settled. And even though there were still things we couldn't say out loud, it really didn't matter.

We had a way of communicating of our very own.