A Long Sigh Of Satisfaction

by Maribor

A drug binge and a heated argument bring about an unexpected confrontation.

"Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantelpiece and his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case. With his long, white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate needle, and rolled back his left shirt-cuff. For some little time his eyes rested thoughtfully upon the sinewy forearm and wrist all dotted and scarred with innumerable puncture-marks. Finally, he thrust the sharp point home, pressed down the tiny piston, and sank back into the velvet-lined arm-chair with a long sigh of satisfaction."

- The Sign Of Four

This had all been shaping up to me a miserable day but eventually I found him. This was not before moving from alleyway to bridge to alleyway, talking to his network, paying them for information, putting together lead after lead until finally I tracked him down.

I entered the house, fetid, creaking and abandoned and after calling his name repeatedly finally located him on the second floor. He was seated in a Dickensian-esque level of squalor, slumped against a wall, mouth hanging open, straw stuck to his bottom lip, streaked black tinfoil at his side.

I was already furious. I had been since he hadn't come home the night before. Alright, first I had been terrified. He was careless, yes. Thoughtless, absolutely. But even at his worst he would respond to a frantic text from me usually with a curt reply. At his most single minded I would still get the notification he had read it, whether he answered or not. But there had been nothing. Not a word and that grim fear had started to creep over my body that someone might have gotten the best of him. Maybe he was injured. Maybe he was dead.

I started to cast a net at his first level haunts, as I called them. The places he looked for leads, the places he went for information, but no one had seen him.

Then I moved to the second level and these places had nothing to do with a case. Suddenly he'd been spotted all over and I knew just what was happening. He'd decided to make a break for it, hole up somewhere and no doubt smoke enough heroin to incapacitate himself.

I stood over him for a moment, just staring, glaring is more like it before finally I kicked his shoe.

"Sherlock."

No response.

I crouched down and put my fingers to his carotid. I knew he was alive, breathing and alive but I had to see what sort of shape he was in. His pulse was strong and steady. I was relieved but it also somehow made me even angrier.

"Sherlock. Get up." I said louder this time.

There was a general shuffle about me from his colleagues. Like a choir practicing, they seemed to groan nearly in unison about me. They were irritated at the disruption I was causing and that only made me more incensed.

"Sherlock! Wake the fuck up, now!" I shouted.

I watched as he slow blinked, gradually coming to what was going to have to pass for consciousness. The nameless, shapeless people in the den went still, or as still as they could. I heard the murmured word "cop", someone whimpered, someone in a corner retched. When I'd entered the smell had been enough to make me gag but as I'd started looking for him I'd gotten a bit more used to it. That being said this wasn't a time to get cocky.

He tried to focus, failed and then tried again and I could tell the moment he saw me. He brightened, the slackness left his face and he almost smiled. The fucking straw also fell from his lips and onto his chest.

"John?"

"Yeah, goddamn right. On your feet, I'm taking you home."

"You're cross and I'm quite happy here thank you very much." He said with a downturn of his mouth. He angled his body away from me and tried to shift onto his side. He appeared to be on the verge of making a filthy coat, not his own, his pillow when I yanked him to his feet. I put both my hands under his armpits standing him up straight.

"Can you walk?" I asked him and he scowled in reply.

"Of course I can walk."

"Oi, William, you need some help with that copper?" One of them asked him.

"No, I can handle him myself. But thank you, Skuller."

I hated this. Hated the way he allowed himself to sink into this world. Hated how poncy and posh he could be but the truth is, if you scratched the surface he was a bit wild, a little vicious and obscenely careless.

"Keep moving, William." I said giving him a shove forward. I didn't feel bad about feeling rough. I was fed up to the teeth with this.

He practically stomped down the stairs ahead of me, the portrait of a spoiled child. I hurried him through the house and out into the night air. I'd had to pay the cab driver extra just to wait outside and I was relieved to find him still there.

I stopped Sherlock putting my hand to his chest.

"Are you holding?"

He scoffed and glanced down at my hand.

"Are you holding?" I repeated. When he took too long to answer I gave him a pat down much to his embarrassment and as expected came up with his next hit.

"John, don't do anything rash. Just-"

I cut him off by tossing it over my shoulder.

"In the car. Now."

"You can't just do that!" he shouted and now I wasn't the only one fuming now. He tried to push past me but I slammed him against the side of the car.

The driver protested but I quieted them both.

"Now you have had me running all over this city while you indulge yourself. Hmm? That ends now. You will get in this car or I swear to God above I will thrash you within an inch of your life."

He sized me up deciding whether or not now would be a good time to try me. He gathered correctly that it wouldn't. Sherlock entered the car wordlessly and I gave the driver our address at Baker Street and we were off.

He threw the first of a few tantrums when we were halfway there, deducing and shaming the driver and pushing him to a point of such agitation that he almost kicked us out. When we arrived I dragged him out of the car, into the building, up the stairs and into the flat.

"You seem to be under the misapprehension that I'm a child, John, I am not."

I ignored him, heading towards his bedroom and then his bath. I switched on the shower to warm up the water and gathered a change of clothes for him and set them in there as well.

"You will go in there, strip down and you will bin those clothes, you will shower and will come back out here and let me examine you."

"You're enjoying this." He seethed.

But I didn't answer, I sat down on the sofa and ignored him and as he was unable to get the response from me he so desperately wanted he stalked toward the loo and slammed the door.

It was at that point I realized I was shaking. I brought my hands up to my face and let out a ragged sigh. This wasn't the first time I'd done this and it wouldn't be the last. And it was always the same for me. I figured out he was missing or someone alerted me, I'd go on the hunt, track him, drag him back home, clean him off and put him to bed. Typically, by the time the shower was done he was so exhausted, docile and maybe even contrite that he wordlessly let me tuck him in. I'd return to the couch, curl up, try to get rid of the shaking and go to bed with one eye on the door in case he tried to exit.

The trembling wasn't only out of anger, it was that surge of adrenaline, fearful horrible adrenaline sprung from the idea that I might not make it in time. What if he overdosed? What if he got cocky with the wrong character? What if I lost him?

I released the kind of exhausted, frightened shuddering sigh that I made certain to never let him see. I then got up, went to the kitchen and put on the kettle.

I let myself zone out in the kitchen for a bit, thinking about everything and nothing and vaguely recall hearing the shower turn off. The faucet turned on and I assumed he was brushing his teeth. The door opened and I heard his footsteps come into the living room and then head toward the kitchen where I was.

I looked up and expected to see that slightly ashamed face he usually wore. But while he'd changed into the clothes I'd laid out for him, sweat pants and a St. Bart's t-shirt he hadn't put on that look.

I took the kettle off the stove and grabbed a mug from the cupboard setting it on the countertop.

"On your chair so I can give you a once over." I said and as he walked silently to the sofa I finished making my tea.

Walking over I set my mug down and pulled my chair closer to his. He was staring at me but not speaking and frankly that was fine.

I reached for his wrist and he offered it with no fuss. I took his pulse while gazing at my watch. Grabbing a sheet of paper I wrote it down. It was weaker than I liked but still stronger than it had been when I'd found him.

"So, was that the plan then, when you left?" I asked leaning closer and pulling down his lower lids to study his eyes.

"There was no plan. I left for precisely the reason I told you." He said his voice low and measured.

"And then you just...what? Got a craving?"

"I'm sorry, mummy, did I miss curfew? It won't ever happen again." He mocked.

I inhaled sharply, holding my tongue.

"Was it just the heroin this time or are you on coke too?"

"I'm bored, John, you're boring me."

"Oh, I know you're bored. I can always tell because that's the moment you decide to get a craving because you need a bit more attention and off you go. And then the whole fucking world has to stop because Sherlock Holmes has to throw a very public hissy fit!"

I balled my fists up at my sides trying to calm down.

"Go to bed." I finally said shortly. "You're not perfect but I think you'll keep for the night. You need rest. I'll be in periodically to check on you."

For the most part I just wanted to ignore him. I honestly didn't trust my emotions around Sherlock at this particular moment and the sooner he was out of my sight the better I'd feel.

I saw him jump to his feet quickly but I didn't see the swift movement that followed. In fact, it took me a moment to realize what had happened and this was even after I heard the mug shatter against the wall and crash to the floor.

I looked over at him with wide eyes and made a decision. Sherlock on drugs could be many things, you never knew what you were going to get and the violent version was one of the most dangerous.

I leapt to my feet focused on subduing him. Grabbing him by the collar of his shirt I spun him about. The nearest flat surface was the wall by our door. I pushed him against it bringing my forearm against his clavicle pinning him there.

"You must think you're dealing with someone else, mate. You know how this goes as well as I do." I said evenly.

"Oh I know precisely who I'm dealing with and I'll repeat my words from earlier. You love this.

You love being the hero. Not much call for it in Afghanistan. At least not as much as you had hoped. We've never talked about that have we, John? Just why you joined the Army. Oh you may be running away from things now but you were running to something then, weren't you? Glory."

I didn't like where this was going. I didn't like it all. We had a sort of unspoken rule between us. He didn't deduce me. Not since that first night and a smattering of times since. But beyond that, it was forbidden territory. Even he had the good sense to know it was a breech which is what alerted me that he was far away from good sense at the moment.

"Stop it. Stop it right now."

"I don't think I will. You wanted to come home decorated, lauded, you wanted parades thrown for you but oh no, instead you go shot and shuttled off like any other broken-down wreck of a man who was foolish enough to offer his life for Queen and country in return for shiny baubles and self-esteem."

His words were like blades, which is why up until this moment he had never purposefully used them on me.

"So what happens, we meet, we hit it off, we're solving cases together and within days of knowing me you shoot a man, killing him dead and saving my life."

He gave a theatrical gasp before continuing.

"And there it is. That long sought after feeling. That erotic self-aggrandizement that only comes with being a hero. You've been after it ever sense. You get a hit every so often but let's face it I'm much more likely to save you than you are me."

He was speaking a mile a minute, his brain working almost a bit too fast for his mouth. As for me, I was out of words and instead I slammed my fist against the wall by his head as a warning. A warning for what I didn't know yet.

He neither blinked nor flinched.

"But when you do get it, oh, you coast off it for days don't you? That's the good stuff isn't it? It crawls into your veins and it makes you feel like a big man. You smile a bit brighter, walk a bit taller, fuck women a bit harder but it doesn't last. Except here comes Sherlock with a little drug problem. And you're back on the case. It's like shooting fish in a barrel isn't it? I go missing. You set off to find me. You yank me from my den of inequity. Pull me home, clean me up and I, repentant and contrite admit that you John Watson are my savior, my better, my superior. And you get your hit and it makes you so hard doesn't it?"

I got close to his face at this point, I could feel my lip curling in a snarl. I had never been so angry...or so hurt.

"Look at you! Look at your life!" I shouted less than an inch away from him. "Is this who you are now?"

"Spare me, John!" He shouted back. "This flat is far too small to hold you, me and you piety. Don't you DARE pretend there is only one addict at 221 B Baker Street!"

I yanked him back from the wall with enough force to take him off balance.

I swear that I only meant to slap him. But somehow on the way to his face my hand curled into a fist just before it connected with his jaw.

I'd never hit him before. It wasn't done. It wasn't what we did.

He reeled and staggered back, holding his face. A misstep over a pile of books sent him tumbling to the floor.

Just as remorse started to creep in he looked up at me from the floor and spoke.

"You can hit me all you like, John. You're still a coward."

I was on him in a second, pinning him to the floor, gripping his wrists to keep them in place.

I felt such anger, such rage, I knew I wasn't doing a good job of controlling myself with someone who had clearly taken leave of their senses.

"How am I coward!?" I yelled in his face. "HOW AM I A COWARD!?"

"At least I act on my cravings. You just wait for these situations to swan by."

I watched his pupils dilate as he observed my face.

"You hit me, John. You've never done that before. Oh, you've gone too far, haven't you? What to do now? Perhaps go farther?"

And I did. I wanted to hit him again. It seemed as though over the course of this one night he had broken nearly every promise he'd ever made to me.

"How is it you can go to war, face down an army, get wounded, nearly killed come home to battle criminal masterminds on the streets of London but you can't face the fact that you want to kiss me."

He had been struggling underneath me but when he finished that last run on sentence he'd stopped.

My eyes widened. I couldn't quite believe what he'd said.

"I don't want to kiss you." I said haughtily.

"No? Let's see, shall we?" He said and the next thing I knew he wrenched one of his wrists free and I was being dragged down into a kiss, his lips crashing into mine.

I froze. You see it in daft sitcoms all the time. People go from fighting to kissing to fucking all with a laugh tack but it didn't happen in real life. Emotions didn't swell and overlap like that. A few paragraphs deep into that thought I realize my biggest issue seemed to be how unbelievable this situation was even though it was happening and I was in the middle of it. That was what I was thinking and not that I was kissing a man who happened to be my best mate Sherlock Holmes.

I was being kissed anymore. I was kissing him as well. I wasn't fighting it. Not in the least. He tasted like my toothpaste and the rough scrape of his stubble against my cheek felt incredible.

Still I pulled away.

"Says the man who has to get high to make a move. Who's the coward in this scenario?" I spat back through gritted teeth.

I watched as his jaw shifted. He'd liked the kiss but I'd damaged his pride. Good.

"Let me up." He said struggling beneath me. Apparently I had gone too far which I considered laughable after the things he'd said to me.

But, if it hadn't been for his struggling I might never have felt it. Something, firm, hard, beneath me. He saw me feel him and flushed, the color climbing up his neck to his cheeks and the tips of his ears. "Let me get up." He said again.

"No." I replied, though I released any hold I had on him. He could have easily bucked me off and I wouldn't have argued. I wasn't going to force him to stay where he was if he wasn't a danger to himself and I certainly wasn't going to force him to...

I don't know what possessed me but in that moment I chose to grind my hips against his.

He gasped again, but not the cruel teasing one he'd done earlier. This was genuine, this was real and I had to see it again. I repeated the movement but this time all I heard was the whisper of my name. A pleading sort of "John..."

I was hard too and as he instinctively opened his legs wider I instinctively started to move against him. Grinding our bodies together in an unsatisfying yet deliciously satisfying way. It wasn't enough, not by a long shot but it was good. He started to moan beneath me, whimper ever so slightly and I heard similar sounds coming from my own mouth. I wanted to kiss him again and so I did and as our lips met he brought his hands down to my arse. I had a rhythm now and I was moving us faster and harder toward release.

It wasn't going to last long and it didn't. He came first, his body going stiff beneath me only starting to relax as I came against him with a long groan.

We lay there, he was panting beneath me and I was breathless on top of him.

I had no idea what to say. What words could possibly come next? I had just dry humped my best friend on the floor of our flatshare. It was the strangest and most satisfying orgasm I had had in months.

"Are you having a crisis of conscious?" he asked.

"No...yes..." I struggled. How to say this? Should I even say it. "Sherlock, I'm not gay."

"Mmmm...not following."

I raised my head to look at him.

"What do you mean you're not following?"

"I'm not sure what that has to do with what we just did or what we may do in the future."

"Well..I mean, isn't it obvious?"

"To you, perhaps." I said trying to control my frustration.

"John," he said with surprising patience. "Gay is a very large umbrella and to my understanding means that you would be open to romantic and/or sexual relationships with men. I'm not particularly interested in whether or not you want to have sex with other men. Perhaps, academically, I'd like to explore the topic at some point, but not now. Right now, all that matters is whether or not you feel affection towards me, are attracted to and would like to have sex with me."

Could it really be summed up so simply? Was he right? Was I trying to redefine my entire world when all I need do was redefine my relationship with him?

"Given the fact that we just brought one another to orgasm by frottage, and as you keep staring into my eyes in that dreamy fashion and...as you again came to my rescue this evening and didn't beat me to a pulp for the things I said minutes ago...I think all three categories are covered."

There was that look of repentance. Finally.

"Is that your way of apologizing?" I asked him.

He nodded.

"I shouldn't have hit you." I said. "I am deeply sorry. I have no excuse."

"Oh, I think I deserved it. I also didn't mean what I said. I was trying to be damaging and make certain I hurt you."

"MIssion accomplished." I said and moments later felt his hand in my hair. Sherlock had never touched my hair before much less run his fingers through it. The pleasant sensation made goosebumps rise on my skin. "I forgive you if you forgive me."

"Forgiven."

We were still lying with each other, me on top and it was the most comfortable I'd been in ages. Leaning down I kissed him again, a gesture he seemed to accept gladly.

"Get up and go to the bedroom." I said.

He paused, wondering no doubt if he was being punished, dismissed.

"Are you coming?" He was brave enough to ask.

"Yes, Sherlock, I'm coming." I said ending the sentence with a kiss. "Strip down, clean yourself up a bit and get in bed. I'll do the same and be in in a second."

It was the brightest I'd seen his eyes in a long time. In fact, they only seemed this vibrant when he was in the midst of a case.

He got up from the floor and I could see the wet spot on his sweatpants. It instantly made me feel like I could be ready for another go sooner rather than later.

There was no point in asking the obligatory 'Are we really going to do this?' It had already been done.

I stood and watched him go before heading to my own bedroom. I went straight to the loo to de-sticky myself. Once done I opened the medicine cabinet and grabbed a package of condoms. I was was getting condoms for Sherlock Holmes. Condoms for sex with Sherlock Holmes. Sex which was following the mad humping session we'd just had on the floor there.

We'd need lube and to the best of my knowledge there wasn't any in the house. I could run out. But I was afraid of shattering the moment. Too much time apart. Too much time to think. That's just what could ruin this.

There was plenty we could do that wasn't penetrative. I'm sure we'd figure something out.

I entered his bedroom wearing only my pants. He was sitting up in bed looking anxious, expectant and handsome. Yes, so handsome. His hair was an unruly mass of curls, his scruff, which was bafflingly ginger was such a departure from his usually clean shaven fare.

"I haven't come in my trousers like that since I was a teenager." I said climbing into his bed as though it were normal.

He smiled at me slightly before raising a hand to run it through his still damp hair..

"You're shaking." I said as I noticed the erratic movement of his hand. "Are you coming down?"

He laughed...shyly.

"No, John. I'm shaking because I'm nervous."

That gave me pause. Pause just long enough for doubt to wedge a foot in the door.

"This is wrong, Sherlock. You're high as a kite, you can't even give consent."

"I take drugs to escape. I don't want to escape this. I'm not drunk, I'm not compromised. I am, at worst uncompromised by inhibition. You asked me earlier what I took. It was just a bit of heroin. I smoked it and I'm fine. I've solved cases cases high, I have made important life and death decisions high and I've been right. That's not pride speaking. That's fact."

"Maybe it's me. Maybe I am... a coward." I said sadly unable to meet his eyes. This was too much. Too soon. What was I thinking? Who did I imagine I was, all of a sudden? Up and changing sexuality like a chameleon. I loved him. Of course I did. It wasn't something we said but it was implied. He was the best mate I had ever had and I loved him. But I didn't expect this from either of us.

"Then be brave with me, Doctor Watson." He brought his lips to mine again and I was powerless. "I consent, John. I consent. I want this. Please, if only once. Be brave with me."

"If only once." I said giving in finally, completely.

We started snogging again in bed. The idea of touching him in this fashion which an hour ago would have seemed so impossible to me felt nothing but natural.

I had wanted this. I packed it away like a box in an attic but it was still there. I hadn't understood it, didn't want to understand.

I didn't like men in that way. Except...

I wasn't gay. Except...

I couldn't see myself in that position. Except...

I was starting to realize that Sherlock may have been the exception to the rule, to every rule. And God but I didn't want to analyze it now. I didn't want to go unearthing every boyhood friend I'd ever had, to examine had I felt more, wanted more. I didn't think so. It didn't sound correct. Who knew?

But Sherlock's hand was on my chest, creeping downward and my hand was in his hair and my tongue was in his mouth and who the bloody hell cared about anything beyond or outside this moment.

"Sherlock, I've got some questions." I said against his lips. "Your answers will help me make some adjustments."

"I'll help you make adjustments, John." he said and I felt his fingers brush against my cock through my pants.

Oh so he was using innuendo now. Well, alright then.

"No...I..." I had to stop and take a breath. "I mean... I'm serious."

"What do you want to know?"

"Is this your first time?"

"With a man?"

"Yes."

"Yes."

"What about a woman?"

"Well, I'd rather we not just go hunting down some random woman and invite her in if it's all the same to you."

"No, I mean, have you had sex with a woman?"

"No."

"Well then why did you differentiate and ask 'With a man?' when I first asked you."

"Because your penchant for imprecision annoys me, John."

I shook my head at him in mild irritation but we were getting away from the subject at hand.

"So, you're a virgin?"

"I'm uncomfortable with that term." he replied. "Virginity is a social construct. I have no more or less value because I haven't had sex."

"No, hey, of course you don't. I didn't mean that. I just meant I'll change my approach."

"How so?"

"Well, I won't try and bugger your brains out or overload you."

"I see." He said and looked thoughtful. "Thank you."

I could tell he meant it and I was glad I'd pressed the matter.

"Good, now that that's settled. How far would you like to go?"

"I thought I was the analytical one and yet here we are."

If we're going to have penetrative sex we'll need lu-"

"I have lube." He said reaching over toward his nightstand and pulled out a small bottle.

"Oh, well done." I said just this side of nervous. "I've got condoms."

"Good, then let's begin."

In a moment he was above me and while I had opted to wear pants to bed he had gone with nothing at all. His hunger for me was thrilling. It didn't take long to realize that Sherlock was what I liked to call passionately remote. There were things he didn't feel worth his time or consideration. But those that did fall under that category as worthy, he pursued them with a vigor that would have exhausted me.

Come to find out; I was one of those things.

I wasn't accustomed to this dynamic, at least not yet. I'd had brazen women in bed, I'd had those who decided to take the lead but, they never had the strength to back it up. Belying his slim frame Sherlock actually had quite a bit of power and I soon found myself being pressed back into the bed with a surprising amount of force. It wasn't unwelcome, it was just unusual. I was used to being "the man" but now I was just one of two men...and I felt a bit vulnerable being with someone who was, at the moment, clearly dominant. Mental note; file this feeling away for the next time I'm with a bird. Apply it and adapt accordingly

I guess they'll be a next time...

He slipped his tongue into my mouth, honestly something I'd never cared for up until that point. Now I was an enthusiastic supporter letting mine duel with his as I groaned.

"Jesus, I thought you said this was new to you." I said when we came up for air.

"No, you said I was a virgin, which is true. But that doesn't mean I haven't had practice for practice sake."

"Kissed a lot of people, have you?" I asked as he flicked his tongue over a spot just behind my ear that made my toes curl. How did he know I liked that? Had I told him? Some sort of brag I blurted out after a date had gone really, really well that he'd saved for...for what, for this?

Good Lord, what was I in for? He deletes the solar system but keeps in mind what makes me hard?

"I've kissed enough and studied enough to be quite good at it. At least there haven't been any complaints. You're not so bad yourself."

"Thanks." I replied, thrusting a hand into his hair, wanting to get a grip on those curls, those damned lovely romantic curls. I gave them a tug which he seemed to enjoy. In return he started to suck and kiss my neck, hard enough for me to know it was definitely going to leave a mark.

I wanted him here and there and everywhere but he wasn't staying in one place long enough for my liking. When he started to move lower down my body I wanted it but I begged off.

"Sherlock...Sherlock...love, wait." And just like that we were at the endearment stage, not that I regretted it. "You're hungry, I know. So am I. But can we slow down a bit?" I asked feeling slightly embarrassed. "It's all going a touch fast for me."

He raised his head looked at me.

"Of course. My apologies. I'm just a bit over excited by you."

"I'm excited by you too. Could we just snog more? Get used to one another."

"We can do whatever you like." He said, nipping at my bottom lip. "But know this, I want to be inside you, John."

"Fuck...Sherlock, you only say those things in my dreams." I blurted out. He pulled back in surprised and looked at me.

"Do I now? You'll have to tell me all about that."

We started kissing again, more passionately. I was hard and had been almost since we'd come in from the living room. Raising up a bit I removed my pants and we were finally cock to cock. He started to grind against me as we kissed. I wanted to see him, stroke him, taste him but I was getting close to coming again.

I'd never been multi-orgasmic...could men even be multi-orgasmic? I didn't know but I was past caring.

"Sherlock..."

"Come for me. Come again." Sherlock commanded.

I came gasping, moaning beneath him, hands gripping his arse tightly.

"Bloody hell..." I moaned in his ear. I was only barely coming down when he whispered with soft desperation.

"May I perform oral sex on you?"

"Y-you want to suck my cock?"

"Desperately."

"Yes, yeah...please. But...I'm not sure I can come again so soon, I mean..."

"We'll see about that." He said with a wink.

He kissed down my body, the scrape of his beard felt amazing and I was writhing again. His tongue lapped at the come dotting and pooling on my abdomen. His lips wrapped around my sticky cock and I whimpered. It was sensory overload and I nearly begged him to stop...and then to do anything but stop.

He did pull away for a moment.

"You'll have to tell me if I'm doing this alright. First time and all with only movies for reference." He said before resuming his activity.

"Yeah...sure...ok..." I said, willing to promise him anything. Then his words registered. "Wait, what movies? Porn?"

"Have to learn somewhere." He said though it came out decidedly muffled.

Sherlock on his bed with his trousers around his ankles wanking to gay porn while I was in the next room was incredibly hot and I stiffened in his mouth.

I wanted to watch him but it was too much, seeing his mouth on me and his hand stroking me. My hips started bucking and I was tugging on his hair again, ramrod straight and inching closer yet again.

But I let him go on. Even lying back I was propped up by pillows under my head and I could see the top of his head as it moved up and down. He was doing absolutely splendid and my body seemed to have forgotten the fact that I wasn't in my teens or twenties anymore because I was, again, getting close.

"Wait...waitwaitwait...Can I...I'd like a chance." I begged.

He raised his head looking at me devilishly giving one last swirl to the head of my cock.

"A chance for what, John?"

I honestly wasn't sure yet but I knew I wanted to explore his body.

"A chance with you. On the bed, on your back."

He immediately obliged and then laid out before me was this beautiful specimen of a man, long, lean, muscled and with his erection pressed firmly against his abdomen. This was the first time I was getting a good look at it. It was proportional to his frame but that made it seem a bit larger to me. That thought made me apprehensive but it also made me salivate.

I sat back on my heels, my cock bobbing comically before me. Sherlock was clearly enjoying the attention.

"I'm at your disposal." He said with a smug smile I wanted to kiss off his face.

I bridged over him, kissing his lips, pressing my form against his. I wanted to take time to explore this completely new body, all square jaw and muscles and broad shoulders. It was a shame and a pity to tear myself away from his lips but I did so just the same. I planted kisses along his jawline then down the pale column of his throat marking him as he'd done me. He groaned a little, clearly pleased with what I was doing and encouraging me to go on.

How long had I dreamed of this, all of this, the taste of his skin, taking gentle bites at his flesh, kissing his chest, running my tongue over his nipples, moving down further, tracing wet patterns over his ribcage, following that trail of hair from his belly button lower, and lower.

As I reached his cock he propped himself up on his elbows eager to see what I was going to do. Frankly so was I. I hadn't done this before, anywhere outside of fantasy, that is.

There was one in particular where I'd-

"Tell me what you're thinking." He said, his voice full excited and commanding.

"This fantasy I have of giving you head in the back of a taxi." I said honestly.

"Tell me."

"We hop in the cab, you give him the address and you know the windows that separate the passenger from the driver? Well they roll up, like in a limo. They're black. He can't see us." I say, as I wrap my hand around a cock that isn't mine for the first time ever.

"Go on." He says and it's more sigh than words.

"You look at me. I look at you and I reach for the zipper on your trousers. I slip my hand inside your trousers, then your pants and I pull out your cock, stroking it like I'm doing now. You sort of let your head drop back against the back of the seat."

On cue he did just that, still propped up he let his head fall back, exposing his neck.

"Please...don't stop." He begged. "Then what."

"Then I lower my head and I put my mouth on your cock. And you say-"

"John..." He said, his voice near cracking.

"Yeah, just like that. You say John." With that I made fantasy reality letting my mouth descend on his cock. He was hot against my lips and tongue. He was hard, he tasted slightly salty and smelled like fresh sweat. Beneath it there was that something else. That masculine smell that can so easily turn sour or ripe in the wrong conditions on a hot day or in the weight room at a gym. It had a tipping point and usually when I noticed it on someone it was because it had gone wrong. But with Sherlock is was right, completely right, it smelled like youth and virility and strength and male. Just male. I liked having it flooding my nose as much as I liked having his cock in my mouth and in an effort to taste more of the latter and inhale more of the former, I took him deeper, my nose getting closer to that dark pubic hair.

I couldn't imagine being displeased with Sherlock at this point and even the little sounds he made as I sucked him were everything I could have wanted. He had a deep, resonant voice, so as far as I knew he might have bellowed when he came but it was so the opposite. There were soft noise almost always ending with a breathy sigh, a whimper, a word so delicately formed that his voice cracked upon speaking it. I felt flushed with warmth that the word more often than not was my name.

I made sure to do to him everything I had come to love over the course of many blowjobs received. A swirl here, a hard suck there, a lick to the underside, a flick just at the rim of the head. And always a warm, firm hand on the balls.

All that mattered was giving him pleasure and relief and just as I thought I was nearing that point he stopped me just as I had stopped him.

"No, John, no...so good...but...inside you...please."

Sherlock didn't usually speak in sentence fragments. I knew there must have been a small part of his brain short circuiting but I decided to tease him about it later.

"Ok." I said immediately feeling my body tense up. "Ok."

"You sure?"

"Positive." And I was. You can be absolutely terrified of something but still know it's the right thing to do.

We shifted positions on the bed again. I was back to lying on my back, Sherlock was on his knees between my legs having retrieved the bottle of lube when I wasn't looking. He drizzled some onto his fingers which confused me. I must have frowned because he spoke.

"It's thicker because your arse doesn't self lubricate. And I'm putting it on my fingers because I need to get you ready first.

"Mmmhmmm." I said swallowing hard. He suddenly look enormous in front of me, enormous fingers, enormous cock and I clenched up tighter than a drum.

I thought perhaps he was going to stay where he was. It was a rather clinical position he'd taken and I felt a bit like he should have a lab coat on and my feet should be in stirrups. Instead he nudged my legs apart and lied just to the side of me. He'd propped up on a elbow, looking down at me and I noticed his hand snake down between my legs.

He pressed a slick finger against my hole and there wass no part of me that seemed eager to allow him in.

"It's alright, John. It takes time." He kissed me and I responded in kind. I have to say, I didn't really believe him.

"I know you don't believe me. But you will." He said with that Sherlock confidence. "Now, finish your fantasy."

"Well, there wasn't much more I never knew how to follow it up after you came in my mouth in the cab."

"Did you swallow?" He asked.

"Yeah and you tasted so bloody good."

"So, we exit the cab, after you've wiped your mouth and I've zipped up, we head up to the flat..."

"Yes...we get inside and I'd press you against the door and kiss you."

"Close your eyes."

I did as he asked.

"I strip you out of that scarf and that coat and I feel your hands all over me." I stopped and opened my eyes. "Sherlock, I'm a shit spontaneous storyteller."

"I'll not have anyone speak about my blogger like that." He said as he kissed my ear. I vaguely felt him rubbing slow circle around my hole as I closed my eyes again and went back to the story.

"I pull you over to the sofa ."

"Are we naked?"

"Yeah."

"You left that part out." He says with a chuckle.

"I think I got distracted." I was starting to lose myself in the story of it after all.

"Understandable."

"Sorry, we're naked and you're on top of me. And it feels really good and I start to tell you all the things I never did. All the things I wanted to ask you."

The longer I was speaking the more I became aware of the fact that he had inched a finger inside me. It hurt at first. My whole body wanted to reject this intrusion and frankly I worried if his finger felt this big what would his cock do to me. He moved a little deeper but for the most part concerned himself with slight thrusting movements. I found the rhythm at least soothing because I could predict it.

"What next?" He asked clearly trying to draw me out of my own head as he kissed along my jawline.

"You stand us up. You bend me over the back of the sofa and you just start to fuck me."

"I'm intrigued, John-"

"No...Sherlock," I started to groan. "Intrigued is not sexy or hot. Please don't be intrigued now."

"Nonetheless," He continued undeterred. "I had always imagined it might take a bit of coaxing, were we ever to find ourselves in this position for you to let me do the penetrating."

"I've...Oh God...Sherlock..." I felt full and surprisingly good and I needed more.

"Is that you asking for another finger?"

"Yessss."

"As you like and as I was saying I thought you'd prefer to be in charge."

"I've always wanted you to fuck me." I confessed to him. "Always, since the first time we met. I think that first night."

His fingers, I think there were three now felt so good inside me. I remembered the pain, the tension but now all I felt was pleasure. My erection which had admittedly been flagging was back with full force.

"And how do you want me to fuck you?" He asked.

Sherlock wasn't one to swear. He didn't have anything against it, it just wasn't his cup of tea. So, when he said things like that it was even more erotic than I expected.

"You just grabbing my hips and shagging me rotten."

"Is it ever...softer?"

"Sometimes." I said as I recalled different fantasies all together.

"Would you settle for soft now?"

"It wouldn't be settling and yes."

He slowly removed his fingers from me and I dropped my hand to stroke my cock. I watched as Sherlock reached for the box of condoms and took one out. Sitting up I took it from his hand, opened it with my teeth and proceeded to roll it onto his hard cock. He groaned at my touch and I grinned up at him. Picking the lube up off the bed I drizzled it in my hand and started to coat his cock.

"Hand me two pillows, John."

I reached behind me, grabbing the pillows as he'd asked.

"Now, lie back and raise up. I again did as he asked. I was taking a lot of orders tonight and I didn't mind it at all.

He placed the pillows under my bum, tilting my hips.

I stared up at him, there on my back, legs wide open ready to have sex with Sherlock Holmes.

"Jesus, you're beautiful." I said apropos of nothing and everything.

"Still just as painfully honest as when we met." He replied with a soft smile. "Ankles on my shoulders, it will change the angle and trajectory."

"The word trajectory doesn't fill me with confidence."

"John, I would never, ever hurt you. Not you, never you." He was so painfully earnest I almost couldn't bear it.

"I know." I said and raised my legs and put each ankle on a shoulder.

"I realize this is a vulnerable position but you can trust me. Are you ready?"

I nodded because it was damned vulnerable but I did trust him.

He took his cock in hand and pressed the head, the very large feeling head, against my entrance. As he started to inch inside I worried that maybe all the progress we'd made had been lost.

"Sherlock..." I started to say. He wrapped his hand around my cock and started to stroke me.

"You ok? Want me to stop? I can, John."

"No, no, don't. Just keep going." I say through teeth that are far more gritted than I'd like.

I decided the best thing to do was close my eyes and breathe through it like any other pain. I turned my focus away from it and instead tried to concentrate on the sensation of his hand on me. He feels as big as he looked though the logical part of me knew it was just a bit above average, but tell that to my arse.

The hand was helping and so are the little Mmm's of concentration and likely restraint that he was making as he moved further inside of me. Once the head is in, having made it past that almost too tight ring there's a respite and the pain, while not completely dissipating makes way for discomfort.

The whole erection thing tonight had been a bit of a rollercoaster. It was waning again, despite the expect work of his hand and I imagined he was noticing. There wasn't much I can do though.

He moved a little more, deeper and as I willed myself to relax the pain seems to be making its exit. This felt like an embarrassingly slow process but progress was being made. I don't even want to know how long it was taking. My mind traveled back a few decades to being a horny teenager having managed to talk my then girlfriend into bed when my parents were away. It was my second time, her first. I gave myself credit for being patient. Is any teenage boy ever patient? I remember it as going slow...was it slow enough? We dated, we had sex plenty of times after that, we were happy in that teenager-y, "our love is perfect and eternal sort of way". I can't even recall now why we broke up. But I was thinking of her now.

I hope I was patient.

I hope I was kind.
I hope I was slow.

I hope I was all the things Sherlock is being right now.

I don't know how long I lost myself in those thoughts but when I come back to the present he's so much deeper, nearly all the way inside and the pain is gone. In fact it's just full now, firm and full and rather pleasant.

And then his body was flush with mine, I could feel his thighs pressed against me and I opened my eyes, forgetting they been closed this entire time.

His face is relaxed, a bit flushed and his lips are pressed together tightly. I wonder if he's had his eyes closed as well.

In an effort to test what it would feel like I did a test clench around him and he moaned immediately in response. He shifted inside of me, hitting my prostate in just the perfect way and I moaned myself.

You learn things about your own body in situations like this. For instance, when your best mate who you've fancied for years is penetrating you, the sounds you make are not the same ones you make when you're doing the penetrating. It was a bit higher, a bit more breathy and maybe a bit more out of control. I liked it.

"Take a moment to...umm-"

He seemed to be struggling to find his words and I smiled. I guess we'd discovered the one thing that could effectively derail his train of thought.

"Yeah, just...I just need to adjust. Just a second." I replied.

My body was finally obeying me. I was telling it to relax and it was obliging in every way. He had his hand loosely around my cock and I watched precum glisten on the head before running down.

"Ok, yeah, now, now, please." I begged and a moment later he withdrew just a hair and thrust back in. My body acted outside of my own volition and I arched upward. It was different, different than any other sexual experience I had ever had before and it was perfection.

I think I swore, a wonderful torrent of appreciative and encouraging words spilling from my mouth. And then he did it again and I whimpered.

I dragged my eyes away from his face to his body and the slight movements of his torso. The withdraw of his hips, then the push forward, each one coinciding with a wonderful sensation inside me.

He started stroking me again, in opposition to the metronome of his thrusting and I gasped. I returned my eyes back to his face, serene and alive with his heavy lidded eyes focused solely on me. I wondered when he had last worn this face and was temporarily distracted to think it might have been in that filthy drug house when he'd lit up.

I wanted to be his drug.

I didn't expect it to be so bloody emotional, I didn't expect to have to look away when he rubbed the stubble of his cheek against my ankle. I didn't expect this internal battle of being captivated by every small muscle movement as he thrust inside me chafing against this need to have him closer.

I started to wonder when had this all happened and what would happen now that it was out in the open?

The need to have him closer won out and when I extended an arm towards him he got my meaning.

Carefully I brought my legs down and just as carefully he moved to lie atop me.

This is what I needed. I needed that pressure of him above me. Then we were kissing again, deeply passionately, only coming up for air when it was necessary.

He was thrusting harder, deeper but not faster, somehow knowing that was exactly what I wanted and needed. Maybe he needed it too. I was hard beneath him and he was hard inside me and I was looking into his eyes and he was calling my name this was such perfection I couldn't understand, in this moment, why either of had ever denied ourselves.

I wasn't sure how he could be moving so slow and measured his first time but I wasn't complaining. It might have been the drugs. Maybe everything was moving at this slow, languid pace for him. But he didn't seem all that high anymore. In any case I wasn't complaining. I didn't want this to end and a slow build to orgasm was fine by me.

The room was all pants and heavy breathing interrupted only by each of us calling the others name. I held on to his body tightly, my hands traveling up and down the landscape of his back, occasionally grasping his arse, to spur him on or just feel the muscles working beneath my hand.

"Are you close?" He asked me, his words nearly muffled against my neck.

"Yesss." I replied in a long hiss. "But I don't want to come."

"Why not?" He asked.

"Because then it will be over."

Neither of us said; 'It doesn't have to be.' Too afraid to, I guess.

"I can slow down." He said and I nodded though I didn't know how he could go much slower. And yet he did. I didn't know how he could hold back his own orgasm. But he was.

Then I started to think maybe this wasn't what I wanted. Hadn't we both been putting things off over and over again? Wasn't that how we got into this trouble? Why delay? Why deny? Bugger that.

"I changed my mind, Sherlock, make me come."

"Yes?" He asked. His face was inches from mine, his lips beestung and crimson.

"Please." I replied and he didn't need more of an invitation than that. His hips started working faster, fuller, longer strokes and I brought both hands down to his arse to feel each thrust.

I could feel some of the lube had messily spread to my thighs and slipping my hand between us I managed to coat my middle finger. Pulling my hand back I returned it to his arse, this time parting his cheeks and making the same slow circling motion against his hole as he had done for me.

It threw him off his rhythm for a second and he looked at me with surprise and I gave him a little smirk.

"Good?"

"Very good...can you just...?"

I pressed in very slowly but a bit deeper and that did it for both of us. The repetition of him glancing against my prostate again and again, his body against mine, his kisses, his eyes, his everything.

"Sherlock...God...Sherlock...I love you..." I whispered brokenly as I came. And I came hard, whole body tensing hard, vision momentarily going a bit spotty and gray, hard. I was clenching around him so tightly as he came inside me that his voice hit a octave I didn't think it could reach.

His hips still moved erratically against me as we both shuddered against each other through a few final tremors. When it was over he was still atop me, both of us panting, here in the very real aftermath of what we'd done. I wasn't sure what was going to happen next, I was dreading it actually.

I can't put into words the amount of relief I felt when he kissed me with just as much passion as the first kiss. After a bit he slowly withdrew from me, pulled off the condom, knotted it and tossed it in the bin.

I felt strange. Not knowing my place, if I should stay or not, if he wanted me to stay.

"I'm far too tired to shower. We'll do it in the morning." Sherlock said throwing an arm across me. "Will you stay with me, John?"

I closed my eyes, overwhelmed and overjoyed by the invitation.

"Yes, I'll stay."

Possessively he pulled me even closer and I placed why hand over his where he had rested it on my chest.

Life doesn't afford very many perfect moments.

This was one of them.

---

I awakened first, a few hours later. He was still at my side, and though he was spooning me I assumed he was dead asleep face no doubt serene and smushed into a pillow. We'd made a warm little enclave of our own under the blankets but between the wet spots, dry spots, sweat spots and lube spots, we needed to get up, at least for a bit.

"Sherlock, go have a shower while I strip the bed."

He groaned at first but then wordlessly obeyed, removing his form from behind me, getting out of bed and tromping to the shower.

I stood and immediately headed towards the window, opening it as wide as it would go. The room smelled of sex, a bit stale, but honestly I was complaining. I looked back at the bed, smiled at the beautiful mess we'd made and started to tug the sheets and covers off. I carried them to washer, threw them in, added the soap and turned it to hot without actually turning it on. I didn't want to take away his water pressure. By the time I'd emptied the trash, grabbed us a few bottles of water and retrieved new bed linen from the cupboard he was done.

"It's all yours." He said quietly, shyly and I figured he'd taken some time to think about what had happened.

"Thanks." I said quickly. "I won't be too long."

"Take you time. Plenty of hot water left."

We didn't kiss. I didn't have the nerve to go in for one and he didn't make the move.

As I crossed the threshold to the bathroom door he stopped me.

"John?"

"Yes?"

"Last night was a mistake. And I'm sorry for what I put you through. It won't happen again."

When I was shot in the war it was as if everything slowed down. The bullet. The fall. The air escaping from my lungs. At the risk of hyperbole this felt remarkably similar.

"Oh...I...right. Of course, right." I was devastated and then further devastated by how devastated I was. I hadn't bothered to get dressed. I'd been walking about our flat naked and rather confidently at that. But now I felt ashamed to be so exposed in front of him.

I muttered something and hurried behind the security of the loo door. I don't recall the shower. I only recall stepping out, wiping the steam from the mirror, gazing at my reflection and finally straightening my spine.

Fine. A mistake. Fine. I could accept that mostly because I had little choice. I was not going to plead my case before Sherlock Holmes.

I exited the bathroom silently and made a beeline toward my clothes. I noticed that he'd made the bed in the interim. Frankly, I was surprised he even knew how. I dressed quickly, put on my shoes and headed towards the living room.

"I made some tea." He said from the kitchen.

"Keep it, I'm going out." I couldn't be angry at him for how he felt. Not exactly. A mistake. Fine. It was fine. But I didn't have to sit there and have a cuppa with him as though it didn't fucking hurt a bit. If he wanted to eschew all emotions, great. I hadn't quite risen to that level yet.

"Out where?" He asked, exiting the kitchen as I was putting on my jacket.

"Do we have to leave one another an itinerary now?" I snapped.

I noticed he had shaved and his hair was looking much less unruly than it had been the night before. He was in his dressing gown a t-shirt and pajama trousers. For all intents and purposes, back to business, back to normal.

"Just a moment. Please, wait just a moment." He said, hurrying toward the bedroom. "Can you follow me?"

I sighed really not wanting to spend another second there but I followed him all the same.

He was rifling through the pocket of the jacket he'd worn last night. Having retrieved what he needed he headed to the loo beckoning me.

"Just to show you that I'm quite serious about what I said."

"Oh I absolutely believe you were serious." I replied dryly.

He stopped by the toilet and I stood next to him, wondering what was going to happen.

"It was a mistake. It won't ever happen again." He opened his hand and I saw it was filled with six small balloons. As he dropped them into the toilet I realized it was heroin. He couldn't help letting out a regretful sigh as he flushed. He then straightened his spine and just before the water was fully gone he tossed in another balloon that he had apparently been dithering about.

I stared at the swirling water, then back up at him. He was waiting patiently for me to say something.

It was occurring to me now just how wrong I'd been. But still. Once burned twice shy. Best to clarify.

He tried to fill in my silence.

"You asked me if I was holding last night and I was less than honest. That's what addicts tend to be." He said and his smile was pained and tentative.

"You...when you said it was a mistake...you meant the binge, the disappearance?"

"Well, yes of course." He said his brow furrowing. I could see his mind working as he tried to ratchet his thinking down to ordinary terms. Just what was it dull John had assumed was happening. "What else could I have meant?"

"I... I really thought you were referring to..." I trailed off and instead my eyes cut in the direction of the now made bed.

"The sex? You thought I was saying that sleeping with you was a mistake to never be repeated." He smiled. "Oh John, what a pleasant, undistracted mind you must have to-"

"Don't do that!" I nearly shouted. "Don't condescend, Sherlock, not now, I'm not in the mood. Really, I am really not."

I was relieved I'd been mistaken but I didn't have the stomach to be patted on the head for my foolish emotional response. I still wanted to leave, get some air and space. I started to head out of the loo, he followed. I was nearly out of the bedroom when he grabbed my wrist.

"John, please." He sounded surprisingly desperate and I turned to look at him.

"What is it, Sherlock?"

"Going to bed with you, last night, was in no way a mistake. It was the best night of recent memory." He glanced down at the hand that held my wrist. "I tell a lie. It was the best night of my life. While I'm sorry for the stress and worry I put you through if this was what it took to bring about that end result then I cannot fully regret my actions."

He looked back up at me perhaps more nervous than I had ever seen him.

"I thought..." I began. "In the harsh light of day...I thought..."

"I know what you thought. And it proves that even great minds like yours can be wrong now and again, Doctor John Watson." He drew me in for a kiss and I went eagerly and willingly. "Oh and lest you think it went unnoticed during last night's orgasm, I love you as well."

It was everything I could and didn't dare hope for. I kissed him back, again and again and again. I no longer felt the urge or need to leave.

"Are we busy today? Any cases?" I asked smiling up against his lips.

"Nope." He grinned

"I cannot believe you say that so casually. Aren't you going mad with even the possibility of boredom?" I teased.

"I don't intend to shift my life to some great degree. Mostly because you encompass a very large part of my life rendering that unnecessary and I am grateful for that. I need to keep busy, I need my mind to be active I need to be presented with a puzzle, a chase, a quarry, a hunt. That being said," He began as he brought my hand down to his cock which I could feel, hard and erect through his trousers. "Do I feel bored to you?"

"Does that mean we can get back in bed?" I asked.

"I believe it does." He said pressing me against the wall.

It was just then that I heard the front door open.

"Yoo-hoo!" Came the familiar greeting of Mrs. Hudson.

"Bloody hell!" Sherlock swore and I put my hand to his mouth to silence him. It wasn't as though I wasn't thinking quite uncharitable thoughts myself. But we didn't want her to hear.

"Keep quiet and get in bed. She was worried about you last night. I'll tell her you're fine but sleeping it off and then I'll get rid of her. Once that's done we can experiment a bit with that toy of yours."

He frowned in surprise and blinked a few times. He made a surprised sound behind my hand clearly asking me how I had known about the toy.

"Why else would you have a bottle of lube that was a fourth empty, Sherlock, if you didn't have a toy. You're not the only one who can make a deduction."

I dropped my hand which revealed a very proud little grin on his face. He made a show of heading over to the bed and flopping down upon it. He reached into his bedside table and pulled out the previously unseen toy confirming my suspicions.

I shoved my hands into my pocket not willing to meet sweet, kind Mrs. Hudson with an obvious bulge in my trousers.

"That'll do just fine." I said with a nod as I slipped out of the door. At the last minute, I poked my head back in and whispered. "But I think you're going to like my cock a lot better."

That little grin of his got quite a bit bigger as I finally closed the door.

Sherlock was stripping down in bed right at that moment.

He was quitting cold turkey

Mrs. Hudson had apparently brought Ginger Nuts..

Oh and he had told me he loved me.

This was shaping up to be a good day.