John x Sherlock: I'll remember you
I remember that day. I remember Sherlock's last words to me, begging for my forgiveness, begging for my understanding. The previous day is what really sticks out in my memory, however, and I prefer to think about it when I'm missing him. It was the night when he was mine and I was his, the night when I let my defenses down and let him control me, my last night with the man I loved. We had just finished decoding the last clue in his final mystery when he looked at me. I saw something change in his face, his eyes shifted from their normal hard, dark, intelligence-beyond-all-humanity look, to something soft… something vulnerable. He looked as though we had hit a dead end.
"What's wrong, Sherlock?" I asked, my eyes alternating between his and the evidence. "We've solved it! We can end this, Sherlock. Why aren't you happy?" I squinted at the paper, trying to understand what I had missed.
"You're so brilliantly blind, John," he said, his face instantly hardening to the expression I am so familiar with. "Once again I cannot even begin to imagine what it's like in your silly… simple mind," he smirked at me. It's as though he can see right through me, I thought to myself.
"And what am I missing now?" I asked, shaking off the strange vibe he was letting off.
"You're missing the signs. How could you have been so oblivious, John? Everyone sees it, how can you not? Every time anyone sees us together, you always deny it John. It breaks me."
"W-what are talking about Sherlock? Tell me straight, none of your riddles. What am I missing?"
"It's not what you're missing; it's what I am missing."
"Oh, the infamous Sherlock Holmes, missing something? Impossible," I scoffed.
"Let me rephrase that, missing, no, needing, yes." He mumbled.
"I'm still not following…"
Sherlock looked at me, his eyes filled with that devilish mystery that takes over while his mind sinks into clockwork, he was clearly frustrated. I didn't understand, and he knew that he wasn't making it clear enough. He was hesitant, but he knew it was time I knew. There was something else he wasn't telling me.
I was ready.
Or perhaps just very, very, curious.
I take a step closer to the man before me, "Tell me, Sherlock…" I beg.
He hesitated and then sighed. "John… there is something I've wanted to tell you since the day we met. Something I've been trying to hide and rid from my mind…" he trailed off. I knew where this was going, and I was anxious. I'd been waiting, watching. I hadn't been as oblivious as he claimed me to be, but I had doubted myself. I brace myself for the end of our current friendship.
"Go on," I say, holding my breath.
"John I…" he hesitated, taking a deep, shaky breath, "John… I love you."
Suddenly I feel the wound in my leg begin to throb, as though the psychosis was returning from this sudden shock. I see his pale cheeks flush at my absence of response. In my haste I blurt, "asdkfjnakndf!"
He looked confused, so I straighten my back, clear my throat, and try again, "Sherlock, I would like to start by saying that this means the world to me and also assuaging that your feelings are not one-sided. At first… I didn't know what it was… but I think I've always known that I feel the same."
Sherlock sighed a breath of relief, "Oh John, thank you."
I awkwardly gulp the silence that follows while he looks up at me with the most softened expression I have ever seen grace his face. For the first time in a long time, I feel unsure of myself. My hands and feet are immobile, my mouth silent, mind lame. The silence crawls on. Sherlock seems to sense the predicament of my awkwardness and a sudden smile twitches the corners of his mouth. That's about as much of a warning as I get.
He's on me in a second flat, hands reaching beneath my arms to encircle my waist while the force of his body slams me against the wall behind. I'm not conscious of exactly when or how it happened, but as though being woken from deep sleep, I suddenly wake to find his mouth on mine and my senses suddenly become overrun by everything that is wholly, my Sherlock. I wonder vaguely if there is some proper way to respond to this, but realizing the uselessness of my attempts at romance, I simply submit myself to his lead.
Suddenly compliant, I let my mouth fall open and welcome his eager tongue which searches my deepest contours, running across my teeth, and massaging the warmth of me. As though enticed by some unseen force, I let slip a sudden moan of such high octaves that I shock myself into returning the kiss with equal force. Sherlock chuckles with the slightest tremor in his shoulders and he holds me tighter, pressing the full length of his body against mine. I respond as much as I know how to without letting myself fall over from the quiver in my knees. One of his hands reaches higher and grasps the scruff of my neck, holding me closer and tighter as though by some impossible circumstance I would ever leave his presence.
With miraculous skill, he deepens the kiss for a moment before drawing away so that both of us can finally gasp for air with half lidded eyes facing the heavens. He seizes my vulnerability to dive to my neck and plant his lips firmly on my throat, teeth scraping the Addams apple in such a way that it almost tickles and I smile to myself. His mouth travels downward, quickly reaching my collarbone and latching on and I let my head fall forward onto his shoulder since it seems my neck is longer fit for the duty of holding it up. He easily holds the weight of me by pressing himself impossibly closer, which is when I finally feel the evidence of his attraction in his pants.
"Sherlock…" I gasp, as though keeping any breath in my lungs is forbidden. "I never imagined…everyone always said…well, you were so pure—"
"One learns many things," Sherlock murmurs against my skin, "from a dominatrix."
The memory of Irene Adler's violently feminine features crosses my mind with disturbing clarity and I wonder if it would be expected of me to put an end to our moment.
"Irene…?" I say unsurely.
"Yes, the one person who ever showed me how much I truly appreciate you, John," Sherlock says as though the answer should have been obvious. "For all her attempts and attractions, she never managed to stray my feelings for you, and that's when I knew, and…well…learning was simply convenient."
"Wait a moment," I say, pushing him ever so slightly away so I can see into his eyes. "You went to her…for me?"
"Of course, don't you know?" he laughs, leaning forward so his lips are pressed against my ear. "I love you."
My eyes honestly roll into the back of my skull while he resumes devouring me. I raise my arms to clasp his shoulders and he responds by tightening his grip and pulling me into the air for a brief moment. Losing my balance, I wrap my legs around his waist and, surprisingly, he holds me with ease. My eyes are firmly shut, but I feel him walk us over to the sofa. He lowers me onto the gentle cushions and I release him so that he can comfortably arrange his body atop mine.
Everything suddenly becomes soft with an overtone of safety, together in perfect silence, enveloping ourselves in each other. His body writhes ever so carefully and ever movement sparks my body with electricity. Another moan escapes my lips and he seizes further unto me as though to turn up the volume of my voice. Perhaps it was a bit cliché of me, but I oblige and elicit the most perverse sound to ever be echoed through these walls.
He laughs openly and adjusts himself to see into my eyes and the smile on his face can only be described as childish.
"John, am I mistaken, or is this something you've practiced in front of a mirror?"
"You forget that you're not my first," I remind him, to which he rolls his eyes.
"But you're mine, yet I find myself on top," he says. "Is this the normal order of these things?"
"I suppose…I'm not exactly the person to ask," I shrug. "I mean, I've only ever been with women, you're…so much more than a man, and so what does this make us?"
"Perfect," Sherlock whispers, pressing the lightest of kisses against my lips. One of his hands wanders across my torso until he reaches the hem of my shirt, and he begins to lift.
I take a shuddering breath as he removes the material from my body, unceremoniously discarding it on the floor. I look down and see his eyes roaming my bare flesh, his lungs awkwardly trying to capture air, cheeks blushing more than I've ever witnessed. He exhales lightly and lowers his mouth to my navel, lightly tracing his lips up my chest and planting sweet kisses along the way. He doubles back and goes back down again and the breath catches in my throat when he reaches the waistband of my trousers. He doesn't hesitate even for a moment, like an explorer in a strange land, eager to see more, and he undoes my belt, not even bothering to slide it out of place before quickly busting through the zipper and reaching his prize.
I hold perfectly still as he undresses me completely, and I feel more exposed than I ever have in my life. I suppose it doesn't help that Sherlock's eyes are especially piercing and the look he's giving me betrays so much of him. What I see, for the first time in a long time, makes me nervous.
Then, as though his spine melted, he falls forward and kisses me from hip to hip; mouthing everywhere he can possibly touch. When he grabs hold of my manhood and sinks his mouth onto me, I whimper uncontrollably, helpless to the sensations he causes. He takes hold of his new power and slowly draws up, goes back down, then up again, lightly massaging with his fist with every movement. I finally gain enough sense to quit crying out like a whore and settle for heavily breathing. He realizes my change and he chuckles to himself which sends vibrations straight through me that make my hips jerk upward.
Still smiling, Sherlock emerges and looks up at me, one hand lightly tracing along my side. Seeing him there, so open and serene, I suddenly find myself overcome. I sit up and he does the same, watching with amusement as I eagerly strip him of his clothes, discarding them along with mine until we're both equally bare for each other. We take a moment, both appreciating the situation, before our resolve snaps and we clash together, a mess of searching hands and eager mouths. The force knocks us of balance and neither actually made an effort to regain it, so we end up toppling off the side of the sofa onto the floor. He ends up on the bottom, and before I can move for him, his hands hold me in place, clawing down my shoulder blades and reaching toward my ass to clasp firmly. I comply for him, experimentally grinding my hips downward onto him and feeling his bare reaction against me.
In one moment, I feel the intense need to carry him through every bit of pleasure I can possibly give him; I want it so immediately and I want it with him…Sherlock. Some voice in the back of my mind remembers the way Moriarty referred to him as the virgin, how Miss Adler would always look at him like a project to be corrupted. I can't just have him any way I want, that would be taking advantage of him like they would have, given the chance.
"Sherlock," I pant with much effort. "H-how do you…want to do this?"
"If you don't mind," he says with sincere nervousness, "I would like to have you."
"That would be lovely," I say with a warm smile.
"I've been working on a lubrication solution that I haven't yet had the opportunity to test," Sherlock says with his childish excitement. He slides out from under me and quickly runs over to the kitchen, and a disturbing part of me wonders which human juices he's been experimenting with. The thought of blended eyeballs and brain juice makes me shudder, but I trust he wouldn't do something so vile to me. Almost.
Sherlock returns with a jar of clear liquid, and by the way the glass frosts, I realize that it's what I've seen in the back of the refrigerator lately. He skids to a halt, falling to his knees in front of me, and we collide with a kiss so that any worry of what his solution might contain is subsides.
"Come with me," he says quietly. "The space between the sofa and our coffee table just doesn't seem quite fit."
I snicker lightly as he pulls me by the hand and leads me over to the fireplace. I sit down as he lights the logs and we're both bathed in blissful warmth.
"You always looked so ravishing in this light," he says. "I tried to tell you, always demanding evening tea time."
"I figured you wanted more from me than the background noise of my sipping."
"That too…" he murmurs, diving back in to capture my lips. He guides me down onto my back and I part my legs for him, allowing him to settle against my hips.
His hands gently run down my sides and to my knees, lifting them up to expose me even more. I start slightly when his fingers run across the part of my buttocks and we both inhale in unison. He fumbles with his jar until he can scoop out a portion of the solution which he presses against my hole. I gasp at the shock of the cold and laugh at myself. I look down and see the utter fascination on sherlock's face and at the same moment, he pushes a finger inside me. I inhale sharply at the intrusion and he slows, allowing me to adjust to the slight burn. He watches me for instruction and I nod, giving him permission to move. He slowly slides his finger in and out, eliciting small gasps from my throat. He circles his finger ever so slightly, crooking it at different angles, searching. When he finally reaches his prize, my back arches up off the floor and I let loose the most guttural moan I've ever made. My prostate sends electric ripples of pleasure through my body, and suddenly it's very difficult to breathe.
"Another," I pant, "Christ, Sherlock, another!"
Sherlock complies, slipping another finger beside the first and stretching me even further. I cry out again, partially from the burning pain, otherwise from the immense pleasure which just keeps increasing. His fingers scissor and circle, opening me further and further until on instinct, he adds a third. He moves with every indication from me, working me until he's sure that the pain has been almost completely overcome. Then he looks at me and I blush heatedly, knowing what was to come.
Wordlessly, he removes his fingers, and instantly I feel the loss as a horrible, empty ache. He must be able to see the longing in my eyes for he instantly leans forward and captures my lips in a passionate kiss to soothe my pain.
"Please," I whisper against his lips. "I need you, now."
Sherlock nods, a small, nervous smile playing at the corner of his mouth. He sits back on his haunches, reaching for the jar to coat his throbbing, waiting cock. His eyes meet mine one last time before his hips shift forward, lining up with mine, and push inside.
My eyes roll back into my skull, my muscles tense and seize around him, and we both moan in unison. Ever so slowly and carefully, he pushes forward, until finally we're connected at the hips, not even a breath of space between us. Falling forward onto his elbows, covering my body with his, Sherlock begins to move. His hips rock gently, experimentally drawing out little moans and gasps from me, until it's apparent that we both need more and he begins to pull away. I whine pitifully, already feeling the emptiness return, until he snaps his hips forward and fills me once again.
"Yes," I urge him as his pace quickens, feeling his heartbeat hammering against mine. His mouth brushes against the shell of my ear with every thrust and I can hear his faint whisper of a replying "yes."
Beside me, I can feel his arms shaking from holding himself up and even though I know this position is heavenly, there's still more I can do to make him comfortable. So I wrap my legs behind his, pulling him up with my ankles and with massive effort, I push the both of us up until I'm sitting in his lap and we're tangled around each other.
He looks up into my eyes, his wide and explosive and in that moment, neither of us can breathe. I set the new pace, grinding my hips down on him, watching his eyes flutter close with the fore of the pleasure I bring him. I experiment with my own movements circling my hips and grinding down harder, playing his reactions like a beautifully tuned instrument. With each move, I can hear him getting closer and closer, pitch rising, until I know he's reached the end.
Needing to be with him at the climax, I take his hand and guide it to my cock, wrapping our fists around each other, showing him just how firmly to hold and all the right places to twist.
"John," he cries, clutching me desperately.
"Yes, Sherlock," I reply in a shout, "Yes, please!"
With a final thrust which hits my prostate with a vengeance, I orgasm, all sense and sanity disappearing. By the way he claws at my shoulder, teeth clamping down to muffle the scream, I know he feels the same. I hold still, quivering all over while he fills me with his warmth and I spill myself all over our combined hands until we're both spent.
It could have been minutes or years later, but we finally regain some amount of consciousness. I must be the one to surface first because he doesn't blink until I'm placing feather-light kisses across his forehead and cheeks.
"Are you alright?" I whisper against his dampened skin.
"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" he replies with a light chuckle.
He gently guides me down onto my back and slides out, maneuvering himself so that he's holding me from behind I close my eyes, feeling my soreness and pleasure ix, focusing mostly on the sound of his breathing until it lulls me to sleep...
I awaken alone to an unpleasant chill. It seemed like the night hadn't been real, the evidence of any disruption in the furniture had been reset and- like a well planted crime scene-there was no sign of the culprit.
"Sherlock?" I whisper into the air. When there was no response, I lazily forced myself to get up and start looking for him. Once I sat up, I looked over to the coffee table where my phone showed I had a text message.
John-
I'll be at the hospital; I need to talk to Molly. In the meantime, Mycroft will be at the Diogenes club waiting for me, but you'll do just fine.
-SH
I chuckle to myself. "Ah, that man."
After quickly getting dressed, I prepare myself to deal with Mycroft, after all, there was still a case going on.
I finally reach the Diogenes club, and after quite a hassle, I find the man I was looking for. After a coffee and biscuit, he had told me everything. Within me, a rage so intense burned.
"How dare you, Mycroft. This is a new all-time low for you! I don't care if Moriarty had you hanging by your toes, you don't sell out your family! He's a terrorist! He's… he's going to kill him!" I scream.
"John… John you need to calm down…" he pleads, grasping my arm in an attempt to sit me down.
"How could you do this to him?!" I ask, pacing.
Mycroft stared at me with an uneasy look in his eye. I thought I had perhaps gotten through his thick skull and showed him how serious the situation was when he whispered: "You really love him, don't you?"
I stop in my tracks and turned to him, my eyes stinging. "You know what, I have nothing to hide. Yes. I love him. I love Sherlock more than I've ever loved any other person in the world, and now you've practically killed him. I need to find him, I've got to tell him what you've done-"
"Unless he already knows…" he interrupts me.
I meet his eyes before shrugging his comment away and marching out the door, slamming it behind me. It doesn't take long for me to get to the hospital where I find Sherlock and Molly in a deep conversation.
"Ah, John, there you are." Sherlock turns to me, smiling. I immediately feel better knowing that he's alive.
"Sherlock—" I begin, but am quickly interrupted by my cell phone buzzing.
Call from: Lestrade
I answer it, motioning for Sherlock to give me a moment. Perhaps they had already caught Moriarty and I didn't have to tell Sherlock about his brother's betrayal, but even I couldn't have that much hope or trust in the police.
Hello, John?
"Yes…"
It's Mrs. Hudson. She's been shot. We need you to come to your flat immediately. Just you.
I thought this was strange, but I went with it anyway. "Alright, I'll be right there."
I turn to Sherlock and Molly once more. "Mrs. Hudson has been shot…"
"Is she alright?!" gasps Molly.
"I haven't the slightest, but they've asked me and just me to go back to our flat… Do you still want to come, Sherlock?" I ask, motioning to him.
He gets this look in his eye, like he's about to apologize for something, but he shakes it away and decides not to come. I know there's something he wasn't telling me, but then again that's how it always seems when I'm with him.
I rush to Baker Street in hopes of catching Lestrade before he leaves, but with no fruition. In fact, it seemed as though there had been no disturbance on the property at all. I ran through the door just to be met in the hall by Mrs. Hudson.
"Is everything alright, John?" she asked, her smile warm and welcoming.
"Has anyone been in here? Has anyone come by?" I ask frantically as I looked through the doorways and down the halls.
"Not a soul since you left this morning, dear," she replied, her face showing only the slightest hint of concern.
I sighed, relaxing only slightly. "Okay, just be careful," I warn her, "Today of all days is not the time to let your guard down."
She nodded with understanding and I turn from her sharply, preparing for my departure, but not before I turn to her and apologize for the disturbance last night. She winked and smiled, accepting my apology without any need for further explanation. Hell, even she seemed to have been expecting it. I knew I had limited time before Moriarty would finish prowling and begin his attack, so I hurried back to the hospital. I was in the parking lot when my phone buzzed yet again.
Call from: Sherlock
I quickly answer it, wanting to know how he was doing.
"Sherlock? Hello?"
"John… I'm a fake." He sounded as though he had either been crying or was prepared to.
"Sherlock..."
"The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade, I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson and Molly, in fact tell anyone who will listen to you... that I created Moriarty for my own purposes."
"Okay, shut up Sherlock. Shut up. The first time we met - the first time we met, you knew all about my sister, right?"
"Nobody could be that clever."
"You could."
"I'm sorry John… but this phone call… this phone call is my note."
"Your note? What are you talking about?"
"Isn't that what people do? Leave a note?"
"Sherlock just come down, come down and we can talk about this."
"No John… I have to do this. I have to do this to save you…"
I felt tears begin to pour down my cheeks, why was he doing this? I'm not that important.
"John, there was no code… there was just Moriarty, and he's killed himself. The only way to save you is to take matters into my own hands." His voice cracked as he spoke, so he hushed down to a whisper. "I love you."
And with that he threw his phone aside and jumped. I watched as the man I loved plummeted to the ground, followed by a sickening thud. I broke into a sprint to the place where he had fallen, but not before getting knocked over and concussed by a careless bicycler. I slowly made my way to the scene where several bystanders had crowded around the man's lifeless carcass. I scream confused remarks about me being a doctor, and he being my best friend, before I finally got through the massive cluster of frantic people and got to see him. My vision was blurred by tears and a concussion, but I took his wrist and checked for a pulse, ignoring the giant puddle of blood that was gathering near the wound on his head. There was too much blood; the fall had probably broken his neck. There was literally no way for him to have survived.
I rested my head onto his midsection until the ambulance tore me away. I was carried away kicking, screaming for Sherlock, but of course I got no reply.
The first response workers finally got some sense back into me, and I was able to explain what had happened [to the best of my ability] and also shared the lie of Sherlock being a fake. The lie caught on, news tabloids exploded and each one had a different story to tell: none of them being the truth, of course.
They had a funeral for him: they being the police department, Mrs. Hudson, and me. Once the service was over, I was the only one who stayed behind to pay my final respects. I looked upon the black gravestone that only had two words engraved in white letters: Sherlock Holmes.
"You... you told me once... that you weren't a hero. Umm... There were times I didn't even think you were human, but let me tell you this. You were the best man, the most human... human being that I've ever known and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, so... there. I was so alone... and I owe you so much. But please, there's just one more thing, one more miracle, Sherlock, for me, don't be... dead. Would you do that just for me? Just stop it. Stop this..." I trailed off, no longer being able to speak, not knowing what else to say. I walked swiftly back to the car where Mrs. Hudson sat waiting for me, her eyes locked on the road ahead.
As soon as we got home, there was an immediate sense of emptiness. There were no sounds of gunshots or violin upstairs, not even the random screams of understanding that I had been so used to. There was nothing but silence.
I think of that night often, how cold the whole flat seemed to be, but when I think of Sherlock, I see ghosts of what used to be. I never left 221B Baker street, and I never will, because you never know with Sherlock Holmes. He could just reappear again one day, and if that happens, I'll be here waiting for him.