I like fluffy porn.

Sherlock had a perfectly good reason for using John's laptop instead of his own: John's laptop was closer. All Sherlock intended to do was look up how Jeffrey Dahmer preserved the skulls of his victims. It would only take a minute. John was at work, so there was no way he would even find out that Sherlock used his laptop. It would be no big deal.

Sherlock sat down in his chair with John's laptop and opened the lid. He rolled his eyes. John left his obnoxious blog opened. He was about to close the webpage when something caught his eye. Since John was logged in as an administrator, all of the blog entries were visible. That included private entries. Sherlock furrowed his brow. Why did John have private blog entries?

"Is he hiding something?" Sherlock asked the empty room. Well, John had another thing coming of he thought he could keep anything from Sherlock Holmes!

Sherlock smirked slightly, feeling a bit mischievous, and opened the first private entry.

18/10/11

Why am I doing this? Ella told me that letting it all out through writing would help me, but we all know how that ended up last time. This will accomplish nothing.

Well, anyway, I might as well state why I'm writing this in the first place.

Sherlock huffed impatiently, "Get on with it, John," he told the screen.

Lately, my feelings for Sherlock have become…not platonic. I suppose it was inevitable though…him with his cheekbones and messy curls and brilliance…God, I'm rambling.

Sherlock read over those sentences sixteen times. He had to have misread it. That's the only logical explanation because there was no way that John Watson had "not platonic" feelings for him. "That's absurd!" Sherlock scolded himself out loud, though his heart was beating hopefully.

He continued reading:

Why did I have to fall for him of all people? Why did I have to fall for my asexual flatmate who considers relationships "not his area"?

Sherlock frowned. Asexual? What, just because he isn't a sex addict like the rest of the population?*

The entry had one last sentence: I'm so screwed.

Sherlock realized that he was bordering on hyperventilation so he forced himself to breathe deeply and slowly. "It just doesn't make sense," he shook his head after a few moments. "There's no reason for John to feel this way."

Perhaps he could gather more data by reading the other entries.

13/11/11

It's been nearly a month since I wrote the last entry and my feelings have not died down. At all. I feel like a bloody teenager again. Damn, he's driving me mad with that deep voice of his and long fingers…such long, long fingers…

Sherlock looked down at his fingers. Yes, they were long, but why would that appeal to John?

Okay. Getting off topic here. Anyway, it's been increasingly difficult to hide this all from him, the sodding genius. I'm surprised he hasn't noticed already. Why did I have to fall for the most observant man in the world? Am I really that much of an idiot?

Apparently, yes.

There are so many times when I just want to shut him up with a kiss. How would he react? Would he be surprised, disgusted, scornful? Probably a combination of the three. But it sure is tempting, especially when he bites his lips in frustration and makes them wet and pink. I don't think he realizes that he's doing it. It must be a nervous habit or something. For whatever the reason, the end result is gorgeous. I would give anything to be the one to make those lips read and wet…

Sherlock blushed harder than he had in over twenty years. He ran the tip of his index finger over his lips and imagined what it would be like if John kissed him. He closed his eyes. He thought of John kissing him deeply, running his tongue over his lips, biting them, tugging at Sherlock's curls in the process. Would John be gentle? Would he be dominant? Would he be possessive? Sherlock shivered. He liked the thought of that perhaps a bit too much. He gasped and opened his eyes.

He looked down at his erection. "Go away," he growled.

Sherlock read on:

I'm making it sound like I only want him for his body. That's completely untrue. While he is gorgeous, I want every part of him: his body, his focus, his heart, his soul. I want everything. Would he let me have him, body and soul?

"Of course, John," Sherlock whispered.

Most definitely not.

There was one entry left. It was from three days ago.

27/11/11

I dreamt of him last night. He came into my bed and started to kiss my neck, touching me everywhere and grinding against me. I rolled over and we kissed passionately. Suddenly, in the inexplicable way dreams work, we were both naked. He wrapped his pale legs around my waist and I was thrusting into him. His head was thrown back on my pillow and he was moaning loudly. He was wearing my dog tags for some reason (is that a kink of mine? I don't know). He called out my name and came without being touched.

After I came, he pulled me down for a kiss and held me against his chest. For a moment, it seemed real. I could have sworn that I really felt the heat of his body against mine and the scent of sex fill my nostrils. But as soon as he whispered that he loved me, I knew it had to be a dream. I woke up sweating, sticky, and deeply disappointed.

Sherlock's prick was now rock hard and he felt his face burning. He stared at the screen with his mouth hanging open. He didn't know which shocked him more—the content of the dream or that John thought that Sherlock didn't love him. How could he possibly think that? Sherlock adored the man with every fiber of his being!

"I have to tell him," Sherlock decided.

"Tell who what?"

Sherlock jumped. His head snapped up from behind the laptop to find John shutting the front door.

Sherlock gulped, his erection flagging. He didn't want to tell John yet! He had to think about how to do it! "John…"

"Yes?" John smiled amusedly. "You all right?"

"Me? Yeah, of course. I'm fine. I'm absolutely fine!"

John raised an eyebrow. "Okay. Is it something you found online? Wait…that's my laptop!"

Damn. "Yes, it is."

John sighed, "Why?"

"Yours was closer."

John shook his head. "Well, whatever. What are you reading?"

Sherlock was faced with two options: lie or tell the truth. Simple enough, but both options terrified him. As his mind raced through all the possible outcomes of his potential decisions, he totally missed that John walked across the room to peer at what was on the screen.

John's eyes widened. "Christ!" he grabbed his laptop and shut the lid forcefully.

Sherlock startled out of his daze. "John, don't get angry."

"Why shouldn't I?!" John shouted, his face becoming redder than Sherlock had ever seen before. "That's private for a reason, Sherlock!" he poked Sherlock hard on the chest with his index finger. "Why the hell were you on my blog anyway?!"

Sherlock rubbed the spot on his chest John poked. "When I opened your laptop, your blog was on the screen. Well, curiosity got the better of me and…you know."

John rubbed his eyes. "God, I don't know whether I should run away or punch you in the face."

"Neither would be preferable."

John glared at him. "Oh, you think you're funny, do you? Okay: punch you in the face."

"No, John!" Sherlock held up his arms as John approached. He held his arms over his head protectively. "What if I told you that I feel the same way?" the words rushed out of him.

John stopped in front of Sherlock's chair and lowered his fist. He looked shocked for a moment before scowling. "Don't lie to me, Sherlock."

Sherlock lowered his arms and shook his head. "I'm not lying, John," he said softly. His heart was pumping so quickly that he feared a heart attack. He gathered strength and stood up, his body flush with John's.

Sherlock frowned when John took a couple steps back to put distance between them. "John, listen to me. Please."

John sighed heavily and gave a curt nod, his expression guarded.

Sherlock took a deep breath and spoke rapidly. "I wouldn't lie to you, John, not about something like this. When I first read what you wrote it surprised me, I won't deny that. I never imagined that you could return my feelings. You have no reason to. That's why I never said anything before, which has led you to the conclusion that I must be lying since you have no previous data to support what you've just been given. It's understandable."

John blinked. If he had not been used to Sherlock's tendency to speak quicker than most of the population, he would have missed what he said. "Wait…what do you mean that I have no reason to feel…that for you?"

Sherlock ducked his head and stared at the carpet. "I'm aware that I'm insufferable and overall not an ideal partner." Especially not for you.

John's jaw dropped and Sherlock's blush crept from under his collar to the tips of his ears.

"Sherlock," John said softly, "is that truly how you see yourself?"

"Do you really think I'm asexual?" he dodged the question.

"What? Oh, well, I assumed because you never showed an interest in any of this. Was I wrong?"

"I'm gay."

"Ah. Got it. Sorry for assuming."

"It's fine."

An uncomfortable silence fell over them.

"Uh," John cleared his throat, "so you are interested in that sort of thing?"

"Hm?"

"Sex?"

"Oh. Not with ordinary people. But," Sherlock looked down at his feet, "you've always been an exception."

Sherlock was reminded of why he never attempted to take his relationship with John to the next level until now; it was humiliating!

John scratched his neck awkwardly. "Right, so, um, you return my feelings?"

"Yes," Sherlock nodded. "I…" Just say it! "I think I might love you. Well, I don't think it—I know I love you. I've known for a while, but was at a loss as to how I should address the topic." Sherlock resisted the urge to go hide under his sheet.

John stared at him with wide eyes. "I…I need to sit down."

"John, are you all right? Oh," Sherlock frowned, "I did it wrong, didn't I?"

John sat down in his armchair and tried to get his heartbeat back down to a healthy rate. "No, Sherlock," he smiled sadly. "You didn't do anything wrong. I…It's just a lot to take in." He looked up at Sherlock with a glimmer of anxiety. "You really love me?"

How could John still be unsure? Sherlock got down to his knees and grabbed John's hands. "John," he looked up into his eyes, biting his lower lip, "I…I love you."

Gradually, the tension in John's shoulders melted away and a warm smile graced his features.

Sherlock smiled back and squeezed John's hands. He hesitantly turned over John's left hand and kissed the palm. "And…you love me?" he asked in a small voice.

John let go of one of Sherlock's hands and brushed the curls away from Sherlock's face. "I love you, Sherlock."

Their smiles were so wide they were nearly painful and the men laughed together out of sheer joy.

"Sherlock," John chuckled, "come up here and kiss me."

Sherlock climbed on John's lap. He hesitated, his lips barely brushing John's.

John smiled. "Go ahead."

Sherlock pressed his lips to John's and it was better than he could have ever imagined. John's lips were warm and the kiss was gentle but firm. John wrapped is arms around Sherlock's back and held him in a loose embrace. Sherlock rested his hands on John's chest and made a little happy sound. John held Sherlock tighter, deepening the kiss.

Sherlock bunched his hands into the fabric of John's jumper. While John wasn't his first kiss, it was the first in a long time. But, Sherlock mused, it was the first time he ever kissed someone he loved. And he loves me too.

John broke the kiss and smiled softly. "I can't believe I get to kiss you."

"You can whenever you like. Often, even. Every day."

John laughed and nuzzled his nose against Sherlock's, sending waves of affection through him. "Oh yeah? Anything else you want to do?" John's voice dropped to a rumble.

The blood that didn't fly to Sherlock's cheeks flew to his cock. His voice refused to cooperate and an embarrassing strangled noise emerged from his throat.

John laughed full-bellied. "I'm just teasing, Sherlock. We don't have to do anything if you don't want to."

"No, I do! Want to, that is. I want to have sex with you."

"Your dirty talk can use some work."

"John!" Sherlock crossed his arms and pouted.

"Oh my god. You're precious."

Sherlock got off John's lap and stomped across the room.

"Sherlock!" John chased after him. "Get back here, you idiot!"

Sherlock stopped walking and faced John, pout still firmly in place.

John stood on his toes and nibbled at the protruding bottom lip. "Lighten up, love. I'm not mocking you."

Sherlock grumbled but kissed back.

"But in all seriousness," John pulled away, "what do you want to do, Sherlock?"

Sherlock's mind went back to John's blog about the dream and he shivered. "What you wrote. Your dream."

"Are you sure? That seems like a lot for a first time."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "I'm not made of glass, John."

John huffed a laugh. "No, you're not. Well, if you really want to. But you can stop me at any time—"

"John," Sherlock rolled his eyes, "just shut up and take me to bed, will you?"

John couldn't stop the giggle that escaped his throat. He took Sherlock's hand, "With pleasure."

By the time John had three fingers inside him, Sherlock was whimpering into John's pillow and humping his leaking cock against the mattress. John used his free hand to grip Sherlock's hip tightly. "Hold still," he whispered in Sherlock's ear, his hot breath making Sherlock shiver. "I want you to come with me inside of you."

Sherlock huffed and turned his head to glare at John. "Then hurry up!"

John shushed him and carefully removed his fingers. "On your back," he said, "I want to see you."

Sherlock obeyed. His hair was a mess from John's fingers, lips red and wet and cheeks flushed pink.

John rolled on the condom and groaned, "God, I think I could come from just looking at you." He put a pillow under Sherlock's hips, lifting him up high enough so neither would have to bend or stretch uncomfortably.

"That's a theory for another day," Sherlock wrapped his legs around John's waist. John was quite a sight, too; his eyes were darkened with arousal and he looked as disheveled as Sherlock felt.

John snorted. "Shut up." He lined himself up with Sherlock's entrance. He kissed Sherlock sweetly and gently slid his cock into the wet, opened hole. Sherlock groaned and John licked inside of his mouth to distract him from the pain. Their tongues slid together lazily and Sherlock whimpered.

"You okay?" John whispered against his lips.

Sherlock nodded, "Oh god, start moving." He squeezed his legs to bring John deeper inside him, causing them both to groan.

John started to thrust into Sherlock slowly and deeply. Well, it started out slowly, but the tight heat surrounding his cock drove John to set up a quick rhythm, though his thrusts remained deep.

Sherlock didn't mind at all. In fact, it felt amazing. His insides were tingling and his cock felt more sensitive than it ever had. He grinded his hips to meet John's thrusts and was surprised to hear a loud moan leave his mouth. Sherlock bit his lip—he wasn't supposed to do that!

John shook his head and leaned down to suck Sherlock's pale neck. "I want to hear you," he growled and thrust harder.

Sherlock tried to resist groaning. The noises threatening to spill from his lips were ridiculous and pathetic! John couldn't hear him do that. A small whimper escaped. Sherlock was losing control. Why was he losing control?!

"I said I want to hear you," John nipped his neck and thrust directly into Sherlock's prostate.

Sherlock cried out, "Uh! John!" He threw his head back and rolled it around on the pillow. "I can't—I—!"

John stopped assaulting Sherlock's neck. "It's all right," he soothed, "you're supposed to let yourself go."

Blessed John, he would understand Sherlock's dilemma without needing a word. Sherlock's mouth dropped open and he started to pant against his will.

John rested their foreheads together, "Oh, Sherlock," he kissed his hair, "my beautiful Sherlock."

Sherlock whined and turned his face into the pillow. John's praise always made his heart flutter, but this time it made him want to hide and he didn't exactly know why.

"Hey, don't be shy," John cupped Sherlock's cheek and turned his face so their eyes met, slowing his thrusts a little.

Sherlock made a sound of protest at the change in rhythm and looked up at John. He was about to say that he was not shy and being shy was for imbeciles, but John was looking at him like he was the most gorgeous thing in the world, eyes shining and a tiny smile playing at his lips.

The naked adoration in John's expression made Sherlock's heart throb violently. He felt his chest tighten and he gasped. "John, god, John! Please touch me. Please."

John wrapped his hand around Sherlock's neglected prick and stroked it in time with his quickening thrusts.

"Come on, Sherlock," he murmured between wet kisses, "let go."

Sherlock called out—whether it was John's name or gibberish he did not know—and came, all thought flying out of his mind.

When Sherlock's mind slowly started to come back online, he realized that he was lying on his side and in John's arms with the sheet pulled over him. John was playing with his damp curls, eyes closed.

"John?"

John smiled and opened his eyes. "Ah, you back now?"

"I wasn't aware I left."

John chuckled, still stroking Sherlock's hair. "I've never seen anyone take that long to recover from an orgasm. It's kind of hot, actually."

Sherlock felt his cheeks flare, "John…"

"Only teasing, love. Are you okay?"

Sherlock nodded. "That was…intense."

"I'd say so. Actually, I'd go so far as to say it was the best shag of my life."

Sherlock placed a small kiss on John's shoulder. "I agree. It helps when you do it with the one you love."

John's smile widened. "Sherlock Holmes, you're an utter romantic, aren't you?"

"Only for you, John," he replied honestly.

John placed a light kiss on his lips. "I love you so much."

Sherlock was so filled with contentment he thought he might melt in John's arms. "I love you, too." He snuggled into the warmth of John's chest and was thinking about going to sleep when a thought occurred to him. "Oh," he frowned.

"What's wrong?"

"I didn't get to see you orgasm."

John barked a laugh. "Were you really that out of it?"

"Evidently," Sherlock averted his eyes.

"Well," John rested his hand possessively on Sherlock's hip, "you'll have other opportunities now, won't you?"

Sherlock kissed the side of John's neck, "I look forward to it." He yawned and nuzzled John's chest with his nose. "Mmm, tired."

"Then let's sleep." John reached over and turned out the lamp on the bedside table, then wrapped his arms back around Sherlock and closed his eyes. "Goodnight, love."

"Goodnight."

Before Sherlock dropped off to sleep, John whispered in his hair, "By the way, this is the only time I'm glad you used my laptop without my permission. Next time, I'm kicking your pretty little arse."

Sherlock smiled in the darkness.

*I'm not dismissing that Sherlock could be asexual, he just isn't in this story!

Please review!