"John..." He breathed.
John had already forgotten the milk that was on the way to the fridge, and didn't even react as it clattered to the ground. There was milk all over the floor, which he would have to clean up, but John didn't care. Instead the doctor, slowly walked over to the man he once knew so well. His heart was pounding in his chest and he could barely hear anything over the sound. His pulse quickened,his pupils dilated. He reached one hand out; slowly, gently, to softly touch the man in front of him. He had to know this was real, to know he was there.
His hand sits on the detective chest, just feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat quicken.
"John." The detective says again, this time his voice was lower and seemed huskier. John watched as the man swallowed, following the movement of his Adams apple as it bobbed up and down his slender throat.
The taller man lent down ever so slowly until their faces practically touched.
"Sherlock. You're home" John whispered as he shut his eyes and closed the space between their lips.
The kiss was delicate and Sherlock's eyelashes fluttered.
"Kiss me properly Watson" Sherlock growled, and with that he put one arm round John's waist to pull their bodies closer, and the other on his neck, to deepen the kiss. Their lips explored each other and suddenly their tongues danced and got lost in one another's mouths.
Teeth smashed and lips crashed and all they could think about was how much they missed each other.
John stumbled backwards still without breaking the kiss, until he had his back against the now closed fridge. One of Sherlock's hands flew to hold onto the side of the fridge as he slammed his body against the doctors. John's hands found their way into Sherlock's curls and held on tight – he never wanted to let Sherlock go again.
He broke his lips away as John whimpered at the loss of contact, then re-attached them to the shorter man's neck. Watson tilted his head to the left to grant further access to his ex-flatmate (although he was pretty sure that after this Sherlock would be moving back in). The slim man licked and sucked at any skin he could while John was growing more and more hard in his trousers.
He jutted his hips forward and felt that Sherlock too was growing increasingly hard.
The detectives lips met his once more and hands ran across chests. Watson's hands stroked across the man's torso, under his suit jacket, to rest on his hips; which he gripped closely. Meanwhile Sherlock's hands travelled underneath John's jumper and started to pull it up his body.
John reluctantly lifted his hands off Sherlock to raise them above his head, so the jumper could be removed with ease. When he got his arms back he went to the neck of Holmes' jacket and forced it off the man's shoulders.
Both men left in shirts, hands started to furiously unbutton.
As soon as Sherlock was topless Watson had to take the time to admire his body. His slim torso was pale, but not a sick pale, a marble pale that only Sherlock possessed. Then it was Sherlock's turn to admire. John had a slightly bigger build, and a slightly darker skin tone, but in Sherlock's eyes, he was the most beautiful creature to ever walk this earth.
Then their eyes met and both hearts skipped a beat simultaneously.
Both men crashed their bodies together as Sherlock backed them into his old bedroom. As soon as the door opened he could tell nothing had changed, except there was a spot, on the edge of the bed where John would sit every night; for the past three years, to tell Sherlock how his day had gone, despite knowing he couldn't hear him. John whimpered at being back in the room he had come to associate with loneliness, but this time the feeling was replaced with lust.
They collapsed onto the mattress and John's lips found their way to Sherlock's chest. He kissed every inch of skin he could find, and swirled his tongue around one of his nipples.
He kissed all the way down the detectives stomach until he reached the waist band of his trousers. His eyes met Sherlock's and as soon as the man gave a slight nod, John's trembling fingers started to undo his trousers. The taller man breathed out a shaky breath as he felt Watson's fingers slowly stroking his crotch through the thin material of his underwear; trousers now somewhere on the floor. Sherlock hooked his leg around the back of Watson's knee and flipped them over, so he was on top.
"I've missed you John." The taller man confessed.
John sighed, and looked into Sherlock's eyes. He could see passion and lust, but he could also see longing and desire. There were a couple other things he couldn't quite decipher, but he ignored it and with a low voice said "Shut up and fuck me Sherlock Holmes."
To which, Sherlock could not argue.
An hour later, they were both draped on the bed, Sherlock with his left leg and arm hanging off the edge, and John with his head and torso dangling down the side.
Now the milk wasn't the only thing that needed clearing up. John sat up and crawled over to where Sherlock lay, and proceeded to lick his stomach clean of Watson's cum.
It was another hour until either of them had the energy to stand, and it was John who got up first. As soon as he stood, Sherlock grabbed hold of his wrist, in an attempt to keep him.
"John, I promise that I will never leave you again."
And in that second John felt Sherlock take his pulse, and realised that it was Love and Fear in Sherlock's eyes.
"I love you Sherlock Holmes."
And with that, the fear left his eyes.
"I love you too John Watson."