So this is just an idea that's been bouncing around in my head, I got the idea for the tattoo from another story, but I decided to take that idea and change it slightly.
It started with a case. In the end it almost got Sherlock and John killed.
They burst through the door of 221b after having run across half of London, both gasping for air. John, who always liked to be well groomed went immediately to the bathroom to take a shower. Sherlock on the other hand was busy making room in his mind palace for the information he'd gathered while working on the case.
Just as he finished cataloging, or in some cases deleting information the bathroom door opened and a shirtless John stepped out of the bathroom.
Sherlock had never seen John without his usual jumper or button up shirt on, so he was surprised what his chest and back looked like. Across his front there was a simple black line, drawn diagonally across his entire chest. John was unaware of Sherlock's eyes so continued towards his room, this gave Sherlock a glimpse of something white and black covering John's entire back.
Sherlock silently cursed himself for not getting a better look at John's back. When John came downstairs he was wearing a simple, dark blue t-shirt. He looked incredibly surprised to see Sherlock sitting in the living room.
"Oh, did you see...?" John started, but trailed off.
"The tattoos? Yes." Sherlock replied to the half asked question.
"Sorry about that. I forgot to bring my shirt with me."
"No problem." Sherlock replied sounding far away.
He was trying to figure out what John's tattoos were.
They obviously meant a lot to him. From what Sherlock did see, they were quite a few years old, but they were well kept. Suddenly, Sherlock realized there was an easier way to find out about the tattoos.
"What are they?" Sherlock asked, but was answered by silence.
There was a note on the coffee table in front of Sherlock. He picked it up, 'Went to get milk, back in 5.'
The flat door swung open and John stepped inside, carrying not only milk but Thai take-out as well.
"What are they?" Sherlock repeated.
"Ummm, noodles, some of that chicken you like." John replied as he headed to the kitchen.
"No, you're tattoos, what are they?" Sherlock repeated for the third time.
"It'd be easier just to show you." John replied after a long pause.
John slowly pulled off his shirt and Sherlock saw the line across John's chest again. Simple, and pitch black.
"What is it?" Sherlock asked, stepping closer to his friend and touching the marked skin lightly.
"It helps if you see the back." John mumbled before turning.
Angel wings, white and pure stretched from John's shoulder blades down to just above his pants. John's scar ended just above where the wings started. The wings were beautiful and intricate. They almost looked like they were growing out of the man's back. With feathers that looked almost real.
Across the wings was a gun. It was connected to the black line, which now Sherlock knew was supposed to be a strap. A pair of angel wings and a gun that was slung over his back. John was one of the most interesting people Sherlock had ever met.
"Your two personalities. The healer and the soldier." Sherlock mumbled.
"Yes." John nodded before pulling his shirt back over his head.
"Why don't you show it off? It's beautiful."
"People don't understand it. It makes me sad because it represents represents all of me, but people don't understand that I'm two things. I'm a killer and a healer. An angel and a devil. A doctor and a soldier.
With that John turned, but before he could walk away he heard a small voice whisper, "I understand."
John turned back and saw that it was Sherlock who'd said this.
It was always Sherlock. Sherlock was the only one who'd seen him, all of him and still accepted everything about him.
"I know." John whispered back, before stepping forward and planting a chaste kiss to Sherlock's cheek.
Sherlock felt his heart stutter, but then John pulled away and started moving away from him.
"John." Sherlock stammered and before he knew what he was doing, he threw himself into the shorter man's arms and started attacking his lips with his own.
John was surprised, but he responded enthusiastically. Prying Sherlock's mouth open with his tongue. Sherlock tasted like London air and mint. Gunpowder and fresh snow. Everything John didn't expect and everything he did.
No word in Sherlock's vast vocabulary could describe how John's tongue felt against his, how John's arms wrapped around his waist made him feel. All he knew was that he wanted more, more of this, more of John.
The end :D I hope you enjoyed and if you did please review :D