I watched as the light went out in Sherlock's room, and I sighed. Things weren't going quite as planned. He's been so busy lately, one case after another, that I haven't gotten the chance to sit him down and talk to him for more than two minutes. It's all "There were six murders in Brixton last NIGHT," or "Someone stole all of the royal family's heirlooms." It's always someone else. If only he studied me the way he studied those blood and pollen samples every night, he'd see that—

"John?" I looked up quickly. Sherlock stood towering over my armchair, looking down at me.

"Sherlock! I thought you were asleep!" I said, feeling the blood rush to my unshaven cheeks. He studied me for a moment, then made his way around and plopped down in the loveseat across from me, his long, lanky legs sprawled out on the cushions. His dark hair was tousled, the messy curls tugging a smile from my lips. "I can't sleep. I have far too much on my mind for such frivolous activities. "

Sherlock stared up at the ceiling, a look of both frustration and annoyance crossing his face. I raised an eyebrow. "Well I'd hardly call sleeping a frivolous activity. In fact, a well rest will help you think more clearly. Sleeping is good for you, Sherlock. It's what normal people do, remember? They sleep." I rambled on. Sherlock sat up and stared at me for a moment.

"Not me, John. I haven't been able to sleep since this whole heirloom-murder case. It doesn't make any sense! No evidence, no motives, no leads! I… I've hit a brick wall." Sherlock ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. "Maximum security, no way in, no way out. It's as if they vanished into thin air. And the murders, oh the MURDERS! The cause of death is nothing I've ever seen before. To be honest, I can't tell what did it to them. Asphyxiation, electrocution, poison… No marks, no internal bleeding, no broken bones or destroyed organs. It's as if they dropped dead for no reason!" Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose and looked deep in thought.

I frowned. It was truly a mystery. "Do you think Moriarty has something to do with this?" Sherlock rubbed his temples. "Well it certainly reeks of his work." My heart ached for him; he looked so hopeless, so out of place. I can't remember the last time he was unable to solve a case. It must have been over a year ago. I stood up, and sat next to Sherlock on the loveseat. He looked at me with a question in his beautiful eyes, and I smiled. "Don't worry about it, love. You will solve it—you always do. " My heart started beating quickly, and I felt my face flush.

"Love?" Sherlock's head tilted to the side quizzically. "John, your pupils are dilated."

I stared straight into Sherlock's eyes and he stared straight back into mine, never wavering, never blinking. His eyes were so beautiful, the color of the sky after a storm. I could even hear the sound of fat raindrops beating down on the glass windows. His face close to mine, and the smell of his skin—of books and wind and saltwater. And before I knew it, we were kissing.

It was everything I ever wanted and more. His lips were softer than silk and I felt a warm sensation all over my body. His hands traveled over my arms until he grabbed my hands and pinned them up over my head. He licked and nibbled my lips, making me shiver, wanting more. Soft kisses on my neck and collarbone had me throbbing, but I gritted my teeth and soon melted in his hands. After teasing me for what seemed hours, He gently bit my bottom lip and then started to undo my belt. I felt myself flush with desire, and when he ripped off my trousers I thought I was going to orgasm before he could even touch me. I was aching, and I wanted Sherlock. I wanted all of him. I wanted his mouth on me, I wanted to feel him sucking me off, his tongue gliding down my shaft. I was red-hot, burning for him. I have always burned for him. Sherlock wrapped his soft hands gently around my penis, and softly licked the dribble of pre-cum that escaped me. I thought for sure I was about to lose it.

And then I was in his mouth. His hot, slick tongue teased me, and he sucked me so gently I wanted to die. I gritted my teeth and tried not to unload in his mouth, wanting to savor this moment. He started sucking my faster, putting the whole length of my penis in his mouth, teasing the head with his tongue. I let out a moan, feeling myself getting hotter and tighter, and Sherlock responded by cupping my balls and massaging them. I dug my nails into the loveseat, like I was trying to hold on for dear life. For a quick second I opened my eyes, and glanced down at Sherlock, and saw him looking up at me while going at it. Watching him fuck me with his mouth was too much to bear, and I felt myself explode in his mouth. I shuddered, and watched as Sherlock swallowed and lapped me up, every last drop. Slowly tasting me with his tongue.

"John," he said huskily. "I've always wondered what you tasted like."

I looked up at him. "You have?"

"John," he chuckled. "You're such an idiot. I've been in love with you since you waddled through that lab door. Army doctor, adorable smile, good in nature and a great sense of humor. You're everything I've ever wanted. You're perfect for me, John." I held my breath. Is this true? Could Sherlock, my Sherlock, truly love me?

He wrapped his arms around me, and I thought my heart would burst. "Come with me, back to my room. I think I'll be able to sleep if you're lying next to me."

And that night we both fell asleep snuggled up to each other in bed, my head resting on his chest and his arms wrapped around me protectively.

The next morning, I woke up early and managed to slip out of bed and into the kitchen. I made a small breakfast consisting of eggs, toast, and tea. I brought it over to Sherlock in a tray. "Sherlock… Love… Wake up. I made breakfast! I even made that tea you like, with one sugar and all." I sat down on the bed and watched as he opened his eyes slowly. "John?" I smiled. "Yes, who else would it be? Certainly Mycroft wouldn't wake you up so lovingly." He smiled back at me.

"Oh God I thought it was all a dream! So last night… Happened?" I nodded. I opened my mouth to tell him to eat his breakfast before it got cold, but I was interrupted by a loud knock at the door. "I'll see who it is." I got up and walked over to the door, wondering who on earth would be visiting 221B Baker Street this early in the morning. I opened the door and standing there was weirdest looking fellow I had ever seen.

"SORRY to bother you so early! I was passing by—no matter at the reason—and I happened to get this very odd signal coming from this room building. Upon closer inspection—"He proceeded to pull out a metal rod object and waved it around the room. A bright green light emanated from the rod. "The signal is coming from in this flat." He pushed me aside and walked into the flat, uninvited.

"Hey!" I protested indignantly. "You can't just barge into my flat!" He ignored me.

"Who do you think you are?" I sputtered.

The man spun around and smiled, his eyes twinkling.

"Me? I'm the Doctor."