A/N: Happy Birthday Serinah! This one's just for you! You share a birthday with the Canadian flag - because I know you needed to know that:P
As usual, I do not own anything except my computer. That's paid for! I do like to play here however!
Flame
The visual, gaseous part of a fire.
Noticeable combustion.
The light from a candle, the colour of embarrassment, the feeling of intense emotions, the danger from run away infernos, the warmth of a fire that spoke of home.
The ignition and spark of love.
"I'll get a candle. It's more romantic."
"We're not on a date. I'm not his date!"
Angelo left the table and returned with a candle. He placed it on the table between them.
John eyed the candle. He wondered if it was possible for spontaneous combustion to actually occur, because he was feeling a little hot under the collar and not in a good way.
It all cooled down and was fine until Sherlock misconstrued John's idea of small talk. Then it burst into a conflagration again.
"No. No! I'm not asking…I'm just saying…It's all fine."
oOo
"Awww," the little old ladies on the bench at the park ducked their heads together and giggled, pointing at John and Sherlock as they walked by. "They make such a nice couple."
John felt his face overheat and he muttered something under his breath.
Sherlock who appeared to not be paying attention, said an eloquent, "Hmmmm?"
John sighed. "Nothing," he replied, almost sullenly.
"Good. You're exhalations are distracting. Shut up and let me think."
John felt a wash of relief blow through him. He'd dodged a bullet if Sherlock hadn't noticed the gossiping old ladies and the comment.
"Oh and John?"
"Yes?"
"Nice shade of vermillion by the way."
John groaned.
oOo
A glance across a room as something John said illuminated the pathway, which enabled Sherlock to solve the case. The look of rapture and joy on the younger man's face did something to John.
"Brilliant, John!"
Eyes locked.
The ever present smolder erupted into something more, the cinders almost visible between the two.
John swallowed.
Be careful John. Flames can burn and scar. Is it worth it?
He knew the answer was yes.
Sherlock heard the response, unspoken, as unquenchable heat flowed between them.
oOo
First hesitant kiss, shy and tentative.
Lips pressed, almost chaste at first.
The smoldering embers burst back into life and both men become wrapped in the passion, bound around and through.
Sherlock lifted his hand and cupped John's face, the fingers of his other hand ran riot through his short blond hair. John caressed and stroked down the long expanse of back, to the top of Sherlock's trousers, to wrench out the slim fit tailored shirt. His warm, callused, honest hands touch bare flesh and both deepen the kiss into something more.
Clothes abandoned; ache and need called to and heeded. Flames that craved the desire to be fed and the fuel for their continued existence was there, had always been there.
oOo
"I can't do this any more, Sherlock," John's heart hurt and pounded in his chest, as he tried to address the constant indifference thrown his way, indifference as Sherlock tried to deny the emotions burning through him.
Sherlock looked at John, afraid to admit to anything between them, afraid to voice it, because it would make it true.
"I have been reliably informed I don't have a heart, John. Perhaps it's for the best that we break off this…experiment."
"Experiment?" John's anger raged within him, inferno leaping through the undergrowth and burning, but not cleansing. "That's all this was? You insufferable bastard!"
John choked off the words he wanted to throw upon the bonfire and stoke the flames higher; he wanted Sherlock to feel what he was feeling, he wanted to rage and annihilate but he didn't. He couldn't.
Sherlock noticed the hurt flickering across John's face, heard the words John didn't say and it did something to him, but he buried it deep, deprived it of the needed air and room to grow.
He nodded quietly, his fingers steepled, made it appear as if he was clinical and detached, hurting John to avoid hurting himself.
John wrapped his arms around his compact frame, trying to prevent everything from flying apart, a bomb which would take them both, leaving nothing but ashes in it's wake.
This is where the scars occurred.
Fortunately flames can also cauterize and there is tentative forgiveness before Sherlock jumped, the beginning of healing. But after, the stiches were torn out, the wound left to bleed.
oOo
The light from the dying fire flickered and danced across Sherlock's pale face, hidden shadows submerged in his eyes.
In the half-light it played with the red of Sherlock's disguised hair, casting gold sparks to roam through the out of place, shorn locks.
It would take some getting use to.
It also highlighted the emotions, which flowed across Sherlock face, feelings he was attempting to hide from John.
The nervousness as he waited for John's response.
"Sherlock?"
"Yes John?" his voice, remembered deep, dark, honeyed and rich in textured sounds.
"I'm very glad you are home and not dead."
"Thank you John."
"And Sherlock?"
"Yes John?"
"You're lucky I didn't hit you."
The corner of Sherlock's mouth quirked, but his eyes were full of warmth and life blazed in them as he drank in the sight of his friend. He let the smile blossom and bloom across his mouth. He spoke volumes with his eyes.
The banked coals were still there. They waited to burst back to life just requiring the oxygen needed for nourishment.
oOo
The slow burn of love making, the fiery desire, quickened to the rapture and climax. Fingers entwined, John threw a leg across Sherlock's longer ones, a free hand stroked the much too narrow hip, patterns traced to sear flesh, fondled and teased. Sex was better the second time, appreciation and revelations of bodies explored and relearned, slower, less hurried, less anxious, more luxurious, more forgiving.
Exhaustion finally overcame replete figures.
The embers banked for now, but love still burned brightly through both.