John stressed about opening his computer. He hadn't been on it in a while, and knew that Sherlock had been (Without his permission) He didn't even want to imagine what kind of things Sherlock had looked up. Different methods of murder. When it rained in London. How many still-born children had been delivered fifty years ago.

Eventually, John got over the anxiety and unlocked the computer, opening the internet history. It was always good to know what Sherlock signed up for, then he could immediately discontinue the subscription to who-knows-what.

The first thing that popped up surprised him. It was a porn site. Sherlock? On porn? John furrowed his brow and sat back, arms crossed against his chest. He had thought that Sherlock was "married to his work" He was an asexual blob of intelligence. So where did this sexual urge come from?

Unless it wasn't sexual. Maybe his interest of this site came from a case he had hidden from John. His chest hiccuped painfully. Did Sherlock regret his decision in involving John? Did Sherlock not want him anymore?

John huffed in anger. What a jerk. He would consult in Sherlock right when he came home. But...John looked out of the living room door and then to the clock. He might as well make use of this site in the time he had.

John shut the front door and turned off all the lights. Dragging the computer with him, he sat prepared on the couch. There were already tissues and moisturizer on the coffee table, because Sherlock had a cold, and because the winter gave John dry feet.

His belt made an uncomfortably loud clanking sound as he slipped his pants down to his thighs. John hadn't done this in a while and was out of practice, but once he grabbed hold, his body took control.

John gasped and slid his hand up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Faster. Harder. It was great. Thick air caught in his lungs and refused to be released.

John's hips spasmed slightly and he relaxed into the couch, allowing himself to release. Cum splattered onto his chest, but he would wipe it away in a moment. Right now, he was imagining a beautiful woman in front of him, bare naked and begging for more.

This image was so realistic, he could literally hear her footsteps. He could feel her breath. A cold breath. A wind from outside. John flew his eyes open and instantly covered his exposed crotch.

"Jesus, Sherlock! Some privacy would be nice!" He shouted at the tall man standing before him. Sherlock had a face of steel, observing the scene before him. John, half naked. The computer open. John had been pleasuring himself.

"You know, this still is my flat." His deep voice rolled out into the air, and he strolled into the kitchen.

John waited until his black coat was out of sight before he started wiping himself clean. How embarrassing. And Sherlock didn't even seem to care! John didn't know whether that pleased him or not.

How ridiculous of John to think that! He was straight. All the way. No gay in him. Whenever he fantasied about sex, he always saw women. Beautiful women.

His penis protested against his pants and John hurried to erase beautiful women from his mind. He wanted to explain to Sherlock, but he didn't want to do it with an erection bulging from his pants.

John tossed the soiled tissues in the nearby garbage and hurried to Sherlock, trying to take attention away from his pants. Sherlock was standing next to the fridge, the cuffs of his coat bent upwards, as to hide half of his face.

John was aware that there still was a massive bulge in his pants, and that he had no coat or jacket to hide it. For some reason, this didn't bother him. Probably because he was so angry. Angry at what?

"Sherlock.." He started but was lost in the other man's eyes.

"John, you must know that..I am married to my work..and that.." Sherlock was slowly making his way to John, eyes locked and observing. Only when he was close enough to touch, did he finish his sentence.

John didn't let him finish. He grabbed Sherlock's hair, gently, and stood on his tip toes, laying a delicate, but meaningful kiss upon his lips.

John didn't back away. He left only an inch between their faces, but seeing the shock in Sherlock's eyes, he did eventually back away. John's cheeks flushed. What was that? he screamed in his head.

The soldier slouched and shoved his hands into his pockets, hoping his erection would be less noticeable with them there. Sherlock opened his mouth and looked down at him. "I..uh.."

John knew that was a stupid thing to do. Sherlock would never look at him the same way again. He would eventually have to move out. He would have to get a job.

Sherlock's hand rested on John's shoulder. His instinct was to rest his cheek against Sherlock's hand, but he thought that wouldn't be the best thing to do, so instead he meet Sherlock's eyes.

Those rings of the universe rolled around, avoiding eye contact. But when Sherlock did look at him, fire rose in them. John could see Sherlock's desire. He could see an urge. Sherlock had been on that website for sexual pleasure. He wasn't asexual in any way. Sherlock did have the heart he insisted he didn't.

Sherlock must have seen the realization in John's eyes, because he thrust his head forward aggressively. John's body was pushed back, Sherlock pressing against him with an urge John hadn't ever felt. No woman had wanted him as much as Sherlock did.

Their lips were a moving mess, broken apart with gasping and being tied together by kissing. Their hands were different, solid and tough instead of flexible and moving.

Sherlock was grasping John's hips hard, long fingers stretched to hold every bit of the man's waist. John's hands were fighting to keep a grip in Sherlock's bouncy hair. Eventually he gave up and wound them around his neck.

The two fought with their bodies, unable to lead one another. They were both male, so both had the urge to push down and invade. Sherlock was taller and stronger. He growled and heaved John onto his body, biting lips as he carried them to his own bed.

The stair climbing was difficult. Sherlock dropped John many times, and when he did he thrust himself painfully against John. The uneven ground would leave bruised lines across John's back. However, John would fight back, thrusting them upwards until they reached Sherlock's room.

Sherlock broke their lips apart, gasping, and dropped John.

The soldier fell to the bed, and gripped the sheets in pain. What a sensation, and they had only been kissing.

After a moment, John pushed himself up and stared at Sherlock. The man had been stripped of his coat and suit, only having a shirt and pants on. John, however, only wore his pants. Sometime he had lost his shirt.

Sherlock was heaving out deep breaths. He wiped his face with his shirt and glared ferociously down at his soldier. "Is this going to happen?" He was getting his mind back. He was starting to think again.

John knew Sherlock's secret now. It was him. Sherlock would loose his brilliant mind whenever they touched.

John used this to his advantage and grabbed Sherlock's shirt by the chest and pulled him down. John rolled them around so that he sat upon the other man's waist.

Sherlock's hands were strong and tough, grasping his forearms tightly. John could feel the fear in them. This was a new for both of them.

John ripped away at the shirt that held them from touching each other. Sherlock helped and soon they were kissing and rubbing again. Although John wasn't even close to being able to thrust himself into Sherlock, be began rocking Sherlock's hips.

Sherlock knew the message was clear. John would be leading for this act. First, Sherlock unbuckled his belt, then reached for the bed post and held on, eyes closed.

John lost himself, allowing his body's instincts to take control. He ripped the belt off and undid his own. With their pants loose, he managed to pull both pairs of pants off without loosing physical contact with Sherlock.

From now on, he would never want to not touch Sherlock. He was John's, and John was his.

The only thing that remained was their underwear, which might as well not be there. Both of their erections held out of the fabric. John was staring at Sherlock's face. Would it be right to take away his innocence?

Sherlock must have noticed that he stopped, because he sat up and stared at John. Their heaving chests were so close. Sherlock pulled himself out from under John and sat in criss cross. John was still knelling, still erect.

"You're scared?" Sherlock asked. His voice might as well of been sex.

John crouched down so that he sat. "Yes."

"It's alright."

"Now that you're mine, it is."

"I've been waiting for this. I won't allow you to ruin it with emotions." His expression went from encouraging to urging.

Another wild fire ran along John's body. Sherlock forced him down, forced him on his belly and pushed his hands across John's back. He ripped John's and his own underwear off and flung them across the room. They were both naked now.

There was a moments hesitation, but then Sherlock touched his way to John, found his way, and forced himself inside. No moisturizer, no lube, just natural. John tightened in pain, but he was a soldier. He had been taught to keep it in, to shut up and accept.

Sherlock wanted to expel the sound. He wanted John to cry in sexual pain. He wanted John to cry his name. It hurt Sherlock too, but he knew it would hurt John more.

Sherlock forced their bodies to collide. He forced himself inside and outside and bumped John. At first, John had been on all fours, but now he was splayed out on the bed, hands digging into the sheets.

Sherlock saw that John was biting on the sheets, his face red and sweaty. John was close. Sherlock was close. He hadn't felt like this ever before.

Never in Holmes' life had he fucked a man, but he enjoyed it way too much. Maybe he had thought of himself as asexual because he had no interest in women.

Sherlock knew in that instant that he was all the way a homosexual, but not to other men, only to John.

Sherlock thrust himself deeply into John, trying to get deeper, trying to make it better. Nothing could top this. He forced his tired body to move faster. When their skin bumping began to make a clapping sound, John started to grunt.

Sherlock felt a tingle rise in his cock and he thrust one last time, then stayed tensed there. John was gasping, tensed as well, and then screamed. Sherlock cam. "Oh, Sherlock!"

The detective leaned down, taking John's hands and stretching him out. He started once more, not caring that his cum was being pushed out of John and onto his bed.

John was still laying down, so he had much easier access to gently riding him. After such a fierce burst of sex, something soft and gentle would be appreciated. He thought John would like this.

John was pushing back at Sherlock, telling him he wanted a rest. Sherlock dug himself in forcefully, which made John grunt. Then he was done. Sherlock let go of John and took his penis out. The warmness of his cum and of his humping was suddenly lost when he came out of John.

John rolled over, then pulled Sherlock on top of him.

It was awkward, both of their cocks touching, one hot and wet, and the other warm and dry.

The darkness that enclosed them became their enemy. Sherlock tried to look into John's eyes, because he could always tell what John was thinking when he saw them. But without lighting, he had no idea. Sherlock was blinded.

John knew much more and spoke with his body, caressing Sherlock's tired self. John's fingers banged against his ribs and he felt a beat become faster in his chest. Sherlock wanted John.

Sherlock had experienced being the mater, now he wanted to be mated. He arched his back and brought his penis closer to John's face, then straightened, running it down John's body.

Sherlock did the stroking motion a few more times, then grabbed John with a hard hand. "Now." John winced in pain, but pushed Sherlock down.

He had been in pain, he had cried out. Now it was Sherlock's turn.

For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to be as cold as Sherlock. He couldn't just beat himself in.

John started rubbing his penis, hoping his cum would ease the insertion. Sherlock wanted it to be even. He had brought John pain, now he wanted it. Sherlock turned back and grabbed John's forearm. "Now!"

All that John needed was Sherlock's instruction. He clenched his teeth. He knew the way. He knew Sherlock's body already.

John didn't need his hands to find Sherlock, he just thrust forward, and his penis was in. John was much stronger in the sexual world, so he was able to force Sherlock's cry much sooner than Sherlock had his.

The man under him had been trying to keep it in, but only after ten seconds, he burst out. "John! Oh, God. John!"

John felt himself heat up and he thrust himself in deeper and faster. "Sherlock!" He went slower, but harder and deeper. A thud, thud, thud. Sherlock was being pushed across the bed as John tried to make himself go in more.

Sherlock was wheezing in pain as John started shoving in faster. He managed to get on his fours, and reach down to his own cock. John grabbed his hips and was pulling him back.

Before, when Sherlock cam, he had paused to release, but John didn't even stop. He just went faster and harder, which seemed physically impossible. John plunged himself into Sherlock. In and out. He pulled out all the way, then drove himself in fiercely.

Sherlock was sliding his hand over his penis the whole time, not taking in any breath, just feeling the pain and the pleasure.

John cam more, but paused. He seemed to pass out, releasing all of his weight onto Sherlock. Sherlock didn't try to keep both of them up, he just collapsed and felt the slide of John's penis. He felt as though a warm rush was cleaning out his insides, but he knew that it was just another male's cum.

John sucked in a breath, then arched his back and slowly dug into Sherlock. His body stopped its continuous cuming, and only spurted. Sherlock's face was pushed into the sheets, John's hand against his head. This sex wasn't like before. It wasn't hurried, it wasn't hard. This was sweet. With the slide of his cum and Sherlock's, it made access easy.

John was making such a good job of himself, slowly and gently going in, then slowly and gently going out. Sherlock knew this wouldn't last forever. Soon John's urges would act up and he would be forcing himself into Sherlock's body once more.

John's breathing and heart beat started to match his thrusting. An inhale when he went in. An exhale when he pulled out. His heart beat was the same amount for each.

Things were getting dry. Although he was still fucking Sherlock, the cum had been pushed away, either farther inside Sherlock, or out onto the bed.

John twitched and felt that his time was up. That didn't mean he was done done. One last time, and he would give himself up to Sherlock's needs.

He sped up. A loud clapping came from their bodies smacking each other. He used the bed posts to fly forward, and whenever he pulled out, he would go back to the posts to fuck farther.

Sherlock was holding his breath, and would gasp out when he plunged in. Sherlock grabbed John's hands, which had been on his hips, and pulled them above his own head.

John was stuck at his ass, no bed post to force himself farther.

John went fast, up and down. He somehow managed, with the strength of Zeus, to pick Sherlock up on the bed, and stand up. Sherlock was struggling to keep hold of John.

John was bouncing Sherlock around, then bit his ear. He didn't pull his cock out, but turned Sherlock around so their lips met.

It was difficult to fuck Sherlock now that his entrance was farther away. However, Sherlock was flexible, and he curled his body in.

John's penis hardened so it faced straight out; horizontal to his body. He pushed Sherlock out, then pulled him in closer. John stopped moving Sherlock, and focused on their lips. Apparently he wasn't done.

John grabbed Sherlock's lip and bit it hard. He felt blood and Sherlock grabbed John's short hair. His knees buckled and the two of them fell to the bed, hard.

The weight of John and the speed that they were going gave John the depth he wanted. John had pierced the barrier, he felt himself go deeper. He got harder.

When they did hit the bed, and when John managed to fuck him deeper, Sherlock screamed in pain. "John!" Sherlock's hands raked down the soldier's back, leaving red wounds.

John thrust down and pushed forward as hard as he could. He was cuming and fucking Sherlock hard. The first time they had sex, and he felt as though he would kill them both.

Sherlock was gripping John's shoulders as the soldier continued the incredibly invasive plunging. A sucking sound came from Sherlock's waist. John cam hard and stepped back, spurting at the bed. He collapsed on the floor and heaved a breath.

The cold, wooden floor burned his bloody back. Sherlock was broken as well, he could barely feel his ass, and his body wanted more. How could he possibly bear any more of this?

Sherlock slumped down on top of John, not inserting himself or anything, just laying his head on John's chest. They were both heaving in and out, exhausted by the hard sex. Maybe it wasn't sex that he wanted. Maybe it was just..this. Holding each other.

Sherlock sat up and reached out a hand to help John up. He took it gratefully, touching Sherlock's chest with his head once he was up.

Sherlock pulled the covers from the ground and led John to the bed. He pulled the covers over them, then found John's body. It was still hot and sweaty. Sherlock traced John's torso thoughtfully and John caressed his cheeks. Maybe this could work. Maybe this is what I've been searching for.

John rolled over, and pulled Sherlock's hand with him, so that it laid across John's neck. Sherlock didn't feel the need to shove himself into John, he felt the need to protect him. So he wound his leg around the soldier and pulled him close. John is mine.

Their bodies closed the space, and however hot they both were, they stayed under the covers, and they stayed touching. John kissed Sherlock's hand, then closed his eyes to rest. It had been a good day.

John's eyes flickered open. A pale light had sept into his eyes. Usually when he woke, he felt covers all around him. He only felt an outgoing warmth. His only source of warmth in the bed, but this was different. He wasn't in his bed. And there were two sources of warmth, himself, and Sherlock.

John was laying atop of Sherlock's body, butt naked.

John dared to breath, hoping that wouldn't wake him, but then he remembered. They had sex last night, Sherlock wouldn't mind.

John inched forward, back burning slightly, until he met Sherlock's face. He rested on his elbows and kissed the man's lips lightly.

Sherlock's galaxy eyes opened. He shifted, then looked down at John, and remembered. John felt a slight poking against his sensitive areas and tensed.

"We'd best wash off." Sherlock's voice sounded gruff from all the shouting last night.

He stood up, pulling John with him. "Fancy a shower?"

"Shower sex, too." John insisted, stroking Sherlock's chest.

"I wouldn't dream of leaving that out." Sherlock tightened his grip on John's hand and rushed to the shower. John felt the insides of himself tighten for another fight.

They bounced through halls until they reached the shower. Sherlock pulled John close and closed the door, locking it.

Before them, was the best possible place for sex. A place where everything could be washed away. John let out a grunt of pain. Apparently Sherlock wasn't waiting for the water. Sherlock picked John up, and then slid him down.

John's insides were tight and it hurt when Sherlock's cock went in. He ignored the pain, and found the man's lips. Sherlock carried them into the shower and John turned the water on.

A hot drizzle beat down from above. Sherlock's face broke from John's and stared into his eyes. John wove his arms around Sherlock's neck and stared right back. He was ready. "Ravage me."

John would usually be shy and sensitive in this sort of area, where the community did not favor. People outside would frown on this. But John made himself clear. Fuck me.

Sherlock growled and his face went from calm to fierce. He tightened his grip as well and shoved them against the wall. He mushed their lips together, not allowing John to breath. His sex wasn't as hard and forceful as last night, but John accepted this. He still hurt, and imagined Sherlock hurt more.

Still, Sherlock didn't disappoint. In the shower, they did fuck each other. Only a bit. Mostly there was hot kissing, and touching. Sherlock would look into John's eyes, glad to be able to see them, and then attack his lips with a passion. John would shove Sherlock away and made both of them wince, with only kissing.

Sherlock broke away from John's lips and reached for the shower nob, turning the water off. Sherlock touched John's chin and tipped it up.

"You know that I don't believe in impossible promises."

"Yes."

"But, by what lovers say to one another, I promise to love you forever. However improbable, because eventually we all die."

"Did you just propose to me?"

"In marriage, yes." His thick voice rolled out to John.

John was, of course, the more emotional one, and his face blushed and he felt a few stray tears drop.

"Do you accept my offer?" Sherlock demanded.

"Yes, you idiot!" John tightened his grip around Sherlock and kissed him.

FOR SOME SERIOUS FEELS KEEP ON READING

"Do you accept my offer?" Sherlock demanded.

"Yes, you idiot!" John tightened his grip around Sherlock and kissed him.

Suddenly, Sherlock pushed him away. Concern lit his eyes. "Is everything alright?" His voice sounded distant.

John squinted at him. He didn't look..full either.

"No." He cocked his head and squinted more. Something was off. When he realized what was wrong, tears sprung from his eyes in a river.

"Why?" Sherlock shouted, but John barely caught the voice. He could barely see Sherlock. His vision was getting darker, as though his eyes were closing.

"Because you're dead!" John raked in a breath and jumped from his bed, spiting out blood and desperately trying to gain balance. It was..it was only a dream.

John collapsed on the bed. His rib cage shuddered and a wrecking sob coughed from his lungs. No, nothing was right. Nothing was okay. Everything is wrong. Because you jumped.

Hot tears ran down his face and he reached up to wipe them away. The effort was wasted as more tears replaced them.

"It's because you're dead, Sherlock." John whispered and stumbled towards his desk, reaching for his gun and holding it to his head. "Dead."