Disclaimer: Everything pertaining to Sherlock belongs to a lot of other people, but man do I love playing with them!

A/N: Now that 'What Binds Us Together' is done, I can post this little one-shot. I wrote this as I was writing that; the idea just popped into my head and would let me be, so I wrote it, and now I get to share. I've read several slash fics, and while I don't mind reading them, I'll never write them myself. This is the closest I'll ever get to. The idea originated with many of those fics, and it got me to thinking how to do a 'pseudo-slash' fic without actually writing one. The results amused me, and I hope you guys enjoy it as well. I suppose it *can* be read without having read 'What Binds Us', although I'd advise you read that for purely selfish reasons ^_^.

Warnings: Not really; I'll rate it T, but nothing graphic happens (heck, 'Things You Ignore' was more graphic). Also, not slash, unless you want to read it like that, in which case, I can't argue. But as you'll see, it's not intended as such.

Too Much Comfort - Because there is such a thing as blowing it out of proportion

John had been snappish and on edge for the last month, although he couldn't quite identify why. He should be happy; he was back in Baker Street with his daughter, his best friend was back from the dead, he had been able to reduce his work hours at the hospital, which left him more time to spend with Cathy, and had begun accompanying Sherlock on cases. His depression was finally lifting, and yet he found himself annoyingly stressed. If he was honest with himself, he would have to agree that he had been getting increasingly frustrated for a long time now, but he was loath to admit it. The truth was that he missed Mary, he missed her in every way he could possibly miss her. Not only did he long to hear her laugh and see her smile, he missed kissing her, resting his head against her chest and fall asleep with her arms wrapped around him. He missed her body pressed against his, just as much as he missed her company, their conversations, their meaningful glances, everything.

He was so involved in these thoughts as he returned home from the hospital that he was completely taken by surprise when his flatmate suddenly crashed against him, his mouth firmly pressed against his own. For a moment John's brain went blank, all thought forgotten at the intensity of the kiss. And then his mind restarted with a bang, and he pushed the lanky detective off of him with all the strength he could muster.

"Sherlock! What the sodding hell?"

John was panting both from anger and from having had his breath taken away so suddenly. He eyed his flatmate with a mixture of worry and distress, noting particularly how the man's lips were red and swollen, and imagining that his must be as well now.

Sherlock seemed to be considering things in his mind, and John couldn't help but feel like prey before a hunter. It made his heartbeat speed up instinctively.

"I said, what the hell was that?"

John shrank back against the hallway wall as the taller man drew nearer again.

"Are you high, or something?"

"Shh, John." Sherlock kept coming closer and closer and John was starting to worry he would actually have to punch him in order to snap him out of whatever haze he had gotten himself into.

"Sherlock stop, something is not right, stop. You don't know what you're doing."

"I know exactly what I'm doing."

The detective pressed himself against John once again, this time refraining from kissing him on the lips in favor of nuzzling against his neck.

"Ah.. Sherlock, .. what are you doing?" John's mind went into overdrive. Sherlock was obviously intoxicated, but with 'what' was the question. As a doctor, he was reluctant to merely punch the man lest he actually hurt him.

"Ok, Sherlock, listen to me…" John knew he had to find a way to get through to his flatmate before he got much further, but it had been so long, so long since anyone had been this close, that he was finding it hard to concentrate, and Sherlock was doing such wonderful things to his neck…

John's breath hitched, but he closed his eyes and tried to gather his thoughts. "Listen to me, something's wrong with you…ahh, … have you been drinking… or have you eaten something unfamiliar? Ahh.." Sherlock pressed his lips against John's throat, suckling at the flesh there. The doctor's eyes fluttered, and his heart beat erratically in his chest, the touches bringing back memories he had tried to suppress. Sherlock even nipped at John's skin, eliciting a shiver from the doctor.

"Stop, you're not alright Sherlock." John began pushing his friend again, only to have his wrists grabbed by said friend.

"You need this, John."

Sherlock's deep voice was only a whisper, but it resounded in John's ears.

"What?" he whispered back

"I've been looking at you for the last few weeks," Sherlock began explaining, but he didn't stop what he was doing. He pressed even more against John's smaller body, one of his hands still clutching the doctor's wrist, and the other caressed the side of his neck as his lips still pressed soft kissed against the base of John's exposed throat. "You're jittery, disagreeable, quick to annoy, you even snapped at Cathy this morning."

Panic alarms resounded in John's brain, and his head snapped in the direction of his daughter's room.

"Shhh, she's not here. Mycroft is taking care of her." John wasn't sure who to be more worried for, Mycroft, Cathy, or himself. Somewhere in the back of his mind he suspected he would have to have another talk with Sherlock concerning letting other people look after his daughter without his previous acknowledgment, but he had literally more pressing matters to attend.

"So.. what? Can't I be.. ugn,.. disagreeable sometimes?" Sherlock's mouth trailed up along John's neck to suck on a spot just under his right ear. He knew he had to push him away, but it felt so.. wonderful.

"You need sex."

Reality slammed into John's mind like a ton of bricks, his eyes snapped open, when had he closed them?, and he was able to push Sherlock away enough to look him in the face.

"What?"

Sherlock pursed his lips into that pout he assumed whenever he thought someone was being inordinately dense.

"You haven't had sexual intercourse with anyone, other than yourself, for over a year, and even when you do indulge yourself, it's few and far between. You won't start dating again because you feel that would be disrespectful to the memory of your wife, and you don't want to set a bad example for your daughter, although in my opinion both conclusions are unfounded. You are moody and contrary because you want some, but can't get it."

"And what? You're proposing to.. to.. relieve me of my tension?" John was outraged at the very notion.

"The very fact that you haven't punched me so far, and have actually responded to my advances suggests that you welcome it."

"They are not welcome, and I have not responded at all!"

"Really?," Sherlock raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow and looked down pointedly, "because I thought otherwise."

John didn't need to look down to know what Sherlock had obviously noted already having been pressed so closely against him.

"That means nothing. It's just a bodily response."

"Hmm, and I suppose the moans were too?"

John blushed furiously at Sherlock's bluntness, and even more at the thought that he'd been moaning.

"Fine, I'll admit it; I haven't had sex in a long time! But that doesn't mean-"

John's protestations were cut short as Sherlock planted another kiss against his lips, effectively silencing him.

"Don't worry John," said Sherlock, suddenly separating their lips as quickly as he had brought them together, "I don't think this changes anything about your sexual preferences."

"Sherlock this is just my body reacting to stimulus!"

"Exactly." Sherlock's lips crushed against his again, while his hands caressed his sides, leaving hot trails down John's chest, circling around his sides to his back and lower still. Sherlock's hands grasped his bottom firmly, angling his hips upwards and eliciting a gasp from John that enabled Sherlock to push his tongue into the doctor's mouth.

John's hands shot against Sherlock's shoulders, determined to push him away again, but it was so difficult to do so. His mind was battling two contrary notions: that he didn't want to be snogged, much less shagged, by Sherlock Holmes, and that he didn't want to stop what he was doing. He had longed to be touched like that for over a year, longed to have another person's lips against his own. His hands clenched spasmodically against the detective's shoulders, wanting to push him away, and draw him nearer at the same time.

Suddenly he wasn't pressed against the wall anymore. Sherlock had pulled him, turned him around, all the while keeping their mouths together, and was leading them toward his bedroom insistently.

This can't be happening, screamed John's mind. He could not be snogging his flatmate, his best and closest friend, and they were most certainly not going to end up in bed together.

And yet, suddenly he found himself on his back, his mind in a daze, as Sherlock straddled his hips and continued kissing him fervently, on the lips, along his jaw, and on his neck. John had not responded, or rather he hadn't entirely reciprocated. Instead, he was kind of like a deer caught in headlights. He could feel the tightness in his lower body, however, and he was worried about what that meant. He didn't want to sleep with Sherlock, he was certain of that much, but he was finding it increasingly difficult not only to push the man away, but to restrain himself from becoming aroused.

The feelings Sherlock's touches were awakening were bringing with them images of his dear Mary, and it was all mixing together in a haze which John couldn't control.

Sherlock's thighs constricted around his hips, while his hands continued groping and caressing, lifting John's shirt over his head in a flash and attacking the exposed flesh anew. John's breath was coming in pants, and when Sherlock began trailing his kissed pass his neck, and down his chest, John had to concentrate hard not to moan in pleasure. So long, so long since he'd been caressed so tenderly, since his body had been given these attentions, but he had to stop it, they couldn't possibly go further.

And with a ray of clarity John realized that, despite his obvious arousal, he had no desire to reciprocate. He couldn't imagine touching Sherlock and embracing him in the same intimate manner. He had to stop this now but then Sherlock started rocking against him, eliciting another throaty groan from John. However, as he sought to control his reaction, he realized another detail that had escaped him. John was painfully, quite painfully by now, aware of his own arousal, but he realized with a start that, from the positions they were in, he should have noticed Sherlock's own a while ago, although he put his unawareness down to never having had another man grinding against him. It all boiled down to the fact that, despite all of his advances, all of his ministrations, and the very distracting rubbing against him, and Sherlock wasn't affected by it.

The realization burst into John's mind like a freight train out of control and allowed him to snap back to reality.

"Stop.." he mumbled at first, fumbling to detangle himself from the other man, "stop…, stop, stop, Stop!"

Sherlock stilled and looked down at John.

"I thought we'd settled this already."

"No, we hadn't, you just distracted me."

Sherlock smirked and leaned back in to kiss John and thus distract him once more.

"No!" John put his hands roughly against Sherlock's shoulders, and then tried to scramble back on the bed. Sherlock scrambled right along with him, so that now John was half sitting against the headboard, but the detective still straddled his hips.

"This isn't right Sherlock! I don't want this, ok, I. Don't. Want. This."

Sherlock's eyebrow went up again, and he looked straight into John's eyes as he moved his own hips lightly against John's groin, making John choke back another involuntary groan.

"I think some parts of you do want it."

"But I don't, and you don't either." whispered John, shaking his head.

Sherlock frowned. "I'm doing this of my own volition."

"No, you're doing out of some strange desire to help me. But *you* don't really want this."

Sherlock's frown deepened, as though he was trying to understand the implication behind John's words. "If you're asking whether I have any sexual desire toward you, then no. But that doesn't mean-"

"But it does, Sherlock. It means everything."

"I… don't understand. You want me to be aroused? If that will-"

"No! Sherlock! It's not something you should make yourself be, and it's not what I want."

"But you're enjoying it; that much is obvious." Indeed, and John wished Sherlock would get off of him so it would stop being so obvious.

"No,.. yes, but, it's for all the wrong reasons."

"Why? You're under stress, you haven't had intercourse in a long time, and you miss it. It's only natural. I'm offering you relief."

"But that's just it. It's like you're… forcing yourself to do it. Do you even know what you're offering? All that it entails? What's… involved?"

John had been fairly certain three years ago that Sherlock had never been with anyone before; the young man had either always been to shy and awkward about the subject, or he truly felt no desire to do it. Three years later, John was still unsure whether the detective had ever been intimate with someone, this day excluded. He supposed he should be touched that Sherlock cared enough about him to offer this to him, but he'd be damned if he was going to take something that precious and important from his friend.

"I am aware of it, yes."

"And you're not bothered by it? By.. all of it?

"It's not something I care about, one way or the other."

John looked at his friend in disbelief, but the more he considered all he knew about Sherlock, the more he realized Sherlock didn't know. Sure, he knew the mechanics of it, and he had without a doubt looked up information on the art of seduction, but he didn't know what it meant.

"I care."

"Is that not my decision?"

"I can't do that to you."

Narrowing his eyes, Sherlock spoke softly, "You're not forcing me, John."

"I can't do it, Sherlock. Besides, that's not the only reason." Fine, John thought, if Sherlock wasn't going to accept that having sex with someone who clearly didn't care for it was wrong, then he was just going to have to go into all the other reasons why he didn't want to sleep with him.

Sherlock remained silent for a few seconds, "Well?"

"What?"

"Give me those reasons. You have yet to establish a convincing argument why you're not willing to proceed. And don't say 'you just don't swing that way', because this is a purely physical act, a biological need that must be satiated."

"It's not… it's not like that for me. Please understand."

John needed to make Sherlock understand, he simply couldn't do it, no matter how good it felt.

"There are several reasons, so hear me out before you dismiss them. And please, please understand that they are important to me."

John hoped that, even if Sherlock couldn't understand or didn't agree with John's feelings, that he would at least respect them, and acknowledge how important they were for him.

"First of all, ok yes, my body is starved for attention; I miss Mary both at my side and in my bed. I miss being… touched like that.. I hadn't realized how much. But as much as that is true, there are emotions and feelings attached to those actions, Sherlock."

"You mean to the feelings you had for her?"

"In part, yes; I still associate intimacy with her, and with my love for her. But it's not just that. I can't… I can't just sleep with someone, Sherlock, ok. It's not just a biological function."

John knew he was darting around the subject, but it was difficult to discuss matters of the heart with other people, even if they were your best friend, but particularly when they were Sherlock Holmes, and very particularly when they were straddling your lap.

"Would you mind.." John motioned for the detective to move off, and thankfully the younger man acquiesced this time. He didn't move far, however, opting for sitting cross-legged next to John; their legs were still touching, but John supposed that was as good as he was going to get.

The doctor ran a trembling hand through his hair, trying to come up with the words that would make Sherlock see.

"It's not just sex for me, alright?" And it shouldn't be for you, either, he added in his mind, "Be it with Mary, or even before her, it's not just sex, it's making love, it's… a deeper connection than just the biological."

Sherlock considered this for a few moments.

"And yet you responded to me."

"No, my body did, but not me, Sherlock. Despite what people used to say, and still say, I don't fancy you that way. Think of it.. think of it in three parts: the body, the mind and the heart. My body was into it, it wants it, but I am more than just my body's needs. Neither my mind nor my heart wants it."

John regarded his friend, he could almost see the wheels turning in his brilliant mind.

"Can you not simply turn off the other two? After all, you overcome your feelings of self-preservation when you rush into a dangerous situation, or you ignore your medical judgment in favor of unhealthy foods, or-"

"Not for this. This means too much. Maybe not for other people, but it is for me. Besides, it's not fair to either of us." John could see that this is what Sherlock did himself. He turned off his heart and his body, and was all mind, calculating, going through the motions, even during such an intimate act.

"How is it not fair to me? I am the one who initiated it."

John sighed. "Because I'd be taking advantage of it, while you're getting none of the gratification. I'd be imagining my… my dead wife, there's something very wrong about that."

"You imagine her when you-"

"Yes," John cut his argument short; sometimes Sherlock could be just a little too blunt, as the last few minutes proved, "but when I do that I'm alone, I'm not substituting one person for another. If ever I fall in love again, I certainly hope I'm thinking of that person when we make love, and not…" John let the statement hang, as it was obvious what he meant. He still found it difficult, even after a whole year, to say the word 'dead' in relation to his young wife. Once was quite enough for one day.

Sherlock nodded slightly as understanding reflected in his eyes, "Because you want to 'make love' to that person, not merely satiate a need, so you would later feel guilty about sleeping with me, because you wouldn't be 'loving me'. I suppose that also explains why it's not fair to you; I wouldn't be 'making love' to you either."

John gaped at Sherlock for a few beats, "Yeah, that's pretty much the gist of it, although I wouldn't have put it quite that way."

"You are far too uncomfortable with the subject of sex."

"No, I'm uncomfortable with the subject of sex in relation to people with whom I have no intention of having sex."

John watched Sherlock ponder things for a few more minutes.

"I hadn't anticipated that." he admitted finally.

"What?" Which part? John's confused mind added.

"The reasons why you might be reticent about it. I anticipated you'd argue that you didn't like men, that I was your best friend, and it would be weird, and that it would be some sort of betrayal to your wife's memory, but I didn't anticipate this love thing. Is that really that… important?"

These were strange waters for Sherlock, John realized. Not the matter of love, per se, for no one, especially not Sherlock, was going to convince him that the self-proclaimed sociopath was incapable of love. John had seen plenty of instances where Sherlock demonstrated love and affection, toward Mrs. Hudson, toward John himself, even toward Mycroft, and recently toward his niece. But on the subject of romantic love, the love for a lover or partner, Sherlock was almost completely ignorant and innocent. It was precisely because of that that John had to protect him from himself.

"Yes, at least it should be, I think."

"It didn't come up as such in my research."

John allowed himself a tired chuckle, it had really been a strange, exhausting day.

"Next time, come to me with your questions about sex. The internet is not that reliable when it comes to that particular subject. I'll dance around the subject, but I'll try to give you the best advice, medically and otherwise."

Sherlock nodded, and John noticed that he had been getting more and more quiet and withdrawn.

"You ok?"

"I'm sorry."

"What?" Sherlock's whispered apology had been so soft John wasn't sure he'd heard it right.

"I'm sorry, didn't mean to hurt you."

John sighed, "You didn't hurt me, Sherlock. It was just… a misunderstanding. If.. if I see it from your point of view, I guess it's almost… touching. Thank you for caring… it's partly my fault for not admitting this earlier anyways."

They remained in awkward silence for a few more seconds.

"Please don't think less of me." Sherlock's whispered plea went straight to John's heart. The younger man was truly frightened that John would be what? Embarrassed? Angry? Disgusted?

"How could I? You were looking out for me, you were willing to do something you didn't care for, to comfort me. How could I think less of you? Like I said, I'm quite flattered, and amazed, in a way. So don't worry."

John decided that the best thing to do was get out of Sherlock's room as quickly as possible, in order to dispel the heavy atmosphere that had gathered around them. Standing up from the bed, and swiftly pulling his shirt over his head, he placed a tentative hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

"Thanks, for making me realize some things about myself that I've been hiding from. Strange way of doing it and please don't do it again, but thanks." John grinned when he saw Sherlock's lips twitch slightly.

"Oh, before I forget," he added, standing by the doorway on his way out, "I really must commend you; unwanted or not, great technique. I'm impressed."

Sherlock got on the joke, grateful for the lightening mood, "I am a quick study."

"Well, if you ever do give you heart to someone, and they to you, I can say for certain your time and study will be appreciated. I might even grow jealous." John ducked the pillow that was aimed for his head, rushing out of the room. He did however have the decency to blush at Sherlock's final comment: "I'll just tell them I learned it all from you, doctor!"

The End

A/N: That's it! How was it? I'm not sure whether it's funny or weird or borderline crack, it just came out that way. Cheers for now, I hope to upload some other new one-shots soon. All the best, AR