John slams the magazine onto the table in front of Sherlock. It takes a minute for the detective to note the motion and he reaches over to pick up the book, smirking at his John as he reads. "That's quite…endearing."
"Top 10 Couples in London – we beat the bloody Prince, Sherlock, the bloody Prince," John says as he paces the living room.
Sherlock grins. "I think that should be a matter of pride."
"We need to be more careful," John says softer as he flops into his own chair. "This kind of thing, Sherlock, this press isn't alright."
Sherlock looks at the article gripped tight in his hands again and his smile starts to fade, remembering the reason why they aren't allowed to be public. Sherlock's tired of it – he doesn't like that he's being forced to hide the one thing he's glad to have. "I don't want to hide anymore," Sherlock mumbles first.
"Sorry, what was that?" John says as he looks up after a few deep breaths.
Sherlock swallows once, hard. "I don't want to hide the true nature of our relationship anymore."
"Sherlock," John says carefully, not knowing how to say that he wishes he could agree without it hurting them both more. "I haven't even told Mary yet, for Godsakes."
Sherlock stands from his chair and walks towards his room, adamant to ignore John since the argument clearly will not end in his favor. John follows him in. "Sherlock, don't."
"Don't do what, John? What do you want me to say?" Sherlock says, turning when he reaches his bedroom door, a look of emotional exhaustion playing upon his face. "I can't play pretend forever, John."
"It's just," John doesn't find the words.
"I don't usually give merit to trivial things such as articles, John, I despise the news. If nothing else, realize I am invested in whatever we are. Even if you see me as nothing more than a mistress in lieu of your failing marriage," Sherlock says as he steps into his room and shuts the door behind him.
John bangs on the door three times before Sherlock opens it again. "Don't you dare leave it like that, Sherlock."
"Leave what?" Sherlock asks, pretending nothing's fazed him.
John takes a deep breath before replying. "Do you really think that's all you are to me? A mistress – really, it's a bit melodramatic of an assumption."
"Considering the circumstances, it's the most plausible answer," Sherlock replies, fidgeting a bit as he tries to lean against the door frame.
Its times like this John can tell that Sherlock's having a tough time with the amount of emotional strain – when Sherlock is deeply uncomfortable. "What can I do to convince you otherwise?"
"I think the answer to that is obvious, Doctor Watson, even an idiot could calculate that equation," Sherlock whispers softly, moving closer. "I'm not one for sharing, John, I've only made an exception for you because it was the only way you would have me. There's no game to this anymore."
John wants. He never understands what it is about Sherlock that drives him mad in every way, but it's there and it's making a good point as he wraps his slender arms around John's waist, delving his face into John's shoulder blade and nuzzling there before starting to plant small kisses everywhere where bare skin is reachable. "Sherlock – I thought you wanted…"
"I do," Sherlock says in between pecks that soon turn into open mouthed bites and kisses, trailing marks across John's neck. "I also operate under the notion…I believe in showing…so sue me, I'm in the mood."
John chuckles as he clutches around Sherlock as well. "Ah, Sherlock," John pulls them flush together, grinding groins together with Sherlock's back against the doorframe while Sherlock continues on his neck. Sherlock finally decides eventually to move his lips to hover over John's, satisfied with the almost full set of marks around John's neck. John reaches up and wraps his fingers in Sherlock's curls. "You know I love you, right?"
Sherlock takes a moment to let the information sink in. "You do?"
"Of course, you daft sod," John says, chuckling in small breaths right over Sherlock's lips.
Sherlock takes another minute. "Would this be a good time to mention that I love you too?"
"Oh," John says, a smile growing on his face. "Yes, that would, yes that's good."
Sherlock's face erupts in a smile as well. "John?"
"Yes?" John asks, in a bit of a daze.
Sherlock shakes his head and dives in for a kiss instead, deciding his question might be stupid. John responds slowly, a session that's a completely different pace than what they've normally established with one another at the discovery of love in the equation. What's usually fast, fiery, lust-filled, and tantric is now slower, more passionate with every stroke of the hand or brush of the lips.
Slowly they part lips twice. The first time to strip Sherlock out of his shirts, which doesn't last long as with the buttons they find they can continue to kiss while the soft purple fabric brushes over Sherlock's alabaster shoulders. The second is for John's jumper and t-shirt, which Sherlock fists his fingers in the bottom of the fabric until they're ready to pull apart again for air and removal of another unnecessary layer between them.
Next is trousers and pants, a feat that is only struggled by their desire to remain as stuck together as possible as Sherlock walks John back to the bed. Laughs are exchanged softly through breaks in connecting lips as they collapse clumsily together onto the detective's sheets. This is perhaps the first time they've done this in the detective's room, as John always thought it was more appropriate in his old room.
When the clothes are gone and the struggle to be naked against one another is over, Sherlock wraps his long fingers around both of their members and pumps them together in a comfortable fist. John reaches up and wraps his fingers again in Sherlock's dark curls, bringing their lips together so that he doesn't feel the need to bite his lip.
Sherlock pecks the doctor's lips before pulling back again, a gentle smile on his face. "I have no opposition to hearing you."
John moans out and Sherlock responds by diving down to John's throat again, bearing down on John's favorite spot while increasing the speed on their members. "Ah, Sherlock, stop."
Sherlock looks up, stopping his hand and looking up at John's face. "Not good?"
"Too good," John admits as he puts his hand on Sherlock's cheek and tilts his head off of the pillow for a short kiss. "I wanted…more."
Sherlock smiles, thinking to an activity he didn't think once he'd ever adhere to but found he had a certain rhythm for. "As you wish," Sherlock says with a wink as he starts kissing down John's torso.
"Did you just quote a cheesy American film to me?" John asks, raising an eyebrow.
"Problem?" Sherlock asks as he makes it halfway down John's torso, only stopping for a second to mutter the word.
"Not really," John says as he takes in what Sherlock's about to do. "You don't have to – that's not what I…oh, fuck, Sherlock."
Sherlock's lips wrap around his member and John loses all conscious thought and floats away somewhere in between seeing his member press against Sherlock's cheek underneath his perfect cheekbones and the feel of the detective's tongue seductively swirling around his member, a small hum in his throat that vibrated through John perfectly. John didn't last as long as usual, the stakes were higher than ever this time and John was perfectly aware of the fact there were so many questions looming in the air.
Sherlock pulls off with a pop and smiles at John, having swallowed every drop of John's cum without even the question. He climbs again with short pecks up John's torso until he reaches the blogger's lips and kisses him deeply and properly.
"I can take care of myself, if you'd like," Sherlock says when they part, not thinking it any different from any other day.
John's taken a lot of time to ease into male-on-male sexual activity, and giving head is not something he's found himself entirely comfortable with trying yet. However, something about Sherlock's demeanor as he asks if he's to take care of himself makes John sad that Sherlock assumed reciprocation wasn't fair to ask for. "Sherlock, I can't do that…"
"I understand completely, John," Sherlock says as he goes to pull away.
John reaches out his hand and pulls Sherlock back by the arm, accidentally collapsing the detective's lanky body over top of his own. They both smile a bit cheekily as they rearrange themselves so that Sherlock is lying semi-comfortably over John. "I had a different idea, if it's alright with you."
"The floor is yours, Doctor Watson," Sherlock takes a moment to think about it. "Though not literally, please, I don't think either of us wants a repeat of that incident. It was hard enough to explain the first time we put both of our backs out before case."
John chuckles. "I meant, um, if you would like – I mean, if it sounds like a good idea to you. Would you like to…ahem, um, take charge this time?"
"Oh," Sherlock asks, a more serious expression passing over his face. Another thing, really, that they've never explored the possibility of – Sherlock as a top. "Are you perfectly sure that's what you want?"
John nods. "That would, um, good, yes."
"No need to be shy, Doctor Watson," Sherlock says, whispering over John's ear. "I'll take good care of you."
Sherlock says with a wink as he reaches over into his mahogany night-stand drawer and pulls out a small tube. Sherlock debates several questions about how John wants to go about doing this part. Sherlock finally takes a stance with another idea in mind, especially to ease the way for John's first penetration. "Turn over, please."
John mutters something unintelligible under his breath, some kind of humor that Sherlock doesn't hear because he's focusing on trying to remember the mechanics of something he's never tried before. "If you become uncomfortable with anything, by all means John, do let me know."
"Alright," John mumbles before feeling a moist, rough surface brush against his entrance. John doesn't have to turn around to know what's happening. He feels his legs start to go numb as he vibrates with lust at the action, Sherlock starting to lick deeper. "Oh, dear fuck, Sherlock."
"Bad?" Sherlock asks for a moment, pulling away.
"No, God, yes, don't stop doing that," John yells out, biting his own lip after. "Sorry."
"No, the vocal appreciation is, by all means continue," Sherlock says with a small moan as the back of throat as he goes back to rimming, holding John's thighs apart so he can go deeper.
"Fucking…oh, fuck, Sherlock, how long does this preparation part take?" John asks, his words becoming more breathless and desperate as the sentences continue. He's not quite sure how many times he asked, moaned, or a mix – it's all a bit of a blur at the moment.
Sherlock removes his tongue and starts to prod with a first slicked finger. "Now you understand how I feel, you're quite the tease."
After Sherlock's added a second finger, John hisses from the feeling of the burn. "Sherlock, would you do me a favor and – yeah, that, that's what I was going to say."
Sherlock crooks his fingers to the right angle to press against John's prostate on every inward thrust. "I am not a doctor, but I am a genius."
"Fair enough," John says, originally sure he had some witty retort for that until he became too distracted by pleasure to remember it. "Third, third finger now."
"Are you sure you need three?" Sherlock asks quietly.
"I've seen your cock, Sherlock, yes I need three," John huffs out breathlessly as Sherlock adds another finger to the mix, all of them now pressing against his prostate on every intake. It's barely a few minutes later before John Watson is begging for Sherlock's cock in his arse, something he never thought he'd do but it's become quite the interesting day.
"Patience," Sherlock says, mimicking John's voice and hearing John whine underneath him, feeling a bit of a sick satisfaction from the reversed roles. He pulls on his member until he's sure he's fully lubricated before he positions himself at John's entrance. "Are you sure?" Sherlock asks a final question.
John groans. "Oh, for fuck sakes," John says as he flips them over, sinking down in one sit onto Sherlock's member. "Oh."
"Slowly," Sherlock huffs out, not being able to finish the sentence, his body over-wracked with lust. "John, oh fuck, John – I never knew, if this is how this feels, oh, John." He takes a breath. "How are you doing up there?"
"I've got quite the view," John half-jokes as he winces a bit, getting used to feeling of being so full. There's a bit of a burn, but the look of pleasure on Sherlock's face more than makes up for it. "Do you want me to move?"
The only reply that comes from Sherlock is a loud, positive moan and a nod of the head before John rises and falls again onto his member. Sherlock practically screams John's name. John, encouraged by the initial reaction, starts to ride Sherlock faster, putting his hands on Sherlock's shoulders for support. Neither of them can form cohesive words as they move together, Sherlock canting his hips up every time John pushes his down.
Eventually, John feels a bit tired and rolls them over, making sure not to lose position as he wraps his legs around Sherlock's waist. Sherlock looks up, awaiting a nod of permission from John that he does get before going absolutely wild with thrusts, fast and hard and right on the proper angle that has them both driven crazy until it's over. Sherlock comes quickly with a shout of "oh, John" after John explodes all over his chest.
Sherlock pulls out slowly, wincing at the unfamiliar feeling of pulling out completely. The detective brushes away the aftershock and collapses onto John's chest, curling up and wrapping his arms around his blogger. This is a feeling that's not so unfamiliar, and that is perfectly comfortable as tan arms wrap around his torso. "Can you stay for a few minutes?"
John looks up into the pleading eyes of his detective, his best friend, his lover and sees vulnerability. Something that Sherlock Holmes never shows, not even to him. Not until now. Once he's caught his breath, he smiles sleepily. "Can I stay the night?"
Sherlock's eyes light up. "Really?"
"Yes, I'm sure my room's still in order," John jokes as he manoeuvers himself to sit up, keeping his arms still locked around Sherlock.
It takes a moment for it to set in to Sherlock that John is joking and he grins, adjusting his position so that he can straddle John's lap, getting perfect eye contact with John. "So…I'm more than a mistress?"
"I want to show you something," John says, pecking Sherlock on the lips before helping the detective up, wincing as he sits up fully as he goes to stand up. "That's a usual feeling, right?"
"It's alright – it'll be much less noticeable on you," Sherlock says as he reaches into his drawer and pulls out a pair of pajama pants and his bigger housecoat, throwing the housecoat to John. Sherlock grins as he turns around and John is fastening the coat. "The neck, however, I might have to lend you a scarf."
"Completely purple?" John asks with a chuckle as he walks out of the room, beckoning for Sherlock to follow.
"83%, approximately," Sherlock says with a smug grin as he follows John, quickly noting they are on their way to John's room, though doesn't speak a word as he's fascinated by the notion he's going to be shown something important.
When he reaches the room, John is up on his toes trying to reach the top shelf of his room again. Sherlock had broken his tool with some experiment neither of them quite remembers. Sherlock smiles and leans down to peck John's cheek. "What am I looking for?"
John laughs softly. "A box labelled 'pornographic novels', if you please." Sherlock's brow furrows. John laughs a bit more loudly as Sherlock's face distorts in confusion. "I had to label it with something to make you not want to rummage through it."
Sherlock pulls it down and smiles understandingly as he hands John the box. John moves to sit on the bed before opening. Sherlock takes position sitting on the other end of the box.
"May I?" Sherlock asks.
"Be my guest, but don't mock the sentimentality of it, alright?" John pleads as Sherlock begins to lift the lid, shocked as to what he finds inside.
"Is this," Sherlock can't form words as he pulls out newspaper after newspaper with headlines of the two of them on cases. One with a sticky note, frustration noted that Sherlock didn't understand why the term 'bachelor' bothered him so much back then. Everything from 'Hat-man' to the Reichenbach fall article, everything's there. Absolutely everything. Pictures from every social event they've been to, fan-letters, a few fan stories about them (even though they were odd to him, John kept the sentimental ones out of adoration), pictures from everything. The candle from Angelo's, the ashtray Sherlock stole for John from Buckingham Palace, their hats from articles. Nothing was missing. "John…I don't know what to say."
"Do you believe you mean more to me now?" John asks, moving over to sit beside Sherlock instead of the opposite end of the box.
"I'm…selfish, John, and I must ask," Sherlock says, taking in every piece from their past in that box. "Why now? Why did you get married? Why, why did all of this have to get so…fucked up?"
"Curse words. We're being serious now then, are we?" John jokes before clearing his throat and continuing to speak. "Alright, well, here it goes: I was severely stuck in the closet, you were bent on convincing yourself you were a sociopath – neither of us was ready for a relationship. Before that could change in dynamic, you faked your bloody death – which has to be fine with me because you did it to save my life but it's not, okay, it's just not okay. I was left alone and I missed you and apparently the only plausible option then was to find someone even more psychotic than you. With the whole Mary situation the way it is, Sherlock, I have no idea what to do. I don't want to be that punk that isn't there for their child's childhood – but I can't live without you."
"I'm sure if you," Sherlock can't form words. "I've apologized already."
"I know," John says.
"You moved on, okay, how come I never got to be angry for that?" Sherlock asks indignantly.
"Excuse me?" John can hardly believe his ears.
Sherlock nods, standing up. "I spent two years, John, TWO YEARS of my life being tortured and exhausted and fighting almost to the death so that I could disband a network to save your life. Do you know what kept me running, kept me alive? The ideas that I could come home to you at the end of it all – but by the time I get back you've got a new life and hardly any room for a lanky borderline-sociopathic detective."
"Sherlock," John whispers, standing and pausing for a moment – unsure what is fair to do. He finally resigns to wrapping his arms around Sherlock in a tight hug. "Oh, Sherlock, you should have said something."
"I never had the chance," Sherlock mumbles into the top of John's head, curling around his blogger and holding back tears of frustration.
John groans. "You will have the chance and many more. You…Sherlock, all you went through, why?"
"For you," Sherlock mutters weakly over John's hair before hugging tighter around his blogger, needing the warmth and comfort. Perhaps moreover, the knowledge from John's touch that he was there and not back where he was for those years.
"The least I could do," John says, pulling away from Sherlock slowly, noting the detective still won't let go of his hands at the very least. He needs touch. John's more than familiar with the symptoms. "How often do they…ahem, um, the flashbacks?"
"I don't sleep often, but when I sleep," Sherlock doesn't need to finish the sentence. It's every time he shuts his eyes and tries to dream the night away that the wounds are remembered.
John sighs. "You need to not lie to me next time, okay? Not lying about your scars, not lying about where you've been – you don't need to lie to me, okay?" John asks cautiously.
Sherlock just nods slowly. "What now?"
"Now I have a long talk with Mary and work this out," John says in a long huff of breath, dragging out each word like it's painful.
"Well, you could always wait until the case is over," Sherlock suggests. John watches carefully as Sherlock strides out the door and down the stairs, following in curiosity. "Well, if you have no qualms against your wife being locked away, of course. You might want to divorce her, seeing as she's Moran."
"As in…"
"As in Moriarty's number two, John, she's the piece of the puzzle we never factored in. With your permission, the information on this drive," Sherlock pulls the drive, only slightly damaged from when John tried to burn it and the fake flames didn't eat it away, "Mary will be convicted of several murders and the staging of the 'return of Jim Moriarty' on the media outlets. Pre-recorded software, stupid enough with the closest her psychopathic mind can feel to sentiment she left you the video footage of Moriarty that ended up being the same footage she later manipulated and sent off to the press."
John holds the drive in his hands carefully. "What about the child...I mean, um, my – my child?"
"Will be birthed and given to the parent not in life-sentence for prison, if you're up for it," Sherlock admits as he pulls out his phone, readying to call Mycroft and Lestrade – luckily reachable from the same line if timed properly. "Final call goes to you, John."
John frowns, fiddling with the ring on his hand. "I liked being married."
Sherlock grins wide. "Well, it's not the worst tradition in the world, if there's dancing."
John looks up at Sherlock. "Would you ever consider…partaking in such a ceremony?"
"Only for someone quite bent towards the idea," Sherlock says as he steps forward, comfortably and uncomfortably close to John all at once. "I was going to ask you a tidbit about that earlier."
"Really?" John raises an eyebrow.
"I wondered if it was me you had been seeing, if you would have been open to the notion with my company instead of Mary's," Sherlock says very smartly, clearing his throat to keep from allowing the emotion to seep through.
"Send the bloody text and marry me already," John says before reaching up and smashing their lips together again, this time a combination of fast and slow burning passion as they kiss.
They part, Sherlock's breath ghosting over John's lips. "I'd like nothing more in the world. Your distraction is welcome, but for the purposes of the events at hand…"
"Sorry," John says, flushing a bit as he pulls away and walks towards the couch, picking the article up off the table as Sherlock texts on his phone for Mycroft or Lestrade to come pick up the information as soon as they are done shagging. "I think I'll have this framed, we beat the bloody prince."
"Yes, quite remarkable," Sherlock says as he walks over to John again. "About that distraction…"
"Oh, God, yes," John says, pulling Sherlock along to the bedroom again. Wondering how weird, in the back of his mind, that people will take it when they explain a fan-based article on their love made them ready to confess to the world.