It had been a gruelling day and an exhausting case but at the end, they'd cornered the killer and Lestrade's crew had taken him into custody. John walked into the lounge, threw himself down onto the couch with a resonant sigh leaving Sherlock to trail behind and close the door.
He knew he should wash up before sleep overtook him but honestly he couldn't be fagged and even the grittiness of the dirt and pieces of broken windscreen scattered through his clothes and hair weren't enough to motivate him to shift from the couch just yet.
Joining him on the couch, Sherlock glanced to John, reached out and deftly plucked a fragment of glass from his shoulder with long elegant fingers. It dropped onto the coffee table with a quiet chink. The fingers moved again…..chink….and again. The movement and noise were oddly relaxing in their repetition and John's eyes glazed a little as he watched the light play off the shards of glass on the table top.
Sherlock, never one to overlook a clue broke the silence of the room, "Look just come here will you. You're practically asleep already and it will be easier to get this glass out with you closer". Sherlock uncharacteristically patted the sofa closer to him and, too tired to even consider what had prompted the small mercy, John scooted over.
Pluck…chink…pluck…chink. The delicate fingers continued their work barely touching John's hair. John's head nodded and without making a conscious decision, allowed his head to droop against Sherlock shoulder, the noise of glass hitting table reminding him of rain on the roof as a child.
At some point, having removed the obvious pieces, Sherlock began running his fingers through John's hair, careful not to drag any undiscovered pieces across his scalp and the only thought that surfaced in John's clouded brain was mmmmm…nice, this is…very nice.
John awoke with a start some time later and realised with horror that at some point, his sleep deprived body had given up all pretence or propriety and had slid, probably not gracefully, down Sherlock's body and his head was now cradled snuggly in Sherlock's lap. Sherlock's clever fingers were still carding their way through John's hair as if this wasn't the most excruciatingly embarrassing position for two men to find themselves in. When John made a move to rise, a hand paused on his head, applied firmer pressure until John stilled and then resumed their soothing slide through his hair.
"Ummm, Sherlock?" John began his voice muffled somewhat against Sherlock's trousers
"Yes John?"
"Can I…get up?"
"Why? You seem so comfortable?"
John had to concede that it was, in fact, very comfortable. His head nestled on Sherlock's lap, his neck curved gently over his thigh and his shoulder supported on the sofa. If it hadn't been that John was intimately aware that with every stroke of Sherlock's hand and he really should ask him to stop that John's right ear was being repeatedly pressed into Sherlock's groin. A groin that, in response to the gentle friction, appeared to be at least somewhat aware of the possibilities this position presented.
Stroke…press…stroke…press. Images of his head bobbing in Sherlock's lap flooded his head as if seen from across the room including one without trousers and with John's mouth replacing his ear and where the hell had THAT come from?
John tried a different approach, "I think the glass is probably all gone now"
"Almost certainly" Stroke…press…stroke…press, "I'm actually finding this rather soothing, do you mind if we continue?"
Yes…no…yes…warm…no…yes…hands…stroking….fingers…yes …head bobbing…. NO! Slightly alarmed at the direction his thoughts were heading and that Sherlock found the thought of having John's head in his lap SOOTHING and an enthusiastic stirring in his own lap John began struggling in earnest.
"Sherlock! My head….is in…your crotch"
The feel of Sherlock's hands immediately disappeared and instead moved to help John right himself and John gave silent thanks that even if Sherlock didn't quite understand WHY a line had been crossed he understood that John certainly had an issue with the situation.
Clearing his throat and running his own hands through his hair, John turned ready to give Sherlock a decent serve of exactly why the whole situation was wrong beyond all reason only to be confronted by Sherlock's own tired, confused and was that hurt? look in the detective's eyes and his anger and frustration evaporated in a heartbeat
"Sherlock", he began slowly, "While I concede that on a physical level, having somebody run their hands through my hair is immensely relaxing, and I'm sure there's some psychological connection to feeling safe, and warm and… " John waved his hands searching for the right word without it sounding incredibly needy "…. home. You can't possibly believe it's OK for us to sit on the couch and…"
Sherlock interrupted, "I was sitting, you were more correctly lying"
"Shut up Sherlock, I'm making a point. Us…couch…crotch"
"Bit not good?" The beginnings of a small smile began tugging at the corners of Sherlock's mouth as he tried for humour.
"More than a bit Sherlock, quite a bit more than not good." John missed the attempted defusing, still unsettled, both by how easily Sherlock had seemingly accepted the situation and, more worryingly, how intensely good it had all felt in so many ways.
"John…."
John recognised the tone. It was reserved for when Sherlock was frustrated, angry and reserved for situations where he felt there was a lesson John needed to learn. The one that made John feel like the most sensible social conventions were not just misguided but damaging to the future of the British Empire.
"John, listen to me. We're two grown men. We live together, we eat together and we work together. It stands to reason that we seek comfort in each other's presence. Touch is an important social and physical need and there is nothing unnatural in giving and receiving such support. That I became aroused by the touch…."
How does he just say that word as if he's reading a damned shopping list? John thought
"…..aroused by the touch is not an unexpected physical reaction and excuse me if I just point out that it seems rather unfair that you be more embarrassed about my lack of self-control than I am. It's actually slightly insulting to find out that you'd think me unable to respond physically to having your head in my lap. Have I accurately summarised all of the factors leading to your sense of panic?"
John became aware that at some point, his mouth had fallen open and he was now staring at Sherlock as his brain tried valiantly to process the information. He'd followed the entire working, living part, and the touch being a social need. But somewhere around the arousal and erectile dysfunction part something in his brain had short-circuited and was now desperately trying to reboot and restore normal services.
"John?..." Sherlock repeating his name seemed to complete the reboot.
"Just..Just give me a second to pull my thoughts together. Did you really just say that you're angry with me because you think I've been under some delusion that you….can't get hard?" How did a day chasing a serial killer end up discussing Sherlock's sexual function?
"I'm a perfectly healthy male John"
"I know Sherlock"
"My libido is in what is considered the normal range John"
"Sherlock…"
"Slightly higher than normal actually"
"Sherlock…"
"And my refractory period would be considered above average for my age"
"Sherlock…"
"In fact, statistically, I have a number of measures above the bell curve"
"Sherlock…stop"
"And more than once, I've toyed with the idea of bringing someone home for casual intercourse"
"Sherlock…stop!"
"But the idea of sex with a stranger was unappealing, and the risk of STDs was unacceptably high"
"SHERLOCK STOP! Just…stop." The shout had, finally, the desired effect. Sherlock's increasingly revealing bullet point list of his private statistics ground to a halt and they were left in the room staring at each other in a strange, pensive silence. Being the one that called the halt, John sensibly chose to be the one to break it.
"Sherlock, why is it important to you that I know all this? Where is all this coming from?"
"I find myself alone John. I've been alone for much of my life, so this condition is nothing new. However with you here, close, I find myself feeling differently about a great many things. When we first met I turned down a sexual advance from you…."
"No Sherlock…I wasn't…" and I didn't think he even remembered that night at Angelo's while they were chasing that cab driver.
"Shh John, now It's my turn to make a point. I find myself willing to consider exploring other options, with a friend, on a more personal level."
Wait, is he asking…
Sherlock continued, "…not that I'd press the matter. Tonight's experience clearly alarmed you and made you uncomfortable so I won't mention this again."
Shit…he IS asking…
"I'm sorry to have misinterpreted the situation. I was confident, on past evidence, that my clumsy attempt to advance our relationship would be welcome. Please forgive me John."
For the second time in a night, John found himself speechless. The moment sat on a knife-edge and John was acutely aware that whatever move he made next would have deep and lasting repercussions. If he chose to step away, this door would close and although Sherlock would act as if nothing had changed internally he would conclude that the brilliant brain of Sherlock Holmes had somehow miscalculated, and making him doubt decisions based on facts and evidence. It would eat him alive.
Sherlock sat, waiting for John's response and looking like a man who'd just laid his soul bare. All the facts, his desires, his fears and at the very end and so important to Sherlock, his assumedly mistaken conclusions lay there in the space between them. John thought he'd never seen the man more vulnerable and he was overwhelmed at the swell of confusing emotions that surged inside him. Sherlock, who never trusted anyone, trusted John at this moment with it all and still sat, waiting for John to pass judgement. The most brilliant, beautiful, insightful and quirky man he'd ever met had just given himself completely in almost every way that mattered and John had taken it, taken it all and now it was time to give back.
"Sherlock, you're not mistaken; it's just a bit unexpected." In for a penny "Would you mind terribly if, right now, I just lay my head back down. I think you running your fingers through my hair would be rather wonderful just at the moment"
The strain eased from Sherlock's face gave John the courage to continue, "and if we both find it…..soothing…again, I think that will be just fine with me."