The Unbreakable Friendship
Watson cradled Sherlock in his arms. "It's alright," he said, softly pressing his lips to Sherlock's forehead. "They can't get you. You're safe."
"But…the voices!" Holmes was most definitely high. He only spoke of the voices when he had consumed a sizable amount of alcohol or when he was high. "They want to keep me away from you, John. They keep telling me to steer clear of you, but I don't want to. I WON'T LISTEN TO YOU! YOU HEAR ME?" He screamed towards the ceiling, eyes tearing in frustration.
"Sh, sh, it's okay, just calm down, calm…down…" Sherlock took deep breaths as Watson instructed, and then lay down on Watson's lap, his head between his legs. Now, if these were more favorable circumstances, Watson would have been exceedingly aroused, however, he was under the impression that Sherlock would be sure to vomit at any moment. "Alright now, get a hold of yourself. You. Are. Fine. Just lay down." John took Sherlock's head in his hands and tenderly rested Holmes's head on his pillow.
"John…will you stay with me, please? I'm afraid…"
"Fine, fine." Watson lay down next to Holmes. "So…what should we do?"
"I just don't know…there are just so many…options…" Sherlock closed his eyes and put his arm around John. As he buried his face into Holmes's chest, he noticed his partner's hands slipping a bit, to places that made him considerably crave the touch of his dear friend. Before he even gave it a second thought he had turned himself over on top of Sherlock, kissing him passionately as if they had been doing it for years. Sherlock clumsily attempted to remove Watson's pants, but failed miserably.
"Let me get that." John smiled at him and then slowly but surely got the job done. Watson impetuously took off all of the two men's articles of clothing and they fervently ensued to entwine their bodies, ceasing to be Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, and becoming one fantastic being, artful movements expressing the ardor they felt for each other.
At least an hour later, the two lay on Sherlock's bed, extraordinarily sweaty, smelling of blistering, demonstrative sex. Sherlock felt significantly better, especially with his hand in John's, their love not obligatorily expressed through words, but justifiably rendered through touch. And although both knew this to be true, they also felt necessitated to convey their feelings for each other through the only other means they knew besides physically-through the spoken word.
"John…" Holmes began, "I love you. I have always loved you. You are the only one I want, forever and always, and I'm so sorry that it has taken so long for me to tell you that." There was a long, deep, and dramatic pause, with tangible tension in the air.
"I love you, too." Watson provided Sherlock with a loving smile, nothing promiscuous about it, a smile full of tender loving care and the kind of hope one gets from a best friend.
"You're my best friend. You know that, right?"
"Of course." The two shared a penetrating gaze and they knew that nothing could part them, not ever. There was a bond between them that was unbreakable, and that would never, ever change.
