It's intensity and moisture and God, this is so good every time and he still isn't over the amazement that it keeps happening and John cries out, fingers pressing into dark curls, "Sherlock!"
The intensity and moisture leave, leaving him cooling and frantic.
" 'm not Sherlock."
It takes John a moment to register and he thinks that it's a game, because it's too early on for them to have figured out the needs and kinks of the other, so he plays along.
"Oh, and who are you then?" he asks teasingly, eager for the heat and wet to return.
"Whomever you want me to be."
There is a little thing in the tone that makes John grasp that somehow this isn't a game.
"What if I want you to be Sherlock?"
There's a long, long silence.
"That won't be enough."
The heat has gone and much as he'd like it not to be, John is scared that nothing in the future between them will matter if they don't figure this out.
He shifts so that Sherlock is forced to roll back and tugs on Sherlock's arms so that soon they're on their sides, face to face. He didn't understand that those identities Sherlock slides in and out of so easily might have a cost.
"It is, it always will be."