Sherlock feels hot against him, his naked skin heated up and John lets out a whimper, reaching out for him, feeling hotter than he'd ever felt before.
He pulls him closer towards him, wanting more, more skin contact, more heat, more Sherlock.
The other man is moving atop of him, the pleasure almost overwhelming him.
"Sherlock..." his voice is high and breathless and whatever he wanted to say turns into a moan when he feels Sherlock move again.
"Good," he mumbles almost frantically, "Good, Sherlock, please."
He can see the other man smile, uncharacteristically soft, his eyes dark in the unlit room fogged with desire.
He leans down to him, presses his lips against his neck, the soft kiss turning rough when John throws his head back with a groan to give him better access. He is nibbling at his throat and John doesn't mind, doesn't care that everyone will be able to see it, is just happy about what it will prove.
Sherlock is still moving, a steady rhythm and John would close his eyes and just lose himself in it, but it would mean stop looking at Sherlock.
Sherlock, who has started moving his mouth up his throat, alternating between just softly pressing his lips against him and sucking the skin into his mouth. He reaches his earlobe and licks it before opening his mouth and biting down, not hard enough for it to hurt, just to intensify the already almost overwhelming feeling. He can feel his whole skin tickle, almost like electricity, the tingling sensation everywhere and nowhere in particular at the same time.
Sherlock moves towards his mouth, stops for a brief moment to smile at him again, less soft this time almost looking a bit sad now, but John is too occupied with the movements of his hand that isn't resting against his hips. It's moving down slowly, too slow John almost wants to say, but it's steadily moving down into the right direction and he won't complain, can't really, not now, not when Sherlock's movements are starting to lose their rhythm, when he can see Sherlock's eyes flutter.
He is close, he can tell by the way the grip his hand has on his hip is tightening and John is close too, he needs just one push to go over the edge, one more touch for the swelling heat to spread out over his whole body.
He gets it when Sherlock wraps his hands around his cock, his usual fineness lost as he starts moving it up and down fast and John moans, cause it doesn't matter, it's good, it's perfect.
Sherlock reaches his mouth and kisses him, soft almost like he doesn't really want to touch him and leans back a bit and John can't stand it, wants his lips against his own, wants the man atop of him as close as they can possible get. But Sherlock smiles and John doesn't move, just stares at him, waiting for something he isn't sure himself what it is.
"Goodbye John." Sherlock whispers. And John doesn't understand, tries to reach for him, but it's too late and he can't feel Sherlock anymore. Can't feel him atop of him, can't feel his hands, can't feel the kiss he is pressing against his lips and it's when he realizes it.
He wakes with a start, his arms spread over the empty, left side over his bed and it takes him a few minutes to calm his breath, for the shaking of his body to end, a few minutes before it stops hurting so much and the images of Sherlock falling down, again and again and again, finally stop.
He sinks back into his bed afterwards and stares blankly at the ceiling, feeling colder than he ever had in his whole life.