John reached for the shower nob. With a squeak, it rotated and the water above him chit chit chit until there was no more. He sighed and stepped out, reaching for his towel, tracing the place where Sherlock's towel belonged. His name was still up on the wall, even though it had been three years.
John wrapped the towel around his waist, when he heard his belly grumble. There was nothing waiting for him today, so he stepped downstairs and into the kitchen. The fridge was empty. All cupboards empty. John needed to go grocery shopping.
John's legs began to ache so he headed for the living room, where Sherlock used to play his violin. He stopped short and the towel dropped to the ground, leaving him naked. Sherlock was sitting on the couch, looking at him, grinning.
John clenched his jaw. It's only a hallucination. He's dead, you saw. But Sherlock started speaking. "John, the towel. You dropped your towel."
He didn't move. Shock took hold of his body. Nothing passed through his mind. He only looked, non-comprehending.
Sherlock sighed and stood up, taking slow, cautious steps towards him. He looked down at John and grinned. "Hello." Sherlock's voice was a deep, rolling landslide. It punched at his throat painfully and he felt tears swell at his eyes.
Sherlock kept eye contact as he bent down. Once he was the lowest he could go, he grabbed the towel and was about to rise again. John collapsed to his knees and fell into Sherlock, naked as ever and bursting with tears.
His hands stretched out over Sherlock's back and he grabbed at the coat, berrying his face into Sherlock's chest. "Sherlock, God, are you really here? Are you really alive?"
Sherlock knew he was great at everything, except for physical contact. With Irene, he had followed her lead, because she would always lead. John was different, it was like he was leading half of their contact. Sherlock would have to finish.
Sherlock wound his arms under John's and placed them on his back. "Yes, John. I'm really here. I can stay here. You're safe, I'm safe. It's okay." The words rushed out, and only then did he realize how much he missed his soldier.
John heaved in and out, coughing at the sobs that wrecked his body. He couldn't stop crying and smiling and feeling angry. He grasped Sherlock's shoulders and pushed him back, but keeping him close enough to touch. "Sherlock. How..why?"
He suddenly got very angry and grabbed his towel, covering his exposed crotch. John jumped to his feet and glared down at Sherlock, who was now standing up.
"It was to save you."
"Why didn't you come back. You could've tricked everyone else, but why me?"
Sherlock was closing the space between them, and however far John moved back, Sherlock moved forward with him. Eventually John was pressed against the wall with Sherlock looking down at him.
"I needed to. Moriarty's men needed to be..cut off, before they hurt you. It took time, after all, they were assassins, but I did it. For you."
John placed his hands on Sherlock's chest and looked down just to make sure he was touching Sherlock. "I just..I don't know."
"It hurt me as well, John. It's burned to wait for so long, it stung. I was afraid you would move on and forget." Sherlock took John's hands and placed them around his waist. "I've wanted you so badly, John." He leaned down, looking at John right in the eye. A delicate kiss was pressed between them.
Sherlock only meant for one peck, one simple kiss, as to help John come back from anger. He couldn't stand to see John angry.
But John frowned and grabbed Sherlock's face, bringing him down to height and smacking their faces together. John's kisses were fierce and wanting.
Sherlock ran his hands down John, searching for the towel. He ripped it off and tossed it away. "Is anyone expecting you?" He murmured between kisses.
"No." John pulled at Sherlock, wanting them closer and closer. They had been separated for so long.
Sherlock grabbed John's chin and pushed it up to the ceiling, running his lips down the soldier's chest. John felt the dig of Sherlock's nails in his throat and knew what was coming next.
A glorious thrill ran through his body, from his toes to his head. Sherlock was doing an excellent job already. He slid his lips around John's cock and moved around with it.
John's knees started to wobble, so he reached out for Sherlock's shoulders and found them there. Sherlock was here. He was beginning to forget about his anger, and starting to think about his lust.
He grabbed Sherlock's hair roughly and the Detective whimpered slightly. This was more forceful, more permanent. This would remain in both their minds.
John's jaw clenched and he put both hands on Sherlock's head, pulling him in while thrusting forward. Sherlock just grabbed at John's feet, useless and loving the feel.
At last, he gave. John released Sherlock and he stumbled back onto the floor. A splatter followed as John cam, but he didn't care. John reached out to Sherlock, who was hot and sweaty, still bundled in his coat, and covered in John's cum.
John pulled Sherlock to his feet. "I..we.."
Sherlock just looked at him. He hadn't expected that to happen. So what now, that his plan had been diverted? Would John forgive him?
"Sherlock. We need to get you cleaned up."
"Yes, alright." He responded.
John grabbed his scarf and led the way to the washroom. He closed the door behind them and rushed to the shower. It seemed that only moments before he had finished his depressing shower. Now, he was full of light and hope and love, turning the water back on.
When John turned back, he was startled to see Sherlock just stripping off his underwear. "You undress quickly." He murmured, still not knowing whether he could trust his eyes or not.
"Of course I do, I need to be ready." He reached out a hand and touched John's cheek.
"Ready for what?" John whispered.
Sherlock smiled. Of course John forgave him.
He wrapped his arm around John's neck and pulled him into the shower with him, not answering. The hot water let a steam rise around them.
John felt Sherlock's arms around his waist as he pulled John around. "Are you dancing?"
"I know how to dance."
"But with me?" John was flustered. They were both naked! And in the shower! Together! Even though Sherlock had just blown him, he was still embarrassed.
"Of course with you. Who else? The Queen? Pah. Don't ask stupid questions, John."
John blushed and dipped his head, pulling Sherlock close so that he could rest his head on Sherlock's shoulder. "Why do you want to dance with me?"
"Because I missed you. Isn't that what people do? They're away from each other for a long time, they take up a stronger relationship."
John kissed his shoulder. "If you're doing this just because that's what everyone else does, then don't do it. Do what you want to do, not what they want."
Sherlock placed his chin on John's watered head. "I am doing this because.." He frowned. How would he say it?
John looked up, needing to blink many times over because of the water.
"Because what, Sherlock?" He whispered.
Sherlock looked down and grinned. "You know."
John laughed. It felt good. "No...No, I'm certain I don't know. Tell me, Sherlock." He smiled more and reached up with his hand, pushing away Sherlock's wet hair.
Sherlock looked up and turned his head around, like he was checking if anyone was there. "John..I..adore you."
John smiled and jumped up, kissing his nose. "You twat! Say what I want to say."
"You're the more emotional one. You say it first." Sherlock grabbed his hands and led him to the ground of the shower, which was a tub.
The water spraying down battered against Sherlock's back, setting a thin spray into John's face. He opened his legs and Sherlock kissed his lips slowly.
"It..it's difficult to." John muttered.
Sherlock reached one hand out of the shower and grabbed something. John didn't pay attention, because the one hand that Sherlock had free, he used to touch John.
John watched the strong hand run from his neck to his chest to his belly button. "Sh-Sherlock." John stammered, seeing the bottle in his other hand.
"I-Is that..lube?"
Sherlock kissed his face and quickly popped the bottle open, squirting out a clear cream. Sherlock closed his eyes and rubbed it on his penis.
"I want you to say it." Sherlock growled, pushing John back and kissing him roughly. "Say it!" He thrust his penis into John swiftly.
John shouted out in pain. "Sherlock!"
John grabbed out at Sherlock, scratching his back and leaving long streaks of blood, which were washed away. Sherlock huffed out and hammered on, thrusting himself against John.
It had been so long since he had seen John. Three years. This was glorious. This was everything he wanted. This was John. This was Sherlock. This was them together.
Unfortunately, Sherlock wasn't getting what he wanted. He knew it was coming near and he sped up. John was clawing at the tub floor, wanting a grip that didn't bleed.
Sherlock opened his mouth and leaned back, relaxing as he cam. "Oh, John."
John lay underneath him, being sprayed by hot water, and being fucked by a Consulting Detective. "Sh-Sherlock, I love you. I love you so much. Sherlock. Oh, God, Sherlock."
John was breathing heavily, watching Holmes as he leaned back. He sat in this position for a while, until John reached out and touched his belly. With one finger, he traced the button. "Sherlock?"
Sherlock closed his mouth and looked around, coming back from whatever paradise he had been in. "John?"
"Sherlock." John pushed himself up and held Sherlock's face.
Sherlock knew he was done cuming, so he pulled his cock out and leaned onto John, resting on his chest and crotch. He looked forward, right at John's chin.
"I love you, John."
John reached out and pressed his thumb against Sherlock's bottom lip teasingly. "I knew you were listening."