Summary: Sherlock finally comes to John after his faked death.
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Sherlock.
Rating: M
Pairing: Sherlock/John.
REUNITED:
Sherlock couldn't stand it anymore, wouldn't stand it. He had to come and see John in their flat knowing that John would be there. It was their home, not so easily vacated even in the wake of his faked death. John needed the connection to him that still lingered in this place. Sherlock didn't understand it, but he did understand the painful need he had to see Watson. His mind had been so consumed with Watson that he had barely had time to think of anything else. Mrs. Hudson had nearly had a heart attack upon seeing him, proceeded to scold him. He just ignored her and then stole himself up the stairs, into Watson's room to watch the man he had grown to need, to love, sleep deeply. It pained him to have to be so silent when all he wanted to was to go to John, to wake him, to reveal that he was still alive. John had asked for him no to be dead. Wish granted. It made him smile that John had taken to sleeping in Sherlock's bed.
John was coming back to the waking world, his soldiers instincts told him he was being watched. Automatically his hand slowly slipped up under his pillow where his kept his unregistered 9mm berretta that he had acquired after Sherlock's death. For weeks he had thought he was being followed; the sort of feeling that required the presences of a gun at the small of his back at all times. Logically he knew that Moriarty was dead, the threat was gone. Sherlock was gone. That thought jolted him awake. Sitting up quickly, John pulled his gun, sighting it before his brain realized what he was seeing. Sherlock! His mind screamed. Anger washed over him, soon quelled by relief, "I should bloody shoot you." He said. "But I have got to be dreaming. I would just end up shooting the wall."
Sherlock furrowed his brow, "But this isn't a dream. You wanted me not to be dead, so here I am. I'm not dead." He would have expected a warmer reception than this. He would have expected some modicum of happiness from a man he valued above anyone and everyone. "John, aren't you happy to see me?" He asked taking a step towards the bed noticing that the gun was still trained on him. He took another step.
John relaxed his stance. John brought his hands up, not relinquishing his gun, to cover his eyes as he flopped back down to the mattress as his legs were still hanging over the bed; feet touching the floor. He shook his head hearing Sherlock moving closer to the bed that had been his, the bed he had now taken as his own. "You have got to be a dream; just a figment of my mind come to torture me." John muttered. He could still hear the last phone call he had had with Sherlock, the lies he had told before his death. Sherlock was a genius and John had spent every waking hour of the day with him when he could. There was no way Sherlock was a fake.
"If I'm a dream, what do you want me to do?" Sherlock asked. He wanted to see how far John could go before realizing that he was indeed real; flesh and blood, not a figment. Deep down he was slightly hurt that John wasn't looking at him, refusing to gaze upon him. Sherlock had spent the last few weeks reading, watching, everything he could so that when he saw John again, and if things went towards the bed, he would be able to keep up. "Tell me what you want." Sherlock ordered gently, trying to remain still, placid as a calm pond, but it wasn't working.
"Fine, then dream Sherlock, come over to me, pull me to the edge of the bed, wrap my legs around your waist, and kiss me like I know you wanted to kiss Irene Adler." John snapped sitting up placing the gun on the bedside table. He was waiting to see what 'Sherlock' would do. There was the tiny glimmer of hope that Sherlock was really with him. He didn't have to wait long. Sherlock came close and knelt in front of him gripping the back of his knees to pull him towards the edge of the bed. John automatically brought his knees up on either side of Sherlock's waist, but shock hit when lips fused to his, and Sherlock's tongue invaded his mouth ruthlessly.
Sherlock had thought about what it would be like to finally give into his base human nature needing the natural sexual release his body demanded. John was the one he wanted to have his first orgasm with. John was the one person who had made him think of other things, of sex, of being with someone. It was the driving force behind Sherlock coming back and now he could take what he wanted for many months; John's sweet kiss. Taking it further, he pushed John back down into the bed grinding his hardened erection into John's groin stirring the first embers of the lust he knew his companion harbored.
John draped his arms over Sherlock's shoulder; he felt so real, so alive, and so aroused pressed in tight against his own responding organ. It was Sherlock; it was really him. John could hardly believe and at the same time was so relieved that he was alive. He was astounded that Sherlock was actually kissing him, grinding against him, and inching him up the bed so that he could lie right over him, chest to chest, hip to hip. "Sherlock…" He mumbled. "Why?"
Sherlock pulled back, reigning in his desire for a moment. He brought down his shield, the barriers in his mind, the guards on his emotions, and let John see everything reflected in his eyes. "I couldn't remain so far removed from your life." Sherlock answered kissing John again, sweetly this time; gently. This man, John, alone could cause him to act out of character, to act human with emotions and drives, and wants; needs craving to be satisfied. When had that happened? Sherlock wasn't sure, but it had happened early on. Now there was no more denying what they have. "I want…" He started to say and had to take a deep breath to be able to continue, "I want to love you, but I don't know how."
John cupped Sherlock's face, ran his thumbs over those glorious cheek bones he had admired for so long. "You're doing just fine." He smiled lightly. John hadn't realized this had been what he was missing until Sherlock was gone. No woman had help his attention, not even stirring his lust. All he wanted was Sherlock; a man, a child in some ways. "We'll take this slow." John promised arching his back, pressing his lips to Sherlock's. Gripping his hips with his knees, John rolled them so the long lean form of Sherlock was below him. Looking down on him, he set about unbuttoning the plum colored dress shirt Sherlock had donned this night. One by one the shirt parted revealing the pale perfection of his alabaster skin; living stone. John mouth watered at the thought of kissing such beauty.
Sherlock fought to keep his breathing even, his heart under control, but that proving difficult with John straddling his waist and slowing parting his shirt. He put his hands on John's hips just to have some where to put them. This was slow; this was John teaching him what he needed to know. He dug his fingers into the green cargo shorts John had worn to bed. John smirked at him and then angled his head to lean down over him kissing, teasing, his pulse point; teeth scraping, tongue laving. Sherlock was going to be lost to the touch of John Watson.
John kissed his way down Sherlock's throat, over his collar bone, moving down towards his heart; his left straining nipple. Eagerly his lips closed over the ripe berry, tongue circling, flicking quickly back and forth. Sherlock gasped below him. It thrilled John to no end to know that he could make Sherlock lose himself. In a sign of possession, John sank his teeth into the flesh around the areole. This made Sherlock buck, moan, and dig his fingers harder into John's hips.
Sherlock fought to sit up as Watson did his level best to make him lose his senses again. John had a wicked tongue, a sensual mouth, but Sherlock managed to sit up, to have John in his lap ground down on him. Sherlock moved his hands from John's hips up, carrying the hem of his lover's shirt up, getting John to pull back so he could look him in the eyes. Desire flared between them making him tremble; Sherlock never trembled. He pulled John's shirt off and then let the fabric of his shirt fall down his arms to pool around his waist. "Show me more." Sherlock whispered.
John brought his lips back to Sherlock's, relishing in the breath he drew; his chest rising and falling to prove that he was alive. Their tongues dueled, fingers roamed; together they gasped. "I've wanted you for ages." John confessed gripping Sherlock's hair, yanking his head back locking his eyes on him. Grey met blue forcing John to lick his suddenly dry lips. In Sherlock's eyes he could see lust, he could see love, and he could see the smallest trace of fear. Sherlock had never been with anyone; man or woman. This was all the more special then. John relaxed his hold offering the man below him an easy smile conveying all the emotions he couldn't voice yet.
Sherlock placed his hands on John's chest feeling the pounding of his heart. All of his reading, watching specific video clips, hadn't prepared him for actually being in this position with John. He slowly brought his hands down, feeling the heated flesh, until fingers touched denim and leather. Quickly while his hands had stopped trembling for the moment, Sherlock pulled free the belt, unbuttoned the button, and lowered the zipper over the impressive bulge that he had tried not to notice. Before he could sink his hand past the band John stopped him. His voice trembled, "I don't… know… what…" John silenced him then.
"Neither do I," John replied smiling gently cupping Sherlock's face. "We'll learn together." He could see the slightest hint of impatience in the other mans eyes, it was so Sherlock. John climbed off Sherlock's lap motioning for his friend to lie back, to stretch out, but he doesn't. Instead Sherlock takes his hand and pulls him to the bed, pinning him face down. Sherlock stretched out along his back, between his legs tightly pressing his erection to his ass. John moaned loudly when Sherlock mirrored him, sank his teeth into his shoulder pleasurably. His back arched.
Sherlock raked his teeth over the impression he had made in John's shoulder repaying his friend for the bite he had given him; his left nipple stung with zings of pleasure into his massive brain. Slowly he moved down raining kisses over John's skin acting out what he had seen, what he had read about. Down and down his lips moved until he ended up nuzzling John's lower back. Greedily his hands pulled the remaining clothing down, but was hindered by John whose hands came back to stop him. Sherlock sat up letting John turn over. John gave him a small nod like he had always done and Sherlock continued.
John sucked in a shaky breath watching the olive green fatigue shorts; watched Sherlock, pull them down his hips allowing his erection to spring free curving up towards his navel. He dug his hands into the sheets when he felt Sherlock's lips at his hip. They feathered, silky soft, over to his straining heated erection that begged to be tended to. John looked down in time to see, to feel, Sherlock grasp the base of his shaft and lick straight up to the flushed helmet of his head. He was dizzy with wanton desire.
Sherlock looked up the line of John's body to his eyes, seeing the desire coloring them. He deciphered what was wanted. Licking his lips Sherlock set his open mouth over the head of John's heated erection. He closed his mouth going down inch by inch feeling the velvet slide of hardened flesh against his tongue. Sherlock could smell the faint traces of the soap John had used, could taste the saltiness of the pre-cum. It cancelled out all of the other thoughts running through his brain. His brain shut down, focused on John, on his body, and on bringing about wave after wave of pleasure to the man he had fallen in love with despite his best attempts to avoid the emotional attachments others craved.
John watched with rapture filled eyes as Sherlock drew his mouth up and down on his shaft. A moan worked free of his throat filling the silence to mingle with his gasps. Of their own accord, John's hips started to lightly thrust up in time with the way Sherlock sucked him. Immense ecstasy filled him racing along his nerves making him grow even harder than he already ways. "Sher… lock…," He gasped out. He wanted him to stop and at the same time he didn't. John wanted Sherlock to go so far down on him so that he would come in his mouth.
Sherlock raised his head letting John erection fall from his mouth with a soft pop. Lovingly he placed a kiss to John's hip, moving back up his body until he could kiss John's lips, tangling their tongues together. He nearly missed John's hands pulling at the closure of his dress pants. The button was freed, the zipper lowered, and John's hand sank inside to grasp him, to stroke him. Against his lips Sherlock moaned giving over to the sentiment he vowed to never feel. John brought this out in him. Then, he found himself under John.
John smiled down at Sherlock, a wolfish, sinister grin that promised many wicked things to come. But for those things to happen he had to have Sherlock just as naked as he was. Slipping down, John pulled the waist band of Sherlock's pants down, urging him to raise his hips. Sherlock did so eagerly with his own erection being revealed to John hungry gaze. John took a moment to marvel at this man who had stolen his heart; he was gorgeous. Alabaster skin that glowed in the moon light had always fascinated John to where he would have tormenting dreams about it under his hands. This was no dream and that skin was his.
Sherlock knew the mechanics of two men being together. He sat up scanning his room quickly knowing nothing had been displaced. To his left there was the bedside table with the drawer that hadn't been opened in months. Sherlock twisted at the waist, reaching to grasp the handle so he could plunge his hand in and reach the tube that he had put there before his faked suicide just so he could save John. Turning back he handed John the bottle of KY that he had convinced himself to buy for an 'experiment' that never happened; until now. Sherlock reclined back against the pillows watching John. His heart kicked up against his will, but it thrilled him as he waited for more.
With a smirk John took the bottle and popped the top squeezing some of the gel into his right hand, it was instantly warming to his skin. Sherlock bent his knees reading John intended words before he had time to say them. Scooting closer, John reached out and placed his gelled fingers against Sherlock's tight, untrained opening. He felt the muscle tighten in automatic defiance when John slipped his coated finger inside of him. Sherlock moaned loudly. The muscles constricted on his index finger as he drew it out. John pulled his hand back, put my gel in his hand, and coated his rock hard member. Stroking himself a few times, John smiled at Sherlock who finally returned his emotions.
Sherlock watched, enthralled, with the way John stroked himself. It made him burn hotter, more eager to have him inside. Sherlock knew what would happen; his muscle would burn as they stretched, but the pleasure inflicted upon him would drown out the pain. Anticipation kicked up his heart rate another notch, his breathing shaky, and his body quiver. "John…" He moaned reaching out for his lover, beckoning him to touch him, to take him. Sherlock was giving up his control in this instance. John moved into him again; the touch of skin to skin sent heat straight to his manhood. He brought his knees up to frame John's waist as he was invaded for the first time. His eyes rolled back in his sockets.
John reminded himself to take this slow, to not cause Sherlock pain. This was the great genius's first time with anyone. He drew back a fraction of an inch, then pushed in again slipping deeper. Sherlock once again put his hands on John's chest. There was the slight trace of some foreign emotion in his eyes. John stopped moving so he could kiss Sherlock lightly, reassuring him. Sherlock was quivering beneath him. John trust in another inch making Sherlock gasp sharply. "Shh…. Shh… Shh…" He soothed. Sherlock's fingers dug into the flesh of his chest signaling for John to thrust into him completely. John angled his head; there would be pain for Sherlock so he sank his teeth into his pristine pale shoulder. Sherlock mirrored him sinking his teeth in John's left shoulder above his war wound. John drove his hips, filling Sherlock completely.
Sherlock ripped his teeth from John's shoulder arching his back, driving the back of his into the pillow. There was so much pain and pleasure mingling together that the signals were getting mixed up in his brain. It all felt so good. Sherlock brought his knees up higher on John's hips and draped his arms over John's shoulders. He started to move, to get John to move. He wanted to feel the sensation of his lovers erection sliding in and out of him. The delicious friction overrode everything in his mind keeping him focused on John and he was moaning.
John rocked gently in and out of Sherlock, mindful to keep it slow, to keep it easy. He held most of his upper body on his left hand and with his right, he started to stroke Sherlock's very hard, straining shaft making him moan again. John pulled almost all the way out, stroked his hand down with a slight twist to his wrist; finally gaining a rhythm that was driving his lover to moans, to gasps. "Put your hands on the headboard." John groaned giving Sherlock a short hard thrust and quick jerk.
Sherlock bucked, he writhed under John doing as his loved had told him; for the first time he did what he as told. His hands touched the cold wood of the headboard as John changed the angle slightly; driving deeper and deeper. John was moving in counterpoint with his hand stroking him, his shaft thrusting into him. It all drove Sherlock insane until he felt the first stirrings of his orgasm coming up on him. "I'm gonna come…." Sherlock moaned tightening his knees on John's hips.
"Then come," John grunted driving into Sherlock harder and harder. He was nearing the edge, almost spilling over the long sought after bliss of his desire to be with Sherlock. Now he finally was. "Come for me." John turned his long hard thrusts into short, sharp digs sending bolts of pleasure through them both. Sherlock's eyes never waved from his. Another flick of his wrist and Sherlock was coming in his hand, bearing down on him, clenching him bringing John over with him. He collapsed over Sherlock barely aware that the other mans arms had come around his shaking form. Spikes of pleasure ran through his nerves, bombarded his brain with ecstasy.
Sherlock held John close trying to reign in his body, to restore order to his quaking nerves. It felt so good to have John against him, still inside of him, but he didn't care. Sherlock had John with him; it was heaven. "That was… brilliant." He laughed in short gasps. John shifted, slipped free of him wrenching another moan from deep in his chest. Sherlock wrapped his long lean legs around John's waist keeping him close. "Don't leave…"
John chuckled, "I'm not." He levered himself up looking down at him, a smile working over his lips. "You can't leave me either." John said, "I can't lose you." He confessed feeling his heart heal and break all at once. Sherlock's legs fell from around him allowing John to slip beside him. Lightly, John placed his hand over Sherlock's heart. "You have no idea how destroyed I was when they said you were dead." He knew this was trivial to Sherlock, he hated personal details, but he didn't care he had to say it anyway. "I felt dead inside." John looked up at him with the sudden sting of tears. "Why did you…?" He was unable to finish.
Sherlock rolled to his side as best he could, feeling his anal muscles stinging a bit. In the morning he would be in more pain. "I did it to save you John." Sherlock confessed. "Moriarty wanted my life for yours, for Mrs. Hudson's, and for Lestrade's." He brought his hand up, like that day, he had tears in his eyes as well, and he cupped John's face. "I couldn't let you die when I knew my life would keep you safe." The emotional was something Sherlock was never good at. Life boiled down to an equation, but where it came to John; emotions ruled him.
John leaned into him, kissed Sherlock with as much passion as he could muster so soon after his blinding orgasm. "Don't ever that again." He threatened playfully but he could see in Sherlock's grey eyes that he understood what he was saying. John felt so tired; his skin was cooling off. He pulled the sheet up and curled into Sherlock, tangling their legs together. Another smile came over him when Sherlock's arms wrapped around him in return. There was enough warmth between Sherlock's body and the sheet to lull John Watson back into slumber.