Read this note, please!
In case you missed the summary, this fic deals with a character getting raped and the recovery from said rape. If this sounds like something you don't want to read, please don't read it. I did research on this difficult subject matter for this story and I hope I portrayed it in a way that comes across as respectful and realistic. Warnings will be posted on graphic chapters. Also, in this world, John is bisexual and Sherlock is gay.
"Do you have to go?"
"I signed up weeks ago."
"It's not mandatory…you could stay here."
"I'll only be gone three days. Monday at this time I'll be home again. Think of that."
Sherlock reached up and cradled John's cheek in his long hand. John closed his eyes, turning his face into the hand and kissing Sherlock's palm.
"You're already a good doctor." Sherlock complained. "What are they going to tell you in Edinburgh that you don't already know?"
They were in bed together in what used to just be Sherlock's room that was now both of theirs, on their sides facing each other. The soft cream sheet was tangled around their twined legs and the moonlight was creeping through the window, illuminating their bare bodies in silver and blue.
John sighed. "Sarah asked me to go."
"Sarah." Sherlock sneered. "What a mistake she was." Sherlock hunched forward and buried his face in the crook of John's neck, wrapping his arms and legs around John's body, holding him close as he breathed into John's neck. John tilted his head to accommodate Sherlock and rested his hands on Sherlock's pale back. They'd just had a marathon sex session and he was feeling spent, sated and content.
"Dating her was a mistake," John said sleepily, "but she's a good person and a good doctor."
Sherlock muttered something into John's neck that sounded a lot like "mine" before he squeezed. John squeezed him back and they drifted off to sleep.
"Sherlock, have you seen my ID?" John asked the next morning. He rushed out of the bedroom, wrapping his watch across his wrist, and looked at his lover who was languidly stretched out on the sofa, twirling the violin bow. His dressing gown was splayed open, revealing a toned, tempting chest, and his pajama bottoms were dangerously low. John glanced at the smattering of dark hair poking over the top of the waistband and rolled his eyes.
"I'm not the keeper of your items." Sherlock snipped.
"You are if you take them." John muttered at him. He finished with the watch and glanced at the suitcase leaning by the door. Everything was packed and ready for the three day conference up north…except his ID. Which he needed. John went into the kitchen and started sifting through experiments, looking for his ID card while trying not to touch the contents of the numbered Petri dishes. Sherlock put the bow down and got up, moving to stand in the doorway to watch John search.
"I just had it!" John muttered, annoyed.
"You could just stay home…" Sherlock mumbled, picking at his fingernail. John turned around and his heart caught in his throat. Sherlock's hair was disarrayed. He licked his lips, making them glisten, and tilted his head back. His Adam's apple bulged and his teal eyes were focused on John. The pajamas had gone even lower on his hips, revealing cotton-covered sharp bones, and below that…
As wonderfully enticing as the sight was, John forced himself to glare at his partner. "You did take it—what did you do with it?"
"With what?" Sherlock licked his lips again.
"My ID." John growled, his fingers curling into fists.
They stared at each other for a moment more until finally Sherlock relented and stormed over to his microscope. He lifted it, grabbed the plastic card that was concealed underneath, and handed it to John with a frown on his face.
"Thank you." John said curtly. He slid it into his shirt pocket, watching as Sherlock gave him the puppy eyes, his brows pinched and his lips pushed into a pout. "Come here," John said with a sigh. He opened his arms and Sherlock barreled into him, not stopping until John was pressed up back up against the fridge. John's hands instantly gripped Sherlock's waist as the scientist plundered his mouth in a long satisfying kiss. "Oh God…" John moaned. Sherlock nibbled John's ear and John slipped his hands down Sherlock's trousers and squeezed his hips, smoothing his hands around to grip that wonderfully firm arse. He kneaded Sherlock's butt, encouraging the sloppy kisses and licks on his neck that were becoming more frantic.
"Hoo-hoo." A knock on the door made them both freeze. "John," Mrs. Hudson called through the door, "your taxi is here."
John let out an irritated noise that turned into a squeak when Sherlock licked his neck.
"I'll let him know you'll be a few minutes so you two can have a proper good-bye." Her footsteps faded back down the steps.
Sherlock reluctantly pulled away from John.
"Oh no," John tugged him back, "I have a whole 'few minutes' still."
They made out for approximately 140 more seconds before John came up for air.
"I'll miss you." He breathed into Sherlock's hair.
"Me too." Sherlock panted.
"I love you." John said.
"Love you." Sherlock stepped aside and John hurried in front of the mirror to adjust his clothes and smooth his hair where Sherlock had ruffled it. He grabbed his bag, gave Sherlock one more peck on the lips, and trotted down the steps. Sherlock closed his dressing gown and tugged his trousers back up and moved to the window. He watched John get in the waiting taxi. Mrs. Hudson waved from the front stoop and the taxi pulled away. A hand came out of the back passenger window, waving up at 221B. Sherlock's mouth quirked into a small grin and he put his palm on the glass, watching until the cab was out of sight.
He threw himself on the sofa and grabbed his phone, thumbs flying as he texted.
Bored. –SH
I literally JUST left. –JW
Still bored. I can still feel where your hands were on me. –SH
If it makes you feel any better, my ear is stinging from your lovebites. Three days. –JW
It does. 72 hours. 4,320 minutes. 259,200 seconds.—SH
Check out Petri dish 4 if you're bored. I think whatever was fermenting in there is done. –JW
No, it still has a week left. Couldn't you tell by the shade of the pigment? Honestly John, I despair of you sometimes. –SH
Arse. –JW
Wanker. –SH
John didn't respond. Grinning, Sherlock got up to check the contents of Petri dish 4 more closely under the microscope.
Thanks for reading! tbc...