- Hello again lovelies! Here's the beginning of the sequel to Snow and Ice! The chapters for this bad boy may actually be longer than the last story, I do apologize for the delay in getting it going but I have been working with the lovely CayCullen on our co-authored fic Save Him From Himself. This story contains Parent!Lock and will eventually delve into the backstories for both John and Sherlock. Hope you enjoy! Please as always feel free to send me comments/questions or find me on Tumblr! -

John Watson-Holmes sighed contentedly as he sipped the cup of tea in his hands, his feet up on the coffee table and the head of his husband resting easily in his lap. His left hand carded through those brunette locks eliciting a soft sigh from Sherlock Holmes as he enjoyed an easy moment. The first in what felt like ages as they'd been running all over London for the last two weeks working on a series of cases. It was nice to have a moment to relax. They'd been sitting like this for the last half an hour, and though John's tea was quite cold he was still enjoying the ministrations of drinking it while Sherlock rested and was in physical contact with him. The moment was punctured just then when the sound of a small child crying echoed through the flat. Both of them sighed softly and there was a tense moment as they silently argued about who would get up. Sherlock gave John puppy eyes and John smirked.

"Alright, I've got him," John whispered and shimmied out from under Sherlock's head slowly padding into their bedroom. There sprawled out across the dark purple sheets of his fathers' bed, a little boy with sandy brown wavy locks looked up at John and immediately stopped crying. His goal obviously achieved he crawled over towards John, reaching up for him. John scooped the little boy up easily, cradling him to his chest and carding a hand through those soft locks gently."My poor Hamish, what's a wrong my love?" He whispered, nuzzling his nose against the tiny one pressed into cheek. Hamish sniffled softly and clung to John's shirt, balling it up in his tiny fists.

John ignored the sorrow that gnawed at his gut as he held his son close, doing his best to allow the gentleness of his son's actions to replace the new gaping hole in his heart that was trying to consume him. He fought himself as he was reminded this beautiful boy had been a gift he would never be able to repay Harry for. A gift that was beyond anything he could have ever imagined receiving. Hamish Gregory Holmes was a week away from his first birthday and was currently suffering from a rather bad toothache. The pain coupled with his hurt feelings over the lack of time John and Sherlock had been able to spend with him in the last few weeks had succeeded in convincing his Dads to allow him to sleep in their bed during the day, instead of his own bed which was in John's former bedroom upstairs. Hamish was long and lanky like his brooding detective father, those same piercing eyes observing every detail of the world behind him from behind his grumpy expression. His hair was wavy like Sherlock's but colored more like John's, and though it was clear already he possessed Sherlock's superior intellect he was softer around the edges and displayed an empathy that could only have come from John. John rocked the boy gently, trying to soothe the eager face staring at him and demanding answers to why he was suffering - while grinning as he remembered the selfless act of Harry that had brought this beautiful boy into their lives.

Three years previously, just a month after returning to Baker Street from their honeymoon and after finally seeing the end of the ordeal that had almost cost them both their lives; Harry had shown up at the door of 221B in a terrible state. Disheveled and horribly worn, she'd begged John to help her saying she was in a lot of trouble and it was clear to him that she'd finally be done in by her drinking habit. She'd financially ruined herself, had lost her home, and was at the brink of losing everything she had to her name. Sherlock had been considerably kind in allowing John to give his old room to her and the two of them had spent a hard year helping her try to get sober. It had tested their young relationship almost to the brink of destroying it, but they persevered and just before Christmas that year Harry finally seemed to find her legs again. She'd gotten a job and found a flat share of her own. Within just a few months she seemed to be doing very well and came to Sherlock and John desperate to repay their kindness. She knew that John had always wanted a child, a family to call his own. So she offered using fertilization techniques to be a surrogate for them, thus allowing them to have a child that would be almost exactly as if Sherlock and John had been able to have the child themselves. John had been thrilled by the idea but Sherlock was absolutely convinced he was unfit to raise a child, even with John's help. Harry talked to Sherlock over the course of the next few months and it was almost startling how quickly Sherlock went from uninterested to completely obsessed over the idea. He offered to provide Harry financial support for the duration of the pregnancy and within two months of the final decision being made Harry found out the treatments were successful and she was carrying their child.

Just before their second wedding anniversary Harry gave birth to Hamish. Sherlock insisted that they name him Hamish (John's middle name) and John retaliated by insisting that they also honor his Godfather, Lestrade. Sherlock had initially been reluctant about allowing Greg Lestrade to be Hamish's Godfather, but that was quickly determined to be something Sherlock would have to deal with because John refused to budge. When Hamish was just over a month old Harry moved into a new flat-share and slowly began to stop contacting John. Within three months she had met a new girlfriend, gone through a bad breakup, and relapsed into drinking. When she finally came back into John's life she demanded his help. Sherlock refused to help her, utterly convinced she had no true intentions of stopping her alcohol habit this go round and encouraged John not to help her. John did his best to help her; unable to turn away from his sister, but between assisting Sherlock with cases and caring for Hamish he didn't have much time to spare. Then, just two months ago she had been killed in a motor vehicle accident that was seemingly her own fault.

"Daddy?" The little boy's voice cut through John's thoughts, and he looked down into the confused eyes of his son.

"I'm sorry love, is your tooth hurting again?" John asked softly, putting his forehead against the little boys.

"Mmhmm..." He grumbled. "Make it better." He demanded and John chuckled slightly. Their little Prince was so much like his father.

"Let's go out here and you can sit with your Dad and I'll get you some medicine." John offered as he carried him out into the living room. He smirked noting that Sherlock had hardly even moved from his previous position on the couch, his legs flung over the end of it where he'd made room for John to sit and be his pillow. Sherlock looked up slightly, surveying Hamish as he deduced the situation.

"Hm," Sherlock grunted, "The tooth again?"

"Yes. You did make an appointment for him tomorrow, right?" John asked in a reprimanding tone as he gently set Hamish down on Sherlock's chest. Hamish instantly cuddled into Sherlock, wrapping one hand in his shirt and making happy cooing noises as he did. Sherlock tried valiantly to appear unaffected but he slowly wrapped his long arms around his son, holding him tightly to his own chest.

"Yes, John. Don't nag. It's unbecoming of you." He snapped, running his long fingers through Hamish's hair.

"Bloody Git," John giggled as he moved over and found the children's pain medication they'd gotten just for this occasion. "I'm not nagging; I just want to be sure."

"I wonder what's causing it; we don't give him sweets..." Sherlock looked thoughtful.

"Well it's likely one of two things. One of which is his Uncle doesn't exactly give him the healthiest food when he babysits and the second being that Harry and I had horrible teeth as kids – so he's likely got some bad genetics." John's voice caught softly and Sherlock grabbed his hand.

"It'll be alright, John." John just nodded, focused on doling out the medicine.

"Hamish, you have to drink this love. I know you don't like it." John sighed as the boy put up a fight.

"No! Icky!" Hamish yelled softly, beating his tiny fist against Sherlock's chest. John sighed.

"Sherlock, help me with your son." John commanded a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

"My son? He's our son." Sherlock's smirk widened as he sat up, easily shifting Hamish in his arms as he did. "Hamish, big boys take their medicine. If you do what your Daddy says then I'll even let you watch one of your terrible cartoon shows." Sherlock said firmly, bargaining with the little boy. John laughed himself silly for a long moment before Hamish answered.

"Weally Daddy, you'll let me?" Hamish's eyes went wide as he looked up at Sherlock in awe. John watched as the little hand found its way to Sherlock's and simply melted the aloof act Sherlock was putting on. He watched smiling at the two of them as the detective leaned down and kissed their son on the top of his head, inhaling that soft sweet scent he carried.

"Yes, but it's pronounced really." Sherlock tutted, John shook his head.

"He's one; you can correct his speech when he's older." Hamish drank the medicine but he made a face.

"Gross!" He proclaimed loudly, he was clearly proud of himself for using the word correctly.

"Good boy." John replied and then put the bottle away. He moved into the kitchen and put the kettle on before losing himself staring out the window.

Sherlock made a blanket nest for Hamish and settled him down into it on the couch as he put on some horrid children's show that would rot his son's brain. Hamish settled down instantly and hummed along with the songs on the television as he slowly grew sleepy and fought not to close his eyes. Sherlock moved over and pulled John into a hug.

"You can't bottle this up John." He whispered, resting his chin on John's head.

"I don't want to upset him," John's voice cracked.

"He knows his Mommy isn't coming back, John. He knows something bad happened. He's our son, he's smart."

"He's so much like you..." John relaxed into Sherlock's arms.

"Oh you keep saying that, but it's not true. His mind might be like mine but his heart is all you." Sherlock kissed down over John's ear and his breath was a warm on his neck. "It's not your fault."

"Sher...Sherlock." John grunted as the wall of emotion broke and he collapsed into Sherlock's arms crying quietly. Sherlock rubbed his back, rocking him gently and trying to soothe him.

"It's not John. We couldn't have known she would get in that car and we were clear across town." His voice was soft, his tone the one he reserved for speaking to his family. "You have been so strong through all of this, tormented as you tried to help her, your loyal heart fighting against everything including me. Going through our separation, seeing her do so well and then fall back into hell, and then to lose her… To see it end this way is destroying you. Please, John, talk to me." Another kiss pressed against John's ear and neck.

"She was supposed to be at her flat. She told me she would be." He whispered through a clenched jaw, he was clinging to Sherlock's shirt. "I..."

"John, no," Sherlock's voice was tight with emotion as he tried to soothe his husband, completely unprepared to see him grieving like this. He knew there was so much under this grief, he'd let John go too long without dealing with it. "You haven't failed anyone. Not me, not yourself, not Hamish, and not Harry. Harry made her choice, she was an addict John. As an addict still in recovery I can tell you that her mind was not on you when she started that car." His tone cut through John's sorrow and slowed his tears, slowly drawing the doctor's eyes back up.

"I..." John didn't know what to say.

"It will be alright. But you can't hold all of this emotion inside. You have five years of guilt burning inside your mind and you need to get it out."

"I don't..."

"Even now you're going to try to say I'm wrong?" Sherlock's mouth hitched into a grin.

"Deducing me doesn't make it easier, Sherlock." John chided.

"It does, because it helps you when you can't say the words yourself. We'll get Hamish to the dentist tomorrow and then I'll see if Greg or Molly can watch him for a few days. We can take a holiday..."

"No, running away from our home isn't going to help. It's not his fault I think of her when I hold him, he's the greatest gift she ever gave me." John whispered but pressed a kiss to Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock wrapped around him deepening the kiss and chuckling lightly when John moaned.

"Our son is in the living room," He teased.

"Oh sod off." John laughed and made them both some tea. "I can't believe you let him watch that crap."

"It's the only thing he likes to watch when he's sick..."

"Imagine that, sick and all he wants to watch is crap telly," John grinned.

"NO," They heard Hamish shout suddenly and they both ran to the living room just in time to see Hamish toss his teddy bear at the TV. "RED NOT BLUE! Look at the shape! " The little boy yelled as he was watching one of those children shows that pretends to ask the audience for input. John doubled over laughing and Sherlock simply consented to look slightly sheepish.

"He's yours alright."

"Well at least we know he pays attention." Sherlock smiled and sat down next to Hamish, gently rubbing his back.

"Uncle Gweg!" Hamish yelled just as Lestrade took the first few stairs up to the flat.

"With an insane eye for detail…" John smirked.

"Gwandma!" Hamish giggled as Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs.

"Hey there my little detective," Greg smirked, pulling Hamish up into his arms.

"Where?" John and Sherlock both asked at the same time and the four of them laughed for a moment, Hamish looking confused.

"Seriously, you two have got to stop that. It's near King's Cross. Assassin style killing. Will you come?" Greg asked softly, cuddling Hamish for another moment and then setting him down on the couch as Mrs. Hudson sat down with him, talking quietly to the boy.

"Why us?" Sherlock asked even as he moved and pulled on his coat.

"It's got the same M.O. as some of those unsolved cases you keep an eye on." Greg shrugged.

"Then yes, well definitely come." Sherlock motioned.

"One of us has to stay with Hamish." John hadn't budged, crossing his arms.

"You'll want to come." Greg said darkly, turning his attention directly to John. A look Sherlock couldn't read passed between the two men and he quirked an eyebrow.

"Me?" John's face tightened as he looked at Greg.

"Yes, it turns out that it may be..." Greg started but John cut him off.

"Harry..." John grunted and strode over on instinct to get his coat.

"Go on you two, I'll look after Hamish." Mrs. Hudson smiled.

"Yea! Go get bad guys! I stay wif Gwandma." Hamish giggled.

"You two be careful." Mrs. Hudson said softly as John walked over and knelt down to look at Hamish.

"No sweets." He said sternly and Hamish crossed his arms, pouting.

"I know. Go on. I'll make you something for dinner in case you two get in late. If you're not back by his bedtime I'll just set him up in my guest room. Goodness knows what Sherlock will do if he goes too much longer without a case." She teased.

"I know a whole day," John couldn't stop the giggles.

"We'll text you, thank you Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock said softly, flushing a bit. He kissed her cheek and hugged Hamish.

"Thank you." John smiled and kissed her other cheek, leaving her beaming. He hugged Hamish as well.

"I love you Daddys! Get those bad guys!" Hamish giggled.

"We love you too." They said together and smiled as they followed Greg out to his car.

They rode with Greg to the crime scene. When they arrived Donovan nodded to them and let the three of them in. Anderson sighed and turned away from his work, walking clear across the area to a van and sitting down. The scene was an alleyway, not to wide - maybe a single car could fit down it but it was littered on both sides with bins and rubbish. A young man with sandy brown hair lay sprawled out on a pile of trash bags. He was well dressed and looked well kempt. He was wearing a button down under a short black jacket. A single gold necklace with a snake twisted into a figure eight was his only accessory. Black slacks with no signs of wear, and polished black shoes completed the outfit. He was maybe twenty five.

"So what happened?" Sherlock asked as he and John both immediately went to work.

"No witnesses, no one saw him get off the train, no one saw him come down here. His train ticket says he came in this morning. Three hour trip with a return booked tomorrow morning. He's a younger guy, we've got an ID – Jared Pendergrass." Greg rattled off. John snapped around and narrowed his eyes. Sherlock felt John's energy tighten and he looked at his husband with confusion.

"Pendergrass?" He demanded sharply, walking over and almost snatching the ID out of Greg's hands.

"Yes. His brother…" Greg started but John cut him off.

"Was murdered last year," John said softly, clenching his fist. His jaw tightened but neither Sherlock nor Greg had the intention of pressing him from information.

"The only markings are these two little punctures on the side of his neck." Greg motioned, pointing them out. Both of them had of course already examined them.

"I've seen this before." Both Sherlock and John said at the same time, both of them turning to look at the other with a confused look. There was a tense silence as the two of them tried to size the other up. This was not something they had ever discussed and it was clear that somewhere in the heart of this was something that both of them were keen to keep private.

"Okay, seriously stop." Greg sighed, trying to snap them back into the moment. It was bad enough having them flirting, this was positively terrifying.

"Greg, I need the files for Elisa Monroe, Dominic Argyle, Kevin McDougall, and Jensen, and James Pendergrass. As well as everything you have on this case already. "John said from where he was reexamining the body. Sherlock looked at John with wide eyes; those were five unsolved cases that Sherlock himself had been studying for many years. Greg seemed to catch on and looked at Sherlock with confusion for a moment, he didn't like the look he found there.

"Sherlock aren't those the…"

"Get him the files and shut up! Everyone shut up!" Sherlock growled, using his normal impertinence to cover up the fact he didn't want Greg mentioning his personal goal of solving those cases. It was John's turn to be confused and he turned to watch Sherlock work, why would Sherlock be interested in those cases?

"Alright… I'll call and see what I can do John." Greg stepped off and flipped open his mobile, pacing away from the two of them and sighing.

"The same wound…" John mumbled to himself, checking over the body. Sherlock felt it nag at his mind but the two fell silent as they took in the details of the scene.

-Two small slit like cuts on the victims neck, meant to mimic and animal bite but with jagged edges clearly from a specific type of knife. Same M.O. as before, a specific tool limited to a specific person or persons

-Powder on his fingers, from a gun. Small caliber, not located with the body. Taken.

-Youngest son of a wealthy man, male line eliminated. Focused targets, specifically selected.

-No sign of trauma to the body, no struggle. Assailant was well known to the victim. Someone trusted.

-Overnight bag tossed about on the ground, only in town for a few days. Meeting with someone.

"Sherlock…" John called out softly, a piece of paper in his gloved hands. They had both just examined the contents of the spilled bag and come to the same conclusion.

"What is it John?" Sherlock looked up slightly annoyed, but his annoyance dropped when he saw the look on John's face. Good finally information of use.

"He was coming to see us." John held out the paper, it had their address written on it. Along with a note scrawled along the bottom, hastily with a smear of blood on it read: 'John, Harry was retaliation.'

John's body language was rigid and closed off; he also wasn't looking Sherlock in the eyes. Sherlock watched as John became a mask of emotion, something Sherlock couldn't read no matter how hard he tried. It was a trick John had taught himself during their short separation before Hamish was born. It worried him, John was somehow connected to the Pendergrass Murders and he wasn't about to tell Sherlock how. Greg sighed and hung up the phone, moving back over and crossing his arms. When Sherlock stood and signaled he was ready to speak, Greg spoke first.

"Sherlock has the most up to date versions of the files I can get you. He'll have to let you see them." Greg shrugged.

"Why do you…" John looked at him, and the two of them fought to analyze each other. Trying to deduce the shared connection to these cases without actually revealing it to the other.

"I'll explain later." Sherlock sighed. "This is just like the others, except that he was coming to see us. Harry's death needs to be reinvestigated."

"I'll send you everything we've got. Anything else?" Greg asked and was surprised when John spoke up. Three years and he'd still not gotten use to the fact that John was getting just as fast as Sherlock.

"The killer knew the victim," John cut over Sherlock before could speak. "Judging by this shoe print it was a male, tall. Older, he limps slightly to one side…" Sherlock couldn't hide his smirk. "Likely an old injury coupled with arthritis or degenerative bone disease." John trailed off and Sherlock picked up, smirking as he did.

"Previous military experience, judging by the evenness of his stride." Sherlock continued on. "He attacked from a close distance but the victim was concerned about his, he was turned slightly away from him. Victim died slowly, but there is no blood to suggest he bled out. Likely he was administered a poison to continue the snake bite theory that has pervaded these cases. In his last moments he wrote a note to John, because he was coming to Baker Street to see us. He is the second son of James Pendergrass, and with his daughter Elisa also dead his entire heritage has been destroyed."

"Not entire," John mumbled. "Georgina, James' wife is still alive and James had a nephew he left everything to." John's voice held sentiment, it intrigued Sherlock but he knew John well enough to realize he wasn't about to get answers.

"You two…" Greg shook his head, "Are still bloody amazing."

"I think that's all I can do for now." Sherlock said suddenly standing, it was a lie all three of them knew it. But Sherlock clearly realized there was something deeper at work here for John and wanted to speak with him about it alone. "I'll need to review the other case files and then I can let you know more."

Darkness was coming slowly and John was pale as a ghost, so Greg just nodded and let them go. Sherlock led the way to the street, putting his hand on John's back once they were clear of the crime scene and hailing a cab. John hadn't said a word and Sherlock could feel him trembling slightly against his hand. The unasked question hanging around them were almost biting at them, their curiosity gnawing away as they both tried to wordlessly figure out why these cases mattered to the other.

"John, we need to collaborate…"

"I can't talk about it right now Sherlock… I can't." John looked upset and Sherlock let his fingers intertwine with John's. "It's too much." There were tears in John's eyes.

"Can you at least tell me why you're so upset? I can't help you if you don't talk to me, John." Sherlock pulled John closer to him and John rested his head against his shoulder.

"It's obvious already, Sherlock. I know you've figured it out." John smirked slightly.

"You knew him." Sherlock looked bored but he kept his body soft.

"Yes, I did." John conceded but his face was still tight.

"How..."

"Please just leave it for now. I promise I will tell you more later, but for now let's just not think about it. This is our first possible night alone in ages." John looked up at Sherlock smiled.

"Alright…"

Heavy silence fell around them as they looked out the windows, still cuddled together but unspeaking. Neither liked the idea the other had some secret they were keeping about this, but John couldn't talk about that summer yet. The pain he felt was still so strong and he didn't know if he could trust himself with it out in the open. He sighed trying vainly to remember his face, but as always it eluded him. Sherlock meanwhile had slipped a small black case, just big enough for a key from his pocket and tapped it idly against his lips. It was something he'd taken to doing just in the last few months, since Harry's death. He wouldn't tell John what was in the case, only that it was a memento he wasn't quite ready to share. They arrived back at Baker Street and John opened the door with a sigh. He went to move towards Mrs. Hudson's flat when he saw a little envelope taped to the railing. Sherlock pulled it down and read it in a whisper.

"Boys, Greg called and said you'd had another tough case. Hamish has been really sleepy all afternoon so I'm just going to keep him with me. I put a casserole in the oven (Sherlock you have got to stop keeping experiments in there!), just warm it up for a bit. You two deserve a nice night alone. I'll bring Hamish up when he wakes in the morning. Love Mrs. H." Sherlock blushed slightly.

"She's far too good to us." John whispered, also blushing some. The blush changed however when Sherlock rounded on him and pushed him into the wall, leaning down and kissing him hard. "S-Sherlock?" John panted, the heat rising fast in his body. Every time Sherlock touched him like this is obliterated his thoughts. It didn't matter that they were married, Sherlock's passion was still intense and unexpected. It had been ages since they'd been able to do anything more than wank each other off in the shower, so both of them were tight with need.

"I don't think I will ever get used to how incredibly arousing it is to hear you announce details about a crime scene." Sherlock whispered nuzzling over his ear. "You've gotten so much better lately... Even noticing things I miss." He was purring the compliments into John's ear, making him shiver.

"Now you know how I feel." John smirked as Sherlock kissed him again, slipping his fingers under his shirt. John groaned, his whole body screaming for more. It wasn't fair what this man, his husband could do to him.

"And that face, being so utterly devoid of clues for me..." His mouth trailed down over John's neck, his hand wrapping in his hair. "It's torment..."

"This is all very lovely and I want to continue but I need to eat. Unlike you and Hamish I can't go three days without food." John teased and Sherlock groaned.

"One of these days John Hamish Watson-Holmes I am going to fuck you in this hallway." He grinned as John dissolved under the heat of the statement and turned walking up the stairs, leaving John panting against the wall.

The way that man said his name... John followed him almost helplessly up the stairs and sighed as he turned the oven on. He sank down, watching Sherlock as the detective moved about the flat clearing the table off so they could eat like civilized adults. Not much had changed in the flat in the last three years, with the exception of the toys somewhat scattered about and the fact that Sherlock now clearly labeled his experiments if only so they could be sure Hamish didn't get into anything too deadly. The most marked change however was skull on the mantle was now wearing a small hat which made Sherlock smile every time he looked at it. Hamish had put it on the skull sometime around Christmas the year before and neither of them could bear to take it down. But both of them were tight with silent feelings and the weight of the unspoken secrets resting between them. Sherlock got out plates and silverware while John got them both some water. Sherlock even attempted to eat while John wolfed down a large serving of food. They sat quietly for awhile, content in their mutual silence until Sherlock spoke.

"John, have you ever forgotten someone?" He asked softly, ripping through John's thoughts in the way only he could.

"Yes." John sighed as he admitted it. "I had a friend when I was younger but I can't remember what his face looked like."

"The same." Sherlock said softly, the little case finding its' way back into his hand. "Only I have an entire wing of my mind palace that has seemingly reappeared." He mused, no longer out of sorts about confessing these things to John. "It's locked though, but I can hear children laughing..." John knew this was somehow linked to the case.

"We should go to Pendergrass Manor, I can e-mail Georgina." John offered.

"We can discuss that in the morning." Sherlock smirked and he pulled John up and to him. "Or the very late afternoon because I am going to own you so thoroughly I don't think you'll wake before noon." Sherlock's voice was pure heat against John's ear as he pulled him into the bedroom.

It had been ages since they'd touched each other for more than five minutes and something in both of them had been wound so tightly it had almost snapped. The passion between them was always strong and they'd been denied from expressing it as easily as they had in the beginning. For three years now they'd barely had any moments to themselves, except for that very heated make up weekend after their two month separation. Sherlock closed the door to their bedroom and almost ripped John's shirt off desperate to put his hands on his husband. John melted, clearly desperate for the attention Sherlock was giving him. Their lips smashing together in violent kisses that left bruising feelings on each of their mouths as they pulled apart to breathe and remove clothing. Sherlock gently pushed John down on the bed and placed kisses over his jaw, his neck, his chest... Taking his time to worship every inch of John.

"Oh God Sherlock," John whimpered, clawing into the mattress.

"It's been too long, John..." Sherlock groaned, his voice desperate with need. "Too long since I have gotten to do this." Don't rush me.

"Oh..." John forced out as Sherlock pushed down on his hips, primal force and desire behind every motion.

John hadn't even seen Sherlock grab the lube but he jolted and moaned when Sherlock pressed two fingers into the tight ring of muscle and dropped his mouth down over his aching erection. Warm bliss rolled through his body as Sherlock worked and his mind just blanked out. All the grief, emotion, worry, and desperation just bleeding away into sheer desire. Sherlock teased him for what felt like hours, building him up close to release and then denying it until John was reduced to a begging whimpering mess. Then he buried his own aching cock into John, pressing in until he wasn't sure where one of them ended and the other began. Their mouths crashed together as Sherlock slowly and feverishly claimed him, building them both up and then slowing down again; continuing to deny both of them their release until he wasn't sure they could stand it a moment more. Claiming John's mouth with another bruising passionate kiss they both shouted into each other as they came so hard they saw stars. Sherlock collapsed down on John, bracing his weight so as not to crush him and they both lay there panting for a long time before either of them spoke.

"God damn you're evil." John grunted as Sherlock slipped out of him and collapsed against him. He fumbled about, finding his shirt and wiping the cooling sticky mess from his chest.

"I...Wanted to..." Sherlock was panting hard, John just nodded.

"I love you," John whispered as Sherlock pressed into him, cuddling him close.

"I love you so much more." Sherlock grinned but both of them passed easily into a deep slumber within moments.