This is a Secret Santa gift for abitnotgood on Tumblr. It's a mix between (VERY light) smut and angst.

This is set sometime in the future from TGG and Sherlock did disappear for the two years but this does not include events from S3.

Start

Sherlock noticed that John left his shirt on during sex every time they had it in the same way he notices Molloy's lipstick change or Stamford's extra weight, silently. Still the realization came to him that he had never seen John without his shirt off as he looked up to John from his position between his legs.

Sherlock bobs and John leans back, exposing his neck and placing a hand in Sherlock's hair.

John should know that the scar from the bullet wound wouldn't disgust him. Sherlock closes his eyes as he tries to imagine it. John groans and he wishes he could see John's chest going up and down, the bullet would moving as he panted. Thinking about it now causes Sherlock to palm himself as he continues moving against John. It would be an angry mark of his survival that could never disgust Sherlock. In fact, given his most recent reaction, it would likely turn him on. He wants to kiss it, run his tongue along its edge and thank it for bringing John to him as he cursed it for hurting John and almost taking him for itself. John, his survivor, his fighter.

"Oh, Christ, Sherlock." Sherlock opens his eyes and the sight of Sherlock gazing up at him, dick in his mouth and hand on his dick is enough to send John over the edge. Sherlock feels the extra tug on his head and starts rubbing harder but he can't seem to focus on his transport just now.

Sherlock can't figure out why John won't show him his chest. Sherlock has been naked plenty of times before, granted not now, but John has always had at least a T shirt on. Sherlock lets John move him around until he's lying on the bed and John is between his knees, but he barely recognizes the shift from hand to mouth. John narrows his eyes slightly as he props himself on his elbow. Sherlock remains erect but shows no sign to stimulus as he stares at some space above his head.

"Come back to me, love." He murmurs as raises Sherlock's shirt and gently kisses Sherlock's chest a few times. Sherlock doesn't respond to him and John lets out a small chuckle as he lowers the shirt and settles on top of Sherlock with a smile. John watches Sherlock's eyes jump from one part of the ceiling to the next as he gently wiggles on top of Sherlock. After a minute of two Sherlock comes back to him with a long blink.

"Ah, John." He then groans as the stimulation from John's leg against his penis is recognized. Sherlock watches John smirk, but he's not in the mood for this anymore so he shifts to the side and John gets up with a look of concern on his face.

"Sherlock, you okay?"

"I need to think." He responds as he stands and walks out of the room. John watches him go as he shakes his head before closing his eyes and leaning back on the bed. He frowns. Something's going on and it's not a case.

Sherlock erection fades before the tea is made and he sits on the couch as he tries to remember the beginnings of their relationship. It had seemed relatively normal, for them at least, at first. The only issue, which Sherlock hadn't realized until months into the relationship, was that John seemed to have no desire to be intimate with him. It was a relief as Sherlock wasn't even sure if he had wanted that kind of relationship in general but as soon as Sherlock started to want that with John, his advances were rebuffed. John seemed fine with have a non-sexual relationship with him and Sherlock couldn't understand that. John needed sex. Sherlock had been a witness to that for years.

Initially he thought John was only romantically interested in him, which could be fine, Sherlock had lived for a long time without sex before but he noticed John's lingering looks and sexual frustration. Sherlock smiles at his memories. He was no help at the time, choosing to forgo clothes until John snapped. He knew John loved sex and he didn't seem opposed to Sherlock's body so Sherlock realized he'd have to initiate.

Now he wonders if John's scar had anything to do with it, after all, if they weren't having sex or bathing together, Sherlock could feasibly never see it. Maybe that was John's plan. He didn't like it.

…

Sherlock has done something right, he's not sure what, but the second the door to their flat closes John has him pressed against him and is heatedly kissing him. Sherlock offers no protest, in fact the only thing he does do is start to move them towards his bedroom. Sherlock bites John's lip to hear a groan and pulls back.

"Inspired?"

"Yeah," John breathes as he grabs a fistful of curls and tugs Sherlock closer. Ah, the more physical sex means it was something that Sherlock physically did, likely having to do with the suspect, although Sherlock surely thought punching Santa in the face was a bad thing. John tugs Sherlock closer and disrupts his thoughts. "Come back." John growls and Sherlock takes a strong step backwards and pulls John forward. He could be rough too, and he would be lying if he said he hadn't wondered who would win in a fight between the two of them. John's reaction is instant, he turns Sherlock as his left root hooks under Sherlock's leg and pulls up. Sherlock lets out a grunt as he lands on the ground and John starts unbuttoning his shirt. Sherlock watches as he kicks off his shoes and starts to undress. He's left in only pants as John lowers himself over him in his undershirt and pants.

Sherlock rolls them over so he's on top and locks John into a pin. John lets out a short laugh before throwing his weight to the side and dislodging the other. John is clearly stronger, but Sherlock's longer body means John can't get all of him where he wants him and the two are moaning and groaning when Sherlock pins John and aggressively kisses him. John knows he can get out but he likes the feel of Sherlock's hands around his wrist and so he temporarily yields. When Sherlock backs up, lips swollen and chest panting, John sits up so Sherlock is on his lap. Sherlock groans as John rocks his hips up.

"Bed. Now." Sherlock groans but notices John seems content to take him on the floor so he stands, and watches John's hungry eyes follow him. Sherlock shoots John challenging look and John also beats Sherlock to his bed. Sherlock slams the door with John's body as he grabs his hips and pushes him into the door. John's groan is surely a sound that will be permanently locked in the mind palace.

John eventually moves Sherlock back so that he could fall back onto the bed. Sherlock grabs the back of John's shirt before deciding to take it off. It was better to ask forgiveness than permission in this case. As soon as Sherlock grips the bottom of the shirt John flips him over and pushes him down. Sherlock hears the shirt rip and smirks, even in the new position with his head just about in the sheets. He is about to turn back when he feels John's warm hand on his shoulder. Sherlock let out a wanton sigh, knowing as soon as he saw John part of the mystery would be answered.

"Close your eyes for me love." Sherlock does, briefly, before hearing more ripping and feeling the remains of John's shirt blindfolding him. He would have protested but the blindfold made John bold enough to press his bare chest against Sherlock's back and that heat made Sherlock moan. There was the added pleasure of having his hands bound together too. He moaned out and John paused.

"This okay?" Sherlock lets out a whimper at the now cold air against his back and could only mutter.

"Please." He doesn't even know what he's asking for, but he moans as John brings their skin back into contact with each other.

He would let it go for today.

…

It's New Years, and their kiss at the midnight stroke has turned into much more. Sherlock offers a hint of protest as John lifts him off the ground but gives up and wraps his legs around John's waist once he realizes he'd have to stop kissing John in order to say anything. After a few seconds John presses Sherlock into the mattress and Sherlock fists his hands in John's shirt as he unwraps his legs. John moves down Sherlock's chest and Sherlock doesn't let go of the shirt. John stops and lets out a sigh. Sherlock moves to slowly take off the shirt and John pulls back.

"I love you Sherlock." He voices as he leans forward, pressing the top of his head against Sherlock's shirt. "I love you so much." Sherlock is about to respond 'and I, you.' But John continues, "but please, leave this alone."

Sherlock knows he couldn't ever leave this alone. Also, anything further than this would be seen as worse than if he does it now.

"I can't." He voices softly as his hands rest on John's back. He doesn't move to grab the shirt but he might as well have since John rips himself away from Sherlock in that instant. Sherlock feels cold and alone.

"You always have to know." Sherlock was expecting anger, not resignation. "You could never leave well enough alone." Sherlock sits up in bed and John leaves the room. It takes a second of Sherlock looking at the door before the situation fully processes. He jumps out of bed.

"John. Wait. John!" And the front door is closed before he makes it to the edge of the landing. He stands there naked and leans his forehead against the cold door.

…

Sherlock remembers the woman he thought would take John away when he had returned from the dead. Mary. Sherlock had pretended to be okay with it while he died inside until one day just like any other; John came home morose. Sherlock simply looked up from the couch as John hung his coat up and walked up the stairs as if he still lived there. Sherlock didn't mind but he asked the next day and John had just said 'I love her but she wanted to know too much and couldn't leave well enough alone.'

John left Mary for wanting to know, and now he's going to leave Sherlock.

But still, Sherlock has to know.

…

Sherlock has taken all of the clothes and towels from the bathroom. Meaning John is going to have to walk back to his room naked in this late January cold. John glances in the mirror and shudders at the thought before becoming so mad he clenches his fist and barely refrains from breaking something. He then turns to the shower and takes off the curtain rung by rung to hang it around himself.

He steps out of the bathroom and hears rapid footsteps until Sherlock is standing in front of him, eyes rapidly searching for exposed skin.

John wants to say something, tell him to stop looking but as he looks at him then he realizes he's always known Sherlock won't stop, and that that's going to kill them. He tried to save it at first by not giving Sherlock the opportunity to see it and keeping his bedroom, but it's only prolonging the inevitable. Eventually Sherlock will see it and it will change them. Sherlock watches John go upstairs, sobered by the look in his eyes.

Sherlock realizes he is a moth, and he is going to kill himself against John's fire for a chance to see the light.

…

They break up the first day in February.

"I don't think we should do this anymore." John says over tea the next day. "We should carry on like we had before this started." Sherlock looks up at John as he puts his own cup down.

"I don't see a need to stop." He stares into John's eyes and watches as they close and John leans forward resting his closed fists on the table.

"I don't want to do this anymore, but I need you around in some capacity." Sherlock knows he's lying, but that doesn't matter because the words hurt so deeply it's a struggle to breathe, let alone respond. He lets out a strangled breath as John's knuckles turn white.

"For the cases." Sherlock responds as he turns his own head away and John shakes his with an exhale. Could Sherlock really believe him? Believe that?

"Yeah," But neither one of them are very good at talking things out, so John walking away ends the conversation that won't be started again.

…

That night they don't share a bed.

John places his head against the crumpled up shirt in his hands as Sherlock stares at the ceiling. John tells himself over and over again that he made the right call and he puts his shirt back on before pulling the covers up to add another layer between them. Sherlock waits until he knows John is sleeping to roll out of bed and grab his violin.

John is upset when he hears the violin at four in the morning, because neither one of them should be up this late. John's also upset that he can't resist climbing down the stairs to sit in his chair and watch Sherlock play. For his part, Sherlock pretends it doesn't matter, but the second he can be sure John has drifted off he stops.

He stares at the man who he can't find the words to begin to describe and wonders how to fix this because he needs John, all of John. He places the violin in his case and wishes he didn't have to know, because this seems to be the only issue between them. When he looks back to John he tries to imagine the gunshot wound in all of its glory. How close is it to the collarbone, to John's heart? He wants to know if the difference between John being here or not being here is in millimeters or centimeters. He falls to his knees next to John and slowly leans his head against John's leg capturing the warmth he might not get to be around for too much longer.

A few days later, Lestrade asks John what happened.

John pauses because he's not quite sure what happened and what it means and he's even less sure that he wants to tell other people about it. Once they had started their relationship everyone had been able to figure it out, so there was no secret to keep. He was sure everyone would also eventually figure out that they were no longer together like that. It was strictly professional now. At least, that was the goal. There would be a break from this awkwardness eventually. It was much better when they were just friends.

Sherlock walks back into the room and shares his thoughts before John answers and John, once again, is stuck by how brilliant this man is, but he knows better than to say it, because they were just friends now. The silence that shouldn't have been anything is suddenly tense as Lestrade and Sherlock glance at John who looks away. Lestrade watches Sherlock shift his weight and already knows what John didn't say. Lestrade looks away because this is a train wreck and if those two couldn't make it there really wasn't much hope for the rest of them.

"I'll go get the cab then." John voices instead of a compliment and Sherlock closes his eyes as soon as John turns away. He swallows and Lestrade puts a hand on his back.

"What happened?" he decides to ask again and Sherlock shakes his head.

"I need to know everything."

"Yeah, so?" Lestrade shrugs, everyone knew that.

"John didn't know that," Sherlock stares at the door, "and he doesn't want it." And Sherlock marvels at the fact that John fell in love with him because of who he is, and yet that seems to be the only obstacle between them.

Molly notices in the lab.

John is quietly reading a medical journal that's been sitting on that table for years and Molly has stepped back to give Sherlock some space on the microscope. She watches as they both work, neither of them sneaking glances or sharing smiles and can't help but blurt it out.

"What?" John asks as Sherlock looks up from the scope.

"You broke up." She voices again and John feels his heart get heavy.

"Dull." Sherlock responds before going back to work because he can't bear to think about it or talk about it and unless he dismisses it now she will bother him for hours. He hears Molly squeak and clenches his jaw.

"Apparently so." John says coldly as he slams his book shut and leaves it on the table before he walks out.

Sherlock closes his eyes to try and prevent the tears from falling but it doesn't work. He also tries to take an even breath when Molly rounds the corner but that also fails. The worst one of all is the sobs he can't hold back when she takes him in her arms.

Mrs. Hudson, however, is the catalyst.

"Have you had a domestic?" She tuts as she lets them in after a case and Sherlock bitterly responds when he says.

"Oh come now, Mrs. Hudson, You need to still be in a relationship to have a domestic."

John smiles. It's not one of the smiles he gets around Sherlock. It's the smile he gets before he punches someone out. Sherlock hates that he hates putting it there.

John doesn't talk for the rest of the night.

In total, Sherlock muses, it takes two weeks for John to start to snap.

John has come down the stairs and briefly looks around the sitting room until he spots Sherlock. Sherlock searches his form and to find the tell tales of John going out. Once again, Sherlock marvels at how long John went without having sex with him.

Of course, John doesn't tell Sherlock he is going out but he's shaved and is wearing his date shoes and nice jacket and Sherlock can't choose between shooting the wall or crying so he does a bit off both.

Lestrade calls him in for a case later that night.

Since Sherlock was able to figure out where John went he forgoes texting him to just show up at the bar and take him away. Also Sherlock couldn't figure out what to text and figured he could rehearse on the walk over. Sherlock rounds the corner to the bar and watches a redhead jump into John's lap and all of those thoughts fade. John can move on so simply, apparently. Sherlock turns away and doesn't see John push her off gently and her storming away as he lets her down. John sighs because she's just not Sherlock and damn him if he hasn't gone and fallen in love.

"Where's John?" Is Lestrade's greeting and Sherlock stiffens in response to it.

"Getting off I imagine." Sherlock says curtly, and he does imagine it. John, buried in the redhead's legs, her head thrown back and she's so wanton she won't even wonder why John still has his clothes on. John would like that. He'd like all of it, and then he would come home to Sherlock pretending it didn't matter. He'd pretend he wanted to sleep with her instead of him and Sherlock would be forced to read the signs of it for days.

Lestrade frowns and when he gets home that night he dials John up.

"Sod this Lestrade." John finishes the conversation. "I'm going to go downstairs and talk to him." John opens his door to see Sherlock moving away from the bottom of the staircase. John shakes his head because he can't do this friendship, not after having more of him. John runs and when he catches Sherlock at the door of his bedroom he turns him around and snogs him.

"I missed you." He says and even though Sherlock knows they've been together this entire time he knows exactly what John means.

"I love you." Sherlock shuts his eyes together tightly as he clenches his fists in John's shirt. He sees the signs that John's been home for hours, unkissed, untouched. He repeats it as John backs him into his room. He says it brokenly as he pulls the shirt up because he'll ask for John's forgiveness over his permission.

"Damn it Sherlock!" and John screams it at him. Sherlock is so in shock from that he barely notices being shoved backwards until his head slams against the bed. But Sherlock will never stop, he can't, his brain needs to know everything. He lifts his head and lets out a slow exhale instead of responding because John has taken off his shirt.

Sherlock stops. He scans the front of John's chest, the scars that litter it, the heaving chest, the gunshot wound. Sherlock can tell John doesn't want to talk about it but he feels his brain gnawing at him. He has to ask. He can see burns, knife wounds, and more, angry puffed up scars from improper treatment, infection and probably more things than he can think of. Sherlock swallows as John stiffens watching the excitement fill Sherlock's eyes. John can still surprise him, even after all this time. This was more than a gunshot wound.

"You were tortured for enough of a time that you expected death and for the scars to cover most of your upper body." John nods as he clenches his teeth as a tight feeling rises in his chest. He expected disgust; countless women have given him that. Maybe even sympathy, he can count the women who treated him differently afterwards because of it. Perhaps a bit of wonder or crazed admiration, wondering how he could have survived that and thinking him a survivor that could be conquered. Nothing, however, hurt as much as Sherlock's fascination.

Every moment of pain he wanted to forget and every inch of scar he couldn't fix brought Sherlock joy.

John wondered if this is what the dead bodies would feel like. No secrets from Sherlock once he saw them, no remorse or sympathy. Sherlock doesn't care about his pain and suffering, doesn't care that this was a part of John he didn't want to share. Sherlock cares about the puzzle and knowing.

"Are you done?" John asks sharply as Sherlock's hand reaches out to touch him. Sherlock is startled and John steps back. "I'm glad," the words tasted like sandpaper, "your curiosity is settled. Now we can forget it."

John walks out of his bedroom and Sherlock chases him.

"John, I love you." Sherlock says because he doesn't know what else he could say and he grabs John's wrist because he needs John to stop leaving him and John, thankfully, stops walking.

"You've said."

"This changes nothing."

"Yes it does!" John snatches his arm back. "You didn't see the way you looked at me." Like he was a body. John knows what people see when they look at him. Damaged goods. "This is over." John walks forward and Sherlock falls to his knees.

"I had no idea about the other scars." Sherlock confesses "This wasn't about that." John stops at the door. Sherlock closes his eyes. "I will hate them if you want me to, or I will love them. I'll act disgusted with you if that will make you feel better John." John shakes his head.

"Sherlock…"

"I wanted to see it to know all of you. I want to know your chest in the same way I know your hands and your legs and your feet." John kneels in front of him and Sherlock leans forward and rests his forehead on John's shoulder. John closes his eyes and Sherlock sighs.

"I'm not damaged." John insists as he does with everyone who sees him without his shirt. "And you say you won't view me differently but you will." John tries not to imagine Sherlock giving him side glances at crime scenes or second guessing him on chases. Sherlock sits back on his toes.

"All that changes is I now know more about your past." Sherlock reads John's unease and kisses him. John shuts his eyes tightly as he looks down and Sherlock frowns. John remembers all the looks of disgust and pity and how it mattered to even those who had scars of their own.

"Prove it." John says and he doesn't know how Sherlock could prove it but Sherlock suddenly stands and pulls John up with it. Sherlock presses himself to John's form and kisses John's bare shoulder. John lets out a sigh and Sherlock uses his hand to trace up John's arm for the first time. He commits the pumps and ridges to his memory and John could cry at the relief of the normalcy of it all.

John follows when Sherlock pulls him into his room, and he lets Sherlock take control of the entire situation because for the first time in a long time he is entirely naked in front of another person and is comfortable.

"Brilliant," John says later as they've found a slow soft rhythm Sherlock could sing to, "amazing." When Sherlock smiles in response John has to add an "I love you."

"And I you." Sherlock responds as he kisses the gunshot wound on John's chest. It should have killed him, Sherlock notes, as he realizes seeing John's chest has changed them a little, but its opened them to each other and finally given Sherlock the confidence to tell John about his two years away, but not now.

Now he's going to show John all the love he disserves.

It's a happy Valentine's Day, indeed.

End

TDS: I was going to end this with some smut, but I ran out of time on Christmas and really wanted to get this out on time! I hope you liked it!

MERRY CHRISTMAS ABITNOTGOOD!