A/N: My gift to consultingdetectivefromgalli frey for the Johnlock Challenges gift exchange. Based on her prompt "Sherlock is alive." Not sure if this is what you wanted but I hope you like it anyway!
It was a strange sort of thing, regretting saving someone's life. But ever since John had unwittingly saved Sherlock Holmes's life, and all the madness that had come after, a part of him did regret it. This led to John being conflicted and it also led to having an eighteen year old sleeping on his sofa more often than not.
But it was too late now, for better or worse, it looked like John was stuck with him.
XXXX
Eight Weeks Earlier
John pushed through the pain in his leg, ignoring the more debilitating stabs of agony. His nightly walk was one of the few times he got out of his awful flat and he wasn't going to be beaten by his leg. There's nothing wrong with you, he reminded it as he walked along but it was as if his leg was disconnected from his brain and was therefore not paying attention.
He was just about to give up and return home when he heard a noise like someone crashing into a skip and then some shouting. Without thinking he ran towards where it had come from, completely forgetting about his psychosomatic injury.
He rushed into the alley; wielding his cane like a club, ready to hit someone if it came to that. He arrived just in time to see a body lying lifeless on the ground with someone standing over it. As soon as the boy who was standing saw John, he took off running, pushing past John and disappearing around the corner. John called out after him but didn't have time to chase him.
Instead he hurried over and knelt beside the unmoving body, his instincts taking over. Checking for a pulse, he placed his fingers on the carotid artery and could make out a faint one. Starting to panic that this young man was about to die, he started CPR.
"Come on." John pleaded, his gaze landing on the man's face. He looked quite young, no more than eighteen years old. His dark curly hair was long, falling into his eyes.
John kept alternating between chest compressions and mouth to mouth. He could feel his patient slipping as more time ticked by. His desperation began to rise inside him as he failed to get a pulse. What good was he if he couldn't even save this young man from dying in an alley? John refused to be that useless.
He was just about to lose hope when the young man coughed. John immediately checked for a pulse and was relieved when it was stronger.
Reaching into his pocket, John pulled out his phone and dialed 999. "I need an ambulance to…" John actually had no idea where he was. He jogged out of the alley and looked for a street sign. "Baker street. 221 Baker street, the alley next to Speedy's. I managed to get a heartbeat but their in critical condition."
"We have an ambulance en route to you sir."
"Thank you." John rang off and went back to check his patient. He took the hand of the young man to reassure him he wasn't alone, at least until the ambulance got there. To his surprise, the patient opened his eyes.
"It's okay." John said gently. "You'll be okay."
XXXX
John left the hospital in the early morning. The young man hadn't woken up but he was stabilized and the doctors had insisted he'd make a full recovery. John had had to dig through his clothes to try and find his wallet for some form of identification. All he found was a driver's license with the same Sherlock Holmes on it, which was obviously a fake. No one could possibly have such a ridiculous name in real life.
Sherlock, or whoever he was, had woken up a few times during the night. He had never said anything – he had hardly been conscious. John felt strange leaving him in s hospital bed all alone but it was six in the morning, John hadn't slept, and he wasn't about to spend the night in a hospital chair next to a boy he didn't even know. He'd come back after a few hours of sleep. Besides, judging by his behaviour, Sherlock would hardly know he was gone.
John walked up to his awful flat and realized halfway up the stairs that he had forgotten his cane at hospital. It made his leg seize up and he clutched it in pain. He had to hobble over to the railing and lean on it heavily. He had been stupid to think one jolt of adrenaline was enough to cure his limp. Well, at least now he definitely had to go back to the hospital.
It was slow going up the stairs but eventually he made it back to his flat. He had just enough energy to toe off his shoes before falling face first onto his bed and passing out from exhaustion.
XXXX
John slowly blinked awake to find a strange presence in his room. Once they had cleared the blurriness of sleep, his eyes settled on the intruder. Sherlock was sitting at the desk, tapping away at John's laptop, occasionally glancing over at him.
"Is that my computer?" John asked hoarsely, his voice rough from sleep.
"Course." Sherlock responded and went right back to typing.
John took a moment to process that information through his sleep idled brain. He pushed himself up until he was sitting on his bed, wiping the drool from the corner of his mouth. "I'm sorry, you're supposed to be in hospital, why are you here?"
"Checked myself out." Sherlock replied, clasping his hands together under his chin and his eyes moving rapidly over the screen. "I also brought your cane, you left it in my room."
"What?"
Sherlock finally turned his head towards John for more than a second, his sharp eyes looking John up and down. "Like I was really going to spend all day in a bed." Sherlock scoffed and turned back to the laptop. John just barely saw him roll his eyes. "Please."
"Just –" John looked at his watch to check the time. "Eight hours ago you had so many drugs in your system that your heart nearly stopped. You need rest!"
"Dull."
"Look, you may not want to rest but your body needs to recover." John chastised, hoping the boy might see reason. "You should trust me, I'm a doctor."
"I know, that's why I came." Sherlock grinned, putting his feet up on John's desk.
"That's why…" John repeated and then trailed off as he thought of something. "Wait a second, how did you even know where I lived?"
"Simple enough really. I called your sister."
"My sister?"
"Do you always repeat everything people say?" Sherlock inquired with a raised eyebrow. "That'll get a bit annoying but I'll suffer through."
Sherlock jumped up and went into John's small kitchen. John's flat was so tiny he could have kept the conversation going from where he was but he felt safer with Sherlock in sight.
"Hold on just a second. Explain yourself."
"Must I?" Sherlock sighed as he pulled open John's fridge and scanned the contents. Wrinkling his nose, Sherlock closed the fridge and turned his attention to the cupboards. After successful finding John's biscuits, he bit into a Hobnob before turning to face John, who was not amused. "Very well then," Sherlock swallowed and began. "Last night in one of my lucid periods, you were on your phone. I noticed the engraving, stored the information away in case I needed it. Turns out I did. I heard you say your name was John, so the phone obviously was a gift from a family member. I have to say I'm quite glad of that, crashing at the home of a married couple could have been awkward."
Sherlock spoke a mile a minute and John was still slow from sleep. By the time he had taken in the last sentence, Sherlock was talking again.
"There were only three Harry Watsons in the book and all three of them had no idea what I was talking about. Then a neat little idea popped into my head as I noticed Harriet Watson. I called and pretended to be an old friend looking to reconnect but had lost your address. Your sister gave it to me without a fuss but that could have been because she was already quite pissed."
"Shut up." John said through gritted teeth.
"Pardon?"
"You come to my home uninvited and then insult my sister?"
"Merely pointing out the facts. Are you always this defensive?"
"You broke into my home!" John argued, staring at Sherlock incredulously.
"I did knock but you were passed out. I couldn't wait out in the hallway all day. Also your door is very easy to pick, you might want to look into that."
"Why didn't you go home?" John asked in aggravation.
"I don't have one." Sherlock said matter-of-factly. He shoved the rest of his biscuit in his mouth and smiled without using his teeth.
John scrubbed his hands over his face and considered. "I need tea."
John maneuvered past his houseguest to get to his kettle. He leaned heavily on the counter, trying not to think about anything except making the tea. It didn't work.
"So you're telling me you have no friends, no family, nowhere to go?" John asked, looking for clarification.
"That's what I'm telling you." Sherlock nodded, his hands folded behind his back.
"And you think you're just going to stay here?" john asked, wondering what it might be like to have that kind of nerve that you could just invite yourself into someone's home. "Even though you and I don't know a thing about each other?"
The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched up into a smirk. "Oh, I wouldn't say that."
XXXX
John had had flatmates before, he had lived with girlfriends, he had lived in army bases with hundreds of men and women, but he had never lived with anyone like Sherlock Holmes.
Well, that is when Sherlock actually was there. He was gone about the same amount of time he deigned John with his presence. John never knew if he was going to wake up to find Sherlock on his sofa or not. John had to admit it made life more interesting.
He had no idea where Sherlock went when he left. But John had made it clear that he didn't want drugs anywhere in or around his flat, so he assumed Sherlock left, he was using. John didn't like it but didn't really feel that he had any right to say anything. After all, what was he to Sherlock besides a man with a flat that was easy to break into.
Although the papers told a different story. Somehow they had gotten word of John's little act of heroism. Afghanistan Vet Saves Local Teen was the common headline. In no time at all John had found himself with his fifteen minutes of fame and all he wanted was for it to bloody stop.
One reporter had found out where John worked and now his little clinic was bombarded with people who wanted to be treated by "the miracle doctor who could bring people back from the brink of death." It made the work day exhausting. The only miracle was that John could get up out of bed in the morning and face another day.
Knowing he was in for another long one, John dragged his feet as he got into the shower. He knew he was in for a day of people looking for miracle cures for their illnesses. John's life was now a never-ending stream of disappointing people. He had never felt like such a failure in his life. But then he had never claimed to be able to magically cure people.
The shower did nothing to abate the tension in his muscles. It had been weeks of this madness and more people just kept coming. He would have thought word of mouth would have stopped them by now but apparently not. He hadn't had a moments peace since the entire thing started.
He was fighting the inevitable and he knew it, so he switched the water and grabbed blindly for his towel. Instead his hand came in contact with what was unquestioningly a body.
"Jesus!" John shouted, pulling his hand back quickly. "Sherlock, breaking into my home is one thing, breaking into my bathroom when I'm in the shower is quite another!"
"I didn't break in, the door was unlocked." Sherlock argued, putting down the toilet cover and having a seat.
"I didn't know you were going to be here today, you've been gone for about a week."
"And yet you were never far from my thoughts."
"I –" John was momentarily startled. "What?"
Sherlock reached into is coat pocket and pulled out the front page of the Daily Express. John's picture was in the center with the headline Miracle Doctor in Love?
"This is getting ridiculous." John shook his head, little water droplets falling at his feet and down his neck. "You would think they'd have found something better to talk about by now. Will you hand me my towel?"
Sherlock stood and retrieved John's towel and handed it to him through the curtain. He tried to be quick about it but John saw Sherlock sneak a peek at him naked. John couldn't help smirking.
"Doctor in love, what does that even mean?" he asked with a derisive scoff. He dried himself off quickly and then wrapped the towel around his waist.
Pulling the curtain back and stepping out of the shower, John nearly collided with Sherlock. They were pressed chest to chest in John's tiny, steamy bathroom, and suddenly John realized he had to get out of there. The situation required diffusing fast. It was one thing for Sherlock to take a quick glance at him naked, after all Sherlock was naturally curious about most things, but it was quite another to be so close to the teen that they were sharing the same air.
He opened his mouth to speak but Sherlock beat him to it. "Apparently a reporter was camped outside your house and saw me sneak in late at night. They are harboring under the assumption that we are sleeping together. Some sort of secret, torrid love affair."
"What?" John snatched the paper out of Sherlock's hand and skimmed it.
"Oh yes, according to this I'm suffering from Florence Nightingale syndrome."
"Who would write something like this?" John demanded, reading the byline. "Kitty Rielly?"
"Some desperate woman looking for her first big scoop. It appears she found it." Sherlock supplied, leaning down ever so slightly. It felt like his surprisingly deep voice was going straight into John's ear, sending a shiver through him. He had been momentarily distracted but he had to get out of there fast.
"Jesus Christ, I can't handle this right now." John said, unsure to which thing he was referring; the article or being attracted to an eighteen year old. "I'm making breakfast, do you want any?" John struggled to get to the door without touching Sherlock took much. He breathed in relief when they were out of the cramped bathroom.
"No thank you."
"Sherlock, you need to eat. I mean look at you." John gestured as Sherlock took off his coat, signaling that he was at least intending to stay awhile.
"What about me?" Sherlock asked defensively, tucking his hair behind his ear.
"Well you look emaciated. You're like 70's Bowie thin."
"Is that a bad thing?"
Temporarily ignoring the fact that Sherlock seemed to have no idea who David Bowie was, John pressed on. "I'm just saying you could do with a few good meals. So I'm going to make eggs and toast and you're going to eat it."
"Fine." Sherlock huffed in annoyance and flopped down on the couch but John caught the hint of smile on the boy's face as he left the room.
XXXX
As predicted, John's day was hectic. He'd barely finished with one patient when the next one would come barging in. But for once John was happy to be kept busy. The distractions kept him from thinking about his strange morning with Sherlock.
It had been…nice, strangely enough. It had been a long time since John had spent his morning with someone. They had talked, ate, laughed. It had felt comfortable between them and John suspected that they were becoming friends.
But then there was that moment in the bathroom. There had been something else there, something that was most definitely not friendship. However, John refused to go down that road. No, he refused to even acknowledge that road existed. He couldn't be attracted to an eighteen-year-old homeless drug addict. There was no way anything between them would feel like anything other than taking advantage of a troubled teen that was relying on his care. It was an entire can of worms that John did not want to open.
"John." Megan's voice came over the intercom, interrupting his reverie. "We've got one more insisting to see you. Are you up for it?"
"Sure, send them in." John told her cheerfully. After all, he didn't want to go home and see if Sherlock was still there or try and asset why he would be so disappointed if he wasn't.
"Doctor Watson." A voice like pure silk came from above him. John looked up to find a man in a well-tailored suit looming over him.
"Hello what seems to be the problem?" John asked, putting on a smile.
"I think you misunderstand. I'm not a patient." The man informed him, leaning on his umbrella. "I wonder if you might walk with me."
"Uh – sure. Just give me a minute." John was a bit suspicious but felt he could overpower this strange man if he needed to.
"Of course." The man bowed his head slightly and went to wait in the hallway. John collected his things, grabbing his coat and slipping it on, before joining his visitor in the hall.
"Dr. Watson, may I speak frankly?" the man asked, his umbrella tapping against the floor in time with John's cane.
"Sure, if you'd like." John said indifferently considering he had no idea what any of it was about.
"I'm here to inquire about the exact nature of your relationship with Sherlock Holmes."
John stopped moving and turned towards the man. "I could be wrong, but I think that's none of your fucking business." John told him defensively, his hands curling into fists.
"I'm not a reporter, if that is your concern."
"Then who the hell are you? John asked, his jaw tight.
The man laughed and continued walking, gesturing for John to follow if he wanted an answer. "I can see why he likes you. I am not here for such a nefarious purpose as you might suspect. I am simply looking after the welfare of my little brother."
John smirked, knowing he had caught this fake. "Now I know you're lying. Sherlock doesn't have any family."
"Is that what he told you?" Something like sadness flickered over the man's eyes. "Well I'm afraid he lied. My name is Mycroft Holmes. I can show you some identification if that would be sufficient proof that I am whom I say.
"If you're his brother then why weren't you at the hospital when he overdosed?" John asked accusingly.
"I'm afraid I was in Portugal on a business matter at the time. By the time I had returned home, my brother had already checked himself out of the hospital and disappeared. But then, you know all about that, don't you Doctor Watson."
"Yes." John nodded.
"My brother is clever, Doctor Watson, probably too clever for his own good. He is also not above manipulating people to get what he wants."
"I'm sorry, are you here to warn me off Sherlock?" John asked, suddenly very confused. "Not the other way around?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Well I thought you were leading up to telling me to stay away from your brother or else."
"Why would I do that?" They had reached the front doors of the surgery. Mycroft held the door open for John to go through first. "You're clearly an excellent influence on him, just this morning you managed to get him to eat breakfast. That's no easy feat Doctor. I am concerned about my brother but I am also concerned that he will take advantage of your kindness. I can tell you two haven't engaged in intercourse yet. I'm sure he'll proposition you soon."
John sputtered incoherently for a moment. "Sorry?"
"You saved my brother, Doctor Watson, to which I am eternally grateful. But ask yourself this, if Sherlock has a brother, three family estates and a trust fund, why is he still coming to sleep on your couch?" Mycroft asked with a raised eyebrow.
"I don't know." John shook his head.
"Something to consider." Mycroft told him as a door to the black sedan in front of them opened. "Goodbye Doctor Watson, see you very soon." Mycroft said ominously, slipping into the car.
XXXX
It had been a very long day and all John could think about was having a cup of tea and then collapsing in front of the telly and switching his brain off for a few hours. As he got closer to his front door, he could head voices inside his flat. Confused, he pressed his ear to the door to see if he was being robbed - not that he really had anything worth taking, - and had to call the police. Instead he heard Sherlock's deep baritone and another voice he didn't recognize.
"God Sherlock, I didn't know what to think. It's been in all the papers."
"You think I'm having sex with John Watson? A man who's almost in his thirties?" John had to admit, the way Sherlock spoke stung just a bit, as if such a notion was ridiculous.
"You're sleeping on his couch, aren't you?" The other voice argued. "For fuck's sake Sherlock, you could have come back to mine."
"Victor –"
"You know I would do anything for you. I looked for you, right after it happened. It wasn't until I read about you in the papers that I knew you were even alive."
"I've been busy and you apparently didn't look very hard." Sherlock snapped and John could hear him jump up off the couch.
"Come on Sherlock, I went to all our usual places. You weren't at any of them. I went to our club every night hoping to see you there. You disappeared on me."
"I disappeared on you?" Sherlock spat at him.
"Don't be like that, love. You know you would have done the same thing."
John had heard quite enough. He turned the handle and let his front door swing open. As it banged against the wall, the two teens that had been kissing moments ago sprang apart. John was seeing red, never remembering having been this furious in his entire life.
"John –" Sherlock began, looking startled and a bit ashamed.
"Get out." John snarled, the air heavy in his chest.
"I can explain."
John ignored Sherlock and turned his attention to the other boy. "I recognize you. You're the one who left Sherlock to die in that alley."
"Hey man, no need to get all upset about it. What happened in that alley is between me and Sherlock."
"I will not have pieces of shit like you in my home." John bit out. "Get the fuck out of my flat."
"I'm going mate, calm down." Victor put his hands up in a truce. He grabbed his coat and left, grumbling under his breath, slamming the door behind him.
"John, he shouldn't have been here, I know. He figured out where you lived and came to see me."
"You too."
"What?"
"I meant you too. I don't want you here."
Sherlock paled, his eyes widening in disbelief. "Where am I going to go?"
"Well you clearly have other options, options you prefer." John's grip on his cane tightened, his leg killing him. He was trying to keep the hurt out of his voice but was failing miserably. "A brother, a trust fund, I'm sure you'll think of something."
"Mycroft." Realization dawned on Sherlock's face. He stalked forward and grabbed John by his shoulders. "He got to you, what did he say to you."
"This isn't about anything your brother said. This is about the fact that I can't have any more instability in my life."
Sherlock's hands dropped limply to his sides. "You think I'm unstable?"
"I don't think anything Sherlock." John shook his head sadly. "I don't even know you at all."
"That's not true." Sherlock's pale eyes were pleading John to contradict himself, to change his mind. "You know me."
"How would I know you Sherlock?" John shouted, all his frustrations over this horrible day boiling to the surface. "Have you ever given me the chance to? You treat my flat like its some sort of fucking hotel, coming and going as you please, as if there's not someone here. Someone who worries about you, who fucking gave a shit. The only reason you're here is because it's convenient."
"That's not true." Sherlock whispered, the corners of his mouth turned down.
John momentarily wavered, seeing how broken Sherlock looked. Sherlock was usually so alive and bright. Now it seemed as though he had been dimmed, fading. John almost changed his mind until he remembered how easily Sherlock had gone back to Victor, even after what he'd done. How Sherlock was always coming in and out of his life, never staying, always moving. He wasn't ever going to be permanent, John could never hope to keep him. He'd have a better chance catching a flicker of light than he had of holding onto Sherlock Holmes.
John closed his eyes for a moment to regain his resolve and then met Sherlock's gaze. "Goodbye Sherlock."
XXXX
It had been two weeks since John had kicked Sherlock out of his flat, two miserable weeks. John's fifteen minutes of fame seemed to be over, the city had moved on to other things, leaving John alone. Life went back to somewhat normality and John did his best to recover from the six weeks he'd been a minor celebrity.
John had had a lot of time to consider that strange period of his life. He spent every quiet moment thinking about it, and since Sherlock had left and the reporters had stopped coming round, John had almost nothing but an abundance of quiet moments.
And maybe he didn't regret saving Sherlock's life because he couldn't. But he did regret letting Sherlock so easily into his life, letting him fill it with warmth and purpose. He had let Sherlock invade his life because he had needed someone. Now, he wasn't needed by anyone.
XXXX
John hurried through the rain, his green jacket already mostly soaked through. He'd been out getting some things for his date that night with his co-worker Sarah. He'd finally decided it was time to move on from the whole Sherlock fiasco and try and live his life again.
He was a block away when he saw a familiar figure sitting on his doorstep. Sherlock looked even more soaked than John was, waterlogged almost. When he heard John approached, he raised his head, his curls drooping and rain falling off them and into Sherlock's eyes. The teen hardly noticed. He was so pathetic looking; John knew he didn't have the heart to turn him away.
Sighing heavily, John tugged on Sherlock's coat collar. "Come on."
Wordlessly, Sherlock followed him inside. John started by going into the bathroom and turning on the shower as warm as it would go. He guided Sherlock into the bathroom and helped him peel off his wet clothes. John kept having to remind himself that he was a doctor, he was simply helping, this wasn't sexual, especially when Sherlock was down to just his pants and trousers. At least he convinced himself of that until Sherlock kissed him.
The kiss was hard and insistent, as if Sherlock was trying to prove a point. Startled for a few seconds, John took a moment to react, shoving Sherlock away. Sherlock hardly faltered, surging forward again, his eyes blazing with determination.
"Sherlock stop it." John pushed him away again. "God, you're such a bloody child. Kissing me is not going to magically solve all our problems."
"But you want this, I know you do. You want me." Sherlock insisted. He lunged forward but John put his hands up as a barrier between them.
"Sherlock, even if there was the remote chance that I was attracted to you, I would never act on those feelings."
"Why?"
"You're eighteen."
"Yes, which is two years over the age of consent."
"You're a drug addict."
"Drug user, addict seems a little strong. I can stop any time I want."
"The first time I met you was when you were dying from a drug overdose!"
"Bad night, I was out at the club with Victor and got carried away. It hardly ever gets that bad."
John snorted. "Is that supposed to be comforting?"
"Victor and I are over by the way."
"And why would I care about that?" John asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
"You were jealous."
"I really wasn't."
"Even if you weren't, you're still relived I've ended my association with him."
"Okay, maybe that's true. It still doesn't mean I want to be with you, in any capacity."
"John, there is no reason against us being together you say that I can't argue against. Do you want to know why?"
"Fine, why?" John asked, humouring him.
"Because you're not arguing with me, you're arguing with yourself. You're making excuses because you don't think you should want this, me."
"And I suppose you have a solution?"
"I do." Sherlock nodded, bridging the gap between them. "Just give me one night."
"To do what?"
"Show you what it would be like."
Sherlock captured John's lips again but this time John didn't push him away. Instead he took control of the kiss, sucking on Sherlock's full lips and then coaxing them open with his tongue. John reached out for the wall behind them and placed his hand on it, backing Sherlock up against it.
John ripped his lips away from Sherlock's and kissed down his jaw and along that pale throat. "John I – " Sherlock gasped as John's teeth sunk into his skin. Shaking fingers came up and started unbuttoning John. "I've never – b-been so desperate – oh." Sherlock's words were cut off by John's thigh pressing between Sherlock's. Sherlock dropped his head back against the wall, giving John more access to his throat. "For anyone in – in my life."
John placed sucking kissing down Sherlock's chest as he ripped open his trousers. God, he was gorgeous and John wanted. He couldn't remember feeling this way about anybody before. He just knew he had to get closer, make an attempted to hold on to Sherlock, even if only for a little while.
"T-tell me you feel the same." Sherlock begged as John's hand slipped under the waistband of his trousers, wrapping around his leaking prick. "Please John."
"I do." John nodded against Sherlock's chest. "God help me, I do."
Sherlock gently placed his hand on John's cheek and John raised his head to meet Sherlock's gaze. Their lips came together slowly, John's hands roaming over Sherlock's chest. They dipped lower and lower until he pushed Sherlock's trousers and pants down to mid thigh.
"I want you stripped." John growled, biting at Sherlock's lips. "I want you bare."
"John…" Sherlock moaned as his mouth was devoured by John, the kissing turning heated once again. John moved backwards, Sherlock following his lead, stepping out of the rest of his clothes. "John, I can't wait any longer."
"Hold on." John pawed around behind his bathroom mirror. He found a tub of Vaseline and flicked it open. Sherlock whimpered and pressed himself as close to John as possible. "Hold on."
John dipped his fingers into the light yellow goop and then ran them along Sherlock's cleft. Sherlock gasped and bucked against John. "Please." Sherlock begged, burying his face in John's neck. "Oh please."
John circled his fingers around Sherlock's entrance until it fluttered and unclenched. He dipped the tip of his thumb in, making Sherlock whine in the back of his throat. Sherlock kissed along John's neck, up to his ear and bit it gently before wrapping his lips around the lobe.
"Sherlock." John moaned, his thumb pushing in deeper.
"John, I'm not delicate. Will you hurry up?" Sherlock snapped impatiently, shoving his hips back onto John's finger.
"Fuck." John cried out in surprise. He slipped his finger out and replaced it with two, scissoring them to open Sherlock up quickly. His need was matched only by Sherlock's own, buzzing through them like an electrical charge. He ran his hand down Sherlock's back, brushing his fingertips over his spine until he got to his arse. Giving it a squeeze, he twisted the wrist of his other hand and felt it brush against that little bump. Sherlock moaned wantonly and thrust his hips against John, seeking some friction for his cock.
"Oh God John." Sherlock keened, his fingers moving down to unbuckle John's belt. He pulled it out of his belt loops and threw it on the ground. He then attacked John's trousers, unzipping them quickly to get to John's cock underneath.
They stumbled backwards and into the shower, John so preoccupied with opening Sherlock up that he hardly noticed he was still mostly clothed. Sherlock managed to pull John out of his underwear. The water was lukewarm from being on for so long but neither men paid it any attention.
"Come on, come on." Sherlock growled as John slipped in a third finger.
"One second." John promised, pumping his fingers in and out, making sure Sherlock was stretched enough.
"Please."
"Okay, okay." John nodded, easing his fingers out. He shoved Sherlock back against the far shower wall and held him there with one hand with the other put any of the excess on his cock.
Sherlock grabbed John's wrist and elbow, bending them so John was forced forward. He kissed John roughly as he wrapped his long legs around John's waist. "Sherlock." John moaned, feeling his cock pressing against Sherlock's hole. "Oh God."
"John." Sherlock bared down, John's cock dipping inside him. John put one arm around Sherlock while the other was braced against the wall. Sherlock slid down the wall of the shower slightly, impaling himself on John's prick.
"Fuck." They swore simultaneously.
Sherlock's hand shot out and gripped the curtain rod, using it to pull himself up slightly and then back down. John, who couldn't stand it anymore started thrusting up into Sherlock, the current position making each thrust a punishing one. They found a rhythm, their bodies crashing together with a loud slap, making Sherlock hiss with pleasure.
John couldn't keep holding Sherlock for long, not with his bad leg and shoulder. They had to relocate so they were lying in the tub, the now cold water beating on John's back. He hardly noticed it with Sherlock underneath him, the noises he made muffled by the water raining down on them.
"Oh God John, Oh." Sherlock did his best to brace himself on the tub, pushing his hips down to meet John's thrusts in. Sherlock's cock was trapped between them, rubbing against John's soaking coat. "Hmph, John." Sherlock bit his bottom lip.
"Sher- Sherlock." John could feel a familiar tightening in his gut. He started pounding into Sherlock, racing to his release. Sherlock beat him to it, his eyes widening and his mouth falling open as he called out John's name.
Sherlock's body seized up, his insides tightening around John's cock. With one last thrust, John stilled, sparks of white clouding his vision as he came.
"Oh God." John slumped down onto Sherlock. He somehow managed to reach up behind him and turn the water off. He felt Sherlock begin to shiver beneath him and suddenly his own coldness hit him. "Come on."
They managed to untangle themselves and got out of the tub. John slipped out of his wet clothes while Sherlock got to work drying himself off. John caught Sherlock watching him in the mirror and they grinned a bit shyly at each other.
John took Sherlock's hand and led him to his bedroom. He went through his dresser for anything suitable for Sherlock to borrow but everything was going to be too big around and too short. Finally John just decided to give him a t-shirt and pants to borrow. It would do for one night at least.
"Here, they're going to fit horribly but at least its something." John said, handing the clothes over. Sherlock nodded in thanks and slipped them on. "Damn."
"What is it?" Sherlock asked, stilling his movements.
"Nothing you just –" John worried at his bottom lip for a moment. "You look really good in my things."
Sherlock tried to hide his blush, turning away and getting into John's bed. John changed into his pyjamas and climbed in with him. "Sherlock, before I decide anything I have to know…why do you keep coming back here?"
Sherlock sighed and brought the covers up to under his chin. It made him look young and a little bit lost. "My whole life people have expected things of me: my parents, my teachers, Mycroft, even Victor. You didn't. You never tried to make me stop using. You never asked me where I went when I wasn't here even though I know you were curious."
"Worried is more the ticket."
"But you didn't demand to know. You didn't press about my past. You just let me…be. I never feel obligated to be anyone but myself around you."
"And it's freeing?"
"Completely."
John smiled and ran his fingers through Sherlock's unruly curls.
"And because of that."
"Of what?"
"The way you run your fingers through my hair when you think I'm asleep on the couch. I quite like it."
"So do I."
He bent forward and gave Sherlock a quick kiss, enjoying the fact that he could pretty much do that whenever he wanted to now.
"And…" Sherlock's hand slid across the bed until it entwined with John's. "Whenever I go away for too long, I get his hole in the pit of my stomach. There's this girl at the morgue, Molly, she lets me in to examine the dead bodies sometimes. I described what I was feeling to her and she said it sounded like I was –"
"Home sick." John filled in.
"I've never felt that before, not with anyone, not even my own family."
"Well then –" John turned onto his back and tugged Sherlock to him until the young man was lying with his head on John's chest. John put his arms around Sherlock and held him tight. "Welcome home."