Snow gathered on the grown, covering the street of 221 B Baker Street. Christmas was in the air, lightly kissing Johns's nose. John unlocked the old door of his old flat that he shared with Sherlock before the fall. John's hand stiffened on the knob as he debated opening that pathway, leading down the road to painful memories.
It has been months, and it was Christmas eve. John walked up the rickety stairs, and into the old flat. All of Sherlock's possessions had been left, gathering dust. It hurt too much to move anything, and he felt like he was being drained of all life. He collapsed on his old chair that blocked the way from the couch to the kitchen. John closed his eyes, reminiscing in memories. The Scandal in Bulgaria, the Study in Pink, and all of the other adventures they had together. John began to think that maybe it was time to move on, and ask out that coffee shop girl, Mary.
John sighed, catching the familiar scent of Sherlock's aftershave and soap. He imagined Sherlock running his hand through John's hair, whispering to John that he was sorry he left, and that it was to protect him.
John pushed his head into the slender hand longingly, hoping to hold on to the illusion of Sherlock being alive for one more fleeting moment. John moaned against the palm of the hand, then his eyes shot open with realization.
This felt too real.
John's mouth was agape. In front of him was his Sherlock. Sherlock's eyes were darkened, and his palm still stretched out toward John. For once in his life, John was speechless.
"One more miracle. That's all you asked." Sherlock stated matter of factly, as if him being alive should not be surprising at all.
"Not dead." john whispered, stroking Sherlock's face. He pressed his forehead against his detective's.
"Not Dead." Sherlock repeated, his voice deepening as he was being turned on. It was a weird feeling, but one that he could definitely learn how to enjoy.
John pulled his head back a little, and then decided to be brave. He lounged at Sherlock, pulling him into a tight embrace. John's lips crashed into Sherlock's, urgency in every move. Sherlock replied, opening his mouth and allowing John access. Their tongues fought for dominance, dodging and touching.
Sherlock whimpered, pulling John off of the couch and into his bedroom. John was pushed on the bed, landing on rose petals and clean sheets. John chuckled, knowing that Sherlock had planned all of this. John pulled Sherlock down on top of him, rubbing his bulge through his pants. Sherlock's breath caught in his throat, and he thrusted against John's palm, rubbing up and down. John felt his own pants tighten, and he moaned into Sherlock's neck. He began to bite and nip, when suddenly Sherlock was gone. Sherlock had jumped up, starting to move towards the door. With a wink and wicked smile, Sherlock had disappeared around the corner, leaving John wanting more. John was stunned, and was still sitting there when Sherlock returned. Sherlock's lips were swollen and huge, attracting John to them more. John noticed something appear around Sherlock's arm, down on the wrist. It had a silver glint, and was attachable to a bedpost. John raised his eyebrows at the dirty suggestion, but pulled Sherlock back on the bed, swiftly and quickly snapping the handcuffs shut around the bedpost, making it to where Sherlock couldn't move his arms. John began to unbutton Sherlock's purple shirt slowly, running his finger down the detective's chest as he did so. He began to kiss every inch of skin that he could find, nibbling a little here and there. Sherlock moaned, bucking under John, and still confined to where he was beginning to be putty in the blogger's hands.
John smiled slightly, undoing his own pants, rubbing his hard shaft over Sherlock's stomach. This only made Sherlock crave John more as he began to regret not being able to take John in his arms. John kept destroying all of Sherlock's composure, making it to where Sherlock could barely touch John, but John could do whatever he pleased. John finally released Sherlock from the confinement of his pants, releasing the impressive size. Sherlock bucked again, begging John to begin fucking him and to never stop. John traced his finger around Sherlock's shaft, lightly touching it, teasingly. Sherlock, if it was somehow manageable, got harder still, wanting to bury himself deep inside the friend that he had left for months. John smiled, and then kissed Sherlock again, pushing his cock against Sherlock's. Sherlock's eyes widened, realizing that he couldn't hold it in anymore. He whimpered, and John was ready to come himself that he could no longer tease. John tensed as he unlocked Sherlock. Sherlock threw John onto the bed, kissing his Shaft, and licking it slowly. J
ohn cried out, ready to be taken. Sherlock sucked on the staff, as John jacked Sherlock off. Sherlock let go of John with a sudden cry, letting himself finally go. John smiled, happy to see that he could make his old friend come that hard and so sudden. John finally let himself come as well, screaming Sherlock's name loud. They collapsed onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and sheets. John settled, watching Sherlock's face. He had just realized that Sherlock was no longer a virgin, and He felt proud that he was the one able to have that honor. Sherlock's face was quizative, and he was thinking of a million things at once.
"John?" Sherlock said a while later, when they were cuddling in the bed, still undressed and lying there.
"Yes?"
"Merry Christmas." Sherlock said, closing his eyes.
John laughed, snuggling closer to his detective.
He guessed it was a good thing that he didn't ask that coffee girl out.
Thank you for reading. Please review.
~The Lost Writers Soul