Simply knowing you exist
Ain't good enough for me
But asking for your telephone number
Seems highly inappropriate

Seeing as I can't
Even say hi
When you walk by

And that time you shook my hand
It felt so nice
I swear I never felt
This way about any other guy
And I don't usually notice people's eyes

-We Got On, Kate Nash

John was obsessed. It wasn't how he liked to categorize himself but it was applicable. What had started out as a harmless crush had become a full-blown obsession. Although John was fairly certain he wasn't the first person to become enamored by Sherlock Holmes.

It honestly wasn't something he could help anymore. Sally kept telling him he should move on, find someone he could actually talk to, but it was impossible. And even when he did actually try to, Sherlock would walk into the coffee shop and all the progress he'd made would be lost. Sally thought Sherlock was weird and had on more than one occasion called him a freak. She had friends who were at Uni with him and she'd heard stories. John tried to listen, to heed her warning but he was already too far gone. He'd even memorized Sherlock's drink order, which changed depending on the weather and didn't it just bugger all that John knew that.

Seeing Sherlock was the best thing about working at The Espresso Room. In fact his crush had gotten so bad that any time Sherlock didn't come in, it ruined the rest of John's day. He knew this was getting unhealthy and every day he chastised himself for not making a move. But the moment Sherlock walked in, John was reduced to a stammering git. It was his eyes, those piercing gray eyes. They were hypnotic and every time John looked at them he forgot how to put sentences together. He never could make himself say more than "here you go" and "have a good day!" The most he could do was give Sherlock a genuine smile rather than the polite and insincere smile he reserved for the other customers. Every time Sherlock walked out of the coffee shop, John began hating himself a little bit more.

Sherlock often just came in, got his usual order and left. That day was different though. He'd actually sat down on one of the benches and was drinking in the shop. John was doing his best not to stare but there were no other costumers to occupy his time. The best he could do was stock up the brownie plate and try to be subtle.

"God, you're almost drooling." Sally said shaking her head. She chuckled as John's cheeks flushed a bright red.

"Shut up." John said pointedly turning his back to Sherlock and leaning against the counter.

"You are so pathetic. Just go and talk to him already."

"I can't."

Sally rolled her eyes. "He's not a god John, he's a regular bloke. Well, you know, not regular because he's a freak. But he is a bloke."

"I know." John groaned, covering his face with his hands. Sally took his hands and pulled them away.

"Nothing is going to happen if you don't do something. Enough of this worshiping from afar."

"What would I say to him?" John asked her, feeling lost and desperate. As long as he didn't say anything, he couldn't be rejected. The thought of Sherlock turning him down was worse than the idea of never speaking to him at all. He knew most people said it was better to know and not live in regret. But John knew there was no way in hell he could ever turn the head of someone like Sherlock and thought it was better to not live in devastation.

"Say Anything." Sally offered up unhelpfully.

"I don't even know if he's…you know…"

"He is." She assured him. "He dated Sebastian last year, remember?"

"Right." John nodded. He had always hated Sebastian. Not just because he was slimy and a complete tosser but also because he had had the privilege of calling Sherlock Holmes his boyfriend. Still the few times John had interacted with Sebastian, the man had been unpleasant to say the least. He was smug and arrogant even though he had no reason to be. What Sherlock saw in him was beyond John.

John vaguely knew the story of what had happened between Sherlock and Sebastian. They'd dated for a few months until Sebastian ended things because he "couldn't take it anymore." Apparently Sherlock was overtly suspicious and once secretly followed Sebastian for an entire day just to make sure he was faithful. Sebastian had once told the story at a party while everyone laughed and sympathized with poor Sebastian. It had taken all of John's self-control to not crush his beer can and chuck it at Sebastian's stupid head. Sally had agreed with Sebastian's sentiment that Sherlock was a freak. John didn't.

John despaired because if Sebastian were the type of bloke Sherlock went for, he would never want John. Sebastian and John were about as different as you could get in looks and personality. Sebastian was medium height, dark hair and John personally didn't find him very attractive. Although, that could have been his jealousy talking or the fact that Sebastian was the worst kind of wanker John had encountered.

"He's not unattainable." Sally reminded him softly when John made no move to go talk to Sherlock.

"Yeah, maybe not if you've got rich parents and a private school education and the right designer clothes." John snapped, huffing out a breath when he was done.

"John, saving up to go to medical school is nothing to scoff at. You're bloody brilliant. Don't make yourself out to be less just because you're too much of a pussy to go over there and talk to him."

"I am not." John whispered harshly, not wanting Sherlock to overhear them.

"Prove it." Sally challenged, her lips curling into a smug grin.

"I can't now, I'm working." John had lost count of the number of times he'd used that excuse. He couldn't just stop doing his job and try to get off with Sherlock. He'd get sacked or yelled at and neither seemed pleasant.

"Fine, what if I told you that I know for certain that he'll be at this club tonight?"

"How do you know?" John eyed her suspiciously, wondering if she was having him on.

"Long story." She waved it off. "But he'll be there tonight. Soon as we get off work, we'll find you something decent to wear and we'll go."

Sherlock had finished his coffee and threw the cup effortlessly into the bin before leaving. John watched him, feeling the usual butterflies in his stomach as he did so. "You're certain he'll be there?"

"Absolutely."

XXXX

John and Sally stood in the queue, waiting to get into the club. They'd closed up the shop pretty quickly and had the money counted in half an hour. After they went to John's flat so he could change. They'd decided, or rather Sally decided since John got very little input, on a button down shirt and jeans. The button down shirt was a dark blue that Sally said brought out John's eyes and the jeans in her words made John's arse look fantastic. They were tighter than John was comfortable with. He wasn't even sure why he'd bought them. He couldn't recall but they were probably Sally's doing. She enjoyed being his personal shopper.

John's style had been much more muted before he started working at The Espresso Room and subsequently met Sally. He had favored jumpers and baggier jeans. He didn't own anything with a recognizable label and got most of his clothes at secondhand stores. Sally had taken pity on him and made it her personal mission to give John what she called a makeover. She claimed his wardrobe was unacceptable. John hadn't thought it was quite as bad as all that.

She'd taken the liberty of throwing out most of his old clothes and replaced them with tightly fitted t-shirts, button down shirts and trendy sport coats. He was now wearing two sizes smaller jeans that barely fit and crushed his bullocks. He also owned two new suits even though he had no idea where he would wear them. Sally seemed to think they were a necessity.

John never would have been able to afford all that stuff. However Sally was such a frequent shopper that most of the places they went, she had earned credit. She was also some sort of wizard when it came to finding deals. Most of the stuff he'd bought turned out to be ridiculously cheap. They had picked through all the clearance racks, finding things Sally deemed acceptable. She said that men's clothes barely changed while getting women's clothes off the clearance rack was social suicide. John tried to care but in his mind it was just clothes. But Sally was his friend and it was important to her so he tried to make it seem like it was important to him too.

In fact he'd go as far as to say Sally was his closest friend. He had a few mates from when he was on the school football team but he'd more or less lost touch with most of them. He didn't want to believe it was because he had come out as being bi-sexual but he knew that probably the reason for their lack of contact over the past year. The only one who still called him was Mike Stamford and they'd meet up for lunch. Mike was the good sort and John was always glad to see him.

And then there was Sarah, John's old girlfriend. They'd dated for almost a year during school but when she went off the Cambridge, she made it clear she didn't want to take any excess baggage with her. They'd ended things more or less amicably and still talked and emailed. She'd been very supportive when John had decided to come out.

But no one could hold a candle to Sally. He'd only known Sally a month when she had come with him to tell his parents he was bi-sexual. She held his hand and when his parents kicked him out, she let John stay at her flat. He'd finally moved into his own flat but Sally had let him stay for as long as he wanted. Had they been normal people, this would have been the point where they fell madly in love with each other. Somehow they surpassed the awkwardness and it was never even an issue. They'd once drunkenly kissed but they both agreed they weren't into it.

John hadn't spoken to his parents in over a year. His mother tried to contact him once, called him on his mobile. He ignored that call. He was too angry at her and the way she'd sat idly by while his father not only kicked him out of the house but refused to pay for medical school. She'd never tried again after that first brush off. He knew his parents weren't going to be thrilled that he also fancied blokes but he hadn't expected them to act in that way. It was sort of cliché and very, very disappointing.

That was why John was forced to pay for his own schooling. He'd gotten the coffee shop job just to have some extra cash but now he was working there full time. He'd been forced to withdraw from school until he could afford it on his own. Whatever money didn't go to bills was put away for school. Nights like this, where he actually went out and spent his money were rare. If it hadn't been for the promise of seeing Sherlock, John definitely wouldn't have come.

"Will you knock it off?" Sally hissed in exasperation. John had been searching the crowd for any sign of Sherlock and was put out when there wasn't so much as a glimpse of him.

"You're sure he's going to be here?" John asked, craning his neck trying to see over the heads of people. Sometimes he really hated being so short.

"What does it matter? You're not going to talk to him." Sally said rolling her eyes. John had been asking her that every five minutes and he knew he was being annoying but was unable to stop.

"Yes I will. What makes you think I won't? It's the whole reason I'm here." John replied indignantly.

"Precedent. You've had plenty of chances to talk to him and you still haven't. I don't see why tonight should be any different." Sally shrugged.

"I've just been waiting for the right moment."

"And you think the right moment is in a crowded club with loud music where you'll have to fight off a bunch of other guys just to get near him?" Sally raised an eyebrow, looking skeptical.

John hadn't really thought about it like that. He'd figured the club was a better place to make his move because it was a more socially acceptable place to ask someone out. But Sally was right, there would be so many people going up to Sherlock, asking for his number. They'd get one look at him and be unable to help themselves. Why would Sherlock choose John over everyone else?

The moment Sherlock turned the corner and came into view, John's heart relocated to his throat, his stomach bottomed out and his breath caught. He watched as Sherlock skipped the line and was ushered in right away. Some people in the line grumbled that he was allowed to get in before them. John instantly started to panic. If Sherlock was in there for awhile, he might get off with someone else and John would lose his shot.

"Sally, can you flash your tits at the bouncer and get us in?" John asked desperately.

"Yeah, let me think about that for a minute. No. God John. Why don't you pull out your cock and slap him in the face with it. Maybe that will get us in." She snapped, looking at him like he had gone mad and he couldn't really blame her.

"Sorry." He muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"You've got to calm down." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She shook one out, slipped it between her lips and lit it. She knew better than to offer John one. He wasn't dead set against smoking but only did so on very rare occasions. "Five minutes tops and we'll be in."

"Ok." John grumbled unhappily. He hunched his shoulders and leaned against the building, sliding across it as the line moved slowly.

The moment they were inside, John instinctively looked for Sherlock's dark, curly head of hair. Unfortunately there were so many people it was practically impossible. Sally tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the couches in the corner. Sherlock was sitting there looking bored, nursing his vodka and tonic.

"Here." Sally said holding out a tiny bag with two round blue pills in it. John quickly slipped it into his pocket before anyone could see.

"Sally." He scolded. "What are you doing with those?"

"Settle down dad. It's really not a big deal. Besides, it's your in. Offer him some."

"I think I can manage without, thanks." He tried to discreetly give the pills back to her but she wouldn't take them.

"Will you just go already?" she shouted over the music, giving him a violent shove in Sherlock's direction.

"Are you going to be ok by yourself?"

"I'll manage." She gave him a wink and set off to go dance. John watched as she disappeared into the crowd and then turned his attention back to Sherlock. There was a guy sitting beside him now, trying to chat him up. John quickly tried to make his way through the sea of bodies. He was jostled about and more than once a stray limb came out and hit him. The music pounded in his ears, drowning out everything else. He really wanted a drink but he had to get to Sherlock first. That way when he struck out he could drink away his sorrows.

When he finally broke free of the crowd, he walked up the steps to the sitting area. There were several large, black semi-circle couches with tables for people to sit and get away from the crowded dance floor. Most of them were piled with people laughing and drinking. Sherlock's was the only somewhat empty one. Sherlock was sitting with one arm over the back of the sofa, the other hold his drink. His legs were crossed and he looked rather gorgeous in his black suit. The way he was sitting pulled at his shirt, stretching it across his chest. No wonder he had barely sat down before someone tried to get off with him. It made John's chances feel even smaller. He stood close to where Sherlock was but didn't go over right away. He could barely make out what the guy trying to chat Sherlock up was saying but it was obvious from Sherlock's vacant and disinterested expression that the guy wasn't getting very far. Sherlock sipped his drink and John saw his eyes darting around, looking everywhere but at the man.

Sherlock's eyes settled on John and he instantly froze, unsure what to do. The side of Sherlock's lip twitched up into something resembling a smile. He took that as a good sign and decided to go over. He tapped the guy on the shoulder and the guy turned around.

"I don't think he's interested." John said over the music.

"How the hell would you know?" The guys spat back.

"No, he's quite right." Sherlock interjected. The random guy's face fell and he skulked off to parts unknown. John hesitated for a moment and then sat down. It felt like one of those speed dating things where someone sit across a table with someone for two minutes and if they like them they can give them their number. The other guy had struck out and now it was John's turn to try. His throat had gone dry and he tried to think of the best way to begin.

Sherlock was sipping his drink and looking expectantly at John. He was waiting for John to say something and yet his mind seemed to have gone blank. This was the closest he'd been to Sherlock without a counter between them. John licked his lips and tried to think of anything. He knew talking with Sherlock wasn't going to be easy but he never thought it would be quite this embarrassing.

Bloody hell, he cursed himself and reached into his pocket. "Do you want one?" he asked holding the pills out as subtly as possible.

"No thank you." Sherlock replied, eyeing him. His stare was like fire burning against John's skin and he knew he was blushing a deep red.

"I'm John, by the way." He said lamely, unable to think of anything else.

"I'm aware."

"Oh?" John looked down at his hands, trying not to get too excited that Sherlock Holmes knew his name. He'd never introduced himself at the coffee shop. "You do?"

"I thought your name tag made it perfectly obvious." Sherlock smiled wryly and stirred his drink.

"Right." John felt stupid, although that wasn't anything new. He wished he could think of something clever or funny or unique to say but nothing came. If the floor wanted to open up and swallow him whole, he would be absolutely fine with that. "Do you want to dance?" It was a last ditch attempt.

"Not really my area."

"Me neither." John lied.

John tapped his fingers against his leg in time to the music until he couldn't stand it anymore. If there was one thing he was absolutely certain of, it was that he needed a very large drink. He was also fairly sure nothing was going to happen with Sherlock, not tonight or ever. He'd been foolish to think he could just sit down and immediately hit it off with him. He'd never been able to get out more than a few words before tonight. What made him think this would be any different?

He was about to stand up when Sherlock moved a bit closer. His breath was on John's ear and he was reveling in the sensation. So much so that he almost missed what Sherlock said.

"I could use another drink." Sherlock's voice was low and sensual and the sound made John feel like he would melt. He swallowed and tried to keep his breathing regular.

"Black coffee, two sugars, tiny bit of milk?" John joked and instantly regretted it. "Sorry. I'll be right back."

He got up off the couch and headed for the bar. He knew it was going to be a long wait as girls flicked their hair trying to get noticed by the bartenders and guys yelled and waved their money. John snaked through until he was up against the bar and tried to flag someone down. He kept glancing back at Sherlock to make sure he hadn't left or was being chatted up by someone else.

When he finally procured the two drinks, he went around the crowd, doing his best not to spill. Arriving back at the sofa, he wasn't entirely surprised to find someone else talking with Sherlock. Honestly he couldn't take his eyes off him for a second. It was a girl this time, pretty but kind of mousy looking. She'd obviously taken a lot of time to work on her appearance for the evening. Her small lips were smeared with a red lipstick that didn't really suit her and her hair was pulled to the side in a low ponytail.

"Ah, John, thank you." Sherlock said as John set his drink in front of him. Sherlock moved over on the couch to allow some room for John to sit. "This is… Molly, was it?"

"Yes, Molly." The girl nodded, giving a shy smile.

"This is John." Sherlock slipped his arm around John's waist and tugged him in closer. John tried not to beam too widely.

"Oh." Molly's eyes got wide as she seemed to grasp the situation. John put his hand on Sherlock's thigh, just to sell it a bit more but also because he really wanted to.

"Molly here is an Aquarius, she's studying mortuary science and forensic pathology at university. She enjoys drinking Vodka Cranberries and has two cats."

"I never told you I had two cats." Molly said, puzzled.

"Didn't you?" Sherlock wrinkled his brow and John noticed a slight grin before Sherlock took a sip of his drink.

"Well, I should be getting back to my friends."

Molly stood quickly and rushed off. John actually felt kind of bad for her. The moment she was gone Sherlock removed his hand from John's waist. It took John a minute and a meaningful glance from Sherlock to realize he still had his hand on Sherlock's thigh. He removed it and grimaced, wondering just how awkward that was going to make things. Sherlock slid over on the couch, putting a bit of distance between them.

"Does this sort of thing happen to you a lot when you go out?" John asked trying to strike up an actual conversation, taking a large gulp of his pint to help calm his nerves.

"Does what happen?" Sherlock asked pulling his phone from his pocket and texting someone.

"People hitting on you?"

"I never really noticed." Sherlock shrugged, still typing away.

"Really?" John found that hard to believe. John took another sip and wiped his mouth to make sure he didn't have a foam mustache.

"I suppose it does happen on occasion. Most people give up fairly easily since I'm not the most friendly of sorts. Others seem unable to take a hint." Sherlock's eyes flickered to John over his phone.

"Right. Sorry. Did you want me to go?"

"John, that comment was not directed at you. If I didn't want you around, you'd know it."

"Yes, of course."

"I wonder if you might do me a favor." Sherlock inquired, putting his phone away and turning to face John.

"Um, sure." John nodded.

"Pull him off me after one punch." Sherlock told John enigmatically as he stood.

"What?" John rose and followed him.

"Just go to the bar and get yourself a shot or something John." Sherlock yelled into his ear. "Remember, one punch."

John nodded although he had no idea what the hell that meant. He went to the bar and stood amongst the crowd, doing his best to keep his eye on Sherlock. He watched as Sherlock went up to some girl and got a bit flirty. Sherlock seemed…different. Usually when he talked to people he was somewhat silent and reserved. With this girl he was actively flirting, keeping his eyes on her and talking animatedly. John felt his stomach twist into knots as Sherlock trailed a finger down the girl's bare arm. She leaned in closer with her whole body and whispered something into Sherlock's ears. He laughed in response and moved his hand to the small of her back.

John was somewhat horrified but kept still, even though every bit of him was screaming to go and get between them. Fortunately, a rather large, thuggish looking guy seemed to be reading John's mind and did it for him. The gorilla shoved Sherlock away and grabbed the girl roughly be the arm. She yelled something that John couldn't hear over the music. Sherlock said something, smiling smugly and John could tell he was goading the other guy.

John noticed the guy's hand curl into a fist and he instantly set off, heading in their direction. A big, meaty fist cracked against Sherlock's jaw and he fell to the ground. John thought about going to see if he was all right but the thickheaded guy looked ready to strike again. John put his body between them and shoved the guy away.

"Hey, this doesn't concern you midget." The guy spat viciously.

"Actually, it does." John replied, swinging his fist back and slamming it into the guy's nose. It immediately began gushing blood.

"Fucking hell. You fucking cunt!" The guy shouted, clutching his nose. The girl hurried to his side to see if he was ok. John turned his back and hurried over to Sherlock, kneeling beside him.

"Marvelously done." Sherlock told him, struggling to get to his feet.

"Jesus, are you all right? He didn't break your jaw, did he?" John asked putting his arm around Sherlock to steady him. He took Sherlock's arm and put it around his neck to help him walk. He looked at their attacker, making sure he wasn't going to strike again. The guy was too busy yelling and whining about his nose to the girl.

"I don't believe so." Sherlock put his hand on his jaw and moved it a bit. "Still in working condition."

"Come on, let's get you to the bathroom." John said over the music, guiding a somewhat punch-drunk Sherlock to the toilets. They clamored in together, the door banging shut behind him. There was only one other person using the urinal and when he left they were alone. It was somewhat quieter in the loo, the noise muted through the door and John was thankful he wouldn't have to shout anymore.

Sherlock stood in front of the sink and looked over his jaw in the mirror. John leaned against the wall next to him, his arms crossed. "So what was all that about then?"

"It's perfect." Sherlock said to no one in particular, his fingers going over a mark on his jaw. He pulled out his phone and snapped a photo.

"What is that?" John asked, inspecting Sherlock's jaw. There was a deep indentation just above his jawline that looked like a Celtic knot. Sherlock held up his phone and showed John the picture and then scrolled his finger across the screen to show him a different picture of a similar mark on a dead woman, except it was on her neck. John leaned in closer and looked carefully.

"It's the same mark." He said looking from the photo to Sherlock in front of him. "Who is that?'

"Jennifer Tinsdale. She was found dead in her flat this morning, strangled to death." Sherlock flipped his phone sideways and texted someone.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did you know her?"

"Not at all." Sherlock answered, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

"Then what are you doing?"

"Investigating her death." Sherlock said as if this was completely normal. John stared at him for a moment and tried to figure out what to think of that. He blinked a few times but couldn't come to any sort of conclusion of how he felt. Was this what people meant when they called Sherlock a freak? Did he have some sort of morbid fascination?

"Have I frightened you off?"

"No." John said quickly.

"Really?" Sherlock's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Most people disapprove of my little hobby."

"Why? If you're solving murders, isn't that a good thing?"

"My motives are not strictly pure. I do it because I find it interesting not because I feel an overwhelming sense of justice." Sherlock confessed and John realized this was the most he had ever talked to Sherlock. It had been a while since he'd said something stupid or embarrassing. Sherlock hadn't run away screaming yet although he seemed to be concerned about causing John to do the same.

"I don't see why the reasoning behind your actions should matter as long as you're doing something good."

"I don't care about being good. Results are what matter to me."

Sherlock eyed John, waiting to see if he had scared him away yet. John thought he must have been used to that kind of reaction. John stepped closer, his tongue trailed across his lips and his hand reached up and curled around the nape of Sherlock's neck. He wanted him to know he wasn't going to leave. He wasn't going to be pushed away by that. Maybe he should have run screaming but he wouldn't. This was who Sherlock was and John accepted that. He thought about all the other fools that had probably let this come between them and he was thankful because that meant Sherlock was able to be there, with him.

Their faces were so close they were sharing breath. John didn't move any closer. He couldn't. He had to know there was want from both sides. He had to know that Sherlock wanted him in the same way. It might not have been at the same level, not yet, but John would take even a glimmer of hope. Sherlock's eyes were searching his, as if he was unsure what to do next. They hovered there for what could have been a second or an hour, John wasn't sure. They were standing on a precipice, John was ready to jump, he was just waiting for Sherlock to pull him off the cliff.

Their eyes were locked on each other, the waiting was agony and yet it wasn't. It was strange and intense as John stood looking up at everything he wanted in the entire world, waiting to see if his everything wanted him back. He could have stood there forever, he was prepared to, until finally Sherlock broke their standstill and their lips came together.

It was overwhelming, so overwhelming. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears, like a crescendo of music. Sherlock's lips were soft and full and he tasted like alcohol and menthol cigarettes and a million other things John couldn't quite place. John's fingers twisted into Sherlock's curls, running them through his thick dark hair. Sherlock had John pressed up against the sink, their hips grinding against each other.

Sherlock broke the kiss, his lips trailing down John's jaw to his neck, sucking lightly. John tilted his head back, still clutching Sherlock's hair tightly, panting into his ear. Simultaneously they began pushing and pulling each other until they were in the large handicapped stall with the door shut tight behind them. John felt urgent and frantic, his lips begging and insistent against Sherlock's. He was realizing that all his fantasies and imaginings about Sherlock had been nothing compared to the real thing.

Sherlock's nimble fingers undid John's button and zip on his much too tight jeans. His pale, thin fingers wrapped themselves around John's already hard prick. "Oh God." John breathed, tilting his head back against the wall. He shut his eyes and pressed his skull into the cold bathroom wall, afraid he might come undone at the mere touch of Sherlock grasping him tightly. He did a few quick strokes, making John gasp.

"Tell me." Sherlock leaned in and whispered in John's ear. He was barely audible over John's heavy breathing. "Tell me what you want John."

"An-anything." He replied shakily. "Anything." He repeated more steadily after a deep breath. And knew he meant literally anything.

"You shouldn't give me such free range, I might take advantage." Sherlock replied, his free hand tracing John's lips and then across his jaw line.

"Maybe I want to be to be taken advantage of." John answered with no idea where the surge of confidence had come from.

Sherlock grinned, apparently pleased with John's response. He slipped his hand under John's shirt, thumb circling his nipple until it was a hard nub. His other thumb was circling the tip of John's cock, moving the opposite direction of his other thumb, eliciting a loud moan.

"Careful John." Sherlock's eyes were blazing, his grin turning somewhat devious looking. "I haven't even begun yet."

"Oh fuck." John cried out, his knees turning to water and threatening to give out. And yet it was Sherlock who gracefully got to his knees, his hand grazing down John's chest and he lowered himself down. He tugged down John's jeans and underwear, letting them pool at his ankles.

John stared as Sherlock's tongue darted out and licked the tip of his cock slowly. John shuddered in response. Sherlock did it again, this time moving in a slow circle around the crown. Precome was streaming out the slit as Sherlock took the head into his mouth and sucked hard. John could see stars and he bit his lip, feeling close to losing control. His hips bucked just a bit, forcing himself just a bit deeper into Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock took John's hand and placed it on the back of his head, signaling that John could take over if he wanted. John grasped the hair and held Sherlock steady as he thrust into Sherlock's mouth. He could feel every bit of Sherlock's mouth around him, allowing him in. His lips were pulled tight around John's prick, just a hint of teeth against his length.

John loosened his grip on Sherlock's hair but didn't drop his hand entirely. He relinquished control back to Sherlock. He took it, bobbing his head as he worked the shaft. John could hear the bathroom door opening and closing as people came in and left again. Sometimes he could hear voices and every time the door opened, music spilled in. The outside world was threatening to break in but John couldn't be buggered. All his concentration was focused on that gorgeous mouth working his cock and the man attached to it.

"Sh-Sherlock. Oh God. Oh shit." John grabbed the top of the stall and held on tightly. His other hand gripped Sherlock's hair. He was so close. This was a rollercoaster and he at the top of the incline, just waiting to tip over. And he would any second now.

Sherlock's hand had undone his own trousers and he was furiously wanking himself off. The movements on his own cock were much less deliberate than his mouth on John's. John's eyes fluttered half shut as Sherlock glanced up at him from under his long eyelashes. He watched as Sherlock came into his own hand, the come coating his fingers.

"Oh God. Sherlock. I'm—" He didn't finish before he climax, coming hard, so hard, into Sherlock's beautifully obscene mouth. He held onto the top of the stall door so tightly he thought he might rip it off its hinges. His vision blurred and he blinked until it returned.

Sherlock rose, ever the picture of gracefulness even after what they'd just done. Without thinking, John grabbed Sherlock's wrists and sucked greedily on his ejaculate covered fingers. Sherlock watched, looking somewhat fascinated by John's actions. John was just glad he didn't object although he didn't really know why he would. This was all still very surreal. He was waiting to be wrenched from a dream, feeling the wetness of his sheets, soiled with his own come. It wouldn't be the first time it had happened, John thought embarrassingly.

When they were licked clean, Sherlock dropped his hand from John's mouth and replaced it with his own. They kissed, tasting of each other and yet still themselves. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and pulled him close. His tongue explored the inside of Sherlock's mouth, everywhere his cock had just been. He never wanted to stop exploring.

As if the universe was playing a cruel joke, Sherlock's phone went off. It dinged once. A text message. Sherlock pulled away and grabbed his phone from his pocket, reading it. John wanted to pull him back, to be the center of his universe again but he didn't. He'd come off as needy. As desperate.

"Sorry, gotta dash." Sherlock replaced the phone and did up his fly. He opened the door a crack and slipped through, leaving John alone and deflated in the dirty bathroom stall. He quickly pulled up his jeans, feeling uncomfortable in them as he always did. He rushed out of the stall after Sherlock but he'd already left the bathroom. A few of the guys at the urinals looked at him funny since he had just left the stall seconds after Sherlock. He couldn't help wondering how much they heard but didn't have time to dwell on it.

John reentered the nosy atmosphere of the club, glancing around for where Sherlock could have disappeared to. He caught a glimpse of his dark hair, messier than usually thanks to John's handiwork, and John instantly set off to find him before he left.

"Hey!" John yelled, his voice being drowned out by the music. The beat was loud and heavy, pounding in his ears. "Wait!"

He reached out and grabbed Sherlock's arm. Sherlock turned, looking somewhat surprised and more than a little annoyed. "What now?"

"Can I get your number?" John asked, moving closer to be heard.

"Why?" Sherlock eyed him suspiciously.

"I'd like to call you sometime."

"I prefer to text." Sherlock informed him. It might be a brush off but John wasn't going to be deterred that easily.

"Then I'll text you sometime." He amended.

"Do you make it a habit of following people around like a dog? Do people usually find that an attractive quality?" Sherlock snapped.

John dropped Sherlock's arm, feeling like he'd been slapped. He was certain his cheeks and ears had gone bright red: a mixture of embarrassment and anger. What the hell had happened? How had they gone from a hot and heavy tryst in the bathroom to Sherlock acting like John was some annoying stalker who wouldn't leave him alone? John thought he must be missing something. He couldn't figure out what though.

"Fine." John replied, stepping away. He turned and started through the crowd. He could see the exit sign and started heading towards it. He would text Sally from outside and inform her that he'd left. She'd probably go home with some random guy anyway and wouldn't notice his absence. There would be their usual morning meet up to get breakfast and nurse their hangovers. Sally would relay the events of her evening to him and John often did the same. He wasn't sure if he was up to sharing what had occurred that night though. Even if things had gone horribly wrong, and John was almost entirely sure it wasn't his doing, this was something he wanted to keep to himself. A private moment of living out his fantasy.

He was almost to the exit when a body pressed against his, crushing him against the wall. Lips pressed against his and John recognized the taste but opened his eyes to check anyway. He was equally relieved and baffled that it was Sherlock. Sherlock slipped something into John's hand and curled his fingers around it. Then Sherlock broke away and as quickly as he had come, he disappeared, folding in with the rest of the crowd.

John looked down at his hand and unfolded the slip of paper. A telephone number had been quickly jotted down. Underneath Sherlock had written something else in his messy writing. The dim lights and almost unintelligible writing made it hard to read. He walked outside into the cold night air and stood under a street post, trying to decipher it.

44 7544680989

You can call if you want to

SH