I guess, in a way, the story of how they got together(ish).
It all started the night John broke up with Sarah. Well, not really. It had started long before that, when John found the bullet hole in his floor. But that's another story.
John came home and plopped down on the couch beside Sherlock. His flatmate, never missing anything, could see he was feeling a little down. "Did you break up with Sarah?"
"How did you—never mind. Yes, I did. It just wasn't…good anymore. We were always fighting, and when we weren't fighting, we were having sex. And when we weren't having sex—even when we were, sometimes—we'd be making each other feel bad."
And that got them on the topic of relationships, which got them on to sex, which got them on to the surprising fact that Sherlock had never French kissed anyone. Kissed, he had, but never with tongue.
Sherlock rolled his eyes at John's surprise. "Of course I've kissed and been kissed, John, I've just never felt a need for all that unnecessary saliva."
John realized he should have figured that Sherlock had some experience (especially after that little show he had out on for John)- "But…well, you said you were married to your work."
"I didn't always work, John. And besides, how can I know why sex motivates humans to do such amazing and horrible things if I've never experienced it?"
"Well, fine. But you've never kissed with tongue?"
"God , John, if that's such an issue, why don't you teach me?"
"Teach you…how to kiss properly!" Wheels began turning in the good doctor's mind. This had so much potential. But wait. What? He was straight. He had always been straight. (Try telling that to his cock.)
"Yes. In the name of knowledge. If this is such an issue, I should know how to do it." Sherlock smiled slightly as John looked away, then back at him.
"Well, bloody fine then." He scooted closer to Sherlock. I can't believe I'm doing this. Well, yes I can. Shut up, brain!
"All right. What do I do?" The detective asked as he moved closer, putting one leg under his body and sitting so he was fully facing John.
The good doctor was a bit flustered. He was about to kiss his bloody flatmate, for one, and besides, he had never taught anyone to kiss before, let alone a man. "Well, ah, hmm. Okay. When our lips meet, don't open your mouth right away. Let it last for a moment. Then open up, and if you're feeling bold, go for a little tongue, or let the other person make the move first. Put your hands on my shoulders, or on my waist. Um, that's all I can think of. You ready?"
"Yes."
"Okay. Go for it."
They leaned towards each other, slowly, each not taking his eyes off the other's face. The play of emotions Sherlock could see in John's face was amazing, jumping from confused to eager to scared to aroused, all in the space of a second. Their lips met softly, so softly, and John closed his eyes. Sherlock's hand rested on the good doctor's thigh, and John's hand splayed itself across the detective's chest. He could feel the younger man's warmth radiating through his shirt. John opened his mouth a little, and Sherlock followed suit. They stayed like that a moment, just breathing into each other. John's tongue brushed against Sherlock's lower lip. Sherlock moved his tongue to meet John's, and licked behind the older man's teeth. John angled his head slightly, and sucked Sherlock's tongue lightly. The younger man moved forward a little, and his hand migrated back towards John's ass.
They both jumped as Mrs Hudson slammed the door downstairs, and they stared at each other, staying close, breathing a little heavily.
"Again?" asked Sherlock innocently. "I don't think I've quite got it down."
John laughed a little, a bit nervously. "We've barely even started."
Their mouths moved forward once again, and John barely hesitated before opening his mouth, Sherlock following him, following for the first time in his life. The doctor's hand slid up, across the detective's neck, just a whisper, and gripped hard in his hair. The other hand rested gently on the younger man's stomach, then slipped under his shirt, barely touching the warm flesh there. It migrated up until the fingers found a taught nipple, and brushed it lightly. Did he really just go there? Damn right he did.
Sherlock breathed in sharply as John's thumb brushed his nipple and John's tongue did glorious things inside his mouth. Remembering what the older man had done earlier, he sucked John's tongue, hard, and was rewarded with a harsh intake of breath and a bit of a hair pull, which he decided he quite liked. He gripped the other man's butt with both hands and changed the angle of his mouth a little, nipping lightly at John's lip.
Dear god, he said he'd never done this before. He's a damn quick learner, then, John thought, and moved his hand slowly down Sherlock's chest, towards the button of his jeans. He fumbled a bit, and Sherlock actually undid it himself. John pulled down the zipper and just rested his hand there. He could taste Sherlock, a minty undertone to his breath (but it was evening, and he didn't believe in chewing gum, why..)
Damn, he went for it, Sherlock though with delight. He hadn't realized (Lies! Of course he had) that he wanted John this way. He'd had a feeling that John wanted him, it was so obvious after the bullet hole incident. But he realized the older man still wasn't sure of Sherlock, so the detective decided to help him out, lifting hip hips a little to encourage John's hand.
John took the hint and slipped his hand into Sherlock's underwear, the other gripping his hair hard, and touched a cock that wasn't his own in an un-doctorly way for the first time in his life. You're so hard, he thought, and then realized he'd said it aloud when Sherlock chuckled—a deep, dark, sexy laugh, a fuck-me-now-you-know-you-want-to laugh, and John realized he did indeed want to. Even though he was so goddamn sure he was straight, dammit. Bloody Sherlock was the only man he'd ever felt the slightest hint of desire for. Fuck it. He gripped the younger man's surprisingly long cock (it wasn't that surprising, have you seen how tall and…long everything about Sherlock is? Why was he so surprised?) gently, just holding, nothing more, and breathed in the scent and taste of Sherlock.
Sherlock, with John's cool hand on him (why were his hands always so cold,) got a bit more bold. He slid a hand from the doctor's ass, along his thigh, and gently stroked his erection through his jeans. The other man moaned. He's so…thick. I've never had anyone this thick .Of course Sherlock had had a few. Sex could be useful.
They bolted apart when the phone rang. Sherlock cleared his throat, his voice (god, his voice) an octave lower than usual. "I should probably get that."
"Yeah." They looked down at John's hand, still in Sherlock's jeans. "Well, um, you do that," he said, gently withdrew his hand, and practically flew upstairs to his room. What the fuck had just happened? Why did he want it to happen again?
Sherlock sat on the couch a moment, and then got up to answer the phone.
Well, there we go. There will be more chapters (at some point), consisting basically of smut. Enjoy.
Review please?