A/N - So not only is this my first fanfic, but it's also my first slash of any kind. So any sort of constructive criticism is welcome (actually it's encouraged) and yes, there will be more chapters. Rated T for delightful descriptions and for possibilities later on (might change to M, I don't know yet). So I hope you enjoy it :)


"Sherlock?"

"Yes, John?"

"I need you."

Sherlock opened his long arms to me immediately and I folded myself into them, my cheek pressed against his thin chest. I put my legs over his lap and wrapped my arms around his waist and he held me without question, his chin resting lightly against my forehead. I had been having flashbacks again, and I knew he could tell, but he was just too sweet to say anything about it until I was ready. Who knew that I could turn this formerly cold and unfeeling man into a man who was so kind and gentle, who would hold his partner without question? I never would have guessed, and yet here we are, two lovers holding each other close on a couch in a quiet flat while the world moves around us.

I turned my head to bury my face in his neck, only to find his perfectly sculpted lips there to meet mine before I could hide my face. The kiss was slow and gentle; he was being cautious. Sometimes I liked it when he was careful, when he kissed the tip of my nose and the corners of my mouth; when he put his hand on the side of my neck in just the right place to drive me crazy. But tonight I wanted – scratch that - I needed more than that.

I slowly started to lean backwards, letting my weight rest more fully on the arm that was around my waist, and that was all it took for him to know what I wanted. He slid his legs out from under mine, leaving me stretched out our small couch with him hovering over me, the fabric of his favorite blue dressing robe brushing against my skin. I used the hold I still had on his waist to pull his hips down, hoping his torso would follow suit. My little endeavor worked to perfection as his body pressed down very softly on mine, warm with a flush that only I could bring to rise under his pale skin.

He was still being cautious, but he was getting closer to what I needed. I kissed him in earnest, feeling a growing hunger for his mouth, needing to feel his chest under my fingertips. I ran my hands under his shirt up his stomach to his chest, and his once-gentle kisses became more feverish as his need grew to match my own. I pulled my hands away from his chest with some difficulty and moved them instead to caress his neck, slowly moving my hands upwards to run my palms over the sides of his face and resting them there, holding his face to my own lest he should get any ideas about breaking the ever-deepening kiss.

One of his hands was suddenly sliding up my bare back to rest gently under the back of my neck, his fingers somehow finding purchase in my short hair. I don't know how he does it but every single time he runs his long fingers through my hair it's like he's sending electrical currents through my whole body, making my skin tingle and come alive, and suddenly every brush of fabric and each gentle touch of his fingers on my waist, hips, stomach, chest, neck, face…all of it just feels incredible. I can never find the right words to tell him so, but I don't ever need to.

A moan escaped my lips before I could stop it, and my face immediately flushed a brilliant crimson. Sherlock, mercifully, didn't comment on it; he merely kissed both sides of my flaming face then moved back to dominate my lips once again.

Finally, our energy was waning and he rested his forehead on mine, his arms shaking with the exertion of holding himself over me. I gently pressed my fingers into the hollows of each of his elbows, and he tenderly lowered himself down until almost all of his weight was on my right side as he relaxed on top of/beside me into the back of the couch. I gently kissed the hollows of his collarbones, the dip at the bottom of his neck that was so often covered by a scarf, but was laid bare tonight for my eyes and searching mouth. Shyly, I flicked the very tip of my tongue over that hollow in the base of his neck, and I was rewarded with a low groan that vibrated his whole throat under my lips and I felt the vibrations from his chest radiate outward from him into my own. It felt amazing and I never wanted him to stop. I trailed my kisses higher, up his throat and around the side of his jaw, traveling even further until I was kissing his sharply defined cheekbone. I had my eyes tightly shut, because I knew if I looked at him I would completely lose control of myself, and I wasn't quite prepared for that tonight.

He moaned low in his throat, and once again I felt the vibrations move through my hand that was on his chest and also through my body, making me moan in turn and capture his lips once again in feverish kisses. His slender, graceful fingers traced patterns over my back that mimicked the patterns of our kisses. Then, when he started drumming those same fingers right on my spine, his tongue picked up the same pattern as it danced around my mouth, and I was far from resisting at this point.

Not that I'd wanted to. This man, my lover and my love, was more tempting than anything else this world could promise me; be it power, money, or all the women (or even men, should I so choose) I could conceivably want. All I wanted was the beautiful man beneath me, who understood my every thought just by glancing once at my face. Who knew when I needed his arms and where his kisses would be the most effective at any given time. The man could read me like the most simple of children's books, and I didn't care in the least. He was mine, and I was his, fully and completely.

"Do you want to talk about it, John?" This question seemed innocent enough when murmured gently in my ear by his deep, rolling voice, but it led to a place I didn't want to revisit tonight. I gently shook my head as much as I could when my face was trapped by his graceful hands. He seemed to see the reason behind my refusal in my eyes because I saw a spark of pain flash through the icy blue of his eyes, and I wished that I could just forget about that time. I wished I could forget what it was like to feel like I had lost him forever; that I would never hear him play the violin again or beg me for just one cigarette. It was a dark time, and I still had nightmares in which my beloved Sherlock had never really come back to me at all, and that when I woke up his bed would still be perfectly made and his scent would be gone from the flat.

When I woke from these awful dreams I always sought the comfort of his warm arms. When I was encircled by his loving embrace, receiving a simple yet sweet reminder that he adores me, nothing in my mind or in the world could harm me. In my Sherlock's arms I am safe.