New day, new story. Well, I've been tapping this out my iphone on and off for months. So my prompt is You belong with me by Taylor Swift. I'm putting an M on because there are mentions of naughty M/M actions in later chapters and although I was going for fluffy it will no doubt end in debauched glory. I can't help myself and I haven't written it all yet.

So warnings.. Fluff, M/M fluff, M/M sex seems likely, probably mostly vanilla, but we'll see when the time comes.

Contains the F-word and bloody british curses.

Please review, you know I love it so. It is my second fave thing in the universe.

I hope you enjoy.

Belong - Part 1.

"Your on the phone with your girlfriend she's upset. She's going off about something that you said, 'cos she doesn't get your humor like I do"

It was a dull and rainy tuesday evening and inside 221b Baker Street consulting detective Sherlock Holmes lay on the sofa. His hands clasped in a prayer position, fingers against lips, eyes closed. His hair spilled wildly over the union jack cushion his head rested against. His pajamas were rumpled as he hadn't bother to change them today and over them his blue silk robe clung lovingly to his contours.

In his head he was pretending he was meditating on a case, but in fact he was secretly listening to the phone call that was going on in the kitchen. Perhaps 'going on' was the wrong phrase. Perhaps going off was a better description of it.

"Sarah, I'm sorry about last night. I didn't mean anything... No, you took it.. No Sarah if you'd just let me finish! I thought maybe Sherlock would be interested in using her to test out his whip on because she upset you... I was trying to make you laugh, you took it all the wrong way." a pause. "What? No, of course he's not!" Sherlock heard, if not felt, John Watson look quickly around the kitchen door in his direction. He was presumably checking that Sherlock wasn't listening, and John being John he presumed wrong.

"He's in his mind palace..." John continued in a slightly lower voice, but one that was no less injured "I doubt he's even aware that I'm here, never mind our... Right..." the argument continued, Sherlock rolled his eyes upwards beneath his lids but continued his steady breathing and stillness. Part of him wanted to chuckle at the absurdity of it all, part of him felt sorry for John and the way he stumbled blindly onward in a obviously failing relationship and then another part of him just wanted to get up, take the phone from his distressed friend and kiss him until he forgot all about it. The third was the most appealing in Sherlocks view. He wasn't sure as to if John would agree, but one thing was most certain, he'd certainly be distracted one way or another.

Ever since Sherlock had first set eyes on John, that fateful day at Saint Bart's, he had known that things were going to and had changed. He had changed. He denied it of course, even to himself, for a long time. But John had crept under his skin, into his mind and he couldn't shake him out. Sherlock had that creeping suspicion that a chemical reaction had taken place that day, when Johns eyes had met his the first time. The reaction had been compounded when John had first had dinner with him. Sherlock had, at the time, shrugged off Johns apparent interest in him.

Idiot.

And then Sherlock found himself laughing with John, that first time. Leaning against the wall, really laughing. "and you invaded Afghanistan" ... Sherlock couldn't recall ever laughing like that. Not as a child. Not as a man. He had never had a friend. No one to laugh with. Then suddenly, so comfortably he was laughing. Before he knew it John had saved his life. Had killed a man. For him. When John's eyes had met his over the police tape after 'a study in pink' The detective had been jolted out of his comfort zone. The place of no emotion was gone. The candle he was now holding had been sparked into unsteady, flickering life.

Sherlock remembered it well. Like a video tape in his head that he couldn't record over... He was being so clever, blundering on like an idiot. Why on earth would he have known? There was Lestrade frantically writing down the gunman's particulars... And then suddenly John's eyes caught his, and Sherlock had stopped, stammered. Stuttered. Made up a lie. And...

"dinner?"

"starving."

Damn chemistry.

It wasn't something Sherlock dealt with well. It took him a long time, even after he knew. After his body betrayed him. After his mind brutalized him by refusing to let go if the idea. Even after the first time he had whispered Johns name in a moment of private ecstasy.

Then one day John came home from that interview and Sherlock knew that John hadn't only taken the job for the money. He had realized quickly he needed to deal with what had become and just as he was accepting what was happening to himself John bounced through the door declaring he had a date.

Damn Feelings. Feelings of want. Of need.

Want John Watson. Want. Want. Want.

Too late. But isn't he mine?

Mine.

Sarah had hung up it appeared. John slumped into the living room putting his phone down with meaningful force on the table. Sherlock cracked his eyes open an little to watch John run a hand through his hair, the way he always did when he was frustrated. His brow was creased, his eyes dull. They caught Sherlocks.

"I suppose you heard all that?" Sherlock decided it was best not to answer. John took that to mean yes, which of course it did. John shook his head a little and vague smile cracked his face. He rolled his eyes. Sherlock shifted, sat up a little. Stretching he grinned.

"I would say in the future John it would probably be in your best interest not to mention my riding crop to Sarah." John shook his head.

"knew it." the doctor bit on the words. "tea?" he questioned stomping back in the kitchen before the detective had time to answer.

"please" Getting up from this thinking position and following his housemate into the kitchen Sherlock considered John curiously. John's back was to him as he was slowly filling the kettle with water. Sherlocks eyes flicked down to Johns beautiful denim clad arse for a brief second. He measured every contour, considered each muscle and tendon. Then he imagined what it would feel like if he walked up behind John now and pressed in close to him. breathe in the scent that would be pure John. Feel the mans heat pass into his body. Feel the doctor shudder... Teeth on his ear... Mmmm.

Want.

"John" Sherlock rumbled, chasing his fantasy away swiftly. "if you ever need to talk to me I'm always at your disposal" John turned, the kettle in his hand. He ran the other across his face as his eyes met Sherlocks. They were so blue, Sherlock loved them.

"Sherlock, don't take this the wrong way..." John began " it's not that I don't appreciate the offer but I really don't think you'd get it." he gave an apologetic little smile and plugged the kettle in before turning his eyes back to the detectives. Sherlock smiled a little.

"maybe not" he agreed "but maybe I don't need to" he added, his brilliant steely eyes looking into John's meaningfully.

"what do you mean?" John asked, a little nervously in Sherlocks opinion, he always got like that when Sherlock tried to look into him. Duly noted and filed away in head for future reference.

"Using my skills John I have observed that when people have problems they have no desire to 'talk about it' they actually do. They want to talk and they want someone to listen, I can do that even if I can't furnish you with advice. It's like when I am talking to you, or the skull. I don't need an answer, but you... Actually forget the skull, he's a poor substitute John... you help me by listening. I don't need for you to talk because after a while everything falls into place. It's the least I can do John. After all you do a great deal more for me." John gaped at him slightly, and then gave a broad grin.

"thanks" he said, slightly shyly Sherlock thought. "maybe later we can..um.. talk..." he trailed off. Sherlock shrugged and turned, feigning disinterest.

"the offers always open..." he mumbled to the surprised doctor.