"How is John doing?" Mycroft asks at tea with Sherlock.
Sherlock reaches up and grapples his hands in his own curls, tugging in frustration. John and Sherlock had gone out on case two weeks ago. It was early, John was sleeping it off. John hit his head very hard when one of the culprits tried to tackle him.
Sherlock rushes to John's side as the cops apprehend the criminals, pulling John to sit up. John's eyes are afraid when he catches Sherlock's eyes. "Who are you? Where am I?"
Since then Sherlock had been dealing with an extreme amount of frustration. "The doctors say that he has amnesia. However they were vague when I asked if it would be permanent or not," Sherlock replies formally to his brother, knowing he wouldn't understand any of the emotional toll it's taken on him.
Mycroft sighs. "You'll make do, Sherlock. Just be careful what you tell him, do try to be truthful."
Sherlock scoffs, brushing off the comment as if it has no meaning. It's not until a few days following that Sherlock is caught in the dilemma. For the first time in days, John comes down for tea. Sherlock watches in silence as John habitually, by some thought process locked into John's brain Sherlock feels he can be thankful for, remembers where to sit.
John speaks first. "I'm angry that I can't remember a single thing about you. But I feel like I know you. I feel like you're special to me."
Sherlock's eyes dart up at John's words. "Well, we're friends, John."
"It's more than that," John insists, searching Sherlock's eyes to see if the detective is lying to him.
"Best friends, perhaps," Sherlock says as he nervously takes a sip of his tea.
"Why don't I believe that?" John asks, leaning forward more in his chair and resting his hand on Sherlock's leg.
Sherlock swallows hard. "I assure you we're not brothers."
"That's not what I meant. Can you at least tell me your name again?" John asks, watching Sherlock's cautious reactions carefully, wondering if the man in front of him was asked to lie to him.
"Sherlock Holmes. We're flat mates, have been for two years. 221B Baker Street, it's where we are now. I am the only consulting detective in the world and you are the only ordinary person who's able to put up with me," Sherlock says all at once and not too quickly.
"I want to remember you," John promises insistently. "I want you to tell me what the truth is, there's more to it. It's blurry but I remember you were very scared. When I came back to consciousness, wherever we were, you were holding me when I woke up."
"Friends care, John. I've been told sentiment is important," Sherlock says with a gulp, noting that John is now moving his hand.
"Not like you were," John says, recalling the hospital.
John blinks a few times before he can see anything. Even then things are more than a bit blurry. There's a heart monitor beeping on his side, an IV attached uncomfortably to his hand. Most notably, there's a man with brunette curls with dark circles under his eyes was resting his head on the left side of John's pillow, his slim hand wrapped tightly around John's arm.
"I couldn't very well leave you there alone," Sherlock replies in a rather smaller voice than normal.
John stands from his chair and reaches for the detective's hand. Sherlock complies, curious as to what John would want him to stand for until he finds out. John reaches up and twists his hand in Sherlock's curls, pulling the detective's lips down to meet his.
Sherlock feels awkward at first, tentative. It feels quite, well, right. It takes a few minutes of adjusting to the sensation of kissing John before it snaps back to memory that John is doing this to try and remember him. Sherlock pulls away, looking at John with alarmed eyes. "John, I-"
"I knew it, I knew you were lying," John says with a small smile, playing with Sherlock's hair in his hand.
"You're not gay. You've made that, ahem," Sherlock takes a deep breath after clearing his throat, on a stand-still between his desire to embrace John like he's wanted to for so long or to allow John to remember him properly. "You've made that abundantly clear."
"It's just you, I gather," John says as he watches Sherlock carefully.
"I have to," Sherlock reaches up and pries John's hand out of his hair. "I have to go."
"Sherlock, did I do something," John doesn't get to finish his question before Sherlock's rushed out the door and slammed it behind him. "wrong?"
Sherlock rushes to the only person he feels he can trust with this matter. "I may have a problem."
"Is it my division? I'm quite busy, Sherlock," Lestrade says as he sorts through papers on his desk.
"I think I might have…feelings for John," Sherlock answers, closing the door behind him.
Lestrade looks at Sherlock sympathetically. "The amnesia, is it…?"
"He didn't believe me when I tried to explain who I was to him. He believed there was something more and I tried to correct him. He made a few arguments that made some sense before," Sherlock takes a deep breath, hating how ridiculous he feels he's about to sound. How utterly cliché it sounds to say the words he'd utter next, "before he kissed me."
"Aw, look at this, consulting detective all grown up into a human boy," Lestrade says as he pushes aside his papers. "Really, that's all it took?"
"John might've said something about me being an exception, it being just me when it comes to male attraction. What is worse is that I can't tell what is actually how he feels or what is him trying to figure out what memories he should have. I feel juvenile," Sherlock says as he rests his head forward to fall on Lestrade's desk.
"If it makes you uncomfortable, Sherlock, tell him that it does," Lestrade replies, feeling just as confused as Sherlock does to this situation.
"It's worse because it doesn't make me uncomfortable. It should," Sherlock starts, not knowing how to finish that and sound decent.
"You're worried he'll come back to his memories and get angry, like you'll have taken advantage of a drunken bloke at a pub," Lestrade suggests.
"On the contrary, if I tell John that I don't want him the amnesia is permanent – what if he doesn't want me around, this new John, if he feels that I'm lying about the romantic elements? It wouldn't take more than an idiot to deduce that I was responsive to his actions," Sherlock says as he lifts his head to look at Lestrade. "What is the right thing to do?"
"Take him on case," Lestrade says, rifling through a few files and pulls the one out he's been saving for Sherlock's visit. "You must be bored, it's been two weeks. See if John can remember anything about himself, anything at all. See if he's got any of his skills as a doctor, or if he likes the chase as much as you still. Maybe the memory gap is specific."
"Specific to me, wonderful," Sherlock says as he snatches the case from Lestrade's hands, leafing through it. "Although you do make a good point – I am bored. I will meet you at this address within the hour, with or without my blogger."
"Good luck," Lestrade calls after Sherlock as he flees out the door.
Sherlock arrives home to John sitting in his chair again, watching crap television. His eyes flicker up the second he hears the door. "I didn't mean to upset you."
Sherlock takes a deep breath before approaching John. "I have a case, a detective case. Usually I'd ask if you'd like to come," Sherlock begins before he's cut off by John.
"I don't think that's true," John replies with a small grin.
Sherlock concedes. "I usually tell you to come, inconvenient or not."
"Come if convenient. If inconvenient, come anyway," John mutters under his breath.
Sherlock's eyes light up. "You remember?"
"It comes back in pieces, Sherlock, but it's working its way back," John promises as he stands up from his chair. "We're supposed to go look at a dead person then?"
"Only if you want to," Sherlock says sincerely as he grabs John's coat from the hook.
"It's quite thrilling, could be dangerous even," John says as he grabs his coat out of Sherlock's hands and walks ahead of him out the door. Sherlock follows, a smile growing on his face as pieces of John start to become recognizable again.
The investigation doesn't go over perfectly well. John can only remember tidbits of his medical knowledge as he takes his turn at the deductions. The team watches in awe as Sherlock re-teaches John different things that he gets stuck on in between his own brilliant discoveries. When it's over, John looks at Sherlock in shock. "That was brilliant."
"Easy," Sherlock says, revelling in the return of John's complimentary nature towards his deductions as they walk out of the door.
On the way home, John pulls Sherlock into a darkened alley. "There was something I really wanted to investigate further."
Sherlock feels he should say no. He feels he should tell John this just isn't how they are and that they aren't dating and promising a thousand times that in reality John doesn't do this. But when John reaches up and pulls their lips together once more, something in Sherlock snaps and kisses back. Perhaps it occurred to him that this might be the only chance he gets and he can't help but take the opportunity.
Sherlock kisses John back roughly, passionately. It's all quite new to Sherlock, but all the more brilliant as each sensation is heightened. John pushes Sherlock harder into the wall behind them and grinds their clothed members against one another, eliciting a sharp moan from the detective's lips into his blogger's.
John starts to push away Sherlock's coat first, moving down to buttons carefully undoes the detective's jacket and dark purple shirt. John starts kissing down Sherlock's chest and once he's readily kissing along the top of Sherlock's pants the detective is hard and wanting, straining against his trousers.
Sherlock bites back moans. "Only if you're sure," Sherlock asks cautiously.
John doesn't answer with words but with motions, feeling like everything he's doing is somehow right as he undoes Sherlock's zip with his teeth. He pushes away Sherlock's offending final layers of clothing just enough so that if they needed to walk away, Sherlock wouldn't have to be pulling everything back on in a rush. John licks the tip of Sherlock's leaking member first, eliciting a shaky moan from the detective.
Sherlock feels a vibration coursing through his whole body as John licks around the shaft, reaching down and sifting his fingers through John's short locks of hair. John swallows down as much of Sherlock's member as he can, moaning around the shaft as Sherlock's fingers hold him steady there. The moans cause a vibrato hum around Sherlock that the detective can't handle so soon and he explodes down John's throat.
John stands up, smiling gently. Sherlock reaches forward and wipes off the stray cum on the side of John's lip with his thumb. "I'm sorry, John."
"We'd really never done anything like that before then, have we?" John asks in curiosity as Sherlock bows his head down, feeling guilty for letting John do such a thing. "Sherlock, it is fine. First times are, um, short. I'd think."
Sherlock reaches down and tucks himself back into his trousers, zipping back what John had initially unzipped so fancily. As he redoes his buttons he flushes red to John's words. "You don't mind?"
"Of course not, it's quite…sweet. Being someone's first is a compliment in any mannerism," John replies as he picks Sherlock's coat up from the ground, helping the detective shrug back into it.
"I'm not sure you would agree if you knew," Sherlock mumbles as he reaches forward and places his hand in a gentle caress on the side of John's face. "I'm not your boyfriend."
"Could you be?" John asks, reaching up and pecking the detective's lips before Sherlock can answer. "I don't remember anything but I know that I want you with me. Even if that means nothing to you, it is the only thing right now that means anything to me."
"What about when you do remember? What about then?" Sherlock asks in a whisper.
John sighs. "I don't know, to be honest. Can we just focus on now? I'm asking you out and you still haven't answered me."
Sherlock smiles as he reaches out his hand for John's. "Yes, John, I'll be your boyfriend."
"Very formally said," John says as he squeezes Sherlock's hand as they walk home.
Sherlock jokes. "As it should be – it's quite the rare opportunity, me dating someone."
"Really, but you're," John doesn't say the words but rakes his eyes over Sherlock's entire form.
Sherlock grins. "Even as ineloquent as that was, I appreciate the compliment," Sherlock says with a soft chuckle as they reach the door to their flat. It turns out they picked an alley quite close to home. "I've never dated someone before for feeling. For case, for information – a few times with a very pertinent hands-off policy, yes. For personal reasons, I don't usually participate in sentiment."
"Maybe it's time you start," John suggests as they enter the flat.
"Maybe," Sherlock agrees as he kisses John once more softly before his new boyfriend heads off for sleep and he walks to his violin, feeling a composition approach.
Over the next few weeks, John doesn't start to remember much more. However, Sherlock is learning a great deal more about himself. He likes when John sits and watches him play violin, he likes sleeping when it's in John's arms. He rather likes getting ready for their third date.
Sherlock's back in the outfit he wore on their first case together since the amnesia hit. They'd been on several cases since, everyone except friends like Mycroft, Lestrade, and Molly gushing over their adorableness as Sherlock meticulously reteaches John each medical detail on a case-by-case basis. The friends worry Sherlock is going to get himself hurt, and that John is going to awaken one day furious. They've been on over fifty cases in three months. They only allowed actual date night once a month, that way the rest of the time felt like normal. John even gets confused about Sherlock's experiments and scolds him. There's something about John's personality that still exists perfectly even if the memory ceases to return.
John walks downstairs quickly to meet Sherlock, wrapping his arms around the detective as he comes. "I really like purple on you."
"Jumpers were always well-suited to you," Sherlock answers as he wraps his hands inside John's jacket and fists his fingers around the material of John's jumper. "Maybe we can just skip the restaurant."
"Now look who's overeager," John says as he pulls away, reaching up on his toes to peck Sherlock's lips.
Regardless, after a few minutes of deliberation and locking lips, they walk down to Angelo's. The owner, as usual, is more than happy to see them there. He goes to pull away the candles.
"I think those are quite appropriate," John says with a grin as he reaches over the table to grab Sherlock's hand in his. "After all, I am his date."
Angelo smiles wide as he leaves the candles there and says he's got just the meals, on the house as always. Sherlock smiles ear to ear as he rubs his thumb over John's hand.
John looks confused. "What, something I said?"
"You usually express that you're not my date, very sternly," Sherlock whispers softly, smile softening.
John rolls his eyes. "Sounds like a man very much in denial. I think we've always been together, just didn't have the brains to figure it out until there was a piece missing."
"I love you," Sherlock says softly before widening his eyes, pulling back his hand and fiddling in his seat. "Sorry, that was inappropriate."
"I love you too, you daft idiot," John whispers as he moves his hand under the table to caress Sherlock's thigh. "Third date, wow, we're odd."
"Totally abnormal," Sherlock says with a wicked grin.
"We can forget dinner," John suggests as he stands up, waving to Angelo to indicate they'll actually be leaving. "If you would like, that is."
Sherlock stands up and pulls John along with him quickly, practically sprinting up the stairs to 221B as they go and pushes John up against the door to shut it behind them, bearing down lips against lips harshly and hotly.
John and Sherlock rip away at one another's clothes quickly, Sherlock walking John up the stairs none too gently. They trip a few times for lack of concentration, but neither one can be bothered to care as they finally make it into John's room, clothes all but forgotten as Sherlock is the one being pushed back onto the mattress as John fumbles in his nightstand.
Sherlock opens up his legs, waving his knees around as he waits for John. A bit of nervous energy is coursing through him, much more defined than that is his arousal. They've done just about everything else by this point, but this will be the first time for Sherlock with John and at all. John pushes in the first finger and Sherlock hisses a bit, not expecting the feeling of the burn in the way it is. Sherlock nods for John to add another, and eventually something clicks in John's brain and he bends the fingers upwards, eliciting a deep moan from Sherlock's core.
The rest of the fingering process is aided heavily by Sherlock's pleading words for more until the detective finally wrestles the bottle of lube from John's hand and starts to slick up John's member in slow strokes, revelling in the feeling of heaviness in his hand. Now they are both heading quickly towards a rough edge as Sherlock lines up his entrance with John's member and John starts to enter slowly, cautiously, tilting up in the right direction towards the right bundle of nerves that settles the pain of the stretch for Sherlock enough for them both to enjoy it.
There are parts of the action that are slow thrusts, kissing in between each and cooing about love and emotions in a way Sherlock Holmes never thought himself before capable of wanting to feel.
It eventually reaches to a point, in between the starting and finish, that is pure and raw and animalistic. The focus is still on one another, but the raw nature of it brings them to rut faster against one another as John's thrusts increase in speed and depth.
As the actions draw to a close, John reaches forward in between their entangled bodies and strokes Sherlock with whispered pleas for the detective to cum first. Sherlock obeys with a loud scream as he finishes off before squeezing the walls of his entrance so toughly around John's member that the blogger immediately follows, spilling all of the seed he can offer into Sherlock's hole before pulling out slowly enough to not make shock occur.
Sherlock pants and promises that he loves John, he really does as he kisses all about John's face as his blogger laughs softly beneath his lanky limbs. "Alright, shower first and then we sleep."
It turned out to be shower before changing John's sheets and then sleep, but either way they both eventually got comfortable in their pajamas and curled together to sleep through the night together.
When John wakes up, he remembers. Everything, except that there was a point that he didn't remember. That part hadn't come back to him quite yet. He looks down and sees the detective wrapped around his body and laughs softly. "Sherlock, come on, get up. Was there a long case last night or something? Funny, I can't remember."
Sherlock blinks a few times before he tunes into John's words, his heart shattering a little more with each syllable. "Sorry, yes, long case."
Sherlock crawls out of John's bed and heads quickly towards the door. John calls after him as he descends the stairs. "Is everything alright, Sherlock?"
"Its fine," Sherlock replies in a voice that he has no awareness cracks as he reaches his own room and slams the door behind him, feeling tears burning in his eyes.
It is a few hours before Mycroft arrives. "John, nice to see you are better," Mycroft says through his teeth, knowing Sherlock wouldn't want him to snap on John, even now.
"Better, what do you mean better?" John asks quickly. "Do you know what's bothering Sherlock? He hasn't left his room all day."
"Dr. John Watson, amnesia patient for just over three months," Mycroft replies as he walks past. "If you can't remember, it's fine. Consult a doctor, though, it could be serious."
John started to remember. It came back slowly but it did, every last inch. At first he felt angry as he stormed off to his own room and slammed his own door, dwelling on the idea that Sherlock was afraid of – that he had been taken advantage of.
But then he remembered the more specific moments. He remembered how Sherlock had been careful with him, tried everything to bring his memory back. John remembered the moments that Sherlock was constantly checking if John wanted him even though he had been the one pushing for the romantic parts the entire time. Something that they were missing even though neither of them knew it until there was a piece missing, he'd been the one to say it.
John heard a sharp rapping of knocks on his door. He opened it to find a very annoyed Sherlock with red circles around his eyes, showing that the detective not only had a heart but it was broken. "Can you make Mycroft leave? He's only been saying 'I told you so' and I'm not finding it very conducive."
"Come in, he'll leave as he's ignored. I want to talk to you," John says carefully as Sherlock walks past him nervously.
"I'm sorry," Sherlock begins with as John shuts the door behind them.
"I think I'm the one who should be saying sorry," John says as he takes a seat beside Sherlock, reaching out and grabbing his best friend's hand. "What sort of arse am I? Last night we slept together, you lost your virginity on this mattress, and I go on and forget in the morning and kick you out."
"It does seem rather rude," Sherlock jokes as a weak smile approaches his face. "I suppose this is the part where you say we're just friends and apologize for the rest of it."
"I will admit this if you promise never to speak of it again," John says. Sherlock nods, even though he's not perfectly sure what he's agreeing to. "I meant all of the things I said when I wasn't, well, when I didn't fully remember who I was or what I'd done. I knew who you were and I knew what you meant to me, and even with knowing the rest that is still the most important thing in my life."
"I thought you weren't good at these things," Sherlock jokes softly, a real smile finally gracing his lips again.
John chuckles. "It took me a case and a half of amnesia to say those things; I'd say that's pretty horrible."
"Terrible, really," Sherlock replies. "It's alright. You should have seen me after you first kissed me. I was in hysterics, frightened because I felt something."
"We're over the awkward bit now though," John concedes as he squeezes Sherlock's hand in his. "Now, if I could, I'd like to ask you out with my full wits attached."
Sherlock reaches over and kisses John, quickly straddling the blogger's lap as he does. "Is that enough of an answer for you?"
"Insatiable," John murmurs against Sherlock's lips.
"Ah, you haven't seen anything yet," Sherlock promises as they connect again once more, never again being just flat mates but forever being a couple. Sherlock would forever refer to himself in a similar tone as he's heard before: John-locked.
Epilogue
"What are you writing?" Sherlock asks, curling around his boyfriend from behind as he reads over his shoulder. "Well, who'd have pegged you for the romantic type?"
"The same person that would've pegged you'd fall in love," John replies in a whisper as he chuckles.
"Cheap shot, wonderful article though. By far our best case," Sherlock says as he kisses at the nape of John's neck while he finishes typing the end of it.
Think of Me Fondly
Sherlock wasn't ever considered, to me, like that. He's obnoxious, rude, and flat when it comes to emotions. There was a blind spot in my brain just big enough that a case of amnesia could pull out the blockade.
When I first broached the subject, Sherlock seemed frightened. Later I'd find that it wasn't just the case in point that I had amnesia and he figured I would strangle him when I got out of it if he went further. No, it was the man who crumbled at one kiss like a teenager and didn't know what to do. Even without my memory I was the one to guide us this time. I was the one to solve the case.
The exact words that grazed my lips that started this whole thing were a disbelief that Sherlock wasn't more to me, even though the only thing I felt when I was incapacitated was an attachment to him. I didn't know anything else but I knew that I needed him. At the end of each day I think about it now, just how right I was. He wasn't lying to me, we were once both lying to ourselves.
Now Sherlock's quite literally hovering over me, watching to make sure this story ends correctly. I could explain to you about how I got my memory back after a particularly heated night and forgot the part that mattered at the wrong moment. I could tell you that I was nursed back to health by a detective with red-rimmed eyes from crying with just the power of clashing lips and bodies.
Most of this is already clear. At least, I'd hope, as we're not the most subtle pair in the world now that we've decided to make things work. Neither of us knew that relationships could work in our lives until we found one that's both as functional and dysfunctional as our own.
Sherlock is a lunatic. He's raving, mad. He still drives me crazy in our small flat, trailing around experiments that are as a majority either poisonous or disgusting. I still complain when he does so. We still both run wild like children on cases with the thrill of the chase.
The one thing that's changed is the amount of which I love him. If he doesn't start behaving more, I'll have to marry him.
Sherlock looks at the screen and back at John. John puts his laptop down and pulls out a small box from his pocket. "Sherlock Holmes, you know these things aren't easy for me. I do love you, and I am happier with you than I've ever been with anyone else."
"I know, carry on," Sherlock says with a large grin, joking of course.
John laughs. "Will you marry me, Sherlock Holmes?"
Sherlock reaches for the computer and types in the words they will always remember. After they go through with the formalities and the rest of it, but to the world and to them these were the words that kicked off the rest of their lives.
I said yes. I must marry John Hamish Watson, immediately as possible. I would do so quicker if he wasn't pulling at my clothes while I'm completing typing this, and if he wasn't scolding me right now because I'm readying to publish more about this even as he continues to do so. Wait loyal readers of John's blog, for when we have that Sex Holiday thing. John's correcting me to say Honeymoon, but we all know the base mentality of it works better with my title. I love John, and he's murmuring he loves me too even though I won't let him have the keyboard back. I am completely and utterly enamored with my blogger.
The John-locked Consulting Detective,
Sherlock Holmes