A craving for my dad's homemade strawberry jam inspired this story. A 442b
"Oh, good. You're home," Sherlock said as John walked into the flat, not bothering to look up from his microscope. "Pass me that graduated cylinder."
John sighed, handing it over. Opening the fridge, he stopped short. Instead of the usual collection of body parts, it was filled with jars of something red.
"What is this?"
Sherlock looked at John, annoyed by the interruption. "Mrs. Hudson brought us some homemade jam. She knows how much you like it."
"Ah," John wondered how he would be able to eat all of it. He knew Sherlock had no interest in that particular kind of food. He wondered if it would freeze well. Putting the thought to the back of his mind, he pulled out the ingredients for stir-fry and set about making food.
After tea, John sat down with a book, keeping an eye on Sherlock. He had been complaining of boredom, and currently lay in his thinking position, hands steepled under his chin. John soon found his mind drifting, making it difficult to focus on his novel. Instead, he thought of the beautiful man reclining beside him, of his growing feelings for him, and his resignation that those feelings would never be reciprocated.
Stretching, he stood and made his way to the kitchen. Grabbing a spoon out of the drawer, he opened the fridge and pulled out a jar of jam. Scooping out a generous portion, he savored the flavour of sweetened strawberries.
"Ahem."
John whirled around, a guilty look crossing his features.
"Straight from the jar?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow, taking a step closer to John. He raised his hand, brushing his thumb across the corner of John's lips. He brought it up to his own mouth, sucking off the stray bit of jam. John stood transfixed, watching Sherlock.
John stared up in bewilderment as Sherlock cupped his jaw, leaning down to brush their lips together gently in a chaste kiss.
"Why?" The simple question was all John's mind could come up with at the moment.
Sherlock smiled, "Because I'm done fighting these feelings."
"Oh," John chastised himself for sounding like an idiot. Fortunately Sherlock didn't seem to care, drawing him up for another kiss. Sherlock gasped as John took charge of the kiss, nipping at Sherlock's full bottom lip. They stood in the kitchen, both of them lost in the sensation of their bodies pressed together. Sherlock's lips drifted, peppering kisses against the line of John's jaw, eliciting a moan.
"I can certainly understand your love of jam," Sherlock whispered against John's ear, flicking a tongue out to trace the shell. He shivered agreeably, laughing as he pulled Sherlock toward the bedroom.