The Relations Between Us In Those Latter Days

by Maribor

I began this with "If Inconvenient, Love Me Anyway". So you should probably start there first. John comes to grips with who he is, who he was and who he wants to be.

I began this with "If Inconvenient, Love Me Anyway". So you should probably start there first.

I just wanted to write something where John is trying to figure out his place in the world and his place with Sherlock. To figure out what it means to now be with a man. I hadn't seen too many fics about him coming to grips with the reality of his bisexuality. Or rather, can there ever be too many? He's spent (at least in my version of things) his entire life believing himself, for the most part, to be straight and dating/sleeping with women. That is the extent, the sum and total of his applied sexual knowledge. It's also just relevant to his self-knowledge in general. We tend to focus on Sherlock's inexperience but in this respect, they're on the same level. John has to readjust, rethink who he is, who he was and who he wants to be. I thought there might be a story there and I hope this is a good one.

---

The Relations Between Us In Those Latter Days

"He was, I take it, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world has seen, but as a lover he would have placed himself in a false position."

- A Scandal in Bohemia

John Watson wasn't sure what exactly he thought would happen

He didn't necessarily touch Sherlock more, or speak to him differently, he didn't worry or think about him more. In that respect, nothing really changed. All of this clued him into the fact that they had maintained this fairly high level of intimacy for years without even noticing. All that did change, initially, was kissing, as in, it was something they did now.

Their first kiss had happened when he'd gotten back from the O2 store, new mobile in hand. He hadn't meant for Sherlock to find out the way he did but on the trip home he'd felt this calm descend over him. It was all spelled out in those texts. Years of explanation and doubt and finally realization in messages John never once thought Sherlock would see. But he had. He knew. And it wasn't one-sided either. They both now knew and when he set foot into Baker Street again it would be with that assurance that the last secret between them was revealed.

It wasn't as if Sherlock had met him at the door with a bouquet of roses. It wasn't as if he'd been laid out seductively on his bedspread. It also wasn't as if John wanted either of those scenarios. This was all new for him as well and while he might not have felt quite as skittish as Sherlock he hadn't morphed into a lothario either. He just wanted things to be normal between them with this slight change.

And luckily, that was what he got. Normal. With a change.

"May I see your phone, please?" Sherlock inquired not even looking up. He was sitting in his chair, computer on his lap, typing with one hand.

"Yeah, of course." He said walking over and placing the device in his mates outstretched hand. "Not fully charged yet, though."

Sherlock took the phone, popped off the back cover and placed something small inside.

"And what is that?" John asked with a frown.

"A trace. I had one on your previous mobile as well. I've found it just makes things easier if I know where you are at all times."

"Well, don't you sound like the possessive boyfriend." He replied and instantly regretted it. The words had tumbled from his mouth before he could stop them. This wouldn't do. They hadn't agreed on words yet on what they would call each other. And he wasn't going to turn into some sort of love sick teenage for Sherlock Holmes.

"You've no idea." He'd replied with a wry half-smile before handing back the phone. "Right, Rosie has had her bath, I'm waiting for Lestrade to ring me back. Is there anything we should discuss?"

John opened his mouth to speak but faltered and Sherlock didn't seem to have anything on the tip of his tongue either.

"So...we're official then?" He finally said to the detective. It was bold and a leap and it could absolutely backfire.

"Yes, so it would seem. Exclusive." Sherlock replied raising his brows and nodding.

"Yes, exclusive, right." Well, that was interesting. Exclusive. John didn't disagree but he found it quite fascinating that the other man stressed this point out of the gate. He liked it.

"Right."

"Good then."

"Yes, good."

John cleared his throat, then cleared it again. In a quick movement, Sherlock closed the laptop setting it aside and stood from his chair. They were close, not more than a step or so away from one another. The detective covered the distance looking hesitant but determined.

John watched as the hand moved towards his face brushing his cheek, then his ear finally to settle comfortably at the base of his neck. He was pulled close or he willed himself closer. He was brought in for a kiss or he brought himself in. He couldn't tell and it didn't matter.

John thought of it as an even kiss. By that, he meant that no one especially initiated it or rather that they both did. Both their heads inclined to one another, both of their lips touched with the same tempered, nervous enthusiasm. Both of them wanted this at the same time.

He worried their first kiss might be robotic, just another experiment for the younger Holmes. Cold, deductive, a science. More about action and reaction as opposed to experience. To his surprise and delight, he was wrong.

It wasn't exactly lusty, but it had promise.

"Posh boy knows how to kiss." John said, his voice low as he broke away but only for a moment.

It was different than he expected, sensation wise. Where his hands had decades of expecting curves there was now straight lines. Where he anticipated softness, there was instead the firm and the solid. A chest, muscular but compared to the women he'd been with flat when pressed against his. A hand, large with artistic fingers moved dexterously through his hair.

He was waiting for some ugly little internalized phobia to rear its head and he was just as prepared to beat it back. The mind was no different than the body. Things could fester inside without you even knowing it until one day something triggers something else and the next thing you know you're showing symptoms.

Would he be taken aback by the stubble? By hands, the height, the strength, the broad back, the shoulders, the jaw, everything that was so distinctly male?

No, as a matter of fact, any objection he thought his subconscious might raise didn't happen.

It was one thing to realize your best mate was also the man you loved. It was quite another to kiss said man. The first man he'd ever kissed.

But, as it turned out his mind was on board, as was his body with his cock, in particular, more than happy to stand up and salute.

He took a moment to chide himself over just who was being too analytical, clinical and scientific about this.

John tossed his mobile without looking in the direction of his chair and as he didn't hear the distinctive sound of his screen breaking assumed he'd hit the mark. Hands now free he placed one on Sherlock's side, just above his hip, the other he sent into that nest of curls he imagined got rather wild after a few go rounds in bed. Or if they hadn't John certainly intended to see them that way.

It likely didn't last nearly as long as it felt. John had a feeling it might have stretched on a bit farther had it not been for the alert from Sherlock's phone. He pulled away at once saying. "Lestrade."

And then it was over and John didn't even have a moment to be frustrated as Sherlock hurried back to his work because a moment later Rosie awoke from her nap and started crying. And hour after that they were both at the Yard. Two hours after that they were chasing a man with a knife through an abandoned cemetery. They were both thrust back into normal. Or what counted for them as normal and the kiss and what could or should follow was put on the back burner.

John didn't kid himself, this would take time. It all had taken time. Over the 7 years they had known each other he had seen Sherlock grow from a brilliant but detached (though not nearly as detached as he pretended) and regressed individual to a brilliant, caring well-rounded man. A man who had friends, family and for all intents and purposes a daughter, a man who while still fiercely attached to his work and still pinning a great deal of his identity to it, never called himself a high-functioning sociopath anymore because the label didn't fit, it never did. And pertaining to this current situation, a man who was willing to be vulnerable in a way John knew terrified him. Sherlock was willing to embark on a mystery he'd always avoided; a relationship.

John would give him time.

Their first semi-public kiss has been in the stairwell of Baker Street. John had grabbed him by that scarf and taken what he wanted leaving the detective a bit opened mouth and surprised as, once it was over, he followed him up the stairs to their flat.

Their first fully public kiss was initiated by Sherlock. In the back of a cab he pressed his face close and his lips closer. They were headed...actually John couldn't recall now where they were headed. He only remembered the kiss itself, and how it warmed him on that chilly night. He also remembered the cabbie's eyes widening as he glanced at them through the rear-view mirror. He remembered feeling slightly exposed.

The kissing was amazing and only got better and better. Sherlock not only liked kissing but he was good at it in a way that John didn't quite understand. To the best of his knowledge he'd never had a partner; male or female and never had anyone to consistently practice with so how was he able to do that thing with his tongue that made John nearly forget his own name?

There was still the question of when to kiss? In the morning? After tea? Before heading out or splitting up for the day? Before bed? It didn't seem as though it had been this complicated with women. Then again, with women, he hadn't given it much of a thought. The only thing you had to worry about was getting the signal for the first kiss, the one on their doorstep after the first date. Once that was done everything else fell into place.

Or maybe he was making it harder than it needed to be. Maybe they both were.

But timing aside, kissing Sherlock was explosive and draining it always left John wanting more. That was where the problem came in. There was no more coming. Sherlock was starting to become a word that was synonymous with blueballs in John's mind. If it were anyone else, anyone at all John would have thought they were deliberately teasing him and doing a dreadful job of it. After all, the purpose of teasing was to whip someone into a frenzy, to get them just to that point and then to finally give them what they want. What you want them to have. The point was not to drive someone half mad from desire.

But this was Sherlock. Sherlock was not a tease and he didn't care for games in his private life; that was reserved for business. He was moving at the pace he was most comfortable and unfortunately, that pace was glacial.

Had they been a normal family he might have sought out his brother for answers and help. He knew Mycroft would know. Mycroft, for better or worse, knew everything. But it would be a breach of Sherlock's privacy to ask. Plus, he didn't want to have that conversation with the elder Holmes. Plus...he already knew the answer.

For whatever reason, a reason he hoped to discover as their relationship progressed Sherlock was afraid. Afraid of failure, afraid of disappointment, afraid of intimacy, afraid of his own body or being so close to someone else's body. Any of these possibilities seemed likely. He knew he hadn't ever had sex before. Mycroft had hinted of it long before Sherlock had confessed it to him in a quiet voice that strained to keep embarrassment at bay.

When it was all said and done, he loved him. And after years of trying to sort out his feelings, his wants, after grieving the almost and far too real feeling of the loss of Sherlock and the true loss of his wife, his Mary and after trying to put a name to what he was in a way that most teenagers would have already figured out. After all that joy and pain, he was finally ready to claim a truth, to claim a label, to claim a love and to claim a man.

In the face of all that, waiting for that man to be ready certainly didn't seem like a hardship, no matter how blue the balls.

---

"When a man does a queer thing, or two queer things, there may be a meaning to it, but when everything he does is queer, then you begin to wonder"

-The Case-Book of Sherlock Holmes

"Right then, this will keep until tomorrow. I'm off to bed." John said, his last word punctuated with a yawn. He stood up from his chair, stretched and crossed the short distance between himself and Sherlock. Taking his chin in his hand he turned his mates face away from his laptop screen. He gave him a kiss, simple, soft. "See you later." He said, straightening up and heading towards his bedroom.

"John!?"

The tone and urgency of his voice made John spin about.

"Yeah? What's wrong? Something happen?" He asked, assuming he'd made some fascinating discovery.

"No...I was wondering if tonight you..." John frowned waiting for him to continue but he only trailed off finally ending with a gesture that vaguely motioned towards...his bedroom?

"Oh...oh! Tonight, did you want to..?"

Up until this point they'd kept separate bedrooms, retreating to their own each night. For some reason, it had happened that kissing and intimacy, in general, was relegated to common areas. When John thought about it...that seemed a bit weird. But not at all strange when he was in the midst of it.

"I thought we could- but only if you wanted to..." Sherlock continued.

"Yeah, I mean, well...yeah. Wait are we talking about the same thing?"

"I believe so." Sherlock said with a frown. "You and I." He cleared his throat. "In bed together."

Suddenly he didn't feel quite so knackered as he had a few minutes before.

"Yes, alright, well, brilliant. I'll just have a quick shower, quick as you please and-"

"That's not really necessary."

John nodded. Alright, seems he wanted to get right down to it.

"Ok, then I'll just change my clothes, check on Rosie and head on in."

"I'll meet you there."

Well this was unexpected. Though when he thought about it, Sherlock could turn on a dime, go from zero to a hundred with a snap of this fingers and this certainly constituted 100. Quickly changing into clean clothes, brushed his teeth, he gave himself a final look, grabbed a few condoms and a newly purchased bottle of lube and headed to Sherlock's room.

He hadn't yet arrived so John took the time to put the condoms and lube out of the way but still within reach, he then made himself comfortable on the bed...and waited. And waited. And waited. And waited.

By the time Sherlock did arrive he had dozed off and jolted awake with a less than dignified snort as his mate began to speak.

"I'm sorry...I was delayed. Several very relevant texts came in. There's actually quite a bit to fill you in on. Would you rather we do it now or should I wait?"

John actually found it rather endearing that he was even asking. That was, oddly, progress, for the detective. Demented considering what they were on the brink of doing but progress just the same.

"It can wait."

He nodded. "Very well. So...I'll get changed then."

John smiled. If Sherlock wanted to go from dressed to undressed...(apparently in the loo, John thought as he watched him head to his bathroom and close the door)...to dressed and then undressed again (after John peeled off his clothes with his teeth), then so be it.

He was hard already just at the thought. He debated on whether it was proper to let Sherlock see that clearly when he came out of the loo. Ah, the great question, keep the covers where they were and let the bulge be concealed until the unveiling? Or bring the sheets down and let him get an eye full of just what was waiting beneath his pyjama trousers? He opted to keep the sheets as they were.

The dark-haired man emerged a few moments later, t-shirt and pyjama trousers of his own. He waited at the edge of the bed for a moment, eyeing it warily before climbing in.

Once there he propped up on his elbow and gazed at John who only gazed back, an easy smile on his face which he hoped didn't betray his excitement.

Leaning closer Sherlock initiated a kiss in which John happily lost himself. Just as it deepened. Just as it seemed things were ready to get started. Just as John was about to take his mates hand and just maybe place it on his cock...Sherlock pulled back.

"Goodnight, John." He said. And with that he smiled, turned over and switched off the light.

John Watson was in a word; stunned. He thought for a second it might be a joke. The detective, who some mistakenly found humorless, did in fact, have a wicked sense of humor as he'd come to realize. But when the light stayed off and no laughter seemed forthcoming he understood it was all too genuine.

Am I putting you on or are you putting me on? He thought but didn't voice aloud. Still, he immediately regretted it. It was rude and uncharitable.

He had promised. He had promised. He had promised. He had promised to be patient.

"Is something wrong?" Sherlock asked after a moment, his voice resonating in the darkness.

"No, sorry, not at all. Just a crossing of wires on my end. My mistake."

"Your words don't match your body language."

"It's dark, you can't even see me."

"I can feel you and there's a tension emanating from your side of the bed. Something is wrong."

"Not wrong, exactly." This had to be handled with kid gloves. "I thought you were asking me to go to bed with you."

"I did. I am."

"Sorry, let me clarify. I thought you were saying you wanted to have sex tonight."

"Sex?" His mate said and the sheer distress had made his voice rise a bit higher than normal.

"Alright, calm down."

"Rosie is just in-"

"Yes, right, she is."

"Why we haven't even-"

"Nope."

"And we didn't-"

"No, not that either."

"We've barely-"

"Yeah, I know. I agree, we've barely."

"Sex doesn't alarm me, John." He said indignantly, defensively. John heard the shifting of sheets as his partner sat up to stare down at him.

"I never said it did. That was your brother. Try not to confuse us, especially right now."

"If you want-"

"No, you're not going to do that. You're not going to offer it in a passive way and you're not going to offer it to placate me. I am not subject to the whims of my urges and I am not demanding it of you."

"Urges." Sherlock repeated as if to roll the word around in his mouth.

"Have I ever rushed you?"

"No."

"Have I ever implied that I was unsatisfied with something? With you? With us?"

"You have not."

"Then don't behave as though I have. As though I need to be appeased like an angry god. I can wait, Sherlock, I can wait until you're ready. Until we're both ready. That's what people do for people they love. They wait."

Sherlock was silent and still in the darkness for a few moments. As his eyes adjusted John was able to see him a bit better.

"Your patience in the face of very little information is..."

"Don't say appreciated. Don't close this like a form letter from the NHS. And don't get me wrong, Sherlock, this is nice. The idea and reality of sleeping next to you is very, very nice. I'm not complaining. That said if you want to tell me more information, I'm listening."

More silence, but definitely of the contemplative kind. Eventually he began to speak, that smooth voice emerging from the darkness.

"When I was a child, my mind and body were one. I acted as I felt, I felt what I acted, I spoke what was on my mind. And most importantly my body did as I willed it. My heart, so I am told by Mycroft, rested firmly and visibly on my sleeve. Two things changed that. The death...the murder of Victor Trevor and then some years later the onset of puberty.

Mycroft is seven years my senior, if he ever went through puberty I never saw it. I imagine he just emerged, fully formed and be-suited from some sort of cocoon. He didn't speak on it freely and I didn't feel comfortable approaching my father. All I knew was that my body was suddenly betraying me. I couldn't concentrate. I was constantly distracted by stray thoughts...urges...as you would call them. I lost focus in school. I felt unsettled, ungainly. I hated every moment of it. And in an effort to control it...I started to detach."

"Detach?" John asked, already engrossed.

"I realized that the things my body wanted were in direct opposition to my mind. The cares of one had to be jettisoned for the benefit of the other. My body wasn't doing me any favors, John.

It had to be tamed, all of its niggling desires had to be, if not deleted then relegated to the recesses of my brain. The mind palace began as a respite from the noise, a place where I could work out just how to defeat my body. I learned by studying Cicero and the Method of Ioci that one could construct in one's mind a place of retreat, introspection, a place to make sense of things away from the cacophony of that awful transition from boyhood to manhood. When I mastered it and effectively emerged I had removed myself from certain liabilities."

"It was a liability? Growing up, individuating was a liability?"

"At the time, yes. I hadn't many friends and I had always had a certain difficulty communicating with my peers. This was only exacerbated once I hit my teens. The boys..." He paused looking thoughtful. "I was about to say the boys I was interested in. Hmmm...I suppose at some point I did know. I must have deleted that." He gave his head a little shake. "The boys I was interested in, if only in passing, weren't interested in me. I found them to be intellectually anesthetizing anyway. I found most people to be that way. It seemed the wisest course of action to pull away on all fronts just to preserve my sanity. This wasn't just about not being able to get a date, John."

"I never said it was. I never would say that. Jesus, Sherlock..." John breathed. "That explains literally...everything. I think your parents are lovely, I do, but didn't they notice any of this?"

"They were busy. Mycroft seemed to approve. Considering what happened with Eurus I suppose he was just happy I didn't start torturing small animals." He replied with a sigh. "I don't want to be quite so this anymore. I have no intention of revealing every single inner thought that I have like the rest of you. But, I would like to advance our relationship. I passed by valuable milestones on the path my life has taken. Perhaps I dropped some bread crumbs and can find my way back. I'd like to go back and reclaim some of them now, with you, if you would be so obliging."

John opened his arms towards the other man.

"Come here." He said simply.

"This has made you feel the need to comfort me. John, I assure you I don't need comforting." Sherlock said in a way that sounded wholly unconvincing, at least to John's ears. Despite his protests, he moved carefully into his arms.

"Then indulge me." He whispered into his hair.

"Very well." Sherlock replied as he relaxed into his arms. "I can't say that I mind it."

"Glad to hear it." He paused and braced himself to answer a question he'd wondered since the day they'd met. "Sherlock...are you gay?"

"Yes." He said simply. "Though I never gave it much thought. I nipped sexual attraction in the bud. But some of it is coming back to me now. I'll explore any implications later when I have the time. But anything that doesn't involve you is strictly academic at this point. I have no desire for anyone but you."

John swallowed hard. Most of Sherlock's dismissive summary statements could cut you to the quick. There were others though, like that one there, that could pierce your heart in the absolute best of ways.

"What about Janine?"

"Janine was nice, clever and with a surprising ruthless streak given her willingness to capitalize on spreading gossip to the red tops. I admit, that last part went farther to gather my interest than her body. Perhaps, had she been a man and had I never met you I might have considered expressing interest. But those are quite a few 'perhaps'. Are you gay?" He countered.

"No, I like women. I loved Mary, very much. But I also love you. And I love you as much, much more than just a friend. I don't have a single reservation about being in a relationship with you. Being with you period. I don't know, what does that make me bi?"

"I suppose."

"I guess...I might have had a thing for Sholto. But I'm only seeing that now looking back. Hindsight is 20/20 and all that." John sighed. It was still strange to admit these things aloud. "Harry's gay. She never really had to figure it out at least as far as I remember. She always knew so we always knew. Though I doubt if I asked her it would be as simple as that. They say it can run in families."

"Does she make you uncomfortable? And I already knew about Sholto, for the record."

"Her drinking makes me uncomfortable. It never bothered me that she liked girls. I liked her wife, I thought she was good for her. I don't know that I like or want men. I only know that I want you. The rest is, as you say, academic."

"Academic." Sherlock repeated. "We are both far too old to be still figuring these things out."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

"I feel remarkably dull." He said, his sentence ending in a yawn.

"You're just sleepy." John teased and his bedmate made a little 'Mmm' sound of assent. "Thanks for taking me to bed."

"Thanks for agreeing." Sherlock said. He had shifted a bit, his head was now resting heavily atop John's chest. "Goodnight, John."

"Goodnight, Sherlock."

---

You know my methods. Apply them.

- The Sign Of Four

Things improved markedly after that night. Which is not to say they were suddenly normal. Far from it. But they were a better them than they had been.

"It's weird being in a relationship where I'm the open one." John said. He was standing in the kitchen pouring a glass of milk he hoped hadn't gone bad while Sherlock was lying on the sofa, fingers steepled, eyes closed in thought.

"Really?" Sherlock asked with more disbelief than John felt the statement deserved.

"Yes, really. There are a long line of women who would tell you I was pretty standoffish, maybe even cold."

"Probably not that long a line." He said and John could hear the smirk without seeing it.

"Well look who's taking the piss today. Yes, quite a long line, thank you very much. Oh God." He concluded with a grimace.

As it turned out, the milk was bad.

"Is it wise to brag about a string of women you've disappointed. I may not be an expert but-"

"You're an arse." John said good-naturedly as he opened the fridge and peered in again. Somewhere behind his partner's experiments, there had to be some food.

"Does that bother you?"

"You being an arse? No, I'm used to it."

"You being the open one. Does it play with any issues of masculinity."

John inhaled and thought about it.

"Not really, no. It's all relative. I suppose compared to Mary, I was the open one. Doesn't make me think I'm "the woman" in the relationship if that's what you mean. Whatever that would even mean. I always thought that phrase was much more insulting to women than men, anyway. But in any case, I'm not your girlfriend, dear." He said ending the sentence with his best Mrs. Hudson impression.

Sherlock laughed that deep rumbling laugh that John had enjoyed since day one.

"No, you most certainly are not."

"I think that's the second time you've asked something like that."

"Something like what?"

Something about masculinity and you know I hate when you play dumb."

"Well...it's just that..." He faltered which was unusual for Sherlock. John stepped out of the kitchen to get a better look at him.

"What's wrong?"

"It's just that men who previously considered themselves heterosexual, exclusively heterosexual can have a difficult time adjusting to the fact that they're not. I was trying to prepare myself in the event of ..."

"In the event of what? A backlash? Oh, God, you don't mean a backlash at all." Suddenly it all became clear just what he was getting at. "You mean of me leaving you."

Sherlock purposefully avoided meeting his eyes, picking up his mobile burying his gaze in his phone.

John approached him, sitting on the couch and taking the phone out of his hand. "Look at me."

Grudgingly the detective did as he was commanded.

"I'm not leaving you. I had a lot of years to figure out who I was and what I wanted from you. I admit, it takes some getting used to putting those thoughts into action. But it isn't reluctance and it isn't hesitance. It's just nerves and fear of doing it all wrong. I'm just learning. And I'm not going anywhere. I'm far too happy with the life we have to even think of going anywhere."

Sherlock looked at him hopefully.

"So, if you don't mind, be patient with me?" John asked.

"Always." Sherlock replied.

---

"Then, how do you know?"

"I see it, I deduce it. How do I know that you have been getting yourself very wet lately.."

- Scandal in Belgravia

He woke up in the middle of the night, spooning Sherlock and hard as a bloody rock. And not the type of hard that showed any possibility of dissipating any time soon. But persistent demanding hard that was only going to go away with a cold shower and a firm hand. As far as he knew his mate was asleep and he'd like to keep it that way.

He hurried to the loo, turned on the water and stepped inside. It wasn't exactly the first time he'd wanked to Sherlock. He'd always had a way of cropping up in John's fantasies when he least expected him. In those days he'd tried to push him away, albeit gently. It wasn't something he was ready to deal with or could deal with but it was there and both he and the Sherlock who existed in his mind new it. Now, he felt no such restrictions and letting his mind and his hand wander he turned his thoughts to the man he now shared a bed and a life with.

They hadn't had sex yet. They hadn't really snogged properly yet. That heavy breathing, opened mouth, lips smashed against lips, hands grasping at everything, belts being hastily unfastened, grinding, grinding, grinding sort of snogging. The kind that ended with coming in your trousers because you didn't have time to pull them off.

They hadn't done it so he imagined it now. Kissing those lips, nipping, sucking and biting down his neck. Marking him, finally marking him. Putting his mouth on his chest, more nips, more bites, kissing down his abdomen and finally arriving at his cock. Hard, straight, pre-cum beading on the head. All he knew about blowjobs were some of the stellar ones he'd received. He knew what he liked and what he wanted and he was determined to give that to Sherlock.

In his fantasy his mouth descended on his boyfriends...(yes...boyfriend, he supposed) cock. In real life, he wrapped his hand around his own stroking it slowly. He could taste him on his tongue, hear those sharp little gasps as he received his (presumably) first ever blowjob.

"Bloody hell..." He whispered softly. He braced himself against the tiled wall with one hand. He wasn't going to last long.

The fantasy skipped ahead; Sherlock on his stomach, John sliding into him from behind. Tight, so bloody tight, thrusting, tugging gently on that thick curly head of hair. Watching his cock disappear between his tight cheeks, hearing them both moan softly, finally laying atop him, pressing his full body weight on his, kissing his neck, his shoulders, his ear, calling his name. "Sherlock, oh, God, Sherlock, I have wanted this for so, so long. Close, so close..."

"John..." That's all. Just a whispered John, spoken from Sherlock's lips in this fantasy and he was coming in very real life, spurting thick and hot against the tile wall.

He stood there for a moment, trying to catch his breath, only now wondering just how loud he had been.

Grabbing a bar of soap he did a hasty cleanup, stepped out, toweled off and slipping back into his t-shirt and shorts tiptoed back to bed. He slid under the covers and lay as still as possible listening for Sherlock's breathing.

"Do you often take a late night shower, John?"

He didn't want to tell him. He didn't want to think it somehow meant what they'd been doing wasn't enough. But the little tastes of Sherlock, though they were becoming more frequent weren't nearly enough.

It was as if proximity was making him even randier.

"I...on occasion, yes."

"I feel as though that's something I would have noticed in all these years. I can, after all, hear your shower from this bedroom."

"Guess you never paid attention. Goodnight, Sherlock."

A pause.

"Yes, that sounds so like me." He replied dryly. "Goodnight, John."

---

"I am a brain, Watson. The rest of me is a mere appendix"

―The Case-Book of Sherlock Holmes

It was a relief to not have to be the leader. It was a relief to know no one was the leader. John knew he'd have to get the ball rolling in some instances but he was free with reminding Sherlock his knowledge of the male anatomy and what turned a man on was limited to the knowledge he had about himself and anatomy textbooks.

There was now a strange addition to their relationship. Besides being attracted to Sherlock physically, he was, of course, attracted to the danger. He'd known that and so had Sherlock from the start. From that first night, racing through the streets, trying to keep up with his pain and his hip he'd been flooded with endorphins. He'd seen it affect Sherlock in the same way though his was usually at the start of a case whereas Johns was at the end. Now...they were more in sync and all that energy, pent up, excited goose-pimpling, adrenaline-fueled energy found a new way to channel itself.

Sometimes they barely even made it through the front door of their flat.

"This feels a bit morbid, even for us." Sherlock said, never taking his lips or hands of John.

"Do you care?" John asked, hurriedly trying to remove his mate from his coat and anything else he'd let him take off.

"Not in the least."

"Bedroom?"

"Bedroom."

The bedroom was now not just where they slept but where they had, what John liked to term, frenetic snogging. Sherlock was still hesitant to go quite as far as John wanted and needed but he was making excellent progress.

It had taken a bit of practice to get used to palming a cock that wasn't his own, but John had managed famously. Pulling Sherlock on top of him after he'd yanked them both down to the bed he unfastened his belt and trousers and slid his hand inside.

"Bloody hell you're hard for me." He said giving it a slight squeeze.

"I never imagine your penchant for stating the obvious would ever be so-" He cut himself off as John stroked him again. "Erotic." He concluded in a strained whisper.

"Want to do what we did last night?" John asked.

"Yes, please." He said nodding emphatically.

"Then strip down." John commanded

Mutual masturbation was the name of the game in the Holmes-Watson bedroom these days. As soon as they were both naked John's hand went precisely where it had been itching to be. He wrapped it around Sherlock and began that slow, lazy movement.

His partner arched up off the bed as John was now accustomed to. That first touch always sent him skyrocketing. Much to his delight, he had discovered over and over again that Sherlock was not vocally shy. He wasn't a screamer or a shouter. It was more subtle than that, it was the little catch of breath, the slight whimper, the ahhh and his favorite, just a whispered; "John."

"Oh...John..."

That was what he was rewarded with as he ran his thumb just over the tip.

"You do like that don't you?" He asked before taking a playful bite at the ball of Sherlock's shoulder.

"I do indeed. I need you. Sometimes it hurts so bloody bad I can barely stand it."

"Blue balls, you too, eh? Tell me what you do on those occasions." John asked with a smile not expecting the answer he was to receive.

"I wait for it to go away."

"Wait..you- Sherlock, have you ever wanked?" He asked incredulously, forgetting to modulate his voice.

"Wanked? Do you mean masturbated?"

"Yes. Masturbated. Have you ever masturbated?" John pressed. He was still holding his cock but his movements had all but stopped.

"Of course I have." He said rather indignantly.

"To completion?"

"Yes."

"To satisfactory completion?"

"Y-yes...no."

"On a regular basis?"

"No."

"Recently?"

"No."

John took a deep breath.

"Ok, well I think we've pinpointed an area for improvement."

"Can we not "pinpoint areas" when you're giving me a handjob?" Sherlock said testily.

"I'm not giving you a handjob. You're giving you a handjob." He said removing his palm and placing Sherlock's own there in its place.

Inching closer to his lover he started to kiss his neck. Ye Gods but he wanted to keep touching it for him. He wanted to taste him. Odd because until fairly recently he'd never wanted either thing before. Fantasized about it, of course but Sherlock was...well, Sherlock. He had to be nudged into things. And while John had volumes more experience than his mate with women, they were on the same level with men...with each other. All John had was instinct and desire. He hadn't known if he could give a passable handjob (as it turns out he could) or blowjob (that was yet to be attempted but he hoped it was on the agenda) or anything else but he damn sure wanted to try.

"Stroke yourself, Sherlock." His friend seemed hesitant. "Where do you normally do this?"

"In the shower, when time permits." He said sounding as though he was trying to catch his breath.

"Any particular reason you don't do it in the bedroom?"

"Initially, I didn't want to run the risk of you hearing me."

"Ah, yes, because you're vocal." John teased affectionately. "Lucky me."

To his delight, Sherlock smiled and some of the tension went out of his body.

"It's you, Sherlock. I know you prize your mind above all else, but contrary to whatever you believe, you're not just a head atop a means of conveyance. This is you." He said as he placed a finger lightly on his mates lips before slowly moving it down over his chin, neck, chest, abdomen. "This is you." He repeated again. "All of you. Best get acquainted. Because you're going to have to introduce it to me. Now, as I asked you to before; stroke yourself."

"I'd much rather you do it for me."

"I know you would. And I will. I intend to put that cock of your through its paces. But it'll do us no good unless you know what you like and want first. Stop stalling and get to work."

Sherlock finally did as he was told, wrapping his hand around his cock and starting to stroke.

Pupils dilating John watched, occasionally nipping at the column of Sherlock's neck.

"When this happens, when you get hard...?"

"Yes." He said though his voice was a good deal breathier now.

"It feels good?"

"Yes, John." He said, working his palm and fingers over his erection. He certainly looked as though he had a skill, he'd give him that.

"So, what happens? Why does it stop?"

"I'm not sure, I just...lose it.. Then it becomes more..." He gasped softly. "More about getting it over with."

"Sherlock, this should never be about just getting it over with. Are your eyes closed?'

"Yes."

"Open them. No more disconnecting. This is rudimentary, Sherlock. No analysis, no Mind Palace required. Just you and your hand. Watch yourself so you can tell me what you like."

John watches as Sherlock settles himself onto the bed, letting his legs fall open a bit more.

"I want to see you...please, John."

"You want to see me what? Wank?"

"Yes..." Sherlock responded with a hint of exasperation.

There was a method to John pedantics. His friend had gotten away for far too long using euphemism and innuendo. It kept him at a lofty and a safe distance from the wonderful, visceral nature of sex.

"And you will, when you come and when you enjoy it. But for now...well, just a peek."

Wordlessly John removed the blankets covering his own body revealing his cock; hard and pressed firmly against his belly.

Sherlock made a soft sort of strangled noise in his throat and began to work his hand faster.

"Eyes on your own paper." John teased.

He wasn't nearly as calm as he sounded. His cock was aching and not in that metaphorical way but truly and genuinely hurting from lack of attention. But this was a sacrifice for what he wanted and needed for both of them in the future. A Sherlock with absolutely no understanding of how his body worked would lead to dismal shagging and even worse lovemaking.

"John...say...say those things."

Those things were dirty talk and John had discovered the posh boy, his posh boy, had a taste for.

"Those things? Those things like how I love to graze my teeth across your neck? Those things like how it drives me half mad when you wear that purple shirt? Things like how I love to kiss down your chest to your belly? Or...no, do mean those things like how I love your hard, thick cock? Those things like I love having my hand on it? Those things like how I can't wait to taste you? Those things like how I can't wait to be inside of you?"

That last one, as it turned out, was the one that did it. John watched his eyebrows knit together as his lips parted, the most exquisite little moans falling from them. While his right hand hard at work, his left shot out to the back of John's head, pulling in for a kiss.

The kissed deeply until Sherlock pulled away seconds later, calling his name as he orgasmed.

John watched his come arc and splash on the tense muscles of his abdomen. John watched in fascination as wave after wave washed over his lover, his grip on his cock still firm but the movements becoming slower until finally they stopped. By this time John had his own cock in hand, he couldn't help it, watching Sherlock orgasm on his own with little help or intervention was an erotic milestone.

Sherlock had his eyes closed but suddenly they popped open and he again brought his face, now attractively flushed, close to John's.

"Let me." He said batting his lover's hand away to resume his actions. John's erection bobbed at the new, firm contact and truly Sherlock's hand, in this moment, felt better than his own. The detective's gaze was attentive and locked to John's. In just a few moments he had gone from being in charge to being at Sherlock's mercy. He corkscrewed his grip, which was slick with pre-come, up and down his shaft.

John was breathing harder and faster, each stroke threatening to bring about that wonderful finale.

In the end it wasn't the hand or rather just the hand that sent him over the edge. It was four words whispered in his ear, as smooth and melodious as he could want.

"Come for me, John."

And he did, his knackers drew up sharply and he came hard, ejaculate drizzling down Sherlock's closed, skilled fist.

Sherlock nuzzled his neck, kissing behind his ear as this time it was John's turn to lie there, catching his breath. The detective kissed him at precisely the right moment and John sighed happily.

"Shower?" He asked.

"Definitely." John agreed.

Before they changed the bedding, before Sherlock became engrossed in late-night autopsy information he'd received from Molly, and long before they officially bedded down for the night they stood there in the shower, in one another's arms snogging under the warm spray.

---

"Lie down there on the sofa and see if I can put you to sleep. He took up his violin from the corner, and as I stretched myself out he began to play some low, dreamy, melodious air - his own no doubt, for he had a remarkable gift for improvisation. I have a vague remembrance of his gaunt limbs, his earnest face and the rise and fall of his bow. Then I seemed to be floated peacefully away upon a soft sea of sound until I found myself in dreamland."

― The Sign Of Four

It wasn't all sex. Not by a long shot.

They started going out to dinner together, mostly Speedy's. It was good to be out and about as a couple. It was even better to just respond with a smile or a nod when people gestured to him and said "And for your date?" or some other such statement. It was the best to not feel this strange need to correct them as he had once done. He didn't like those memories. Didn't like the anger he recalled showing. The vehemence of the denial.

Most of their outside activities focused on Rosie. John hadn't guessed that children would be his mates wheelhouse but he'd been delightfully wrong.

Sherlock loved taking her to the park or the zoo, showing her things, telling her things, answering her endless questions. He never, it seemed, tired of her queries. But it had really been this way since the beginning. He was absolutely beguiled by the little girl as she was in turn by Papa, as they agreed he'd be called.

"Godfather?" Sherlock had asked one day, so early on, clearly wanting to get the wording right and not overstep.

"Father." John corrected. "I think Papa, to distinguish from Daddy will do the trick, don't you?"

"John, are you certain?"

"She's going to grow up here, at Baker Street, with us, you and me and Mrs. Hudson. We are her family. I don't want any confusion over the matter of who you are to her, on her side or yours. You are her father, as I am. And just in the event of something happening to me I want her to go to you. No questions asked. I'll have papers drawn up, if that's alright, to make it official?"

His friend had been speechless and holding their toddler at the time. He looked at her and swallowed hard. She babbled at the attention and laughed as though he'd told a delightful joke.

"It would be my honor."

"Just try not to leave quite so many eyeballs, skulls and various limbs around...at least not within reach."

"Understood."

All of that was decided before their romance was even on the table. John wanted to be there at Baker street, needed to be, in fact. He wanted Rosie to grow up with the two of them, he wanted her to grow up with the two of them in a two parent household. He wanted her to be surrounded by the two people who loved her mother most of all and the memories they could share. Sherlock never mentioned children, never seemed to think much about them, though John did recall he had a certain affection for Archie but that didn't mean he'd leap into fatherhood. And yet here he was, as at ease with Rosie as though he'd been caring for children all his life. There were flashes when the oddest memories would come into John's mind. Those rare times when he'd caught Mycroft looking at Sherlock when the latter had no idea. This pained expression, heavy with a need to protect, heavy with fear and all the complicated remnants that remained when you'd tried to tell yourself not to love but you loved anyway. It was brief and it would disappear as they launched into barbs directed at one another. But John saw it now, completely untainted when Sherlock gazed at Rosie. A need to protect. A fear for her safety and unabashed loved.

"She's got your eyes." He'd said one day over breakfast just before Rosie had upturned her cereal bowl and spilled milk everywhere. "And apparently your dexterity."

There was the happiness of telling Mrs. Hudson; their earliest cheerleader. They took her to a nice restaurant and behaved very soberly until the reveal teasing her as though it was serious news. She squealed so loudly it drew the attention of several nearby tables.

Later on John had asked her if she wouldn't mind if Rosie called her Gran.

"My mum...well she died quite a few years back. And you're the closest I have..."

He was pretty certain through her tears she agreed.

---

"Miss Morstan and I stood together, and her hand was in mine. A wondrous subtle thing is love, for here were we two. So we stood hand in hand like two children, and there was peace in our hearts for all the dark things that surrounded us."

-The Sign Of Four

As May 18th drew nearer John was unexpectedly taken under by a wave of depression. Reminders of Mary were all around. He wanted it that way. He'd loved her, loved her still and had no intention of pretending as though their relationship and marriage, though brief, had not occurred.

He had yet to find a way to cope with the guilt.

Surprisingly, not the guilt of having moved on and moved on to Sherlock.

Mary, his Mary was a strange creature and of course, in hindsight, it made sense. But at the time, he was amazed by how accurate she always was. How she knew what he was thinking, feeling and was never shy about telling him, setting him straight, putting him back on the right path. He needed that. He was starting to realize he had always needed that in his life. It was why he'd joined the army, it was why he gravitated to those he perceived as stronger, smarter than he, Sholto, Sherlock...there were likely others he was forgetting.

Their romance was a whirlwind. He was drawn to her faster and stronger than he had ever been drawn to anyone...well almost anyone. It hurt to be away from her in those days. It still hurt now.

And she knew that. If memory served she even tried to caution him once or twice, to pull, back, take it slow, consider...but it had all been in vain. He'd bought the ring without a second thought. He was going to propose and they would marry and fill the house with children and he would be Dr. John Watson with that ridiculous mustache and she would be Mary Mortsan Watson, nurse and mother extraordinaire and they would live happily ever after. And he would mourn Sherlock, in his heart and his soul until he was cold in the ground.

It was a lot to ask of someone, to be his touchstone and he tried his best to be just as useful and steadfast for her.

But he hadn't always tried his best. And she hadn't told him every secret as they'd vowed to on their wedding day. He'd been furious with her and furious with himself. But over time that fury had dulled and dissipated and now he realized they were just two people, trying their best, stumbling quite a bit along the way. But still working and trying, hand in hand as they had started.

It was as if life wouldn't allow him to have them both at the same time. As if his greed demanded that a balance be struck. And so she was ripped away from him. Pulled from this world by a bullet meant for the other love of his life. And he tore himself to pieces for what he'd done to her, what he'd almost done to her, what she had done to their family and what Sherlock had done to them both. And oh dear God what he had done to Sherlock.

And still, it was a lie because they were all guilty. All dangerous liars. All people playing at deception and secrets and murder and death, except when death and murder came to collect they weren't playing.

The Mary in his head was forgiving almost to a fault. He wondered how the real one would have been. Would she have brushed off the texting so easily? The pining for Sherlock? ...No...she knew about that. She had always known. His frustration at leading a "normal" life? After all, hadn't she been running away from the excitement, the espionage, the danger. Hadn't she wanted to settle down? Hadn't that been part and parcel of the tears and the joy when they'd found out about Rosie. Leaving all this behind? And still, they'd run right back into it the both of them. And they'd kept running until her entanglements and his and Sherlock's conspired to erase her from existence.

Whose fault? Everyones? No ones? Somewhere in between? It didn't matter because John Watson decided to bear the brunt of it himself.

For awhile he tried to keep it quiet. He threw himself into their work, even picked up a few extra hours at the clinic. He kept the tears to himself.

But it didn't help. He was interminably sad and short tempered, he snapped at Sherlock more than he deserved. He was resentful in the face of his attention. Angry at his affection.

But his partner merely took it. If anything Sherlock was more attentive, more demonstrative, more engaging, he spoke softer, kinder.

Eventually, John emerged out of the other side of that tunnel and as some of his behavior came back to him he felt the need to apologize.

"I'm sorry for how I behaved...I was-"

"You were grieving Mary. It was your anniversary, I understand."

"Still, there was no cause for me to treat you so badly. None of this was your fault. None of it."

"Nor yours."

"I should have done better."

The expected reply, the platitude, would have been 'You did your best.'

But the expected reply wasn't what John wanted or what he got.

"We all should have done better." Sherlock replied softly. And John realized he hadn't been the only one shouldering a mountain of guilt.

All that he had been holding back would be held no longer and as the dam broke he sobbed aloud before bringing his hand to his mouth.

"John," He said quietly approaching him, covering the distance John hadn't even been aware he'd been keeping him at. "My John." he said. That was all. Just "My John." And the damned tears started to flow. The sofa was behind him and he sat down with a thud, slumping back as it took his weight. Sherlock sat next to him and pulling him into his arms and then his partner, his lover, his love was holding his weight and not the couch. Sherlock lay back, length wise, on the sofa and John went with him, his head against his chest, Sherlock's hand in his hair. He fell asleep to the beat of his heart.

Days had their ups and downs. That didn't change. They still got into arguments, though they tried to keep their voices low when Rosie was about. But they fought, they had rows and disagreements and they debated on the best way to trap a killer and the best preschool for their daughter. Sherlock was Sherlock. Obstinate, stubborn, dismissive, frustrating, oblivious. His work was still his work and he was still just as likely to get lost in it and pull John along with him. But that was what he wanted, what they both wanted. They remained who they were. And everything John feared might change for the worse, didn't. And everything he hoped would change for the better, did.

At some point or another Mycroft dropped by, unannounced. He looked at them, from one to the other before stating; "Well, that certainly took long enough. Where are you registered?"

John laughed and agreed. "You're right, it did."

Sherlock sipped his tea and spoke. "Why have you darkened our door today, Mycroft?"

And life went on.

It felt good to be in love again.

---

The lowest and vilest alleys in London do not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and beautiful countryside."

-The Copper Beeches

"Do we follow him?" John asked. "We could split up, see if we head him off."

"No...he wouldn't dare strike again tonight. He'll resurface tomorrow and that's when we'll make our play."

They'd been tailing an assailant through the city for the better part of the night. Things had been going well until he'd caught wind of them and they taken off after him on foot.

"Home then? Let's find a taxi stand."

"Yes, let's," Sherlock said, grabbing his hand and leading him down a nearby darkened alley. "Right after this." With a gentle push, he has John up against a wall. The kiss is surprising but he doesn't object. Though the hand cupping his crotch wasn't something he could have predicted.

"What are you doing?" He asked in a whisper, the touch of Sherlock's hand coupled with the kiss already having brought him to attention.

"Capitalizing on all that adrenaline. You feel it don't you?"

"Of course I do."

"Well then." He said punctuating the last word by unzipping John's trousers. "I don't think we should let it go to waste."

John's eyes widened as Sherlock dropped to his knees. Once there he pulled John's cock from his pants.

"We could get caught." John said quickly.

"Exactly right."

"People would talk."

"They certainly would. It would be an..." He paused as he started to stroke him. "Enormous scandal." He concluded devilishly.

John laughed at his cheek.

"The dick and the Private Dick?"

"That is a dreadful title. I suggest you find a new one for this particular blog post. Now, I haven't done this before. I'm not above receiving a note or two about my performance. I love a good critique."

With that he let his mouth descend on his shaft and John had to brace himself against the brick wall as his knees started to give.

John glanced a bit frantically down both sides of the alley, they were in the middle, hidden by the darkness from cars that ambled by.

Sherlock had apparently decided not to approach this tentatively and after a few test movements of his lips and tongue he took him as deeply as he could.

John let out a sort of shout at the sensation.

"Fucking hell, Sherlock, that's good."

As he glanced down, his lover glanced up. Those eyes, those nearly indescribable eyes...blue and green and blue with a burst of iridescent fire near the pupil. Even in the darkness, they glowed.

Oh God, and those lips, wrapped so tight, wet and hot around his erection, vanishing, then reappearing then vanishing again and it was good almost too good and then he winked, the cheeky bastard winked and John had to shut his eyes. He let his head thunk back against the wall again his hand going to Sherlock's hair, threading his fingers through the curls then finally giving them a tug.

"Yeah...Sherlock, suck my cock. God, yes, suck my cock."

Emboldened by John's command he started to bob more rapidly up and down pushing him towards the inevitable.

A few soft moans from both of them later John gave his boyfriend a quiet warning.

"Sherlock...love..."

But he was undeterred and in fact John saw the determination in his eyes and by this point it was already far too late.

He came with a broken sort of cry, the sound echoing off the walls as he pumped into Sherlock's mouth. He watched through lidded eyes as his lover's hand worked rapidly just out of view before he too moaned low in his throat. John caresses his face through a few more nearly deepthroated sucks before pulling away and looking up devilishly licking his lips. He quickly tucked John back into his shorts, trousers and then zipped him up before doing the same for himself.

"You've been at the fruit smoothies again." Sherlock said before kissing him again, darting his tongue into his mouth.

"Yes, sometimes before work...been on a bit of a fruit kick I suppose. Plus Mrs. Hudson, I swear she must have gotten in a tonne of mangos and I've been devouring them and...why are you asking me this?"

"Just confirming a theory as to why you taste deliciously sweet. Come, let's head back to Baker Street, eh?"

Sherlock grabbed his hand and started to quite merrily pull him toward the street.

"You just sucked me off in an alley just now." John said incredulously as he was pulled along.

"That I did, my good doctor." he said raising his hand to signal a cab.

"That was...incredible. What got into you...?"

"Thank you and life. Life got into me, John."

The taxi pulled up alongside them and his mate opened the door.

"So, can we do that again sometime?" John asked with a grin as the detective was getting into the car.

"Of course we can." He said peering out and motioning for John to come along. "Just give me a few days to up my intake of fruit. I'll need to pry some mangos from Mrs. Hudson."

---

"I could not wish anything better than to be associated with my friend in one of those singular adventures which were the normal condition of his existence."

-The Man With The Twisted Lip

If anyone had asked John why they had waited so long, the answer might surprise them.

It wasn't fear. It wasn't hesitation. Neither of them had built it up as the last great hurdle. It just oddly hadn't felt necessary. Some couples, as he had been surprised to discover through research, never went 'all the way', as it were. This wasn't the route he intended to go and Sherlock hadn't seemed as though he were leaning toward that either. But their time together and more pointedly their time in bed together was so utterly satisfying they hadn't felt the need.

"You're giving me a weekend." John said in a voice that brooked no refusal.

"Am I?" Sherlock asked busy on his mobile. "What does that mean?"

"It means, unless it's a matter of life or death, we're working up until exactly 7PM on Friday and then everything gets shut off. Mobile. Internet. Everything. No callers. No clients, again, unless it's a matter of life or death. We pack Rosie off and see if Molly or Janine will be gracious enough to take her. Then you and I spend a weekend here at Baker Street, just the two of us. We even put a do-not-disturb sign on the door to ward off Mrs. Hudson. How does that sound?"

John expected an argument and waited with his arms crossed.

"We should set down some rules of what constitutes life or death." Sherlock replied after a moment.

Well, that was a better reply than he'd been expecting.

"Mmmm, no, not necessary as it couldn't be more self-explanatory. Not to mention it's usually the first thing clients say. 'Mr. Holmes, you have to help me. It's a matter of life or death.' "

"And what, pray tell, shall we be doing?" He asked finally meeting John's eyes, the mischievous glint obvious.

"I have a few things in mind. And trust me, your body will be so busy your mind won't have a chance to be bored."

"I accept your terms." He replied simply. "And I look forward to it. For the first time ever, Baker Street is shutting down."

---

"I was already asleep when I was partly awakened by his entrance. "Well, Holmes," I murmured, "have you found anything out?" He stood beside me in silence, his candle in his hand. Then the tall, lean figure inclined towards me. "I say, Watson," he whispered, "would you be afraid to sleep in the same room with a lunatic, a man with softening of the brain, an idiot whose mind has lost its grip?" "Not in the least," I answered in astonishment. "Ah, that's lucky," he said, and not another word would he utter that night."

― The Valley Of Fear

The first part of the weekend was very romantic at all. They spent most of it finally moving all of John's things into Sherlock's bedroom. John's old bedroom would now exclusively be Rosie's. It took hours to get everything settled but once it was done it felt like another wonderful success. He'd been spending every night in here anyway and Rosie, having developed a little independent streak didn't seem to care for the odd night or two he did spend in his old room. Now what was once Sherlock's bed was their bed. Their room. Their nightstand. Their cupboard. Theirs.

They both also decided that if it was to be Rosie's room, it should look like it. Gone were the neutral colors replaced by the brightness a child's space should have. It was actually Sherlock who suggested they make a run to a hardware store and they arrived back with paint, brushes, tarps and even a few stencils.

They finished sometime early in the morning, falling asleep in their bed more than a bit exhausted.

The next day was, unsurprisingly interrupted by a matter that was indeed, life or death. It started early with a frantic knock on their door. They spent little time in the early morning or afternoon together for that matter. Sherlock stayed in the flat while John handled reconnaissance all over London. But the upside of an early start was a surprisingly early finish, a solved case, a brief write up, a waiting blog idea and the two of them back together about half past 4 PM.

After a late, light lunch or early dinner, Baker Street was again closed to new business. They found themselves on the sofa again, it was often where they liked to get the preliminaries going. Sherlock was kissing his neck, that purple shirt of his that John loved seeing on him was more than a few buttons undone.

"I am so grateful for all my mental preparations and exercises in the years." He said, that baritone sending shivers down John's spine.

"What's that?" He asked trying and failing to focus on his words.

"Had I not been so diligent in my pursuit of compartmentalization of thought and deduction and want, my desire for you would have driven me to distraction. Especially if I decided to dwell too long on those little 'Ahh Ahh Ahh' noises before you come."

"Are you saying I'm like a drug to you?" He said with a soft chuckle as Sherlock slid his hand beneath his shirt.

"That is precisely what I'm saying. But that is just one facet of how I feel about you. However," He began pulling his lips away. "It does bring me to an important point."

John groaned as he pulled away.

"Yeah, I believe we were headed towards that important point."

"This is a different one, John. Now, down to business."

"Business?"

"Yes, I made several preparations. I went to the store and purchased condoms, lubrication, and a Fleet enema which I have already employed." He turned and pulled out a few sheets of paper. "I also have here blood tests from 6 months ago, 3 months ago and yesterday. I'm STD, STI and HIV free. In addition to this I have the results of two recent 10 Panel drug tests which show I have no cocaine, marijuana, meth or heroin in my system. I am, in every way possible, clean."

John listened to all of this a bit opened mouth. Enema's and drug tests weren't the sexiest things on the book. But on the other hand, he was truly touched. His boyfriend had gone through more than a bit of effort to make a statement here as well as a declaration.

"Well, as it turns out I can match you item for item with everything except the drug test. I'm free and clear, myself. Thank you for doing all that, Sherlock."

"You deserve to feel comfortable and given my past, you might have been wise to worry. I hope that now you won't." He replied matter-of-factly.

"I won't."

"Good. So...I think we should have sex. I assumed you would want to penetrate or be the top, as I believed it's referred to. However, as you also mentioned the purchase of Fleet's I may have misjudged."

"I'm actually good either way." Though he felt nervous voicing that it was nonetheless true. His fantasies included just as many scenarios with Sherlock behind him, inside him, thrusting until he was a sweaty, quivering, happy mess. "I want to try both, so, no rush."

"Well then," he said, tossing the papers aside. "If I may make a request. You top." He said making sure to pop the 'P' at the end.

"Yeah?" John asked growing more excited by the minutes.

"Oh yes."

"Let's get to bed then."

Fifteen minutes later Sherlock was flat on the bed, John between his legs with as much of his cock in his mouth as he could fit.

"John, bloody hell, please...please..."

He loved it when Sherlock begged and his 'sexual awakening' had brought forth a lot of great bits of info. He always begged when he was close to coming. When Rosie wasn't around he was actually deliciously vocal and downright demanding.

The first time they'd done this, John had been tentative. Since he was a teenager he'd spent a decade or two perfecting his cunnilingus skills and he'd yet to receive any complaints. In fact, Mary had frequently requested it and he was all too happy to oblige. He loved it; the taste, the scent, the sounds it elicited from them all, especially his wife.

This had been a whole different situation.

They had been on the couch, as usual, and also as usual, they were absolutely at it. It had been his idea, staring into those starburst, nebula eyes of Sherlock's when he'd said; "I'd like to try something."

A moment later he was down on his knees and unzipping his boyfriend's trousers. Sherlock raised up a bit so John could slip both the trousers and his pants down. He was hard and ready and as the detective opened his legs wider John moved between them.

"I'm not sure how to..." He cleared his throat and gestured towards Sherlock's erection. "Idiotic since I volunteered."

"I'm sure you'll endeavor to do your best." His boyfriend spoke trying to sound casual and failing. "Unless you don't want to?"

"No, no I want too." And he did. Every part of his body was thrumming for this next experience. But a part of him was having experience overload. There'd been a brief time during his stint at St. Bart's where he's taken up partying to let off some steam. Nothing major but a ridiculous adjustment for him nonetheless. He'd fallen a bit behind in classes and had to cram like he'd never crammed before. It all worked out in the end but he was having those feelings again. The feeling of trying to learn everything he should have learned, experimented with and tried ages ago in a compressed period of time. He felt foolish and worried he'd make a mistake.

So many firsts.

So John sat there, on his knees, hoping it hadn't actually been as long as it had felt, with Sherlock straight and hard before him.

"Feels a bit like the obelisk scene in 2001 A Space Odyssey." He'd said suddenly.

It was met with silence and then a burst of laughter from Sherlock. Great, rollicking laughter that surprised John who soon joined in. He was shocked his mate even knew the reference. But he clearly did and they both giggled like boys at the joke.

As they settled Sherlock extended a hand and brushed his cheek with his knuckles smiling softly.

That and the laughter broke the tension and the ice and John wrapped a hand around his lover's cock and started a corkscrew stroking movement. Sherlock settled back with a groan and after a minute or so John drew closer and extended his tongue. He'd started with just a simple lick, a broad stripe from knackers to tip.

Sherlock's breath had caught in his throat audibly and John figured he was on the right track. In for a penny in for a pound he'd given the tip of Sherlock's cock a swipe with his tongue, tasting the saltiness of the precum there. It was different but not in the least unpleasant and in fact, it spurred him on. He'd placed his lips delicately around the head and bobbed slightly. A moment or two later, invigorated and highly turned on he'd let his mouth fully descend on his member taking more and more of him.

"Teeth, John, teeth." Sherlock had spoken in a rush at one point and he'd immediately adjusted his method.

"Sorry." He'd mumbled around the shaft in his mouth. Sherlock had nodded and threaded his fingers through his hair.

At one point he'd gone a bit too deep, gagged but rebounded quickly, doing everything to his boyfriend he'd like done to him. Sherlock had been close, just there on the edge. He'd begged him; "Please..." and then a moment later a warning; "John, I'm going to..."

But John didn't pull back, wanting to experience it fully. A moment later Sherlock had flooded his mouth. The taste was nothing he'd ever experienced before salty, a bit bleachy, maybe with a hint of lemon? Not at all unpleasant. In fact, he'd liked it. Once he'd gotten his bearings he'd enjoyed the entire experience. Just something to get used to. And at that moment with Sherlock gazing down at him dreamy, flushed, satisfied and afterglow-y he had vowed to get used to it.

That was when he first heard it, "Please". He knew what it meant then and he knew what it meant now. So he pulled his mouth off him for a bit replacing it with his hand. He moved his lips to his balls, licking and sucking them lightly which shot the detective's voice up an octave or three. Every inch of Sherlock tasted delicious and he couldn't decide where to go next. He moved lower, swiping his tongue along his perineum before rather gracefully returning to his cock just in time for him to come in his mouth. He sucked and licked as his boyfriend coated his tongue, thick and sweet. Sherlock had a handful of bedsheets in each fist and was writhing ever so slightly on the mattress.

As he settled John crawled back up his body, kissing a path.

"Was that as good as it sounded?"

"You know it was amazing. You just want to be praised which I am more than happy to do. That was amazing, John."

John kissed him deeply, grinding against lover. "I want to be inside you, Sherlock."

"What position do you want me in?"

"Just like this, so I can see your face the whole time. I don't want to miss a moment."

His boyfriend nodded and reached for the bottle of lube handing it to John.

Unlike the first time when he'd thought Sherlock was inviting him to bed, John had done his research. And considering what he'd learned in the interim he was horrified at how confident he'd been back then. It would have been a 'd studied the best positions, the best angles, the best lube, the best condoms. Academically, he felt pretty prepared but emotionally he was starting to waver. He wanted this desperately, wanted to be with him but it was going to hurt, and there was no way around it.

But now, he'd studied the best positions, the best angles, the best lube, the best condoms. Academically, he felt pretty prepared but emotionally he was starting to waver. He wanted this desperately, wanted to be with him but it was going to hurt, and there was no way around it.

Sherlock must have seen him falter.

"John...I know. I'm ready and I know. You'll be as gentle as you can." He said and gave him that smile that successfully melted so much indecision away.

John smiled shyly in return and cleared his throat, overwhelmed with the amount of love he felt for this man.

For better access, he moved off to the side of the detective's body and brought his hand down just below Sherlock's balls. He'd played with this area briefly with his tongue moments before and now he wanted to give it more focused attention. On the other side of the perineum was the prostate and a good amount attention here would likely go along way. Sherlock sighed and settled more into the bed and John smiled at the sounds and the resulting twitch of his partners cock. After spending a handful of minutes just massaging and listening to his lover's satisfied little noises he removed his hand and began to drizzle the lube on his pointer and middle finger.

"It won't do to start without getting you used to the sensation." He said maintaining eye contact while moving his hand between Sherlock's legs. He sought out and found his hole and began rubbing in small, soft circles increasing the pressure every few go rounds. His boyfriend was breathing slowly, his eyelids growing heavy.

"Hey, now's not the time to escape. Open your eyes. Stay with me." He said moving to kiss him again. As their lips touched he slowly inched a finger inside him, a few degrees at a time. He was met with resistance and a small little Mmmph sound but no calls for him to pause. He moved his digit in and out with a leisurely rhythm and was just about to tell Sherlock to touch himself when he saw his hand go in that direction anyway.

"Ok?" John asked.

"Ok." He nodded.

He took his time. They took their time. There was no need or call to rush.

"Ready for another?" He asked after a bit.

"Please."

With more care than before John started to slowly slip another finger inside him. This time there was a wince of pain and he felt those muscle clamp down

"I know, it's to make it a bit easier in the long run. We need to stretch you out just a bit. Get you accustomed to the sensation. And you're going to need to breathe through this, mate."

Sherlock nodded, exhaled a great gust of air and swallowed. The tightness around John's fingers eased and he pressed further inside. When he was inside him up to his first knuckle he rested, allowing him to get used to the feeling. Glancing down John saw, to his relief, that Sherlock was again fully erect.

Pressing in a bit farther and curling his finger upwards he found it. As a doctor, he'd located his fair share of prostates for exams but this was certainly the first time in this particular situation. The reaction wasn't exactly immediate but he watched that cessation of breath again. This time Sherlock hadn't stopped breathing because of pain, quite the opposite. John watched as the tension left his face then his body as a whole, his legs fell a bit more loosely open and with each rub and press with the pad of his finger started to moan softly. Precum pooled on the tip of his cock before drizzling down the shaft making the movements of Sherlock's hand that much slicker.

If his hands hadn't been so busy, one with fingers inside his boyfriend and the other making gentle scratch marks on his scalp. And if his mind hadn't been so occupied drinking in every moment of Sherlock's pleasure he might have been able to give some attention to his own cock, rock hard and just this side of painful. But there'd be time for that later.

He was open to him now, relaxed and seemingly ready and though John hated to break the mood it appeared as though it was time. He slowly removed his fingers earning a little sound of frustration from Sherlock before he grasped what was next. John bridged his body over him before remembering the condoms and sitting up to reach for them.

"John...considering the test results...could we forgo them?"

He thought for a moment before tossing the box aside.

"Consider them forgone."

Sherlock smiled and John positioned himself just outside of his boyfriend's entrance.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

Cock in hand he popped the bottle open again, drizzling the lube over his erection. Slowly he started to push inside.

He wasn't sure how even this could feel miraculous but it did and he wasn't even fully in yet. He wanted to plunge inside but he wouldn't dream of it. He took his time especially as he met with the same resistance again.

John paused, giving Sherlock a moment to breathe and relax. He watched his face, watched it shift, the brow furrow, the lips press together. He leaned forward to kiss those lips, hoping to remind him of the pleasure to come, the intimacy.

"More, John. Don't stop."

"Breathe for me first." His boyfriend took a deep, settling breath and John pressed in a bit more.

He felt wonderful, hot and tight, so bloody tight. But more than that was gazing down and seeing Sherlock gazing up, his lips parted, his eyes clear and bright and so loving. He knew all of Sherlock's looks, amused, bemused, irritated, cold, friendly, proud. But he was still getting accustomed to loving.

They could be closer now and kissed passionately, eagerly and John felt his lover's hand creep up to his hair.

"Good?" John asked. He had noted that they were speaking in shorter, briefer sentences now.

"So good." He practically purred and John chuckled. "But..." He began his hands starting on his back then moving slowly down to his arse. "It could be better."

With gentle pressure he brought John closer, deeper until he was fully sheathed inside him.

"Sh-Sher-Sherlock...my God..." He groaned and his lover matched him tone and groan.

"Just there, John, just there."

Sherlock's warm thighs on either side of him, Sherlock's hips tilted up towards him, Sherlock's body beneath his, Sherlock's cock pressed firm and hard between them. It was heavenly.

Finally feeling they were ready he started to thrust, shallow at first. They were both breathing heavily, almost in unison. John kept switching his perspective focusing on what he was feeling but then losing himself in Sherlock's ever changing features wondering what he was feeling as well. All that remained were small twinges, little disruptions to his features and soon they were gone once and for all. No more pain, no more resistance, just bliss.

Sherlock kept a hand on John's arse, the other returned to his hair, mussing it possessively.

Steady rhythm established John turned his attention to Sherlock's neck. It had been one of the first things to draw his eye, and his obsession in those early days. Now he took great pride in claiming it, dotting it with love bites, marking it as his own. He decorated his neck with hickey's like a teenager and didn't feel even the slightest hint of regret at the fact that his boyfriend had to up his scarf collection.

Sherlock was moaning, making the most delicious sounds beneath him and this was different than the ones he was familiar with. These weren't the same sounds he made when he got a blowjob or when he masturbated, this was lower, smokier, deeper, and if possible even more sensual.

John put a hand under Sherlock's arse, wanting him closer, wanting to change the angle and that must have been perfect because he clenched around him as he cried out.

He'd glanced his prostate just right, just so spot on and Sherlock was beginning to come undone. Another thrust at the same angle, the same tightness, the same clenching, the same slick heat and John too started to unravel. He thrust a bit harder, upping his rhythm pulling his lips away from Sherlock's neck to share a kiss.

They reached their crescendo swiftly and together, John breathily calling Sherlock's name, Sherlock replying in kind, his voice cracking with a final, broken, vocal "John..."

He came inside him, hips still working erratically as wave after orgasmic wave broke against them both. He felt a pool of sticky warmth from Sherlock's cock coat both their bellies.

He didn't want to move and Sherlock seemed in no hurry to separate, so they didn't. They just stared at one another, dreamy smiles and afterglow and soft, sweet kisses.

"Well done, you." Sherlock said appreciatively.

"Well done, you." John replied and then paused. "I love you, Sherlock."

"As I love you."

---

His gently smiling face and his languid, dreamy eyes were as unlike those of Holmes the sleuth-hound, Holmes the relentless, keen-witted, ready-handed criminal agent, as it was possible to conceive. In his singular character the dual nature alternately asserted itself, and his extreme exactness and astuteness represented, as I have often thought, the reaction against the poetic and contemplative mood which occasionally predominated in him.

- The Red-Headed League

After they separated, after a bit of cleaning, a change of bedding and a quick snog-shower they were back under the blankets. Sherlock running his fingers through John's damp hair. It was relaxing and kept him just on that dreamy edge of sleep and awake. A tightrope walk of happy.

Still there were a few demons left between them a few dark thoughts that always threatened to intrude on these moments of joy.

"When you died...when I thought you died a part of me went with you. I think that was when I knew for sure. Sometimes you give your heart to people without even knowing it. But sometimes it's an irregular dissection. You give them too big a piece and when they go, they've got more of you than you do. You have so much of me. Sherlock. You always have and all I want to do is give you more."

"Mmmhmm." Sherlock said in reply, gently encouraging him to continue.

"These things...saying these things to you, in real time, it's so hard. Or it was. It was so hard to unknot my tongue. I worried, even in my fantasies I worried about people getting the wrong idea. How can you be a homophobe when it comes to yourself?"

"You'd be surprised." Sherlock replied but didn't elaborate.

"What is 'the wrong idea' in the face of death? Nonsense is what it is. "

There was a lapse into silence for both of them, soft and relaxing.

"Since we're laying secrets bare...I didn't need a flatmate." Sherlock said after awhile.

"What?"

"It was part of an experiment. To see if I could live with another person without driving them mad or them driving me mad. I brought it up to Mike thinking he might agree to it. I thought I could tolerate him. But he wisely passed and then happened to run into you. Quite fortuitous."

"Are you telling me you never needed to share this flat?" John asked incredulously.

There was movement as Sherlock shifted in bed. He reached for his phone and started entering information. The next thing John knew he was staring at his boyfriend's bank account balance. He looked at the number, blinked and looked again.

"Jesus, Sherlock. If you have that kind of money why am I always buying the groceries."

"I tend to forget it's there."

"That is more zeroes than I thought you'd have."

"How posh of a boy would I be if I didn't have the capital to back it up?" He asked with amusement. "I just thought it might help with my work, someone intelligent, like minded, to bounce ideas off of, clear the cobwebs. And then there you were."

"There I was." John said and they shared a kiss. "I guess I'm pretty lucky I happened to be out and about that day."

"I feel pretty lucky that Mike, unlike you, had the good sense to turn me down."

---

There can be no question, my dear Watson, of the value of exercise before breakfast.

- The Adventure Of Black Peter

At some point, he wasn't sure when he drifted off to sleep. He awakened in the most pleasant fashion with Sherlock spooned behind him, kissing his shoulders and the back of his neck. The sun was just on verge of considering to rise outside their window.

"Oh, did I wake you?" Sherlock asked not sounding the least bit apologetic.

"You did, indeed. I wonder what on earth you could want. Hungry?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Look who's using filthy euphemisms." John felt the unmistakable sensation of Sherlock's erection poking at him.

"Can we have another go, John?" Sherlock asked and his voice was filled with such soft sincerity, so free of cheek or wit that John had to pause to swallow over the lump in his throat.

"Please, yes, please. This time you top." Sherlock kissed his shoulder and he heard the sound of the lube popping open. "And I like this position. Can we do it like this?"

"Of course we can."

It went much the same as things had gone for though John was more critical on his own performance. The finger and then fingers inside him felt alien. When he wanted to relax he tensed but Sherlock was the picture of patience. Always there was that smooth, deep voice in his ear, encouraging, kind.

When he was slick, relaxed as as ready as he was going to be Sherlock put his hand on his hip.

"My John, my perfect John."

"I want you, Sherlock...please..." He shifted his position pressing back against his boyfriend.

The lube made it's final appearance and his boyfriend parted his cheeks, the head of his cock pressed tight against his entrance.

"Slowslowslowslow." John said softly in a rush.

"Trust me, love." He said kissing his shoulder. "Trust me, darling."

Sherlock wasn't one for endearments and it always surprised John when his boyfriend used such affectionate, intimate language. He also couldn't get enough of it.

It hurt, there was no getting around that. The head was the worst of it. But once he was inside of him enough to no longer need to guide with his hand his palm found John's cock. His hand movements were slow, loose, just this side of unsatisfying but they were matched with his boyfriend slowly forging forward.

With each relaxing inhale and exhale the tension left his body until finally Sherlock was fully inside him.

The detective was all gentle, breathy sighs tickling his ear which were matched by John's shuddered moans. The connection, being linked to Sherlock yet again, was powerful and overwhelming and he wanted to stay this close forever.

"Can I move inside you, John?" He asked and his voice raised goose pimples on John's skin.

"Oh God, yes."

His boyfriend started to thrust and it all felt so full and tight and so bloody fucking good.

"Christ, you're big..."

Sherlock chuckled softly. "Mmmm so full of compliments."

His hips met John's arse in slow, long, movements. It wasn't fucking. Not that there was anything wrong with fucking, in fact he looked forward to many bracing fucks between them but not right now. This was softer, more sensual and he hoped he'd given Sherlock the same experience.

When Sherlock hit his prostate John moaned loud enough that in retrospect he worried Mrs. Hudson had heard. But in the moment he didn't care. He shot his hand backwards, grabbing hold of his lover's arse just to hold him there, still him, to preserve that feeling because God God nothing had ever felt that good.

But Sherlock wouldn't be bossed about and instead gently removed John's hand and placed it back where it had been, clutching the blankets. He returned his attention to his lover's cock. Angling his hips Sherlock made certain to come in contact with his prostate again and again until John was begging him, clenching around him pleading for faster, harder, deeper, tighter until his body went rigid as he came.

Sherlock was fast behind, coming inside him moaning against John's shoulder.

He was panting like an athlete when it was over, his hairline damp with sweat, his body extra sensitive and receptive to touch. Sherlock was kissing him, his neck, his shoulder, his ear, finally taking his chin and turning his head to kiss his lips.

By and by, he pulled out of him and though it felt a bit like a loss, Sherlock didn't let him go or move away. If anything he held him tighter.

"I love you, John Watson."

"I love you, Sherlock Holmes."

Beyond that there was no desire or need to speak. Nothing needed to be said. All was as it should be. And as the sun was rising they both drifted back off to sleep.

---

"Cut out the poetry, Watson."

-The Adventure of the Retired Colourman

"That teacher is an idiot."

"Sherlock, while I may agree with you, perhaps the parent luncheon was not the proper time for you to start giving a lecture on the solar system. Not to mention I thought you deleted all that."

"I re-learned it. And she's an idiot. Everything she tells Rosie we'll have to erase. She actually said you can't see the moon in the daytime. She spoke those words."

"I was there, I heard her."

Sherlock strode over to the window and John watched with amusement as he threw open the curtain.

"Here it is, three in the afternoon and Good heavens, what's that? It's the moon!"

"The moon!" Rosie repeated.

"Quite right, dear." He said smiling at her before turning his attention back to John. "We should homeschool."

"We are not homeschooling her."

"Rosie," He said kneeling down. "How would like to stay home with Daddy and Papa all day and learn with us?"

"Yay!" Rosie replied throwing her arm around his neck.

"See, she loves the idea."

"Well of course she does but it's not going to happen. She is going to go to school and have a normal childhood."

"I want to stay." Their daughter responded with a pout.

"I just want the absolute best for her. She's brilliant, she's lovely and clever and quick, she makes me laugh, she makes me think. She has all your best qualities. She's this complicated little amalgamation of Mary and you. She deserves the best."

John was touched, touched that he saw him in Rosie and touched that he never, ever forgot about Mary. It meant a lot. It meant everything.

"And she'll have it." John assured him.

"We should start charging more. To the clients who can afford it, I mean."

"Since when do you care about money?"

"University is expensive."

John smiled at this unbridled enthusiasm. He was always this way after some sort of school function. Fuming at the faculty and then brimming with ideas.

"We can talk about this later. Alright, I'm going to market, anything we need?"

"Ice cream!" Piped up Rosie.

"Public school, when she's older." Sherlock said, still not having moved on to the current conversation."

"No, no public school." John said with a shake of his head as he kissed their daughter goodbye.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not going to have her turn out to be a weird little ponce like you." He said affectionately. "No offense, of course."

"No, none taken." He said with a smile indicating he would save his best comeback for out of Rosie's earshot.

"Now, what can I get you at the store?"

"Rubbing alcohol." Sherlock replied. "It's for an experiment oh and a pillory."

"Yeah, they're not going to have a pillory at Budgens."

"Alright then, well just rubbing alcohol and ice cream." He said giving Rosie a wink.

"It's not fair when you two team up against me." He approached his husband leaning in for a kiss.

"You've got that look in your eye again." Sherlock said.

"What look?"

"The saccharine one that says everything is poetry and perfect." He only seemed aloof if you didn't know him and John knew him far too well now. He saw the pleased tug at the corner of his lips threatening a smile. "Really, John, there was a time when you keep at least one foot on the ground."

"Says the drama queen who jumped off a building to save me once. How's that for romantic gestures?" He snarked as he grabbed his keys.

"You jumped off a building?" Rosie said incredulously.

"Have fun with that." John said as he headed towards the door.

As he left he heard Sherlock speaking to their daughter.

"Never mind that, that's a boring story. Now, what's the word of the day, dear? Do you remember?"

"Ummm...cadaver!"

"Cadaver! That's right, you are brilliant. Just like your dad. From the Latin...?"

"Cadere!"

"Perfect! You're almost ready to help Daddy and I with a case. In fact, let's-"

"No pictures, Sherlock." John called out warningly as he stepped out of the door.

"Of course not. What do you think I am, a sociopath?"

John smiled.

He was, indeed, getting more saccharine by the day,

But then again, everything was poetry and perfect.

---

A/N The incident with Rosie's teacher is based on a silly little something that happened to me in kindergarten. I had a teacher who told me, straight-faced that you couldn't ever see the moon in the daylight. That is was literally impossible, even though I'd just seen it on the drive to class. It left me baffled at the time

Ok, so that's all. Hope you liked it. I've been a Sherlock kick lately and can't seem to get them out of my head.