Author Notes: This chapter is the reason for the mature rating, so if you don't like to read sex scenes, this chapter isn't for you. Everyone else: Enjoy! :)

Trigger Warning: The sex part in this chapter is detailed and although I have given my utmost best to write it in a non-triggering way, I know that everyone is different, so read with care, if you think something might trigger you.

Recovery

"John! John! JOHN!"

With a sigh, John put the washed dishes in the cupboard and dried his hands, before he ventured outside in the living-room. Sherlock was lying on his back on the couch - just like John had left him half an hour ago - and bore an annoyed expression on his face.

"What is it?" John asked, although he was relatively sure what the answer to this question would be. After all, they had been playing this game for three days by now and it was starting to grain on John's nerves. As if Sherlock had read his mind - and sometimes, John believed that he did - he muttered: "I'm bored."

John's eyes flickered to the mess on the floor - artistically draped around the couch - where case files, newspapers and scientific magazines turned the living-room into a battlefield. John had really hoped that the cold cases from Greg - John had begged for them - would keep Sherlock occupied for a little longer. At least, one more day, without too many complaints would have been nice, but John wasn't surprised that his luck hadn't held this long. After all, he was talking about Sherlock here. A man, who shot holes in the wall, when he was bored. Thankfully, the gun was safely tucked away in John's room. Usually, the drawer of his nightstand wouldn't be a great hiding place, when it came to Sherlock, but since his friend - No, boyfriend, John reminded himself with an inward smile - couldn't rush up the stairs for the time being, John's gun was saver than it had ever been.

And that brought John back to the problem at hand. His gun might be save, because Sherlock wasn't in any condition to rush upstairs and get his hands on it, but that didn't mean that John's sanity was as lucky. Three days of being stuck with an injured genius were almost worse than the one time, John and his men had been closed in on by the Taliban. At least then, John had only been worried about getting killed, but he was certain that Sherlock could come up with much more horrifying ideas, if his mind didn't get anything to work on.

"Have you already solved all the cold cases?" John sat down in his armchair - which had been brought closer to the couch, days ago - and prayed that Sherlock was in the mood to tell him all about his conclusions, so that he would be busy for the next hour. One hour, in which John didn't have to worry about ill advised attempts at wandering through the flat and - in the worst case scenario - tearing the stitches. Obviously though, today wasn't John`s lucky day, when Sherlock merely sneered at the folders on the floor and then directed his glare at John. "I solved three out of four cases and I already texted my conclusions to Lestrade." A small smile passed over John's face. Only Sherlock was able to solve three complicated cases in under an hour. Okay, maybe Mycroft would be able to perform this miracle as well, but John didn't have any interest in the elder Holmes' brother.

"That's fantastic! Maybe, you can retreat to your Mind Palace and solve the fourth case before dinner." The moment the words left John's mouth, he knew that he had said something wrong, when Sherlock's eyes darkened and he sent John a accusatory look. "I would have solved this case already, if I were allowed to conclude an experiment about the decay rate of a human skull in concentrated hydrochloric acid, while supplying sulfur to the mixture in intervals of..."

"No," John shook his head in horror, when he imagined the smell in their flat after such an experiment. "Definitely not!"

Sherlock huffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. Usually, Sherlock would have turned his back to John, but his leg appeared to pain him in any position that included bending his knee. One more reason, why John didn't want Sherlock to conclude experiments for hours, as John was certain that the brilliant genius would block out any distraction - pain in this case - and set back his recovery for days.

"See, I'm not even allowed to do something fun! How am I supposed to survive the next few days, when I'm restricted to lying around on the couch. I can already feel my mind rotting!" The effect of Sherlock's harsh words were lost, when he pursed his lips like a small child and John had to stop himself from giggling at the sight. It wouldn't have gone over well, if he started laughing at Sherlock. Instead, he rolled his eyes and picked up one of the scientific magazines from the floor. "I thought you would think it fun to write down scathing remarks about the incompetence of your colleagues?"

That only earned John another sneer. "They aren't my colleagues. They are merely less dim witted people than the rest of the population, although I'm sure that a trained ape would gain better results than they did. Hell, even you could gain..."

"Sherlock!" John did his best to sound insulted, although he felt like laughing. Maybe, it wasn't sane to find it amusing when your boyfriend compared your intellect to that of an ape, when he was pissed with the whole world, but somehow John thought it endearing. Not that he would ever tell Sherlock, but still...

"So, you don't want to read the magazines. Neither are you interested in any of the books and you don't want to watch TV." John ignored Sherlock's disgusted look at the mention of the last activity and continued. "You also can't solve the last case and..."

"I could solve the last case, if you would just let me get up for a few hours!"

John shook his head. "No, we both knew that you won't pay any attention to your leg, as soon as you have started your experiment. You almost tore the stitches, yesterday, when you deemed it a good idea to take a shower without any help and slipped in the bathtub. If you want to run around London again, in a couple of weeks, then..."

"A couple of weeks?!"

John swallowed down a laugh at the horrified expression on Sherlock's face and placed a hand on his wrist to calm him down. "Don't worry, you will be able to walk around and do experiments in a few days, when most of the wound has healed, but you will have to rest your leg for a little longer. At least, if you don't want to risk some kind of permanent damage." Actually, the risk of permanent damage was incredible low, but Sherlock didn't need to know that. The less he did with his leg, the faster he would be recovered and John wouldn't have to put up with his dark moods anymore... at least, not more often than usual.

Sherlock glared at John once more and then sighed dramatically. "I'll have turned into a potato by the end of the week. You don't even want to snog me." The last part was delivered with a slightly hurt look and John knew Sherlock well enough to understand that it wasn't played.

"Sweetheart," he started and delighted in Sherlock's surprised look at the pet name. "It's not that I don't want to snog you. In fact, I would love to snog you senseless, but I don't want to put any pressure on your leg and snogging while sitting up would be rather uncomfortable for both of us."

Sherlock looked a little appeased at that, although not by much and John cursed their shitty timing inwardly. If he had only had the bollocks to confess his feelings to Sherlock sooner, then they could have been snogging - among other things - all day long - as long as no case came up - instead they were limited to brief kisses. Not that John didn't like these as well - and Sherlock hadn't complained either - but he would have really liked to explore other parts of their relationship. They had waited for so long - John suspected that Sherlock had harbored feelings for him for a while as well - and it seemed unfair that they weren't free to enjoy the more physical parts of their newly developed relationship just yet. Still, John had to admit to himself that his frustration about the situation didn't steam from his desire to get laid - although it was part of it - but rather that he wanted to show Sherlock how much he meant to him, in a way that didn't include words.

John sighed and then an idea hit him."I could suck you off," John blurted out, before he had the time to think twice about it.

Sherlock's pout froze on his face and then transformed into a sneer. "Don't mock me, John!" Their eyes clashed and John felt all the color drain from his face, when he noticed the hidden layer of hurt in Sherlock's gaze. Fuck, he should have thought twice before allowing his desire to overrule his mind like this. John could have slapped himself for his obvious lack of tact. Of course, he hadn't forgotten that Sherlock was transgender, but it never was on the forefront of his mind. It was just as much a part of Sherlock as his brilliant mind and his mad experiments. Nothing more and nothing less, but John should have taken into consideration that it would play a role, when it came to physical intimacy. No matter, that he hadn't meant to offend Sherlock with his choice of words, but John should have asked him what terminology he preferred... or what he didn't like. Hell, John scolded himself, they should have had some kind of conversation about it, after their first kiss. Honestly, John hadn't wanted to create a problem where none was and Sherlock hadn't brought it up, but that didn't mean that...

"Firstly you tell me that we can't snog, because I might hold my leg at the wrong angle and now you propose to suck me off, how does this fit together?" John blinked at the outburst as his mind tried to catch up with its meaning. His eyes flickered to Sherlock's face. He didn't look offended, just frustrated and John allowed himself a tiny sigh of relief.

"What if I told you that I have an idea about how we can do that, without endangering the healing process of your leg?" John prayed to every higher power that Sherlock was really only angry with him, because he had thought that John couldn't make good on his offer. Judging by Sherlock's raised eyebrow and the slightly interested gleam in his eyes, today might just be John`s lucky day after all.

"Alright, let's see what you have thought of, but I warn you," Sherlock's eyes narrowed at John, as he propped himself up in a sitting position. "If it includes bondage, I'm out. I'm not fond of being restricted."

John breathed a sigh of relief and pressed an affectionate kiss to Sherlock's forehead, when he got up from his chair. "Don't worry, I'm not really into that either. Just wait here," John added as Sherlock made to get up from the couch. "Mrs. Hudson is out and you shouldn't walk around if it can be avoided."

Sherlock's expression told John that he was deadly curious now as to what John had planned, but John merely winked at his boyfriend and hurried out of the room to gather the necessary items from his bedroom. It only took him three minutes to locate a small stool and a big, fluffy pillow - to fluffy to sleep on it - which he carried down to the sitting room with him. Sherlock's piercing gaze landed on him the second John entered his line of view and John allowed him to make his deductions, while he placed the stool in front of the couch and the pillow on top of it.

"Rather simple," Sherlock announced after a second and leaned back against the cushions. That more than anything told John that Sherlock agreed with his idea and he couldn't hide a pleased smile at the thought that he had come up with a solution, Sherlock hadn't even entertained in the first place. John watched as Sherlock struggled with his pajama bottoms, without getting up from the couch and a laugh fell from his lips, before he could hold it back.

"What?" Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at him, but he appeared more amused than offended at his outburst and John merely shook his head. "It just occurred to me that this is not a typical first time."

At that a bark of laughter erupted from Sherlock and he had to stop in his efforts to take his trousers off as his whole body shook with amusement. "When have we ever done anything typical or normal for that manner? Besides," Sherlock grinned at John and finally managed to wriggle out of his trousers. "This was your idea."

John nodded, unable to reply verbally as he watched Sherlock place one, long leg on the prepared stool and put his other on the floor. Dear God, Sherlock's legs should come with a warning sign. They were all long and pale skin, elegant and strong at the same time and John was faster on his knees - between Sherlock's thighs - than was dignified for a man his age.

"God, you are beautiful," John whispered and stroked the smooth skin of Sherlock's thighs gently. More than beautiful even, John thought, when Sherlock hummed above him. If someone ever asked John about his definition of perfection, his answer would be Sherlock Holmes, because... Bloody hell, if any God had ever thought of placing temptation among mere humans, then he couldn't have done a better job than by creating Sherlock. His alabaster skin stood in perfect contrast to the dark curls between his legs and the small, red head of Sherlock's cock was pure perfection in John`s eyes as well.

Enlarged clitoris, due to, the doctorial part of John's mind started to point out to him, but he pushed it aside. This was Sherlock - his lover, boyfriend, partner and sometimes bane of his existence - and not a scientific project. He didn't need the medical jargon to please his lover, although he needed to know something else.

"Sherlock," John looked up slowly and kept on stroking Sherlock's leg with one hand as he met the gaze of his lover. "Could you tell me what you like... or no, I would like to figure that out myself. But if there is anything you can't stand..."

"Anal penetration of any kind," Sherlock announced without missing a beat, his eyes fixed on John's face. "You can stroke my buttocks or even between them, but don't put anything in my anus, if you don't want this to end quickly."

"Noted." John wouldn't have done that either way without asking first, but it was good to already know of one barrier that shouldn't be crossed. "What about..."

"You can finger and lick my cunt as you like. Yes, John," Sherlock rolled his eyes in exasperation and John almost chuckled at the look, which was usually reserved for Anderson. "I have a cunt and I'm referring to it as such, although it's not usual part of the male anatomy. And no, I don't have any problem with its existence and I enjoy the pleasure I can gain from any kind of attention you chose to pay to it."

John was aware of the huge smile that stretched his lips almost painfully, after Sherlock had finished his little speech. He hadn't been overly worried that the state of Sherlock's genitals would get in the way of the physical parts of their relationship, but he liked that Sherlock was so confident with his body. No, scratch that! John didn't only like it, he was deliriously happy that Sherlock was content - obviously more than content - with his body, because he would have hated to see his boyfriend's usual confidence crumple, while in bed with John. Of course, in this case, John would have made sure that Sherlock knew just how beautiful he was, but John liked this reality much better.

"You are walking perfection," John whispered in awe and then he didn't give Sherlock a chance to protest as he lowered his mouth to the tip of Sherlock's cock. A throaty moan echoed from above and John grinned and placed a wet kiss on the needy flesh, before sucking on it carefully. The sounds that emerged from Sherlock were beautiful and John only regretted that he couldn't watch him the whole time without getting a crack in his neck, from the position between his legs.

Next time, he reassured himself and then parted Sherlock's public hair for better access. The musky scent that hit his nostrils, made John's mouth water in anticipation as warmth started to pool between his legs. He ignored the throbbing in his own pants for now - this was foremost about Sherlock - and licked a long stride from Sherlock's cunt to his cock and back again.

"Ah... John!"

Fingers gripped at his hair and John almost lost his balance at the sudden action - although it should have been expected. He only managed not to fall - and how embarrassing would that have been - by bracing himself on Sherlock's good leg with one hand. Still, John didn't try to break free from his lover's grip as he circled his lover's hole with his tongue. He rather enjoyed the weight of Sherlock's hand on his head and how his fingers tightened in John's hair, whenever he used his tongue in an especially wicked way. Not that Sherlock's groans and moans weren't telling enough, but John had always enjoyed to feel how well he pleasured his lovers.

John pushed the tip of his tongue into his lover's hole and tasted the sweet and earthy liquid that was so uniquely Sherlock and spoke of how aroused he was - all thanks to John. Heat coiled low in John's abdomen as he tore a broken groan from Sherlock's lips, when he pushed deeper into him and rubbed his lover's cock with his fingers at the same time. John spread his knees wider to ease some of the pressure on his painfully erect cock - he should have taken his jeans off - and then focused his whole attention back on Sherlock. John could tell from the way his lover pushed back against him that Sherlock was already close. Very close, if the increase of pre-come that wet John's tongue was any indicator.

"Please... John..." Sherlock squirmed on the couch and John hummed in encouragement, unwilling to lose contact with his lover for even a second. "Your fingers... in me and... your tongue... Oh Yesss!"

John happily switched the position of his tongue with his hand, which earned him a throaty scream as he pushed two of his fingers into his lover's willing hole. A dozen sucks and thrusts later and Sherlock tumbled over the edge.. John was certain that he had never seen something more beautiful than Sherlock as he gave himself over to his pleasure: Upper body flushed with heat. Head thrown to the side to reveal his pale neck. Lips opened in an endless scream. And eyes... Dear Lord, these all-seeing eyes were fixed on John as if he was the center of Sherlock's universe.

John had to press his free hand to his crotch to prevent himself from coming into his trousers, while he barely managed to stroke Sherlock through his orgasm and its aftershocks. Somehow, John managed not to embarrass himself as he withdrew his fingers from within Sherlock and sat back down on his heels. It had been fantastic, but... if John didn't get any kind of release quickly, he would go mad. He rubbed his cheek against Sherlock's thigh, while he unzipped his jeans and freed his cock from its prison. Pre-cum was already leaking freely from its head and John knew himself well enough to understand that it wouldn't take him longer than a minute to finish. He closed his hand around his shaft and gave it a quick and hard stroke. A moan fell from his lips at the exquisite pleasure that bordered on pain and brought him even closer to his own climax.

"John." Sherlock's voice sounded urgent and John looked up to meet the intensive gaze of his lover. "Get up!"

For a second, John wanted to protest against the order. He was perfectly fine on the floor, surrounded by Sherlock's scent and his lover's taste still on his lips, but in the end he complied Sherlock's wish like he did most of the time. As soon as John had gotten to his feet, Sherlock's next command made it clear, what he had in mind for John. "Brace your hands on the wall behind me! One on each side of my head!"

"Oh yes!" A harsh breath was torn from John's lips as he obliged the command and looked down at his cock, which was barely an inch away from Sherlock's face in this position.

"Perfect," Sherlock purred and John gasped as wet heat enfolded the head of his hard length. God, if Sherlock needed to come with a warn sign, then he also needed a license for his tongue, because... Hell, John couldn't remember a time when someone had driven him out of his mind with nothing more than a hand around his shaft and lips on the head of his cock. Sherlock gave John one more lick and then looked up at him, their eyes locked in a heated embrace as he mouthed words around John's cock "All over my face. I want you to come all over my face."

A shudder of pure lust ran through John's body, when the words registered in his mind and he had to brace himself harder against the wall to stop himself from toppling over, when Sherlock sucked eagerly at his cock.

"John," Sherlock's tongue teased the head of his throbbing erection. "Come. Now!"

One look in Sherlock's eager face and John obeyed. His whole body shook with the force of his orgasm as wave after wave of pure pleasure ribbed through him. His semen spurted between them and painted Sherlock's face in milky streaks. Mine, John thought possessively as he watched a drop of come ran down Sherlock's nose and fell on his upper lip. A curious tongue darted out to lick it off and John thought that he could have come again from that image alone, if he hadn't felt so utterly drained from his last orgasm.

"You should take sugar in your tea," Sherlock muttered and John couldn't help himself, he laughed. This statement was so typical Sherlock. Fitting and unfitting in this situation all at once and John almost collapsed on top of his lover, before he remembered Sherlock's injury and managed to fell ungracefully on the couch next to him.

"I don't see what's so funny," Sherlock announced in his most aloof voice, while John clung to his lover's side as another wave of giggles pushed past his lips.

"It's only," John managed and then looked up in Sherlock's twinkling eyes and his semen smeared face and he started laughing again. Sherlock's baritone laughter joined John's high pitched giggles a second later.

They were both still panting, when they recovered enough for John to get up and get them a flannel to clean up the mess they had made. John helped Sherlock back into his pajama bottoms and then sat down on the couch himself with the head of his lover bedded on his thigh.

"Are you still bored?" John whispered as he carded his hands through Sherlock's messy curls.

"Mhm. No, not now," Sherlock murmured after a while and rubbed his cheek against John's bare - the jeans was in the laundry basket - thigh. "But if you could come up with something else in twenty minutes..."

"Twenty minutes?! I'm not that young anymore, Sherlock. Not everyone here has the refractory period of a twenty year old."

"A shame," Sherlock complained quietly, but without much heat and John took it to mean that he was forgiven any inadequacies of his body as they both enjoyed their post coital cuddle on the couch.