The plans to introduce Sherlock to other pleasures of the flesh were derailed the next morning when Sherlock's phone began to ring shrilly, startling both men from their post-orgasmic haze. Sherlock reached across and lifted his phone to his ear, giving an inelegant grunt in answer before humming.

"Case," he groaned as he nudged John, "Poplar. Double murder."

"I'll get my pants," John croaked, licking his dry lips.

It wasn't until three days later that the two men returned to their flat, covered in mud and leaves from their wrestle with a murderer. John had taken first shower, scrubbing himself pink, and then collapsing onto his own bed for a much needed nap, unwilling to deal with Sherlock's pottering around the flat whilst he was so exhausted.

He had been asleep two hours when he heard a loud bang and a groan from below. Throwing himself out of bed in just his pants, John took his stairs two at a time and threw open the door to Sherlock's bedroom, finding the detective sprawled naked on the floor blinking in shock.

"What on earth?" John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I fell out of bed," Sherlock blushed deeply, lying unbelievably.

"How?" John asked while raising an eyebrow as he moved to help Sherlock up off the floor, noticing that Sherlock seemed to be wincing in pain.

"I was...well...I was..." Sherlock stammered, then cleared his throat, "I thought I might try that self-fellatio technique. Since we have now mastered masturbation."

John blinked rapidly, shaking his head and then smiling widely, "We haven't mastered it, Sherlock; you've done it once. That's not mastering it…that's just once," he reiterated.

"Well, you promised to help me. You said we would be boyfriends but…" he trailed off, blushing deeply as he looked over at John shyly, "You've not really made a move."

"We were on a case!" John said, helping Sherlock to sit on the edge of the bed before crouching down in front of him, "I didn't think you'd want to be distracted."

"Normally I wouldn't," Sherlock admitted, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, "but you looked so devilishly handsome when you kicked the murderer in the face that I got a little...affected . And then you came in and showered and went to bed so I thought perhaps you had changed your mind."

John felt terrible and reached to entwine their fingers, resting his other hand on Sherlock's thigh with a soft smile, "I'm sorry I'm a terrible boyfriend."

"You are," Sherlock sniffed playfully, "absolutely dreadful."

"I'll make it up to you," John promised, stroking a hand up and down Sherlock's thigh until the tip of his finger stroked across Sherlock's exposed scrotum, "if you're still in the mood, that is."

"Well, I am grievously injured. I've hurt my wrist," Sherlock admitted with a wince as he held his left arm up to show John, "I think it's broken."

"It's just a sprain, at worst," John laughed, moving his hand to feel the area, "Probably just a bit bruised, really."

"No, it's definitely broken; I couldn't possibly touch myself now, Doctor," Sherlock smirked, lifting an eyebrow meaningfully.

"Oh, you manipulative tart," John laughed, standing up and then crouching over Sherlock to run a hand through his curls and press a soft kiss to his lips.

Sherlock hummed as he slowly lowered himself to the bed, bringing John with him so the older man was forced to kneel on the bed to keep contact with the lips he desperately didn't want to part with now that he had them back.

"Well," John started with a smirk after breaking the kiss, "I can't teach you about self-fellatio, but I can show you how to give a blow job," he offered, tracing his mouth down the side of Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock arched his back below him and then grunted, "If you must," he attempted to feign indifference, but his body spoke far louder than his words.

John smirked, lifting away from him. Two could play this game, "Well, if you're not really interested…" he trailed off as he moved to vacate the bed, leaving the other man bereft. He was unsurprised to feel Sherlock pulling him back down, but he was surprised at the force he put behind the move.

"No!" Sherlock dropped all pretense for a moment as he pulled strong enough for John to fall on top of him. As John smiled down at him affectionately, Sherlock couldn't help but blush at his obviousness, "I mean," he cleared his throat, loosening his hold as he nonchalantly ran his hands over John's arms instead, "your company isn't completely terrible; I'm sure I could tolerate it for a bit longer."

John shook his head, still smiling, and dropped his head to kiss Sherlock again, "Alright, git," he whispered fondly, nudging their noses together briefly before moving to support himself above his body once more.

Sherlock watched with rapt attention as John kissed his way down Sherlock's chest, pausing just briefly at each of his nipples to kiss them before moving on. John kissed his navel before licking a stripe down to the tip of his cock and placing a soft kiss at the frenulum.

"Uuunng!" Sherlock moaned, hips rising of their own accord at the feeling, his eyes closed against the pleasure.

John smiled to himself again as he licked lightly down to Sherlock's balls and sucking them into his mouth. Sherlock's fingers gripped the bedding tightly as he desperately tried not to tangle them into John's hair (something probably very 'not good') or thrust up into the beautifully warm, wet heat of John's mouth.

Rolling his eyes playfully, John took Sherlock's hands and placed them on the top of his head, showing the detective the perfect position in which to guide his movements without choking him - something which Sherlock picked up with immediate effect, rocking and gently moving John's head up and down.

John kept his hands moving up and down Sherlock's shaft, keeping hold of the base to ensure he wasn't pushed too far down, but also to keep up a regular rhythm. Sherlock's cock was twitching and throbbing with need and John hummed happily as he popped it back into his mouth and sucked around the tip.

"I...John...oh!" Sherlock shouted, ejaculating forcefully and without much warning.

John spluttered, pulling back and glaring at Sherlock as come dripped from the tip of his nose and his chin, "Seriously, Sherlock?"

"I didn't...I didn't recognise the signs! In my defence I have only had one orgasm in my entire life; it's not easily recognisable to me! That pleasure before may have been a fluke," Sherlock insisted, using his fingers to wipe away the strands before wiping the mess on the bedding, "I wasn't aware that it would happen that quickly."

"Yeah, me neither…" John huffed, clearing his throat with a grimace before scolding with very little malice behind it: "Git."

"I am sorry," Sherlock added, obviously embarrassed, "I'll understand if you never want to do that again."

"I think I'll get over the trauma," John smiled, shaking his head fondly.

Sherlock smiled demurely, turning his head away in embarrassment. The uncharacteristic shyness lasted just a brief moment before his confidence returned and he pulled John over him for another deep, passionate kiss.

John moaned and unconsciously rubbed his still-clothed erection against Sherlock's thigh for some semblance of satisfaction.

"I can help with that," Sherlock whispered seductively, nose bumping intimately against John's as his thigh returned the pressure of John's hip suggestively.

John moaned quietly as his forehead dropped against the other man's, "God yes," he agreed against Sherlock's lips.

Sherlock kissed him again before asking, "How?"

"Hell, I don't even care. Anything you're comfortable with will probably work for me at this point, honestly."

Sherlock huffed at the lack of specifics and pushed John off of him, "Strip," he ordered.

John stood from the bed with one sassy eyebrow raised, "Why don't you come do it for me?"

"Can't," Sherlock said with a shake of his head and a mischievous smile before lifting his left arm pointedly, "my wrist is broken, remember?"

John rolled his eyes, "Bruised at best, but you do have a point…" he trailed off whimsically, almost lazily divesting himself of his pants, his only garment of clothing.

"What does that mean?" Sherlock asked, but John refused to answer him as he finished stepping out of the cloth.

Once naked, John proceeded to take himself in hand while still standing next to the bed. He almost took more pleasure from the look of shocked indignation on Sherlock's face as he did from the touch of his own hand on his cock. Almost.

"John," Sherlock practically whined, "it's not fair; I offered to help."

John opened his eyes that he had closed for effect before replying with false sincerity, "Oh, but you're grievously injured," he reminded him, fighting hard against a smirk, "best not to risk any further damage."

With a narrowing of the eyes, Sherlock reached for John with both hands and grabbed him by the upper arms to pull him to the bed, forcing him onto his back. Once he had John in position, he placed himself over the older man almost territorially, claiming him, "I said," he growled, "that I would help you."

John smirked triumphantly, cock growing yet harder from Sherlock's dominant display, as he placed his hands behind his head and looked for all the world like the most relaxed man in existence, "Well, if you insist…"

The way he said it left no doubt that Sherlock had played directly into his hand. Sherlock's brow furrowed as his bravado dropped to mild confusion, "You didn't have to trick me; I offered," he reminded him, like this was still some sort of trap.

John smiled genuinely, removing his hands from behind his head to reach for Sherlock's face instead. He gently guided their mouths back together for a sweet kiss before assuring him, "I know."

Sherlock kissed him again before moving to tease down John's torso with a confidence he had no right to possess, "I've never fellated anyone before," he admitted while nuzzling John's belly.

John dropped his left hand down to Sherlock's curls before offering, "Would you like me to walk you through it?"

Sherlock tutted in distaste before glaring indignantly up John's body at him, "That won't be necessary. Well...not words, anyway; I imagine I'll be able to get by just fine based on your moans and reactions of your body," he said before dropping his mouth to the dip of his hip, so close to John's cock and yet not nearly close enough, and whispering, "let your body guide me. Let me hear you," he practically begged.

"I don't think that will be an issue," John admitted, feeling the ghost of Sherlock's breath against his cock.

Sherlock grinned and dipped his head, extending his tongue to lick across the wet slit before smacking his lips together, "Not terrible," he mumbled to himself before holding the base of John's cock and slowly pushing more of the shaft into his mouth. Inch by inch worked into Sherlock's mouth before he gagged and pulled back with a deep frown.

"Don't try to take too much. Focus on the head," John whispered, moving his hand to curl into Sherlock's hair, "You're doing fine."

Sherlock hummed and held John steady as he began to lick and caress the tip of John's cock with his tongue, drawing shapes and symbols onto the frenulum which sent John's body into overdrive as he arched his hips and moaned.

"Good," Sherlock said around John's shaft, seemingly talking to himself as he began to stroke the bottom of John's prick in time with his mouth. He was doing well, surprisingly well actually. The bloody genius. Of course it wouldn't take long for him to master this.

Sherlock raised his head, licking his lips and then using his other hand to dry his chin of saliva before speaking, "May I taste your scrotum? I don't want you to kick me in the head through surprise," he smirked.

Nodding quickly, John laughed, "Yes. Yes, please do. Help yourself."

With a quick nod, Sherlock returned his focus lower, gathering some saliva on his tongue as he examined the dry-looking skin. He leaned forward and tentatively ran his wet tongue up one of the testicles, causing John to huff out a quiet something that sounded vaguely like an "oh", but really, it was difficult to be sure.

Sensing the positive response, Sherlock proceeded to take the right testicle into his mouth, lavishing it with attention as he played with the weight, rolling it slightly on his tongue.

"Oh, fuck!" John moaned, sounding a bit surprised, and arched his back at the pleasure. He had rarely had a girlfriend so interested in that area, and even if they were receptive to granting attention there, it was always incredibly fleeting and awkward.

After a few moments, Sherlock switched sides to give the other testicle the same treatment, salivating further in contentment at the aroused noises falling from John's mouth. In a none-too-rare moment of genius, Sherlock lifted his right hand back to John's cock and began pulling it in tandem with his flicking tongue.

"Oh, God, you bloody…" John started to attempt a curse at the man, but the brilliant pleasure was simply too much for his mind to try to multitask a false insult and process the feelings washing through him at the same time.

Sherlock heard the beginning of the curse and was momentarily worried that he was doing it wrong, but every indication from John's body was extremely positive, so he pulled off with a falsely concerned tone, "Would you like me to stop?" He asked as he stilled his hand, warm breath ghosting over the other man's wet bollocks.

John glared down at him, unable to process the teasing, "Do, and I swear to God I will cut off your cock with a rusty spoon," he warned.

He never would, obviously, but the sentiment carried through regardless.

"Well, that doesn't quite equate," Sherlock stated in confusion.

"Sherlock," John growled in warning, his own left hand itching to grab his aching cock to finish the job himself. He was too close to an orgasm for this shite.

"Just doesn't seem to fit the transgression is all I'm trying to point out," Sherlock muttered petulantly before returning both mouth and hand to their tasks.

It really took an embarrassingly short amount of time for John to come undone under Sherlock's renewed efforts. He warned Sherlock of his impending release, but the younger man refused to let him go, wanting to experience John pulsing his hot come into his mouth. Sherlock surprised even himself as he hummed contently as he swallowed it down.

John mewled as his sated cock slapped against his stomach and Sherlock shuffled up the bed to peer down owlishly at John's face. John startled, blinking and then giggling before shaking his head, "Not sure I can language."

Sherlock grinned happily, "Did I do well?"

"Of course you did, you git," John assured him, cupping Sherlock's jaw in his hand, "You were perfect."

"I could have continued the fellatio a little longer. I feel I was too assertive on the approach," Sherlock said clinically, "but I expect we will do that again soon?"

"Oh yes," John hummed, stretching his legs out, "Very often, but only once I've recovered."

"Excellent," Sherlock grinned again before reaching for a paper and pen from the bedside table, "I'll make notes now."

John should have been surprised. He should have been frustrated. He should have been anything except fondly amused, but he couldn't bring himself to care about what the appropriate response should be. Instead, he merely shook his head while performing his high-pitched giggle, "If I didn't love you…" he let escape without realising.

John tensed a bit in reflex of Sherlock freezing beside him. John had known for years that he loved the madman - of course he did - but he had almost loved him so long that he forgot he'd never actually told him that yet. He turned his head to the left to look at Sherlock's face, frozen in place by confusion and doubt.

"What?" John smiled, completely unselfconscious in the face of his impromptu admission, "Like you never knew," he challenged lightly.

Sherlock blinked rapidly and cleared his throat a bit before meeting his eyes and admitting, "Of course I knew," with a bit of defensiveness towards his brilliance, "I just didn't think you were ready to admit it yet."

John's brow creased, but his smile remained, "To myself or to you?"

"Well, both."

John closed his eyes contentedly, smile only growing more fond, before turning his face back towards the ceiling, "You're an idiot."

John was almost asleep in that same position when he felt the bed shift and Sherlock grow closer.

"John?" Sherlock whispered uncertainly near his left ear.

"Mmm?" John acknowledged his request for attention without opening his eyes.

"I haven't ever said...those words before. Except to my parents, of course, but that's just implied because of our relationship. I think I do...that you...I mean, I do...or...I think but…"

John saved him from himself by turning onto his side to face him, soft eyes meeting the almost frantic ones of his genius, "Shhh," he soothed, bringing his right hand up to card in his curls, "there's no rush and there's certainly no pressure."

"You don't...feel disappointed not to hear them?"

John kissed him on the lips before answering honestly, "I hope to hear them someday," he admits, "but like I said: there's no rush."

And though Sherlock couldn't put voice to the feeling yet, he felt his chest swell with love for this stoic, brave, kind man.

'Someday,' Sherlock promised them both silently.

He could give him that.

For now, they both felt completely secure sealing it all with a kiss.