Chapter 2
John excused himself from the living room after he ate dinner that evening, and made his way up to his room. He was surprised that he had accepted the news of Sherlock so easily. Well, he had always known Sherlock was a nutter, he just never had anything to blame it on. Now he did. When he went to the shop, John spent the entire time going over things that he could chalk up to Sherlock's vampirism. Noticing everything, heightened senses, being able to think so quickly, not eating, great endurance—I wonder if he has great endurance in other things…
He blushed at that thought. He had been trying to keep his feelings for Sherlock in check and had been failing miserably. It was just too difficult, Sherlock was too beautiful. John's mind drifted to the way Sherlock looked when he played violin. He stood tall and proud, his arms poised to play each note on the arching instrument. His pale face peaceful as his fingers sang across the strings. Those fingers, his mind purred.
"No." He voiced aloud, trying to push away the idea of Sherlock with his hands, not curled around the neck of the violin, but gripping something else, something that was hot and erect in John's pants.
Cursing himself, John stepped into his bathroom and turned on the shower. He stripped himself of his encumbering clothes and tossed them in a bin in his room. The water was warm when he put a hand forward to test it, so he slid inside and stood under the warm stream. He let out a long shuddering breath he hadn't realized he had been holding as the warmth closed over him. He scrubbed his hair and chest and body while trying to avoid thinking of Sherlock, hoping his problem would go away.
Shower over, it still hadn't dissipated and John was beginning to get frustrated with himself and his body's betrayal. He hadn't pleasured himself to the thought of Sherlock before, knowing that if he did, he would be surrendering to the fact that he was attracted to Sherlock. Anyone could appreciate his beauty as a man, but not everyone was so impacted as to need to wank off to the idea of him.
Just the thought of doing what he had forbidden himself to do made him throb. Okay, maybe you can't deny it, a part of his mind admitted. There's no reason to make yourself uncomfortable.
No. John's conscious warred with his niggling inner-voice. I do not like Sherlock. I do not find him attractive. I don't want to be with him. He chanted to himself as he put on a pair of pajama shorts and a night shirt.
Well, he conceded, that first statement was wrong. He did like Sherlock. He was smart and they trusted each other. They had been living together for about a year or so, it was hard not to like someone you live in close proximity to for so long. So, he liked him, that was no big deal.
Then again, the second argument wasn't true either. He did think Sherlock was beautiful. He had already admitted it to himself, so there was no point in denying it now. Sherlock had bold features that really spoke to John. He was tall and pale, with high, prominent cheekbones and a strong jaw line. His nose was straight and his eyes were beautifully framed by thick, dark lashes. Not to mention his long pale fingers that made John wonder about other parts of his anatomy.
Okay, yes, he found Sherlock attractive. There was nothing wrong with that, I'm sure even Donovan can appreciate his looks even though she hates him.
The last statement was definitely true. He didn't want to be with Sherlock, he begged his mind not to argue, but did not get his wish. Yes, you do. You want to go to his room now and ask him questions. You want to stare into his eyes and hear him speak. And when you finally allow yourself to go see him, you'll stare at his lips and long for him to kiss you.
Ugh, why was he doing this to himself? Why did he care so much? Why couldn't he just go to bed and forget all about this?
He was scared that Sherlock wouldn't accept him. He couldn't live without this lifestyle, or even being with Sherlock daily. If John did something to jeopardize their relationship he would never forgive himself. But he did have questions for him, other things he wanted to know about Sherlock. He wanted to go downstairs and ask him, and he was only going to talk to him. It's not like he was going to bombard him or anything.
As he was leaving his room, he did not allow himself to think of just what he would do to bombard Sherlock. He silently padded down the hall and to the flight of stairs, coming to a halt before shrugging and making his way down them as usual. There was no real need to keep quiet, he would be awakening Sherlock soon.
When he got to Sherlock's door however, he came to his senses. Would he just wake him up? Did he have the nerve? Did vampires even sleep? John thought he would just knock lightly, and if there was no answer, he would go back upstairs. The idea of returning to his bed without having talked to Sherlock made his stomach shift lower in his abdomen.
Just as he raised his hand to the door, a voice rumbled out to make John's stomach shoot up into his throat.
"Come on in, John, I'm awake."
He opened the door to see Sherlock with a book in his hands, sitting up and waiting as if he had been expecting John to visit.