A/N: Thank you all so much for the exciting and wonderful reviews! It really has inspired me to do more with this little idea I've had, so I have so much more fun in store for our favorite boys lol Here's Chapter Two for now and I honestly can't wait to get Chapter Three uploaded!! You're going to love it! Lol (Reminder: I don't own Sherlock or anything affiliated with it, but I do promise to be very kind to our boys!)

Chapter Two

Three weeks. That's how much time had passed since Sherlock had made his move to kiss his flat mate. John sat in his chair in the living room alone, the television on for background noise. He didn't quite understand why this bothered him so much. It wasn't like he was with Sherlock or anything like that. They were flat mates and colleagues – nothing more. John wasn't even gay, so why did it matter? He really wished he knew. It was hard to shake the feel of the detective's lips on his though. Sherlock's lips had been velvety soft and oddly demanding all at the same time. It was extremely unfair, honestly. Who was Sherlock to think that he could just torment John in such a way? What gave him the right to kiss John silly and then act like nothing happened. Only Sherlock Holmes…

Sighing, the good doctor got up and went to make some breakfast and morning tea. He flipped the switch on the kettle and got down his cup while his breakfast cooked. There was a mess of test tubes and specimen containers scattered across the kitchen and John didn't dare try to figure out what was in them. Life with Sherlock would do that to you. It was a funny thing living with London's famous crime-solver. At times, John often felt like his mentor and guide to the real world. Being a 'high-functioning sociopath' didn't leave a lot of room for understanding others' thoughts and feelings.

Wait a minute….. maybe that was why Sherlock had acted like nothing had happened between them three weeks ago? He didn't understand it himself. John was willing to bet that Sherlock, being the overly-enigmatic misfit that he was, had no idea what he had truly done or what it all meant to John. The frustration he had been feeling softened a bit. He shook his head with a small smile as the kettle clicked off and he poured the boiling water over his tea bag. At least things made sense now. Sherlock wasn't ignoring what had happened between them; his mindset was more like a computer program – he had closed the file on the kiss and had opened many more during the last three weeks as he solved cases and figured out mysteries for Lestrade. Why, Sherlock may have even deleted the file for all he knew….

Thinking of this gave John an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. Would Sherlock actually choose to forget what they had done? It really wouldn't surprise John if he had, but it still stung just a bit. He wasn't exactly sure of the real motive he had for why he wanted Sherlock to remember the way they had kissed, but he didn't want him to forget what it was like. Even though it had been weeks, John could still recall the exact way Sherlock's lips felt against his, even down to the taste. Kissing Sherlock had tasted like the half drunken cups of tea the detective usually left all over their flat – slightly sweet, cool, and familiar.

It was the familiarity of it that settled in John's mind and warmed his heart the most. He would have never dreamed he would be kissing his friend like that, but, now that it had been so long, John felt an emptiness he couldn't describe. It made him lonely and a little desperate to feel wanted and needed by the detective. How could he tell if Sherlock missed their contact too?

As he finished making his tea and plated his breakfast – toast and eggs, John walked out into the living room to eat. To his surprise Sherlock was sitting in his chair in his dressing gown and pajama bottoms, splayed out with his head thrown back and eyes closed. John nearly choked on his own breath, letting out an audible gasp.

Sherlock's eyes opened and he lifted his head to look at John. "Morning, John," he said, just as casually as ever.

Words…. Good God, why couldn't he register words when he needed to speak them? John cleared his throat; a habit he seemed to have formed within the past few weeks. "Morning, Sherlock. Any plans for the day?" he finally stammered, setting his cup on the end table and sitting down with his plate. Sherlock did not answer right away. Instead, he was watching John intently; his eyes full of something John didn't quite recognize. He tried again, "Sherlock?"

The detective blinked once in a slow manner, looking John in the eye. "No, nothing planned," he answered with a twitch of his lips. He was acting even more unusual than normal.

(Switch to Sherlock's POV)

Sherlock hadn't heard the question at first. He was much too deep in thought. As he finally answered, he still couldn't take his eyes off of his flat mate. It had been three weeks and John hadn't given him much of anything. Just small touches here and there – a hand on Sherlock's shoulder as he moved behind him, standing or sitting close enough for their legs to brush against one another's. He didn't know if it was the fact that John really wasn't interested in his advances or if he just simply didn't understand what to do next. Either way, it was absolutely agonizing. Sherlock had tucked away the memory of that first moment in its own special room in his mind palace and he had to admit he had visited it more times than he could count.

Most people that Sherlock had ever tried to charm or seduce had given into him almost instantaneously and always pushed him for more, even though he never gave it. Before, it had all been experimental – nothing but research as far as Sherlock was concerned – but, with John, this was different. Then again, everything involving John had been different for Sherlock. John did things to him; things that he didn't quite comprehend. How could the accidental brush of John's fingertips on his elbow in passing unravel someone of Sherlock's genius and reduce him to nothing?

As John sat across from him eating his breakfast and drinking his morning tea, Sherlock watched him still. He was tired of waiting and didn't want John to lose focus or forget about what they had experienced. Sherlock couldn't give up just yet, but he was going to have to start slow. He would have to ease John into it and help him cope with the things Sherlock planned on proposing to him. He would be relieved to finally touch the good doctor again, but he would have to be careful and patient – patience being something Sherlock did not have a lot of. He tried to think of small, meaningful gestures that he could use to bring John closer to him, but Sherlock had never been good at such trivial things. He had never had much use for subtlety because he simply thought it was a waste of time. Why not just tell someone something outright?

Sherlock stood and walked over to pick up his violin, tucking it under his chin to play. He needed to think of something. He couldn't be so candid with John about all of this – not yet. He needed to draw him back in. As he played, he heard John clearing away his breakfast then return to his chair in the living room. Sherlock glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and found that John was watching him play. They made eye contact and Sherlock found it hard to look away. Had John watched him like this before? If so, he had never noticed. Sherlock finished the segment of music he was playing and set the violin back down.

"Is everything alright, John?" he asked, walking back to his chair. As he sunk back down into the cushion, he saw the corners of John's lips twitch into a small smile.

The good doctor blinked and let the smile spread across his handsome face. "Perfectly fine. Why do you ask?" he questioned, looking more and more confident in something. Sherlock couldn't quite place his finger on it, but John's expression was soft and his breathing was even. There wasn't a whole lot for Sherlock to go on and it was going to drive him mad.

(Switch to John's POV)

As John sat smiling, he knew the detective was trying to deduce something from the overly relaxed demeanor John had taken up. Oddly enough, he truly did feel relaxed. Watching and listening to Sherlock play was always relaxing to him. Something about the way his motions were so fluid and he seemed to lose himself in the music sometimes. It was oddly intimate, as he had always said and he couldn't help but smile, now. At first, John didn't know what to think when their eyes had locked moments ago, but the rush it sent through his entire body thrilled him. Sherlock hadn't looked away or given him a strange look, but instead intensified his gaze and made John's heart nearly stop. The detective hadn't been ignoring him at all; he could see it in those amazing blue eyes. The pent-up emotion he had sensed behind that breathtaking stare gave him hope that there was still something yet to come.

God, yes…. He's just being stubborn….

As John thought about what he wanted to say, he leaned forward, resting his hand on Sherlock's knee. He felt the taller man tense, involuntarily, at his touch and this gave him the courage to continue. He looked him in the eyes once again, brushing his fingertips back and forth over Sherlock's knee as he eased him into trusting the contact.

"Sherlock…. I think it's time we talk about what exactly happened a few weeks ago. You should know that I don't mind; that I'm ok with it…. All of it," he said, his gaze never leaving Sherlock's face. As he spoke, he saw the detective's eyes darken a full shade and saw his cheeks flush only the slightest bit. Oh, how he wanted to brush the curls back from that handsome face and kiss him into oblivion…..

Sherlock raised his eyebrows in understanding, "oh? You're positive you're ok with it all? With everything? No matter the circumstances, then?". The words came out fairly dry and John was sure that he was keeping up a very specific façade.. If he pushed all of this off as John's idea, he would virtually be free of consequence if things went south. It was about as good as John could hope for really.

The good doctor nodded as he replied, "yes, I'm completely fine with anything you want from me,". He began rubbing his hand over Sherlock's knee and, much to his surprise, Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment. He didn't say anything, but the corners of his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile.

"Three weeks, John," the detective's voice came out strong and velvety. "It has taken you three weeks to reciprocate what I started with you and don't think for a second that I have forgotten it,". He opened his eyes and leaned close to John's face, reaching down to take the hand that was on his knee. He used it to pull John closer and he obliged. He was almost nose to nose with Sherlock who had a tense look in his eyes. "I don't like to be kept waiting, Doctor Watson, and I expect it won't happen again," his voice was a low demanding growl that made John's heart race. God, he was attractive in every sense of the word. His brilliant blue eyes, his high cheekbones and dark curls…. How did anyone ever resist him? How had he really waited this long to touch Sherlock again?

Steadying his breath, John held the taller man's unwavering gaze, "It won't happen again….. sir,". John tagged the last word on at the last moment, playing into Sherlock's dominant personality, and it definitely changed things. Sherlock's eyes blazed and he caught the faintest eyebrow raise. A sly smile spread across the detective's face as he leaned forward, slowly, and pressed a chaste kiss to John's lips. Fireworks - John was sure of it. This had to be what people meant in books when they described kissing. John leaned into the kiss and deepened it himself, parting his lips and darting his tongue out to touch Sherlock's bottom lip, inviting him in. The detective's muscles tightened and he slipped his tongue inside the good doctor's mouth, memorizing every last inch. John was glad he was sitting because, if he had been standing, he didn't think his legs would be able to hold him. He felt a tingling sensation all down his body that rendered him weak. In an attempt to regain some of that strength, he brought both hands up to Sherlock's face and kissed him back as deep as he possibly could. He brushed his fingers over every inch of his face until he pushed his hands up into the detective's soft, dark curls. Oh how perfect… he always wanted to run his fingers through Sherlock's wild and curly hair. He tangled his fingers in the curls at the nape of his neck and smiled into their kiss.

It was then that John realized Sherlock's long, violinist's fingers were working his dressing gown off his shoulders. He pulled back for a moment to give the detective some room to work and found that it didn't take long for Sherlock to work him out of the house coat. The fabric pooled around John's waist as he was still sitting in his chair and the taller man was looking him over with approval. John wore a thin white undershirt and flannel pajama pants and he was certain that his blonde hair was sticking up in all sorts of ways since he hadn't done anything with it after getting up. What could Sherlock possibly find attractive about him in this state?

(Switch to Sherlock's POV)

Much better… John had definitely been wearing too many layers. He still was, but Sherlock would just have to take things slow as not to frighten John off again. No matter how 'okay' he claimed he would be with everything, Sherlock wasn't going to risk it. The thin undershirt John wore hugged every muscle in his biceps and chest. He looked ravishing and Sherlock was sure he could have devoured him right then and there if he hadn't been working on his impulsive behaviors. He was certain that he needed to work John into these situations more slowly than before. He reached out and trailed his fingers over the good doctor's shoulders and pulled him into him, kissing along his jawline. This made the shorter man let out a hushed groan of pleasure. Just because John said he was okay with something didn't mean he wouldn't change his mind if he got worried about what other people would say. That always amused Sherlock – John's fear of what everyone else thought of him. As the detective pulled back once more, his eyes raking over John quickly, he didn't understand why anyone else mattered. Sherlock thought John was the greatest man that ever set foot on earth, why would he care about anyone else's opinions?

Sherlock cupped John's chin in his hand and tilted his lips up into a kiss once again. He could feel his flat mate shudder at his touch and it sent of surge of longing through him. Oh, how he could make John quiver with desire if he had him right here over the coffee table right this very moment… Deepening their kiss, Sherlock sighed and felt John moan into the kiss. Hmm, better not think like that. Not at the moment. It would be best to wait a while before bending John over any of their furniture. He entangled his fingers in John's light, golden locks with one hand while his other hand was playing at the hem of the good doctor's shirt. Slipping his hand beneath the fabric, he continued to kiss his flat mate as he ran his fingers over the muscles beneath John's undershirt. The skin was soft across his muscles and Sherlock felt John's muscles spasm sporadically at the light contact. He moaned into Sherlock once again and the detective could feel himself being turned on greatly.

As he broke their kiss rather abruptly, Sherlock swallowed to regain his composure. "John, I'm going to have to ask you to keep your vocalizations to a minimum if you want this to continue," he stated, matter of factly, looking John in the eye. He caught the faintest look of confusion on the doctor's face and sighed slightly, "I just can't have you moaning like that if I'm going to do this properly,".

John's brow furrowed, "Do what properly?". The question hung in the air only a moment before John came to the realization on his own. His furrowed brow raised in a small expression of surprise and Sherlock felt a smile threatening to cross his face. He fought it off, although it was hard not to smile when John did something so unexpectedly attractive.

Sherlock suddenly realized that his hand was still under John's shirt. He began sliding his hand down to remove it, feeling slightly awkward, when he felt John grip his wrist to stop him.

"Please…" John said, his voice barely above a whisper, "Don't stop just because of me,".

Just because of him. For God's sake, Sherlock hadn't stopped because of anything John had done; it was because he had been too concerned with doing things the right way without realizing John truly didn't care. For the first time, John really didn't care what other people would think or say about what they were doing and this sent a rush through Sherlock.

The hand he had under John's shirt slipped around behind the doctor's back and he pulled John into his lap as he kissed him again, harder than before. Sherlock felt John's weight sink into his lap and he relished the way the good doctor's hands felt as they made their way up his chest and into his hair. He closed his eyes as John tangled his fingers in his hair and he sighed. A small groan escaped the detective's lips and he felt John's body tense all over. Using his free hand, Sherlock began to caress the outside of John's thigh as he felt the doctor begin to tease him with his tongue. John's tongue swirled around Sherlock's before he sucked gently on it and then continued his swirling motion. The moan that escaped Sherlock's lips was unlike any sound he had ever produced and the teasing motion shot straight to his groin. His arousal was prominent now and he thought for sure John knew as it had to be protruding into his thigh by now.

(Switch the John's POV)

Oh God….. why did Sherlock have to sound like that? It was the most sensual sound John had ever heard and he was certain it would kill him. As his flat mate's erection threatened to impale his leg, John could no longer resist the urge to reposition himself. He broke the kiss rather sloppily and moved so he was straddling Sherlock in his chair. Still sitting on the detective's lap, he pressed his own erection into Sherlock's hip and bit down on his lip.

The taller man's breath hitched and his eyes darkened instantaneously. "Good God, John…", he growled, his voice low and uneven. His hand slipped down to grip John's waist and he began to rock him back and forth in his lap, slowly.

John's head fell back and he moaned as the friction between his erection and Sherlock's hip mounted on him. He could feel the detective begin to thrust his hips into the motion, as well, causing John to gasp quietly at the pressure of Sherlock's arousal against his backside. Glancing down at his flat mate, John saw a hunger in Sherlock's eyes that he hadn't seen since the first time they had tangled up on the floor of 221B. He was a tiger stalking his prey, once again, and John couldn't think of a better way to go out than to be ravaged by Sherlock Holmes…. Yes, it would most definitely be the death of him and John was perfectly fine with that.

He brought a hand up to stroke Sherlock's cheek and found that he was thrusting into the detective's hip even harder than before. As the taller man matched his pace, John felt him turn into his touch and press desperate, longing kisses into the palm of his hand. The intimate gesture was just as sexually driven as the way their hips were riding one another and John fought the urge to pull his partner to the floor, yet again. He tried to steady his breathing and focus his mind so he wouldn't strip Sherlock right then and there, but, as the detective began to let his head fall back and deep moans of pleasure filled the flat, John found it harder and harder to hold back. Their pace was more erratic, now, and John felt his erection jerk in his pajama bottoms. He was close and he wasn't sure what to do. His mind was fogging up and he was unable to process his own thoughts as the detective dry fucked his thigh.

Christ, he was actually riding Sherlock Holmes… and he was loving it. He could feel his partner's erection growing harder beneath him and he wanted nothing more than to make him come… He wanted to be the man that sent Sherlock over the edge, spiraling out of control. As he gripped the detective's shoulders and pressed his erection deeper into his hip, he made an effort to rub Sherlock as seductively as possible without breaking their rhythm.

John's breathing grew ragged and he could feel himself getting closer and closer, but he couldn't stop. Not until Sherlock came. He could see it mounting in the detective's eyes as they grew wilder and darker. He bent down and kissed Sherlock hungrily and he lost control. His erection jerked and John felt the warm sensation overtake him as he slipped over the edge.

(Switch to Sherlock's POV)

John was close. Sherlock knew it. He could feel his own release rising in his core and was more than ready to come, but he refused to let himself lose control until he satisfied John Watson. Yes, John Watson, the greatest man he'd ever met. The sexiest human being he had ever laid eyes on. The only person in the world to ever drive Sherlock out of his mind with desire and sexual tension. The moment the good doctor crushed his lips into Sherlock's, he knew he was going to be spent. He felt the rush in his pulse and the way every muscle in his body stiffened and this was all Sherlock needed. He opened his eyes to see John's mouth open, his eyes closed. He was moaning loudly and his expression was euphoric. Oh, yes…

"Come for me, John," Sherlock growled, riding his thigh as he felt himself drawing closer. He thrust harder and harder until, finally, he let himself break. He felt his entire body stiffen and he gripped John's hips to steady him as he came.. Sherlock's erection twitched erratically in his trousers and he could feel the hot, sticky sensation covering his thigh and shorts.

John all but collapsed into Sherlock's chest and he draped his arms around the good doctor's neck. He sat with eyes closed and his head on John's shoulder for what felt like ages. Neither of them moved or spoke a word. It was an oddly satisfying position – just soaking in the aftermath. Of course, this was all new to Sherlock who hated any sort of physical interaction after a sexual encounter, but somehow he felt as if he could hold John Watson like this for the rest of his life. Here, he felt John was safe – like he could protect him forever as long as he held him close, just like this.

As the detective's breathing began to even out, he could feel John's heart rate returning to normal and he was regaining more control of himself. It was hard to let him go, but Sherlock managed to let his arms rest around his partner's waist as he began to 'come to'. He could see a cautious expression in the good doctor's eyes, and before he could say anything, Sherlock tilted his chin up so he could press a gentle, affectionate kiss to his lips.

(Switch to John's POV)

Sherlock's kiss was all John could focus on. They had been soaking in the afterglow of something so incredibly mind-blowing and Sherlock kissed him… John's entire body was weak and he had no idea where he found the energy to kiss him back, but he was completely immersed in the kiss. Yes, Sherlock had kissed him before, but this was different. This kiss wasn't fueled by sexual tension or pent up desire. No, this was something else entirely. The softness in the kiss was more than John could bear and he melted instantly into the detective.

As he broke the kiss, John allowed himself to sink into Sherlock's embrace and he rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder, burying his face in the curls at the side of the detective's neck. He smiled lazily and gently kissed Sherlock's neck. When this didn't seem to elicit a response, John raised his head and looked up at Sherlock. He met John's gaze and the puzzled expression on his face worried John slightly.

"You ok?" he asked, feeling a bit apprehensive. What was wrong? He didn't understand why Sherlock looked confused and concerned.

The detective stared at him for a moment before he finally spoke. "Did I do it right…?" he asked quietly, "the kiss. Did I do it gently enough? Was it acceptable?".

John's heart melted. Of all the things to worry about, Sherlock was concerned with the quality of his work. He wasn't normally affectionate or loving, and it was at that moment that John realized he had done it for him. He wanted to convey an affectionate demeanor and he had wanted to kiss John with a purpose other than sex.

"Of course, you did," John smiled, brushing a mess of sweaty curls from Sherlock's forehead. "You were perfect…. You are always perfect,".