Chapter 3: Harder Sherlock

Surprise was hardly the word Sherlock would use for his current state. Stunned was more like it. John had just hit him—and he hadn't seen it coming!

"What was that for?" Sherlock asked, gingerly touched his aching jaw. "I thought you'd be happy to see me."

John stared at him incredulously. "Happy… to… see you?" He abruptly moved away from Sherlock to stand near the kitchen. Sherlock deduced John must have had another urge to strike him—hence his abrupt move.

"Sherlock, it's been weeks!" John nearly shouted. "I thought you were dead."

"Yes, but I am me though. You didn't really believe I was dead, John."

John's dark brown eyes chilled across the room.

"You're right. I thought you were still alive."

Sherlock smirked, but John's words drained him as he continued. "At first, I had hoped you were alive—somehow. I didn't know how it was possible but I…" John hesitated. Sherlock saw the powerful, raw emotion cut across his friend's face but just as quickly, it vanished and Dr. John Watson straightened his back, becoming ridged.

"Your good faith has been restored. I am back." Sherlock said casually.

"Really?"

He cocked an eyebrow, noting the disdain in John's voice. "Yes really," he snapped back. "Clearly, I am back because my physical presence is here!"

"Well, fantastic, Sherlock. Glad you have arisen from the grave. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some packing to do."

He watched in sudden confusion as John began moving about the apartment, collecting his things, turning his back on him. He sprang to his feet. "What are you doing?"

"Packing. This is what one must do when they leave. Pack their things and…"

"Why are you leaving? You don't have to—not anymore. I'm here. We can resolve whatever financial issues this place has and…"

John spun on his heel and faced him. "Oh, so you know about that do you?"

"Of course, you wouldn't think I'd just let this place fall back into Mycroft's hands did you? I have contingency plans set in place should any financial difficulties come up."

"And you didn't want to share this information with me?"

"Of course I couldn't—I was dead."

"I mean before, Sherlock. Before you…" John suddenly stopped. Coldness shuttered over his features and he cleared his throat. "Right…" John then returned to his ridiculous packing, not saying a word, driving Sherlock mad.

What was wrong with him? Why wasn't he excited to see he was still alive? Sherlock had assumed that after last night… after they had sex, that things would change. He thought John would want him back. That he would want them to be together again, like old times with a little naughty tossed in on the really boring nights. Why not? It sounded perfect in Sherlock's mind. Except John was upset. John was acting like nothing happened and that they had never shared an incredible night together.

It hit him then. He stared, thunderstruck at John's back. John thought their night really had been a dream? That could be the only explanation on why he wasn't bringing it up now. He was hiding it. He was hiding his feelings. Sherlock suddenly saw this whole situation in a new light, but before he had time to think of how to resolve it, John abruptly stopped moving and turned to face him again.

"What else did you know about Sherlock?"

He hesitated, a strange spike of adrenaline piercing him. What was John hinting at?

"What do you mean?" He asked tentatively.

John tossed a semi-filled cardboard box on the chair in front of him. "What else have you been keeping from me? I guess I'm just a little curious now on what I actually knew about you—if anything before all this happened. This apartment seems more fitting to you than our friendship."

"What are you talking about?"

John gritted his teeth angrily, a jolt of fear shot up Sherlock's spine. Something had changed in John since last night, but something in himself changed as well. He wouldn't have come back if he felt it was critical to do so. After tasting John, holding him, feeling him throb beneath him in such an animalistic, lustful way, it forced Sherlock to realize that he couldn't hide anymore. He had to come back to him. John needed him and he… he needed John. He hadn't seen that until now.

But as he continued to look at his friend, he realized, he may have been too late. John was leaving him.

"I'm saying," John continued. "That this apartment has always been more you than me and I think it's time you found a new flat-mate."

"You're joking right?"

"No, I don't think so." John picked up his box and headed towards the doorway.

"Wherever you go, it doesn't matter John. I'll find you. Or my brother will."

He turned at the door, eyes furious. "Is that a threat?"

"It can be."

"So what…? Once I meet the infamous Holmes boys, I can never leave?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes sharply. "Maybe. You do know information about Mycroft that could be quite dangerous and now that I am alive, you know that too. The right information, as we both know, can be lethal."

"I don't care anymore, Sherlock. I'm done playing these games of yours."

Sherlock shrugged carelessly than and strolled over to the mantle over the fireplace, eyeing the old skull. "Fine, it's your choice. I guess I wouldn't want to give up my privacy for the sake of my pride."

He felt John's hard glare at his back and continued. "I understand you might be angry at me now, John—for not telling you about my plans these past weeks. But if you choose to leave, you'll be leaving a Mycroft, spy free area, to a potential camera hot-spot where nothing would be sacred to you anymore. Not even your precious therapy sessions."

"Really? Well from my chat with Mycroft just now, he informed me of your little nighttime prowling outside the flat. So don't tell me this is freedom from Mycroft, Sherlock."

"It's free enough." Sherlock stated abruptly. "More than you'll get if you choose to leave."

John snorted in obvious disbelief. "They caught you on camera sneaking in last night…!"

When his voice trailed off, Sherlock glanced over his shoulder. John was staring at him, his face pale, eyes wide with fear. "Sherlock…" he said slowly, as though his brain was finally catching up with him.

Sherlock froze. John was figuring it out. That his dream from last night was not a dream at all, but rather a spectacular revelation. Or was he?

"What?" Sherlock asked, pretending ignorance, wondering if John would admit to his dream? It was after all how it started. This was John's dreams or maybe his fantasies of them—together, as lovers. He just happened to actually be there when John was having such dream, well believing he was having it, seeing as how he was completely drunk.

"You were here last night?" asked John.

"Yes…"

"Why? Why where you here? What did you…?"

See. Sherlock filled in the unfinished sentence easily. He shrugged, remaining calm, testing the waters. "I came to check up on the place, and… you And what I saw was rather disappointing, John."

John stilled.

"Have you been drinking every night before bed? Or is that just your preferred method on sleeping? Drinking yourself into oblivion?" Sherlock asked.

John pitched the brim of his nose. "It's been difficult. Sleeping, that is."

"Is it because of me?" Sherlock prodded. He needed the truth. He needed to hear John say that he was happy he was back. That he had secretly wanted him. That he always had and was just too afraid to admit it. Sherlock needed answers and the only person in the world standing in his way on getting them was the man holding them back- John.

"You can't sleep because you were traumatized by watching me kill myself?" Sherlock asked.

"Do you always have to be so delicate, Sherlock?"

"It's a yes or no, John."
"And why am I answering this question again…? Oh right! To inflate your ever growing ego. No thanks, I think I'll pass."

"No, this has nothing to do with me…"

"It has everything to do with you! It's always about you, isn't?" John's face flushed with rage. Sherlock had never seen him get this angry before. He stiffened, and shielded himself internally, waiting for the wrath that seemed to have been brewing inside of his friend for some time now.

John slammed the box on the floor and stepped towards him, his eyes bright with his emotions. Sherlock couldn't help the instinctive flutter of excitement in his belly. John was close, close enough to reach out and touch. And the last time he was this passionate, they were horizontal and naked.

"Why do you even care if I was miserable this past month? Since when have you ever showed me an ounce of feeling, Sherlock? You care more when there is an interesting puzzle of a murder than having me with you."

"That's not true…"

John cut him off, not listening. "I'm just a sidekick. No I'm less than that, aren't I? I've been another tag-along that you couldn't get rid of, right?" His eyes were as cold and as harsh as his voice. "We were never friends—not really, because you don't know what it means to actually be someone's friend. But you know what hurt the most out of everything, Sherlock?"

Sherlock shook his head dully, feeling as helpless as a child. He had hurt John. He just didn't see it last night. He became blinded by his own curiosity and arrogance, again.

"I knew that investing into a friendship with you was not the best move on my part. But for some reason, I had this grand notion in my head that one day you would just 'wake up' and realize that you do have a heart. And that you could care for someone other than yourself. Someone like me." John brushed a hand through his hair. "God, I was such a fool to believe that… and when you jumped, it was then I realized that you had no intention to tell me the truth." His voice shot through Sherlock's body like a scolding bullet, straight for his… heart.

"You knew all along that I cared about you." John stated. "But you didn't care about that, did you? It's evident by the way you just threw it away so easily. That hurt me, Sherlock." John took a step back, his gaze still locked with his. "And I can't do it again. I'm happy that you're back. But I resign from being your lackey. I deserve better."

Sherlock strode towards him, feeling his own anger come to life. How could John believe all that nonsense? Had his time away drove him completely daft?!

"I came back for you!" He said indignantly. "You have no idea the lengths I went to protect you from Moriarty!"

John said nothing. He bent to pick up his box, to leave him all over again, when Sherlock kicked his box across the room, the contents spilling on the floor.

"Nice, real mature there." John said, ignoring the anger in Sherlock's expression.

"I'm glad my reappearance has sparked a newfound apathy in you, John. Almost convenient, wouldn't you say?"

John hesitated toward the box. "It just time to move on for me, that's all."

"Clearly!" Sherlock retorted. "It was very clear last night too when you so desperately asked me to tuck you into bed."

John's expression was that of a deer caught in headlights. "What?" He asked in a tremulous voice.

"Oh—you don't remember?" Sherlock walked slowly towards him, seeing the light finally switch on in his little friend's head. "Let me refresh your memory then…"

Sherlock, infuriated and full of energy, decided to make John understand one thing—that John still wanted him. He didn't care if he convinced himself that he no longer wanted Sherlock over the course of the day. What mattered was that last night happened and no one, not even the indestructible Dr. John Watson could ignore it.

He strode towards John with a determined glint in his eyes. He watched as John cautiously stepped backwards, stumbling slightly over the box and unintentionally backing himself into the wall. Sherlock was on him instantly, his hands planted on the wall next to him, pinning him there like a fly.

John shifted uncomfortably. "Sherlock…" he began warningly.

"Am I making you uncomfortable, John?" He asked in soft, seductive voice. John straightened instantly, eyes bright with alarm. "Good. I believe you're under the impression that last night was a dream. But it wasn't. It was very—much—real." He drawled out slowly.

John flushed and choked on an invisible string and began clearing his throat. With a shaky hand, he pressed it over his eyes and shook his head. "No, I'm simply hallucinating now. You're still dead and this is just me having a nervous breakdown."

"Your still sane, John. So stop hiding." Sherlock pushed his hand away from his face. "Look at me."

John's eyes were squeezed tight. His denial was incredible, Sherlock thought. He refused to believe that they had sex last night, and he had no idea why. Still, he promised to come back to this later. In the meantime, Sherlock planned on reminding his best friend why last night happened in the first place. Pure, raw, heat. A flaming desire that had been coursing through Sherlock for the entire day and no one could cure him of this longing other than the man before him. And oh how he wanted him again. Writhing, bucking and sweating on his bed. Crying out his name as he came over and over…

"Open your eyes, John." Sherlock insisted rather breathlessly. He was already feeling the stirrings of arousal around his cock.

John hesitated, then after a deep breath, his eyelids fluttered open to reveal the naked vulnerability in the depths of his beautiful eyes. Sherlock, unable to reason his way to a better response, bent forward and without hesitating, without thinking, kissed John.

Oh God, it was glorious. Sherlock felt his pulse race. His heart beat with triumphant. Finally! It had only been a night ago that he tasted John Watson, but it felt like an eternity to him. With sudden urgency he titled his head sideways and ravished his mouth with renewed force. John whimpered lowly in the back of his throat. Sherlock pressed harder. Wanting to suck and taste every inch of John he could get. His appetite for this wonderful, incredible man was insatiable.

It's why he couldn't stay away any longer. He needed John like he needed oxygen.

John pulled away abruptly than, his eyes wide and his lips kissed raw.

"I think I'm still dreaming… I have to be. This isn't real."

Sherlock smiled and slipped his hand over John's hard cock. "Does this feel real?"

"Oh dear God…" John panted out, his head falling back against the wall unceremoniously.

Sherlock still smiling, returned to ravish those supple lips. John returned the sentiment and began kissing with just as much passion. Before long the two men were wrapped tightly in each other's arms and making out like horny teenagers. Sherlock on multiple occasions felt John thrust his erection forward into him demandingly. And it aroused his senses like nothing else.

John might be able to deny him his heart, but he would not deny him his body.

Sherlock made sure to make every second last as he worshiped this body.

He yanked off his cumbersome coat and tossed it aside. John watched with under a heavy-lidded gaze, his chest expanding quickly from the rapid fire of his pulse. John was thoroughly aroused. Sherlock's own need spiked just looking at him. Bloody hell, he wondered in amazement, he had no idea that seeing another person getting off would be so… stimulating. But not just anyone, he realized. John. His John.

He reached for him again, pushing him back against the wall and caressing his hard muscled body. John shivered and licked the bottom of his lip. Sherlock bent down once more and captured that tantalizing tongue. John groaned, hips arching into him. His lips felt soft yet hard. Each kiss more ferocious than the last. John was eating him up and Sherlock loved it.

He pushed him back against the wall once more and without warning, dropped to his knees before John. He pressed his face into his stomach and inhaled the deep aroma that made up his lover. He sighed and held tight to the sides of his jeans. John moaned out his name, running his fingers through Sherlock's hair. A warm tingle shot up his spine and straight to his cock. Sherlock gasped in shock. He hadn't expected the sudden slam of the arousal and with trembling fingers he unclasped John's belt and pants.

John's breath accelerated instantly. "Are you sure?" He asked hesitantly, knowing what Sherlock had in mind, being on his knees and all.

Sherlock smiled and abruptly yanked down his pants. "I'm sure."

John's head fell back in submission and Sherlock licked his lips. John heavy arousal strained between his muscled thighs. He ranked his hands over those muscles, feeling the warm skin and tension beneath. John sighed, his cock ridged and pulsating. Sherlock, driven by instinct and his own excitement captured John's tip within his mouth and sucked.

John cursed loudly and jerked forward. Sherlock expected that and prepared for the intrusion in his mouth. He began a slow rhythmic sucking, in and out, caressing John's thighs, gripping him tight. His own cock strained against him, demanding attention but this was just as stimulating as he listened to the gasping whimpers and groans from the man above him. John writhed against him, anxious and needy. His fingers ranked through his hair now, pushing him closer and further down his erection. Sherlock hummed, sending vibrations down John's cock.

"Ah…! Sherlock… Sherlock! I'm gonna… oh God!" John gasped, his hips jerking forward once more. Sherlock felt the quivering tell and suddenly John burst. He cried out his name, holding him tight, his muscles bunching beneath his grip. Sherlock stayed between his legs and sucked, swallowing him whole and until there was nothing left. A surge of utter delight filled him. He was able to make John cum and for some reason, Sherlock was proud of that. So proud in fact, he wanted to do it again and again and again…

John weakly braced himself against the wall as Sherlock got back to his feet. He licked his lips feeling the weight of his cock between his legs.

John glanced down at him and straightened. His eyes told Sherlock everything. Want. Desire. Sex.

Unable to stop himself, he grabbed John, who kicked his pants off completely and went willingly with him. Before he realized it, Sherlock bent John over the edge of the couch and began unbuttoning his pants. His breath was choppy and his heart was racing. He was so excited he barely could hold himself upright. He watched as John peeled off his shift and tossed it on the floor, leaving him utterly, beautifully naked for him. Sherlock managed to unbutton his shirt, pull the condom out of his pocket and kicked away his pants, but that was as far as he got before he cupped John's marvelous, finely toned ass.

His cock twitched and ached with such need that he was afraid to even slip the condom on. It took him only a moment to peel off the package and place the condom over himself. His hands trembled over John's waist. His breath caught in his throat from his nerves. He'd never done this before…

All of a sudden, John reached around and grabbed Sherlock's hand. He pulled him forward and kissed their closed hands together. He groaned. John's unabashed show of emotions nearly undid him. It's what he liked best about this man.

Wordlessly, Sherlock positioned himself with his free hand and slowly entered John.

His whole world shattered in an instant. He had never felt this good in his entire life.

His stomach quivered and his legs shook. He heard John let out a small gasp and grip his hand. Sherlock tried to go slowly, but his prelubed condom and his demanding cock wouldn't let him. He pushed forward roughly, his body drawn tight with so much need that he almost came with that one thrust. But he would make this last. He would last, he told himself firmly as he pulled back and pushed forward.

All of a sudden, John let out a sensual moan and rocked back onto Sherlock's cock. He gasped. Then, unable to contain the desire setting fire to his blood, he began a slow, hard pound into John who was still bent over the couch in the perfect position. In. Out. Slow and hard. He could've kept this pace up until night fell. But John's body tensed around him as he let out a rushed whispered, "harder, Sherlock…"

He nearly came at how marvelously John sounded whispering his name. He listening to his instructions, he began fucking him harder now. It was rough and fast. He kept thrusting, feeling the anxious tingle around his cock. He didn't want to stop. It felt so wonderful feeling John's body surround him, immerse him. John's breathing came faster, his flesh was burning hot, and his body was tense and ready for climax.

"Sherlock!" John cried out and in that instant, he came. Sherlock felt the wave and shock of the orgasm slam into John as he came into the cushions of the couch and weakly fell into the edges, barely holding himself up.

Sherlock felt himself tense into a fine peek then as he reveled in the submissive feel of John's body, which was warmer and softer. He pushed harder and deeper than before, listening to John's whimpers of pleasure filling his ears. Suddenly his cock pulsated and without warning, Sherlock felt the rush of an orgasm rip through his body. He came. It was hard and furious. John pulled him closer until he was buried so deep into him he thought he might break him. But he didn't. Their hands still intertwined and when Sherlock's orgasm finally subsided, he lay weakly on John's back.

Both men panted and basked in their post-orgasm glory.

"John…" Sherlock heard himself whisper huskily as he withdrew and kissed his naked back affectionately. He paused then. His heart felt light. His body glowed. And his soul… if he had a soul, felt tender and sentimental. John turned in his arms before Sherlock had time to process this information.

He barely registered John's kiss until he opened his mouth slowly with his tongue. Sherlock sighed, leaning into him.

"Let's go to bed," John suggested.

"I have a better idea…" Sherlock grabbed John by the waist and tipped them backwards, landing ungraciously on the couch, all legs and arms. John laughed out loud in surprise and positioned himself on top of Sherlock's longer body.

"You're certainly fond of this couch, aren't you?" John asked.

"Even more so now." Sherlock said huskily.

John chuckled. Both men were content to just lie there and let the sun go down in the sky. Nothing mattered right now. Just this moment. Just each other.

Sherlock began to slowly daze off, his arm wrapped around John, the other tucked behind his head when he heard sudden footsteps on the stairs coming towards the apartment. He froze. John must have heard it too, for he looked at the door, alarmed.

"John, dear… I made some tea. Thought you'd might like some." Said the voice of Miss Hudson from the stairwell.

TBC