Hello again! Sorry taken a while again. Right, no M rating really for this chapter. Bit of angst followed by some fluffyness. Was intending something else but then remembered that John should be at work! Am half way through next chapter and I'm feeling filthy, so I promise a good deal of the naughty in the next chapter.
Hope this keeps you going for now. Might even post tomorrow if Red Bull win the GP.. hmmm, not looking good, but I might even if they don't. Back at work next week, so might be busy.
Hope you enjoy this, Thanks for all your comments. I love you guys and I love Johnlock.
Laterz. xx
Part 3 - Morning.
Sherlock awoke early the following morning. He blinked against the dark of his room. His mind kicked in. His senses. He felt the warmth against his side. Frowned for a moment and remembered. He smiled sleepily, breathing in the scent of John. His mouth was dry. Licking his lips he tasted the last traces of John on his lips. Salty and suggestive and all John. He breathed in a deeply contented breath. Ah, he wouldn't be able to sleep now, his mind was bent on processing all the information it had been so recently given. Glancing down at the doctor who was sleeping peacefully beside him, his hand wrapped around Sherlocks arm in a light embrace, Sherlock decided there was no way he could move either. He didn't want to wake John and so he would just watch him. Enjoy this moment. These minutes. This hour before daylight woke the doctor from his peaceful place.
Again licking his lips, Sherlock allowed his mind to dissect the last traces of Johns come, adding it to the file in his head marked John. He watched his sleeping face, the way his eyes moved in REM sleep. The scent that emitted from his body. That musky, sleepy smell that seemed to compliment his own in a strange way. How long had Sherlock wondered. Too long it would seem. He had known, had always known that John was his. Should be his. But he had been scared to loose the one person that had made any kind of impact on his life, on his mind and on his shut off and presumed long dead heart.
Sherlock sighed. He could hear the birds outside waking and London beginning it's rushed unsettled pace. It was a pace that usually Sherlock was completely attuned to, but now, right now, he wished it would all shut off and allow him a little more time to just enjoy John. John, in his bed. Sleeping in his bed. It was all rather wonderful.
Shutting his eyes against the dawning light and listening to Johns steady breaths the detective allowed his mind to again read his carefully kept file marked John. He thought of the time they had met. Johns military stance, his shy confidence. A strange contradiction but it was the only way Sherlock could put it into words. Johns amazement as he had unraveled most of his story in the two minutes they had met for, the fact that he didn't take offense. Sherlock had smiled as he left the lab that day, on his way to find his errant riding crop, and then had frozen when he realized that he had winked at the man on his way out. He hadn't even realized he'd done it. How strange.
He remembered John coming here to 221B. Seeing the skull. 'I say friend'. And he was still there. Most would have left at that point Sherlock imagined. In fact he didn't need to imagine he knew it to be true.
Sherlock had left the flat then, with barely contained excitement, to attend 'a study in pink' as John so amusingly put it. He recalled reaching the front door, but then confusingly had stopped and turned. John. Sherlock mentally chuckled to himself. A man he barely knew had pulled him back up the stairs, and before he knew it Sherlock was asking him to come with him, be his assistant. He didn't really need an assistant, so why oh why had he told Lestrade that he did? And then he had realized. Somehow the ex-army doctor had got under his skin, it had taken him a long time after that to figure out why and how, but at that moment Sherlock had wanted John to go with him. It was all so strange.
He had of course then blinded himself with logic. Obviously John was a doctor, he would be most helpful in identifying the cause of death. Indeed the man had seen death and a lot of action. Enough for a lifetime. But then that wasn't quite true now was it?
'Could be dangerous'
Sherlock had soon figured out Johns need for danger. He thrived on it. He craved it, and although the doctor pretended that he wasn't drawn to it like a moth to a flame, Sherlock could practically see it radiating off him, could feel the spike of excitement that first time John had ran with him. And Sherlock loved it. It made him feel less alone. So glad that he wasn't the only one that felt the thrill, the thrum, the excitement and rush. Suddenly the detective didn't feel so much of a freak, the fact that John was so normal, so damned down to earth and still felt that way was... a revelation.
And from that moment John became fascinating.
Sherlock heard the footsteps in the street. He groaned inwardly. Heard the door. One knock, unmistakably Lestrade. Looking at the light the detective deduced it was around seven. Shifting gently against John he felt the other man stir against him. His sigh. His hand tightening a little around Sherlocks forearm.
John blinked against the light. He heard the faint knock at the door. His senses flooded back and for a moment he had not a clue where he was. His hand tightened around something warm and soft. Skin. Had he slept with a girl last night...? No... no, that wasn't right. A familiar scent filled his senses, and it all came flooding back. Sherlock. Ah. He had... had he? and... OH.
Oh, and Lestrade was at the door. Perfect. John, flushed from sleep, now blushed hotly. He felt the other man shift beside him and gently pull his arm from the doctors grip. Johns sleep filled, slightly embarrassed gaze lifted to Sherlocks. Both men heard Mrs. Hudson bustle from her flat to go to the door. Sherlocks steel gaze met Johns.
"Morning John" he said in a low tone. John gave a shy smile in reply. He could see Sherlocks mind running over the situation that had befallen them and quickly choosing the best course of action. Johns mind was still befuddled with the odd set of emotions it was still attempting to process and Lestrade was on the bottom step.
"Sorry John." Sherlock continued in his usual quick way, but in a lower voice than he would usually employ " Not the best way to wake. No time for you to make a dive for your room. Best I go out, see Lestrade and get rid of him as soon as I can. You stay right here." And the detective was up. Pulling his blue silk dressing gown about himself.
"Erm.." John began, sitting up in the slightly rumpled bed, ruffling his hair sleepily. Sherlock strutted back to the bed, planted a kiss quickly against the doctors lips and smiled, quickly doing up his gown.
"Shhh" He smiled, running a hand over the doctors head. "He's on the top step. I won't be long." Quickly Sherlock swept to the door, opening it just as Lestrade strode in the through the entrance of the flat.
"Ah, Lestrade." He began, glancing quickly back around the door at the almost naked John sitting uncomfortably in his bed. Sherlocks mind ran over a million possibilities of what he would rather be doing right now. Like telling Lestrade to sod off and devouring John before all his senses returned. But no. He must concentrate.
The work. Must concentrate on the work. Giving John a despairing look and wondering what was happening to him Sherlock quickly closed the door with a click.
John could here Lestrades voice, a new case. Something the police hadn't seen before. Sherlock sighing and sitting. Telling Lestrade to sit. Lestrade asking where John was. Sherlock telling him nothing short of an out and out lie followed by general murmurings and something about stick men.. and then Johns mind filtered the mens voices out. His head hit the pillow and he sighed deeply. All around him he could smell Sherlock. It was comforting, but somehow disturbing at the same time. John shivered, pulling the duvet around him. He hadn't quite come to terms with what had happened last night. His complete and total undoing at the hands (and mouth) of the man sat in the other room, who's voice rumbled deeply in Johns thoughts.
Oh, but that mouth. John shivered at the thoughts that passed him. That clever tongue, that endless throat. John had never experienced orgasm like he had the previous night. His self control had been lost. No woman he had ever been with had allowed him to do what Sherlock had allowed him to do last night. The doctor had been in complete control over his actions, Sherlock had been the vessel. The detective had allowed himself to be used.
'I must be gay." John thought. He tried to make the words sound right in his head, but he could not convince himself that they ever would. What had Sherlock said to him? Something about not having a sexuality.. but that John gave him one. That the detective did not consider himself gay.. Bi? Maybe that was it. Maybe John was Bi. It wasn't as if he hadn't noticed Sherlock, dammit he had had several, ah, extremely explicit dreams about the man. But John had never noticed a man before this. But then again Sherlock was not like most men. Inquisitive - indeed. Arrogant - in spades. Annoying - most of the time. Rude - but only to those that deserved it, which was most people. Brilliant - always. Arousing? Oh yes. So it would seem... Gah! It was all too confusing.
The bedroom door clicked open suddenly, jolting John from his thoughts. Sherlocks tousled head appeared, a grin settled on it.
"Coffee doctor?" John quickly gathered his thoughts and sat up in the bed again, clutching the covers to himself.
"Um.. Er.. Yes. Coffee. Fine." The detective gave him a suspicious sideways look. "I.. erm.. I take it that Lestrade...?'
"Yup. He's gone. Said I'd pop down to the station later. Something about coded letters. The police, as always, are baffled." Sherlock gave John a long look, his eyes softly meeting the doctors. Why was John pulling the covers up almost to his chin? Why did he have lines that suggested stress around his eyes? And why did he have that nervous tremor in his voice? Hmmm. "Are you alright John? the detective asked softly. John looked away. A sure sign of him not telling the truth.
"Uh, yeah." Sherlock gave him another deeply suspicious look, John would not meet his gaze.
"Okay... Coffee. Then you can tell me what's upsetting you." With another glance of deep mistrust Sherlock disappeared to make coffee, leaving the door ajar so the smell drifted into the room. John needed coffee desperately he realized, but he also realized that extreme awkwardness would arrive when it did. That didn't take long. Sherlock silently slunk back into his room, kicking the door shut behind him. Placing a tray with a pot of coffee and two cups onto his nightstand, he poured John a cup. Handing it to him John took it awkwardly, one hand still gripping the duvet. He watched distrustfully as Sherlock sauntered to his door and to Johns surprise locked it and removed the key.
"Erm... Sherlock.. why are you?"
"Mrs Hudson" the detective whispered in conspirital tones "don't want her to disturb us unwittingly." John saw the smirk as the detective sauntered to his book shelf and placed the key on the top shelf, on a pile of books. John knew he had deliberately put it were he wouldn't be able to reach it.
"Um..." John began, his voice coming out more squeaky than he would have liked "Sherlock.. Why have you.." Sherlock turned, his eyes amused.
"Ah John, catch on. Really." Quickly he moved back to the bed and John swallowed hard as the detective poured himself coffee and stirred in two sugars. He then sat on the bed beside John, close but not touching and sipped the hot liquid. He looked at John over his cup.
"So, worked it out yet?"
"Um..."
"Drink your coffee. It helps to get the brain going, well.. in ordinary people anyway." John swallowed hard and then obeyed, taking a large gulp of the dark liquid. Sherlock raised a brow.
"Better?" John closed his eyes. He nodded. "Good. So tell me... What do you deduce from me locking you in my bedroom where you just spent then night with me?" Johns breath caught. Who knew what the detective was thinking at any given time? John looked away embarrassed as Sherlock whispered "in my bed..."
"I .. erm.. well.." he began, his fingers playing with the edge of his cup.
"John." John lifted his gaze to Sherlocks steady eyes. God, John thought, the man doesn't even need to try and be sexy.. those damn eyes. After a moment the detective continued.
"This is me John. Nothing has changed so much that you cannot speak to me. Now please tell me what it is." John blinked and then gave a low chuckle. Sherlock was right. He was being irrational. Being an Irrational emotional human. Damn it.
"Can't you work it out?" John asked. His voice not a steady as he would have liked.
"Would you want me to?" came the quick answer. John thought for a moment. Hmm, not the best way forward. Being deduced by Sherlock was never a huge amount of fun.. being seduced by him on the other hand.. John shook his head.
"Uh.. I .. no. No.. probably not.. actually." Sherlock gave a knowing smile. It gave away the fact that he already knew what was troubling John, but he would rather the doctor told him himself.
"so...?" John heaved out a big sigh and took another gulp of coffee in preparation.
"Okay. I'm.. I'm not sure what happened last night. I .. it was amazing, don't get me wrong.."
"But?"
"Uh.. well Sherlock. I'm struggling with what has happened. I don't want to mess you and me up.. I just.. I don't know if... If I can do this." Silence fell for several minutes. John was not comfortable, he felt hot and strange and oddly needy. Sherlock watched him with steady eyes, finishing up his coffee as he did so.
"Your confused." Sherlock eventually commented, reaching by John to place his cup back on the tray, his arm brushing against the doctors as he did so. John felt his heartbeat quicken at the contact. For something to do John quickly downed his own cooling cup of coffee and abandoned the cup beside Sherlocks own.
"Um, that would be a good deduction Sherlock.. Yes."
"Well John" the detective rose, paced for a moment and then turned to look John in the eyes again "I had indeed worked that one out. I worked that one out a long time ago. Last night only confirmed my suspicions. However if you want this to stop right here and now we can say no more about it. It will be a mute point should you so wish it. But..." John swallowed as Sherlocks voice lowered an octave
"I would like you to consider that despite the fact that you have the covers on my bed pulled all the way up to your chin that you are still in it, and that when I dropped my voice just now I was experimenting to see what your reaction would be. Your pulse rate has risen again doctor, the heat in your body has gone up.." Sherlock dropped his voice lower still, slowing his words
"and now your pupils are dilating.. Indeed I believe if I say the words 'would you like me to swallow you down again doctor?' that your senses will heighten further and you will gasp.. oh a little like you did when I said them just now." The detective stalked very slowly towards the bed, his eyes never leaving the doctors. Oh God, John thought, Oh god. "Now we can forget all of this as I say" the detective continued "but John, I for one would deeply regret that. I believe you were considering my sexuality. I am not gay, nor am I bi-sexual, tri-sexual or omnisexual. I have not desired anyone before. It is you that give me this gift doctor, one I would wish to share with you." Sherlock paused and swallowed. His voice was coming apart, cracking. John could see that powerful emotions were pumping into that clinical brain, disturbing its natural order. The doctors own feeling pulsed and pushed and swam through his head. They made his skin feel tight. Denying this may not be the best way forward it seemed. Already the thought of not having that tongue wrapped around his own made John feel somewhat lost. He watched Sherlocks face, his mouth. Listened to the words that fell with feeling. And John suddenly knew that he wanted to kiss the man before him again. The detective suddenly sat again on his bed, apparently unable to support himself anymore. He closed his eyes for a moment before reaching for Johns hand and wrapping it tightly in his own, apparently clinging on for dear life. John took a sharp breath and felt his own fingers grip back subconsciously. Sherlock took a unsteady breath and continued.
"You question then your own sexual identity and I say now John, who says you have to have one?" His eyes burned into the doctors.
"I.. No.. Sherlock I.." John began, until the detectives long fingers suddenly looped Johns wrist, finding that hard fast pulse that raced within. John felt the power of speech leave him again as Sherlock leaned closer to him. He could feel the detectives breath on his face, could still smell his own arousal from the previous night mixed in with the scent of the coffee as Sherlock spoke again, low and certain.
"When I feel this John it is not about science, or your reactions.. it is about my own. I do not understand why this gives me pleasure but knowing I do this to you makes me happier than I have ever been. I do not express myself well John. My dear John. But maybe I could learn.. with you..?" The detectives eyes fell to his hand, which was still looped about Johns wrist. His admission burned, his face flushed.
John blinked several times, felt the tears pricking his eyes. He could see Sherlock struggling with what he had said. Sherlock was allowing John to look beneath the mask he wore, not that he hadn't before, but this was a hidden and long forgotten place. This was emotion and he had chosen John above all others, a fact that the doctor could not quite comprehend, but God, he knew he couldn't let this go. Not now. Not ever. He had a feeling in his head that this was his home.
Slowly John pulled his wrist from Sherlocks fingers. He saw the crestfallen face, the flush of embarrassment of allowing John to see him so.. unwrapped. Undone. Emotional.
"Hey Sherlock." John cooed softly. Sherlock glanced up, the light of a tear glinting in his eyes. John smiled softly and swallowed as his decision came to him swiftly. "Would you like me to swallow you down Sherlock?" The look on the detectives face was so priceless. His eyes widened in shock. His mouth came open and his pupils widened swallowing up the colour in his eyes.
"What?" it was a breathless word. John smiled shyly.
"I said.." John lowered his tone, his voice deepened and his eyes gleamed playfully as he caught his hand against Sherlocks jaw, his thumb running thoughtfully over the detectives full lips. "..would you.." John leaned in, his lips close but not touching the other mans "like me.." a feather of a kiss "to.." another kiss, Johns other hand dropping the duvet that was bunched up around him to tangle in the detectives curls "swallow.." John pulled back to look with intensity into Sherlocks eyes "you.. down." Sherlock stared for a moment and then blinked once which indicted he had finished processing what had just passed between them.
"But.. I thought.." Sherlocks words were lost on a moan as Johns mouth took his roughly. Sharp teeth bit at his lower lip as Johns tongue demanded access to his mouth. John felt his erection start, it had been threatening for a while, ever since Sherlock had told him all he needed to persuade him. Johns hand tugged hard at the other mans hair, causing a tortured groan of want to escape into his mouth. The sound echoed through the doctor, down his spine, it caused the blood to pump faster to the place that was now throbbing between Johns thighs. Pulling back out of the kiss but not relinquishing his grip John took in the detective. His mouth was red and bruised, his eyes large and lustful.
"I was wrong" John said horsely. He saw the flash of uncertainty in the eyes that filled his vision.
"John?" John smiled.
"Oh Sherlock. I was so wrong." the doctor tugged on the dark curls again, wrapping them in his fist. Sherlocks eyes darkened as pain throbbed through his skull. His breathing was short and needful. The doctor pulled him closer, moving his own head so that his mouth was against the detectives ear. John licked it gently and then bit the lobe, pleased with the gasp that followed the action.
"I want you" John whispered against Sherlock. Sherlock didn't make a sound, but he shivered with want against John. John kissed the detectives cheek tenderly and loosened his grip so that the other man could turn. He did, his eyes soft, a little wet maybe, disbelief dancing in them. John kissed that sweet mouth then.
"You hear that Sherlock?" he asked against his mouth "I want you. Always have. Probably always will. We'll see what happens yes?" Sherlock smiled against his doctor. His own hand catching the doctors hair and pulling him to that mouth again.
"Oh yes John." he moaned.
Squeee! Oh, you are in for a filthy treat next time my lovelies. I can't wait... Think I might get John to get all embarrassed when he goes to buy something and bumps into Sarah!
Spoilers. ;)
