Thanks again to my more than wonderful beta Sherlockedmyheart!
TK 4 The Morning After
We slept in his bed the rest of the night after getting up off the floor and a very long shower involving lots of scrubbing (each other) but very little had to do with getting clean.
After we finally got up after the events of 'The Great Game' and the revelations there after, I made breakfast just in time for noon and Sherlock was reading the paper. Actually Sherlock was reading just about every paper, some in English, and others…decidedly not.
Poking out of the stack what looked like Hindi was on one, another looked decidedly like Chinese, and a third had the swooping lines indicative of Arabic. I did not bother to question if he could read them. It would not surprise me in the least if he was fluent in each or if he knew nothing and only wanted to examine their ink.
A pot of tea sat between us. Sherlock's cup was sitting precariously near the edge, staining circles on some of his papers. He absentmindedly dropped in his fifth sugar cube. Why he insisted on sugar cubes I will never know. He looked quite the Victorian gentleman with his button up silk pajamas and formal dressing gown, paper in one hand tea in the other, all that was missing was the pipe...
"Would you like a fried egg considering it's a special occasion?" I asked.
"Ja." Sherlock replied, not bothering to glance up from his paper.
"Ja?" Sherlock shook the paper, and I finally noticed it was German. "And sausages?"
Sherlock grunted, putting down the German paper and taking up the 'Financial Times'.
I busied myself making the toast and sausages. I peeked in the fridge to pull out the butter and to pick a jam. "Sherlock would you rather Orange Marmalade or Raspberry?"
There was no response but papers crinkling.
I chose the Raspberry; it was French and a particular favorite of Sherlock's. I pulled out a yogurt for myself and turned back to Sherlock who was busily cutting out articles from the papers. I sighed.
By the time I was setting up the food between us Sherlock had disappeared.
"Sherlock, come eat at once. I know you haven't since yesterday and you need to eat. There's no case so I'll not stand objections." The patient-must-listen-to-doctors voice coming out as per usual at breakfast.
A sarcastic; "Yes, sir." Drifted from his room as I sat down to my meal.
Sherlock reappeared and ate with gusto for once.
Six sausages, 4 eggs, two pots of tea and half a loaf of bread gone and I was satisfied with the meal. Sherlock had eaten more in one sitting than he probably had all week. I scraped the sides of my yogurt container, digging up the last bits of peach that had settled stubbornly at the bottom. I glanced in Sherlock's direction as I licked the spoon clean. He watched intently as my tongue came out to finish off what was in the little container.
"Hungry are we?" I said cheekily.
"After that meal, John," His eyes were locked on mine, "Only for you." The fiery gaze held and my spoon dropped to the floor.
We meet half way around the table and Sherlock quickly picked me up, he was about to place me on the table when I hissed, "Don't you dare break my crockery. It's the third set I've had to buy since living with you." He sighed and turned us around, placing me on one of the few clean areas of the counter.
I shoved his dressing gown down his shoulders. Then I tangled my hands in his hair and pulled him down to kiss him firmly. My PJ pants were untied, pealed off and shoved in a corner somewhere. My shirt had been discarded, left hanging over the tea pot between kisses, and the bite marks on my shoulders and neck and chest replenished.
From my seated position I wrapped my legs around Sherlock's thighs. During a particularly passionate kiss his hips bucked into my splayed legs, our erections pressing together even through his silken pajama pants. I quickly began to unbutton his shirt, kissing the skin each button reveled when it was undone. I let the silk material slide though my fingers to the floor as I looked at the porcelain chest and the ebony bruises I had left the night before. I growled.
Sherlock took this as his cue. He pulled my head to his chest and I wrapped my arms around him. He leaned down, lips skimming my ear and whispered, "Let me thank you for what you did for me last night?"
"On the floor, in the shower, or in the bed?" I asked trying to be cheeky even as my breathing became unsteady.
"The floor." He responded, nipping the top of my ear. Suddenly his mouth was at the top of my boxers, tugging them down. I lifted myself up on my hands to give him better access. He went slowly, each inch stopping to kiss the inner thigh reveled before his teeth were back on my boxers tugging them down. The hot breath tickled my thighs and dick frustrated me enough to try to buck.
In response, Sherlock held my hips down and kept going until he reached my knees and let the boxers fall. He stood up and grinned at me; leaning in to kiss me gently. He whispered in my ear, a little breathless, "An old dog taught me that new trick."
I giggled. His mouth found mine again and then began trailing light kisses down my neck and shoulders. Slowly he kissed down my chest stopping to lick and nip gently around the bruises he left behind the night before with his tongue. He reached my waist and slowly lowered his head to my, by now, painfully engorged member. He made sure to very slowly rub his stubble against my head. My breath caught in my thought. I couldn't think. My hands found his hair and balled into fists. The stubble, while rough against the silken skin of my penis, was intently pleasurable.
Sherlock was on his knees by now and placed my own knees over his shoulders. From this position he wrapped one of his hands around my shaft and kissed my head. Then his lips delicately engulfed my head and my mind went blank.
I breathed out, "Sherlock." And ran my hands through my hair.
His hand disappeared and I found myself with my entire shaft in his mouth. When he came back up he kept the head in his mouth and his hand reappeared with something sticky on it. He began to slowly run his hand down my shaft, then the pace quickened as his tongue danced on my head.
"Sherlock, Sherlock, please..." I panted though gasps of air.
His hand kept working as his mouth traveled to my balls, putting one and then the other in his mouth, rolling them with his tongue. Then his mouth travelled slowly up the side of the shaft to the head and he took me into his mouth again, bobbing up and down. He again came to my head and sucked working his tongue up and down as if licking a lollipop.
I arched my back and called, "Sherlock!" one last time before slumping back.
Spent.
Sherlock kissed me gently. I could taste the salt of semen, the essence of Sherlock and something else, something fruity. My eyes widened. No, no, he didn't... He didn't just... But I noticed the jar sitting next to me, the Raspberry Jam jar.
The French raspberry jam Sherlock loved so much. He had used it as lube. I couldn't help but giggle. He grinned at that. He then dampened a towel and cleaned us both up. While I had been distracted, he himself had climaxed and now his very nice pants were rather dirty...
Sherlock gently picked me up and carried me to the couch, snuggling up next to me, wrapping us both in blankets.
"That was a damn good thank you." I said, my voice still shaky.
"Your welcome my dear, John."
"Can we go to bed now?" I asked.
"Of course." He said, his voice low and sleepy. "But that would require moving."
We sat quietly and contemplated this. I glanced at the clock which read four. We continued to sit and contemplate, in silence, simply enjoying each others company. There suddenly came an angry buzzing sound. On the little table by the couch Sherlock's phone buzzed next to mine. I watched sleepily as Sherlock reached his impossibly long arm to grab the two phones. He handed me mine.
There was a text from Harry, and several texts from Lestrade, and one from Stamford. I checked that no clients had called or emailed. None had. I put down my phone. Sherlock sighed next to me.
"Mycroft and Lestrade want my attention."
"Oh, well tell them to sod off, you're mine today."
"I did." Sherlock said as he stood up and reached out his hand. I took it and together we strolled into his bedroom.
I froze and dropped his hand.
The walls were covered with news paper clippings, printed articles, photos, and lines drawn between all of them...
"Sherlock," I said trying to keep my voice steady, "What the hell is this?" I gestured around the room.
"Hmm?" Sherlock said as he scoured his dresser for new boxers. "Oh, you're referring to my web tracking Moriarty?"
"That's what this is?" My tone was unbelieving. "Did you do all of this, this morning when you disappeared? Is this what those papers were for?"
"Yes," Sherlock said, voice hard, "After what he had done to you... I started mapping out his organization long ago, but I did add to the web this morning. I notice a pattern in the crimes being reported so I followed it. Now I know this was cased by..." Sherlock's voice broke and his face went dark and he took a few seconds before he regained his composure. "This is Moriarty's organization. I am tracking the web back to the spider. I will crush him. I will, John, I promise you that."
I believed him.
"Perhaps now is not the time to be discussing this?" I said as I moved toward the bed.
"Of course." Sherlock said. He kissed me lightly and we got under the covers. He held me close and whispered in my ear, "Now that I have you I will never let go. Even if you want me to, even if you leave me. You are mine."
I smiled, "And you are mine."