And he remembers the lust.
They'd been sharing a bed for a comfortable amount of time when it happened. It was always going to end in disaster, just dependent on time. Ever since John had fired a shot through an open window, Sherlock seemed to trust him. Seemed to respect him. And Sherlock Holmes didn't respect anyone. He was almost always pulling commands at crime scenes, brushing off theories that were not his own. But he asked for John's input. He listened to it.
And if Sherlock was feeling that way (John could only speculate, he couldn't confirm), what would he do? Seventeen years isn't all that long for somebody to decide what kind of person they'll be. Or what kind of person they'll want. John knew what they thought. People who didn't know were in an easy position to judge. But ones who knew, who were invited to watch, they all said the same thing.
That John was good for him.
For a while, when they slept, that gave John some peace. To think that Sherlock didn't want him, wouldn't turn him into something awful. Of course, he would not have objected to Sherlock's affection, to his own strange brand of want (if, indeed, he ever had a brand available). But it certainly made him comfortable. John would always have settled for Sherlock's trust, above all things.
But he wasn't about to settle.
John crept off to bed first, wearied from running after Sherlock. Whom tramped a perpetual journey. Of course, John liked it, he liked that the dog days were over, but he was easily tired. Things weren't how they had once been and he'd never seen a gladder sight than his sheets.
Right away, he feel into a strange sort of half-sleep. Light enough that he felt unsatisfied but deep enough that he didn't clock when Sherlock had abandoned the waking world and slid in next to John. Sherlock was a funny little bird, for he seemed always so comfortable with the impressive length of himself. Graceful, even in his sleep. Even if he did keep muttering.
Hours later, he stirred to a wonderful feeling.
A warm, firm grip on his cock. The unmistakeable invitation for sex. The definite instigation for unrest. For pleasure. John was in no position to resist, half-asleep but awake enough to be enjoying himself. He didn't think, or protest, but flinched his hips, wanting friction, wanting a little more.
John groaned and pushed back with his hips. Settling into it. Feeling the want rise in him. Christ, it was a far cry from John's hand, from months of just going through the motions. Contact, this...it was almost shocking how much he needed it. The hand was soft and clever. The fingers played him like a cheap Spanish guitar, strings and all. Encouraged him.
He snapped open an eyes just as it was getting good, more fool him. Opened them wide, to see the instigator. To see a mess of dark curls, shining like feather in the light. To see Sherlock stark against the sheets, completely naked, and pleasuring a man over 15 years older than him with a hand.
"Christ!" John swore, and Sherlock suddenly looked panicked. As if he didn't know how wrong it was, as if he didn't know what he was subliminally asking John to become. He moved away, slapped Sherlock away, damn near ran back into the sheets, ashamed and astonished beyond his years.
Later, when they'd been silent for a while, Sherlock turned to John. Privately, intimately. A victim of his own times and frustrations. The teenagers appeared beneath his icy skin.
"Not good?" He asked, cold, completely removed. His pride was still ailing. John sighed.
"Not really,"
"I just-" Sherlock shook his head, unsatisfied, unhappy, and blew the hair from his face. "I just need-..." For underneath the weight of being brilliant, being a prodigy, lightyears in advance of thinking. Outside of his innate creativity and fantastical mind, he was the same as every other kid. Wanted to touch and be touched, wanted to break things and scream, to get high when he was low, just like every other kid.
Sherlock still looks pale. Put out.
"I'm not angry." John says, and it puts Sherlock at ease somewhat. As if, for that moment, he's settling for John's trust.