Sorry if Sherlock seems a bit out of character in my story. The only way to do the prompt, for me at least, was to make him… err, I don't have a word for it.

Plus, we always hurt the ones we love, don't we? ;)

Sherlock never liked to kiss Sebastian. He had overly sharp canines that always "accidentally" caught on Sherlock's lower lip, puncturing the tender skin and making him bleed. Sherlock was forced to deal with the blood himself, cleaning the wound to make sure it didn't get infected, and God forbid any of it stain Sebastian's clothes or his sheets or the floor.

After one such incident, Sherlock pulled his head away from the sharp rip, panting hard. "Seb, that hurt," he whimpered, his fingers sliding out of Sebastian's hair to land on his shoulders and squeeze. "Can I go clean up?"

Sebastian grinned at him, pushing his already nude form onto the bed and pressing two dry fingers into his arsehole. "You can, after I'm done with you." He wrapped his hand around Sherlock's only half-hard cock and pulled ineffectually at it, thrusting his fingers quickly in and out of him.

Sherlock nodded, barely wincing at the pain, and fisted his hands in his own dark curls. "I love you, Sebastian," he purred, willing himself aroused.

The business major didn't reply. After six months of dating, the declarations of love from him had tapered to none, but the occasional slap had increased to beatings for the slightest mistake. Still, Sherlock had stopped running away, and never really said no, and did love Sebastian with his entire being, so there was no problem.

No problems at all. Sebastian continued to kiss him, nipping hard at the lightly bleeding cut, and Sherlock allowed him to. He would always allow him to.

John and Sherlock's first kiss wasn't post-case. It wasn't adrenalin-fueled or a spur-of-the-moment occurrence. Sherlock invited John out to Angelo's again on a Saturday night when neither one of them had anything good to do; read, Sherlock didn't have a case and John wasn't chasing a shag.

After John's confession, and Sherlock's subsequent revelation, they hadn't changed much around each other. John was a bit more careful about touching Sherlock, and Sherlock seemed to learn to grasp the concept of personal space.

"You going to eat?" John asked, sitting in his usual spot with his back to the window. Instead of sitting diagonal to him, as per usual, Sherlock sat next to him and pulled the menu up to himself.

"I think I will." He turned to John, his gaze flickering between John's mouth and his hands. "Listen… I've been thinking about…" He cleared his throat. "What you, ah, said. Last week."

John pursed his lips, and then stared off in the other direction. "Sherlock, I thought we agreed to let this go."

"I did no such thing." He shifted a bit closer. "If you're… if you're still interested, I want to…" He'd not felt this flustered since his university years.

"I am." John smiled at him, taking his hand with gentle fingers. "We can just try, Sherlock. It doesn't have to be anything too serious."

Sherlock froze, an oddly sharp memory of Sebastian's smug smile and a lipstick stain on his collar filling his vision. "So you'd still date?" he asked worriedly, sounding pathetically afraid.

John tightened his grip on Sherlock's hand. "No, of course not. It would be me and you, Sherlock, but you could change your mind at any time."

"Ah. Thank you." The detective leaned forward, hesitated, and then pressed his lips to John's. The kiss was soft and yielding, something Sherlock was definitely not used to, and there wasn't any pain. He pulled away, his eyebrows drawn together. "Am I doing it wrong?"

John frowned back. "It was fine, Sherlock. It was good. Why, what's wrong?"

Sherlock shook his head, and then relented, licking his lips before speaking. "It's supposed to hurt, isn't it? Someone… my first…" He rubbed across his nose with his free hand. "He said if it doesn't hurt, then the other person doesn't really…" His mouth twitched and he went quiet.

John seemed not to understand for a few seconds. "If it doesn't…?" Then realisation dawned and his hand tightened around Sherlock's. "I can assure you, Sherlock, whoever told you that was lying to you. And I'm sorry they did."

Sherlock risked a look at him and almost sighed in relief. It seemed John couldn't deduce the whole story. If he did, he would surely leave Sherlock, and then he would really be done. John was his last important connection, besides The Work, which he was cheating on now, wasn't he? Or John and The Work had become one and the same, as important as the other.

The Work was his intellectual stimulation. John made him feel alive in every other way. He smiled, a true smile, and practically glowed when John smiled back. Perhaps this "try" would end up as something good.