A/N:
Hello, my lovely readers! I'm back with another update, thank gawd. Guess what's coming up that I'm SUPER DUPER excited about? If you guessed THE NEW SEASON OF SHERLOCK then you are right! I wanted to make sure to get this update posted before the 1st of January so that I could spend a few days before preparing for the new season, and then a few days after sobbing violently, alone in my room u.u
I added a cliffhanger (as always) at the end that might lead to smut so that you guys aren't all sexually frustrated due to the lack of it. I promise you all will get your full smut soon! I just want to pace myself so that its not rushed!
I think that's all I have to say.
Oh yeah….
HAPPY NEW YEAR/HAPPY THIRD SEASON OF SHERLOCK!
Super grateful to all who faved, followed and left reviews. You are guys fucking awesome!
Thank you all sooo sooo soooo much for reading this story! It would be nothing with out all you amazing readers! I love you guys dearly! I hope you enjoy this next chapter!
This one's for you!
"John."
John's name came out more astounded than Sherlock wanted it to, but he could not help it. He was utterly surprised.
"Sherlock." John greeted him back.
A few days ago, he had attempted to seduce John, rubbing his hand sensually over his thigh. With his other specimen, this usually led to submission: a quick taxi ride to the nearest hotel, followed by a night filled with mind-blowing sex.
This was not the case with John. Flustered by the sudden contact, he scampered out of the pub with his tail in between his legs. Sherlock wasn't certain if they would ever meet again.
But here he was, staring right at him with those deep gray eyes and that smug smile plastered on his lovely face. It seemed so effortless, the way John could just easily tug upward on the corners of his mouth and put him slightly out of breath.
His sudden appearance, Sherlock had decided, was a pleasant surprise; a statement he had never planned on using.
Nevertheless, he assured himself that the quick wavering of his heart was just his curiosity at play. He was simply curious about the man that stood before him.
Yes, that's exactly what it was.
John made a sound as if to clear his throat, jerking Sherlock out of his thoughts and reminding him exactly where he was.
John, right. Why is he still standing? He could just—Oh.
"If you'd like, you may sit down. I'm sure it's better than standing." Sherlock stated, embarrassed that he had forget to offer him a seat.
John smiled brightly, slightly drawing an increase in Sherlock's heart rate, and plopped down right next to him. He sat with his legs wide open, his left knee brushing against Sherlock's own.
They sat like that for a while, gazing into the sun, which had suddenly made an appearance. The warmth of the sun felt pleasant.
"About the other day . . ." John began, turning himself to face the raven-haired man, twiddling his thumbs nervously.
Sherlock could sense his uneasiness and started to protest. "John, you don't-"
"I know I don't have to," he interjected quickly, "But I want to."
Sherlock visibly nodded as if to say, "I understand". At that moment, he knew that he could easy walk away and never turn back, forgetting John and all the confusion that he had brought along with him. But he didn't. He just sat there, waiting to hear what the other man had to say. Sherlock was not sure why he cared. He knew it was of no importance to him and that this whole debacle was delaying his time. However, something in him, something evidently unwise, made him sit still and listen.
"First off, I want to apologize for my behavior at the pub. I only ran out because I was a bit scared. It's been a while since I've done anything . . . like this."
"Oh."
Sherlock's abilities appeared to be failing him because at that moment, he could not decipher if John was lying straight through his teeth or if that was an honest statement. It bugged him that one man, one awkward and . . . unpredictable man, could make him lose his cool.
"I hope we can put this past us. Maybe start fresh . . . " John muttered, his eyes settling on his rough tan hands.
"John."
John picked at a stubborn hangnail on his calloused hands. For some strange reason, the words coming from his mouth felt real, and that scared him.
"John?"
He lifted his gaze to meet Sherlock's sapphire eyes. "What was that?"
"I said . . . I said I'll give you another chance to redeem yourself. How does dinner at my place sound?"
John was quite for a moment. He scanned Sherlock's pale, proportioned face, his gray eyes piercing through all three layers of skin. Sherlock's face was sincere and his words flowed with a certain honesty that he wasn't used to.
Was this part of his scheme?
He had to risk it.
Two whole minutes went by before Sherlock heard the two words that ultimately made his insides tremble.
"I accept."
John reached the designated address around seven o'clock in the evening. By that time, the sun had set and he was aided up to the building by the light of the moon. He rang the doorbell once, taking in his surroundings as he waited to be invited in.
The apartment building was not large; three floors at most, with dull paint peeling at its sides. The only source of light, besides the moon, seemed to be coming from the second floor where John assumed Sherlock inhabited.
After a few seconds, the black door, labeled with the gold lettering "221 B", opened wide to reveal Sherlock, clad in black as usual. His curls were slightly damp and he smelled of cologne and cigarettes.
"John, come in."
John smiled politely and followed the tall raven-haired man up the stairs to his apartment. Once he entered the living room, John stood in awe, admiring the normality of his living habits. Everything seemed to be slightly messy, but organized.
"Make yourself at home. I'll take your coat for you, if you don't mind." Sherlock said, approaching the shorter man. John quickly removed his jacket and sat on the small couch facing the television.
"It's a nice place you've got here." He said, scanning the patterned walls for picture frames of Sherlock or at least some sign that he had friends and family. Unfortunately, the only frames he saw were of passed scientists, those whose names John could not quite put together.
"Thank you. Got it for a good deal from my landlady. She's a friend of my brother's." Sherlock said, turning to hang John's jacket on the coat rack near the door. He returned to the seating area where John was perched comfortably.
"You have a brother?" John was a bit stunned, but didn't let it show in his voice.
"Ah yes, an particularly annoying one." He rolled his eyes and John grinned.
"Whose family isn't annoying?" They chuckled together for a bit before resuming their small talk.
"Do you have any siblings?" Sherlock asked, sincerely wanting to know more about the man sitting on his couch.
"Just one, Harry. My sister."
" . . . Harry? That is quite a unique name."
"You don't want to know." John laughed.
Sherlock felt at ease. It felt nice to have company that you did not want to savagely slaughter. He almost felt normal.
"Why don't you head on over to the kitchen? I'll have dinner put out in a few."
John smiled warmly. He had nearly forgotten about the food. "Do you want me to help out?"
"Nonsense, you are my guest and should be treated as such." Sherlock trudged into his kitchen, closely followed by John, and began to quickly set the table. John walked over to a chair and sat down, watching the taller man set the table with delicacies such as honey-roasted ham, lemon-baked salmon and freshly brewed tea.
He could feel his mouth water. It had been a long time since he had eaten a home cooked meal. Living alone, he had to survive on take-out and dishes from his friendly neighbors.
"Holy shit," John drooled, "you can cook. I just hope it tastes as good as it looks."
Sherlock, ignoring his comment, finally settled into his seat. He observed all the food had specifically prepared for John, recalling how he had to google most of the recipes online and refer to a few youtube videos for the tedious preparation.
He looked over to John, who was gazing lovingly at the strawberry jam filled crepes.
"Now," Sherlock said enthusiastically, "let's eat."
John sat back into his chair, feeling a sense of discomfort from his stomach. He had eaten so much and his protruding belly showed every sign. He swore to never eat again.
"I think I might have bitten off more than I could chew." He whined, rubbing his sore belly.
Sherlock laughed. "I see you enjoyed yourself."
"Indeed. Thank you for dinner. It was delicious. I hope it wasn't any trouble."
"It was no trouble at all, I assure you. Thank you for agreeing to be a guest at my table."
"Anytime." Anytime?
There was an awkward pause.
"Well," John said, rising from the table, "I guess I'll go freshen up." He pushed out his chair, walked around it, and returned it to its previous position. He paused, fingers tapping delicately along the chair's sturdy frame. "Oh, uh, where may I be able to find a bathroom?"
"Straight down the hall, last door to the left." Sherlock answered in one breath.
He watched John waddle awkwardly out of the dining area and disappear around the corner.
John strolled down the lengthy hallway that seemed to stretch out for miles.
There were three sets of doors on each side, not counting the single door at the end of the corridor. Yellowing wallpaper, covered in a Victorian-styled print, enclosed the walls entirely except around each doorframe, where it appeared to be peeling away.
The lone door at the end of the hall was slightly open, smoke seeping out from right under the opening.
What the bloody hell . . . ? A fire?!
John approached the door and placed his palm over the silver knob, testing for heat. It was ice cold, something he was not anticipating from a room that was supposedly on fire.
I'll just check, one look, and then I'll be on my way. Three seconds top.
He pushed the door back and attempted to peer inside the ominously dark room.
"What do you think you're doing?"
John, completely surprised by the sudden intrusion, jumped out of his skin to the familiar baritone voice echoing along the corridor. He immediately shut the door.
Opposite to him, at the end of the hallway stood Sherlock, his pale and pleasant face contorted into a mixture of irritation and suspicion.
John felt the fear enter his body and paralyze him from head to toe. He had let his curiosity get the best of him and now here he stood, face to face with a furious killer who seemed ready to tear him in half.
Shit, I've done it now.
Only when Sherlock began to menacingly stroll towards the shorter man did John finally speak up. "W-what?" he stuttered, the fear evidently apparent in his voice.
"Last time I checked, you were neither deaf nor dumb." Sherlock spat, nearing the other man. "I asked a simple question. Even the simplest of dull creatures could provide an answer faster than you. What. Are. You. Doing?"
He was close now and John could sense the venom in his voice.
There was something beautiful about the way the lights shone on Sherlock's skin, the way the light seemed to kiss all his features, giving him an angelic-like glow. It was also terrifying that something as simple as light could mask a person's true nature.
John willed himself to look into those piercing cobalt eyes, devoid of any emotion. "Nothing."
"Nothing?" Sherlock probed aggressively, closing in on John, backing him up against the door, "What do you mean nothing? It clearly had to be something, or you would not-"
John stepped forward and surged his lips to Sherlock's, silencing the fuming man instantaneously.
Five seconds went by before he realized the implications of his actions.
He walked backwards until his back met the door. His brain clouded with terror and his eyes widened with dread. Oh my god, what have I done?
Sherlock, utterly shocked by the kiss, stood completely still, his heart rate slowly climbing. There, in the pit of his stomach, was an odd and unfamiliar sensation that he almost failed to recognize.
Desire.
The feeling came as a wave and washed over him, driving him like a blind rage. He pulled the shorter man closer by the collar, eliminating any space that had been between them, and violently pressed his lips against John's, drawing out a single lustful moan from between his thin pink lips.