A/N: WARNING: NO BETA. SPELLING/GRAMMAR MISTAKES. Sorry for the shortness of the chapter.


CHAPTER SIX

John didn't know why he was doing it. Again. All he knew was the moment Sherlock walked into the room he was hit by this uncontrollable force. It's was like gravity pulling him in and before he knew what he was doing, his fists were curled into the material of Sherlock's grey suit, dragging his mouth down.

Or maybe it was John's being pulled into the kiss by the firm confident hard pressed to the back of his neck. Warm and solid and utterly comforting the kiss was passionate and deep from the first instant.

John's body pressed against his friend, his pelvis grinding forward without his consent, not that he was complaining. The hand clinging to the suit jacket began fumbling with it, pushing it off the taller man's shoulders. The detective own hands following John's lead. The green and grey hit the floor with a thud.

There up rarely parted as the undressed each other. John's fingers desperately clutching at warm porcelain flesh. He took a deep shaky breath as Sherlock's mouth worked down his neck to work at the scared tissue of his shoulder. The fingers of John's left hand tangling into the blond strands, once again wishing for the black curls. This other hand holding onto Sherlock bicep as if it was a life raft. His heart crashing against his ribs as a moan was ripped from his throat. With a simple tug he pulled Sherlock back up to him, taking his full enchanting lips hungrily.

The pair tumbled onto the bed without even realizing it. Sherlock grinding up frantically, looking for friction and finding it when John pressed his hips down to meet the movement. Things got more heated as Sherlock slid his hand between them to work at both their erections with a single hand. John's head rolling back, his back arching and a deep primal moan rumbling through his chest. He once against dragged Sherlock into a desperate kiss.

Sherlock stopped before either of them could reach their peak. Rolling off of his friend, rushing to the bathroom. A mirror of their first time, only unlike that time, John knew what to expect and his body blazed with arousal. When Sherlock returned John all but snatched the bottle from him, which pulling him down onto the bed. He then reached over the end of the bed, grabbing the wallet out of his pocket. The condom he found in there wasn't put there because this had been planned, because it hadn't been. Subconsciously hoped for, maybe but not planned. It was just a condom he'd left in there and forgotten about. Though clearly not completely.

Retrieving it from behind the notes he dropped the leather, making sure not to so much as glance at the picture inside. Turning back to the other man, John ripped the wrapper with his teeth and rolled it on before turning his attention to Sherlock's bathroom supplies in his hand. John shifted between the detectives eagerly parted thighs.

As a doctor it wasn't the first time he'd had his finger up a guy's arse. But it was the first time he'd done so for pleasure. - And not just Sherlock's. He had to admit he was kind of getting off on it too. Mainly because of the noises the slightly younger man was making.

He put his medical training to good use as he work Sherlock open, making sure to hit his prostate in the process, just to hear the incredible sounds he made. He was ready quickly and John knew it was because his body was used to the invasion. The thought sent a spark of jealousy though him and before he even realised he was doing it, he was slamming into the great detective possessively, filling the room with primal moans and grunts. With every thrust his mind repeated the word. 'Mine.' and every groan from Sherlock felt like an acknowledgement of that fact.

The bed made a little complaint as John fought to get deeper inside Sherlock. As if he could crawl underneath his skin and they could share one body. He didn't know where the idea of them being two souls in one body had come from but it felt right.

He's spent so long denying that they were anything more than friends, that he'd convinced himself. He stubbornly refused to allow any kind of thought into his mind. And then he'd lost the man, lost his reason to live. - not exist. Live. Sherlock had always been that to him, from their very first case. Without him, life had been lonely, shallow. Just a seemingly endless stream of days with nothing to look forward to but more of the same. That's why he'd married Mary. He'd needed something to cling to and as the saying went 'if you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with.'.

That thought had him freezing mid thrust, staring down at the flushed and damp man beneath him, into those unique blue eyes that saw so much.

"John?" He panted. "Problem?"

John found himself at a crossroads. The realization that he'd been using Mary as much as Sherlock had been using….his….he hated himself for that. Mary was such a good beautiful person, that it wasn't fair on her to be here. But John could imagine leaving now. Getting dressed and walking away from Sherlock was an impossibility. The past two weeks without him had been unbearable and as much as it was the worst thing in the world for him to be doing. He leant forward and kissed his friend in a way he hadn't kissed anyone since Alison Harris in year nine.

When he began to move again it wasn't the harsh possessive movements he'd been using a few moments ago. They were like the kiss. Slow, deep and filled with meaning.

Sherlock's head rolled back against the bed, loud moans rolling out of his throat. He saw the possessiveness in John's eyes as he slammed into him and it felt a warmth through his chest. He'd been John since they day they'd met, though he'd never said anything to the slightly older man, knowing how he felt about his sexuality. He wondered what John would have said if he had told him at the time.

It hadn't been love or sexual back then. It was something far more pure. The love had come with time, though he hadn't acknowledged it….no, he hadn't recognized it. Now he knew what it had been that had caused him to hate every woman that came within ten feet of John Watson. Why he'd gone out of his way to make sure they didn't remain in his friends life for long. Why he'd felt a spark of triumph when John acted irrationally around The Woman. Why it had sent a pain though his chest when he heard John deny that there was anything between them at the power station. He hadn't known then that that had been heartbreak he was feeling.

Richard had shown him that, not that he felt those feeling for Richard, but that the man seemed to feel them for him. He felt another stab of guilt into his stomach, but John's movement eased it quickly. As much as he was grateful to the man he was living with, he didn't love him. He loved the man currently making his body trembling. Whose name was being ripped from his lips. Who was moaning his name in return.

When John froze mind thrust, he thought he'd deduced where his thoughts were and was going to complain, or worse stop and leave. Looking up into the man's face her tried to see what was going through the older man's mind.

"Problem?" he heard himself whisper.

John didn't repost verbal. He stared at him for a long intense second before bring his mouth down on Sherlock's and stealing his breath. The intensity of the kiss, slow and deep and filled with things Sherlock couldn't even begin to deduce was enough to send Sherlock tumbling over the edge. Coming with a low groan and a gasp of his friends name.

John pulled back to look down at him, an arrogant satisfied smirk on his face. He began to move, not fast and punishingly like he had when they'd started, but slow and filled with the same passion as the kiss they'd just shared. Each thrust accompanied with a quiet moan of his name. His heart skipped with each movement. His long elegant fingers curving around the powerful muscle of John's bicep, his nails biting into the flesh as he felt another wave of ecstasy flooding his body.

Finally John's body grew tense, his hard member pressed deep inside him as he cried the detectives name into the silent room. Then he collapsed forward, his body crushing down on Sherlock, breathless.

"I - I don't think I'm ever going to get used to that." John panted into his ear, his tone filled with a smile.

"I think you mean 'tired of it'. You will easily become used to it, believe me." Sherlock smirked.

John pushed himself up on his arm, glaring down at him. "Shut up Sherlock." he snapped, rolling off them younger man. "How the hell am I meant to tell…"

Sherlock's stomach tighten in preparation for the name of the woman he didn't want to be reminded of.

"….Lestrade about his sergeant without telling him that your alive?" he finished, resting his head on his arm, staring up at the ceiling.

Sherlock burst into laughter as the tension in his gut eased.

"What's so fucking funny?" John snapped, turning to glare at him again.

Sherlock just shook his head and continued to laugh.


A/N: Thanks for the continued support. Hope you enjoyed the chapter.