Author's Note: This chapter has been recently edited. All chapters are being edited. Sex scene in this chapter. Talk of physical abuse.

Disclaimer: Sherlock is not mine.


"So when do I get to meet Sherlock?"

John choked on his cornflakes and coughed violently. His mother was smiling down at him a bit too enthusiastically, pointing a spatula at his face. He knew this would be coming eventually, considering he honestly did talk about him a lot. But he didn't think that his mother would ever ask to properly meet him.

He cleared his throat and gulped some orange juice. "Sorry, what?"

"You know, your new friend you're always talking about! When do I get to meet him?"

"Er, I dunno… Why do you want to?"

His mother continued making his father's breakfast. "I've already met Roland, but you keep mentioning Sherlock. It's strange that you are apparently so close with him and haven't brought him over."

"Well, he doesn't really like meeting new people…" John was going to try and avoid this, he decided.

"Nonsense!" His mother scoffed. "Invite him for dinner tonight and then he can stay. I'll set up the spare room for him and we can have a nice big roast. I'll make sure Harriet will be here, too!"

"What will I be here for?" John's sister sauntered into the kitchen.

His mother faced her and smiled. "Johnny's inviting his friend to stay the night. We're going to have a nice roast dinner, so I want you to be here, please!"

Harriet glanced at John with a smirk. "What friend is this then?"

"Sherlock Holmes…" John answered uncomfortably.

His sister was grinning at him knowingly now, running her tongue suggestively on her teeth as if to say she knew something was going on between them. He had told her a little bit about Sherlock. Mostly that they were lab partners, but she didn't know about their relationship; none of his family did. So the idea of having Sherlock stay for the night as well as join in for a family dinner made him sweat with anxiety. Sherlock had been rather distressed lately about not telling people of their relationship and often came close to making it obvious; John was worried that Sherlock might come out to his parents.

"Well, what are you waiting for?!" John's mother interrupted his thoughts. "Text him, call him or do whatever it is you teenagers do these days!"

John rinsed his bowl in the sink. "I will later, okay? But I can't promise that he'll come."

He made a dash to his bedroom, trying to escape the subject. He collapsed onto his bed face first and groaned into his pillow. John decided he would at least ask Sherlock if he would come, but was desperately hoping the answer would be a no. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if it was. Sherlock was barely talking to him at the moment because of what happened between them on Valentine's Day. Even in Biology he was lucky to receive a few words.

There was a knock on the door and then Harriet walked in, making herself at home on the back of his legs. John rolled over so she was now sitting on his knees and frowned at her disapprovingly.

"I'm not a couch." He complained.

"Oh well," she shrugged. "So, are you and Sherlock shagging, or…?"

John blushed furiously. "No!"

"So it's platonic then?"

"Well… No…"

"Ha!" Harriet clapped her hands together. "I knew you had a secret boyfriend! I hear you two on Skype all the time."

Slowly, John pulled his legs out from underneath his sister and they sat up against the wall together. John wanted desperately to tell her everything. Not a single person in his family knew about him and Sherlock. He wanted to tell her about his first boyfriend, his first proper gay experience and that he was slowly falling for the boy.

"How long then?" Harriet asked.

"Um, just over a month…"

"And you didn't think to tell me?! Jeez, I thought we were closer than that." Harriet grinned. "So, how far have you gone?"

John felt his ears growing warm again. "Er… Well… I guess you could say everything but sex…"

"I'm not gonna lie, I'm super excited right now. So what's he like?"

"Well… He's different."

"Is he hot?"

"Handsome is a better word…" John felt himself smiling.

"So who knows?"

"Well, you… And his adopted mother,"

Harriet nodded. "Still not ready to tell people, then?"

"No… Not yet…" John lowered his eyes.

"I know it's different for you 'cause you're not as proud as I was. But you need to come out eventually."

"You're right, it is different for me," John answered hotly. "Why is everyone pressuring this so much? Do you have any idea what my new school is like, Harriet? My apparent closest friend bullies Sherlock every single day and hates gays. He would beat me to a bloody pulp if he knew! So yes, I am scared of coming out. In fact I'm fucking terrified."

"Alright, gay boy, calm down," Harriet said defensively. "What do you mean he bullies Sherlock?"

John felt his eyes watering. "Can I please talk to you about something really serious? Like, really serious…"

"Oh my God, it's not sex is it? Because I'd prefer it if you Googled that stuff…"

"No! No… It's to do with the bullying,"

"Do I need to hit anyone?" Harriet's blue eyes were filled with concern.

"Um… Well… My friend Roland… He really hates Sherlock and he's come up with a plan to invite him to his birthday and make him walk in on me kissing one of my other friends called Molly so he will be heartbroken and then want to kill himself." John was breathless when he finished.

Harriet's mouth had fallen. "What a fucking wanker!"

"Yeah… He's told me if I don't go ahead with it he'll beat the crap out of me…"

"Where does the fucker live? I will cut him in his sleep! You're not seriously gonna go do it are you?"

"I don't want to. But what am I supposed to do?"

"Stand up for yourself, John! Jesus… You need to tell Sherlock. If you're still gonna do it, at least tell him so he knows it's just this guy being a prick."

John lowered his head shamefully and felt tears stinging his eyes. He wanted to tell Sherlock, he really did. But he was a coward. He honestly just didn't want to risk getting beaten up, as selfish as that sounded. He almost began to laugh as he remembered Roland's words from day one, "That's Sherlock Holmes. If you know what's good for you, you'll stay away from him." It was really Sherlock who should stay away from John. He didn't deserve Sherlock at all.

"I'm gonna go out for a bit and be back in time for dinner," Harriet interrupted his thoughts. "But call me if you need me. And John?"

"Yeah?"

"Tell Sherlock,"

John watched as his sister left and then stared over at his phone. He knew he had to call Sherlock and invite him over to keep his mother happy, but he couldn't shake the feeling of anxiety that was sitting in his chest. What if Sherlock said yes? He would have to face him after a week of almost silence and most likely tell him about Roland's plan. And what if Sherlock came out to his parents about their relationship?

"Get over yourself, John Hamish Watson," he breathed. "Just call him."

With a deep breath and nervous fingers, he brought up Sherlock's name on his phone and hit "call". Butterflies were swimming around in his stomach and it felt like hours before suddenly he heard a muffled sound and then,

"You know I prefer to text,"

"Hey," John almost stuttered. "I know, sorry… Are you busy? I can text you later instead..."

"I was only sleeping, nothing important." Sherlock yawned.

John smiled. "Were you really?" Sherlock never slept. "Did you have a good sleep?"

"It was alright; a solid hour or so."

"So listen um… Do you wanna come for dinner and stay the night?"

"I'm not hungry,"

"You might be later when it's actually dinner time…"

Another yawn, "Why should I come for dinner?"

"Mum wants to meet you…"

"Why?"

John sighed. "Because she wants to meet 'the friend I'm always talking about'."

"What time do I need to be there?" Sherlock asked nonchalantly.

"Um, probably around five… Dinner is usually at six… That cool?"

"Guess so."

"Oh and… Wear something nice? If you own anything nice…"

"I'll do my best."

"I'll text you my address… And one more thing…" John felt a lump in his throat.

"Yes, John?"

"I'm sorry… For everything…"


John was nervous. In fact, he was nervous as all hell. Sherlock was expected to be here any minute now and over the past two hours, he had changed into three different shirts due to sweating. Harriet had tried to calm him down, telling him of the "amazing sex" they would have later when everyone had gone to bed. But frankly John didn't find her jokes calming in the slightest. Why couldn't she understand how hard this was? That he didn't want his family to know about their relationship? Or rather, he didn't want his father to know…

John didn't think his father was a bad person. He earned money to put food on the table for his family, attended church every Sunday, donated his change to charities in fast food restaurants and supported his children. He had never laid a single finger on his kids or his wife, took naps on Saturday afternoons and watched the soccer religiously. But he hated gays. No, hate wasn't the right word. Loathed better suited how his father felt about them.

Having grown up in a very religious family, John's father very much believed that homosexuality was a sin and that all gay people would go to hell when they died. Usually he just tried to ignore the fact that homosexuals existed on the planet, almost as if he were in denial. But John would never forget the time when he just hit puberty and his dad told him these exact words, "John, I am aware you've hit adolescence now. You're going to start having… sexual feelings for others. I understand that. But you need to promise me one thing… If you ever have to give into your hormones, don't let it be with a man. Homosexuals are sinful. Do you understand?"

John tried to shake these thoughts from his head and went to sit on the couch in the living room. He glanced at his watch; it was five past five. Sherlock was late. Probably still asleep, knowing him… John started to impatiently tap his fingers on his knee, anxiety bubbling in his chest and beginning to attack his stomach. Where is he?!

There was a knock on the door and then his mother's voice. "Is that Sherlock, Johnny?! Let him in!"

For a moment, John felt as if he was glued to the couch, not being able to move. But with a deep breath, he forced himself up and before he knew it he was at the front door. He opened it and was honestly, very surprised at what he saw. Sherlock stood before him dressed in what looked like brand new jeans, a purple dress shirt and a ratty pair of black Converse sneakers. His hair had been cut, making his usually unruly mop of curls sit neatly upon his head. John almost let his mouth fall; Sherlock looked… Hot.

It was strange seeing Sherlock in casual clothes. Before today, John had grown used to seeing him in either his uniform or pyjamas and favourite dressing gown. Fashion was not something that interested Sherlock, apparently and so outside of school he stayed in his sleepwear due to not caring. He says he would rather be comfortable and unfashionable than fashionable and uncomfortable.

"Sherlock, you look…"

He frowned. "Mrs Hudson insisted I got it cut, despite my protests."

"It looks really nice. Like, really nice…" John grinned, whispering the last few words.

Sherlock smirked. "So are you going to let me in?"

John stepped aside so Sherlock could enter his house and suddenly felt a whole lot calmer. Sherlock wasn't being cold anymore and seemed to be in a genuinely half decent mood. In fact, John might even dare say that Sherlock was… Happy.

He led Sherlock through to the kitchen and popped his head in cautiously. Almost instantly, his mother turned from her vegetable chopping and smiled widely at them.

"So, the famous Sherlock!" She wiped her hands on her apron and walked over, hand outstretched.

John watched Sherlock shake her hand politely. "Pleased to meet you, Mrs Watson."

His mother blushed. "Oh please, call me Helen!"

Sherlock shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. John could almost sense that Sherlock was unsure of what he had to do next and so he quickly grasped his sleeve and led him out of the room.

"Just gonna show him around, Mum!" John called over his shoulder.

"Dinner is at six sharp, Johnny!"

John escorted Sherlock through the house, making brief comments on certain rooms. He honestly felt quite awkward and a little snobby, considering Sherlock only lived in a small two bedroom flat that was, quite honestly looking as if it could collapse at any moment from how old it was.

"Nice house," Sherlock stated bluntly.

"Yeah… To tell you the truth I miss our old place in Essex."

Sherlock smiled at him. "London doesn't really suit you."

Just as John was about to reply, Harriet came bounding down the stairs in her usual careless manner. She was wearing black skinny jeans, a striped long-sleeved t-shirt and a ridiculous amount of eye makeup. She grinned almost devilishly when she saw Sherlock and shook his hand enthusiastically, making his eyes widen in obvious alarm.

"Er, Sherlock this is – "

"Harriet," he finished. "Obviously."

"How are you then, Sherlock?" Harriet asked, leaning back against the stair railing.

"Fine," he answered. John nudged him. "Thank you. Yourself?"

"Yeah, decent. So John tells me you're into forensics?"

Sherlock stood taller. "Yes. Though, I prefer detective work. I like being able to deduce a crime scene. You know, get the facts from just one look. It's all about observing. Did you know that if someone has a tattoo of six digits, it probably has deep meaning to them? It's because it usually represents the birth or death date of a person."

"Well I can't say I knew that off the top of my head, no." Harriet smirked. "Got ya self a smart one, John!"

John glared at her. "Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Alright, I get the hint," she replied, starting to leave. "But if you's two are gonna shag later, be quiet. I've got a lecture at eight tomorrow morning and need my beauty sleep!"

John blushed furiously and pushed her out of the room, praying to God that nobody else in the house heard that. God, Harriet could be such an ignorant and annoying sister… Sherlock was snickering beside him.

"She knows, then?" He asked, climbing the staircase.

John followed. "Yeah… Told her this morning."

"Do your parents know?"

"No…"

"Huh,"

John ignored Sherlock's sound of disapproval and continued showing him the upstairs part of the house. Eventually they reached his bedroom and he pushed the door open, not sure of what Sherlock would think. His room was pretty simple; a double bed, band posters, wardrobe and desk. His quilt set was very gender neutral; red and blue stripes. The only thing that could possibly stand out was that John was a neat freak; he couldn't stand anything being out of order and loathed mess on his floor. Everything in his room needed to be clean and tidy.

"You have the room of somebody who is in the Army." Sherlock commented.

"Yeah. I want to join, actually…"

Sherlock looked alarmed for a moment. "I respect that. But what if you join and never come back?"

"I want to be a doctor, not a soldier. I mean, I know there's that risk. But it would be worth it if I was helping people get better."

"I see," Sherlock mumbled. "You know, I half expected you to have a poster of a naked woman in here or something."

John chuckled. "Yeah, well, I didn't think I could handle that, so I put up my favourite bands instead."

He watched Sherlock go over and sit on the edge of is bed, stretching his legs out and tapping his Converse together. He slowly looked up at John, a sad smile on his face, and it was all John could do not to burst into tears. Things were so awkward now and he was sure that they would only be worse when he informed Sherlock of what Roland wanted to do to him. Just thinking about what Sherlock's face would be when he sees him kissing Molly was a direct stab to his heart.

"John?"

He shook his head clear. "Sorry. Yeah?"

"I don't mean to pressure you about telling people… I… I am sorry."

"It's okay… I'm sorry for being scared."

John stepped over to Sherlock and placed his arms around Sherlock's shoulders. He felt Sherlock slide his own arms around the small of his back in a tight squeeze and gently lowered himself so he was straddling his lap, bringing them closer. John curled his fingers into the curls on the nape of Sherlock's neck desperately, feeling a lump forming in his throat. Before he could stop himself, he was sobbing gently into Sherlock's hair.

"I love you, Sherlock." He wept. "It's okay; you don't have to say it. I just need you to know that."

The other boy held him tighter. "Just stop crying."

"I'm sorry." John wiped his snotty nose on his arm.

"Johnny, dinner's on the table!" His mother's voice called up the hall.

With a sniffle, John stood up and headed towards the door, rubbing harshly at his eyes to hide any evidence that he had been crying. They didn't feel puffy and so he was sure he was safe. He felt Sherlock's presence behind him and the two of them headed down wordlessly to the dining room. John's mother had cooked the family a huge leg of lamb with a variety of roast vegetables.

"Er, looks good, Mrs Watson," Sherlock mumbled, clearly not hungry.

"Helen!" She corrected with a big smile. "Thank you, Sherlock! I hope you're hungry!"

He nodded with a tight smile and John guided him to what was known as the "guest's" seat, next to his own. They sat down and abruptly, John heard whistling and the sound of keys being dropped onto the kitchen bench. Harriet entered the room and took her seat and then his father's head popped around the doorway.

"Sherlock!" He smiled widely. "How are you?"

"Well, thank you, Mr Watson…" Sherlock answered. "Um, how are you?"

John couldn't believe Sherlock's good behaviour, being so polite and forcing himself to ask questions instead of just answering them. He would have to reward him for this later if he got the chance…

"Tired, actually. You know how it is, long day at the office," John's father grinned, taking his place.

"No, I don't. I go to school." Sherlock replied.

John mentally face-palmed, but forced a smile. "He's joking, dad."

"Oh," his father chuckled. "Helen, how was your day?"

"Good thank you, honey!" John's mother answered, piling everyone's plates.

John sat in his chair uncomfortably whilst his parents made the usual dinner conversation and forced himself to eat. He watched Sherlock in the corner of his eye, who was refusing to make eye contact with anyone unless they asked him a question. He was moving his food around on his plate, occasionally taking a bite of potato or nibbling on a piece of roast.

"So, Sherlock!" John's father smiled across the table. "How are you doing in school?"

"I'm an A grade student," he answered.

"Impressive! Do you know what you want to do when you finish?"

"I want to become the first ever consulting detective."

John's father gave a quizzical look. "I see… Well! John's going to come and work with me at the shoe factory, aren't you, son?"

John tried not to frown and nodded. "Yep, been my dream since a kid…"

"Actually, John wants to be a doctor." Sherlock interjected.

"What are you talking about?" His father frowned, and John thumped Sherlock under the table.

Sherlock thumped back. "Yes, he wishes to become a doctor and apply for the Army."

"Is this true, John?"

He cleared his throat. "Well… Maybe… In case I don't like it at the factory…"

"Why wouldn't you like it at the factory?"

"Dad… Just forget about it…"

"Surely John is entitled to pursue the career he wants, Mr Watson."

"Sherlock, this isn't your business." John's father grimaced. "Answer my question, John."

"I just want to help people. Work with sick kids in third world countries and mend the wounds of injured soldiers. I would be a good doctor, Dad."

"So you know you need a perfect year 12 score?"

"Of course… Why do you think I've been studying so hard?"

"Just let him be a doctor, Dad," Harriet spoke up. "If it's what he wants to do, you can't change it."

"Please stop it, all of you!" John's mother exclaimed frantically.

John could feel his ears growing hot from embarrassment and then nausea in his stomach. All of a sudden his roast lamb wanted to come straight back up. He couldn't believe that this was happening. The night everyone gets to meet his (secret) boyfriend, and there has to be a family feud.

"John, I want to speak to you in the kitchen, please," his father practically growled. "Sherlock, if you wouldn't mind, go up to the guest room."

John was suddenly stricken with fear. His father looked absolutely livid. His face had gone bright red and John saw that his fists were tightly clenched as he walked to the kitchen. He felt Sherlock subtly squeeze his hand under the table and with a deep breath, stood up slowly and followed his father. Inside the kitchen, he was waiting for John leant against the bench, arms folded. John stood anxiously by the door way, shuffling his feet and focusing on the linoleum.

"When were you going to tell me?" His father almost spat.

"Dad, I'm sorry, I just… I've never been interested in the business like you. I'm fascinated by medicine." John bowed his head.

"And who the hell does this Sherlock think he is trying to tell me what you can and can't do?!"

"He's my friend; my best friend. He's only looking out for me."

"Well he has no right to say that! I want you to stay away from him!"

"Leave John alone!" Harriet's voice sounded.

Suddenly she was beside him, her arm held firmly around his waist supportively. She gave him a tight squeeze and then stepped toward their father, clearly not afraid in the slightest. John could already feel the tears forming; he knew this wasn't going to end well.

"This is none of your concern, young lady. Go and make sure your mother is okay." His father ordered.

"No, dad. Stop trying to control John just because I made my own choices."

"John isn't disobedient like you. He's the one who actually behaves out of the two of you. Never gets into trouble at school, doesn't go out binge drinking, and isn't kissing the same sex."

John felt the colour drain from his face at that last phrase and suddenly wanted to be religious. He hoped and prayed to God that Harriet wasn't going to say anything. Please don't let her say anything, please…

"Yeah, John's the golden boy," Harriet agreed. "But can't you see he's only like that because he just wants to please everyone? Live up to their expectations? Let him live his own life for once!"

"Harriet, please…" John begged.

"No, I'm not done." She snapped. "John is a good son to you and mum and an awesome brother. He has done everything you've ever asked for his entire life, so just let him be a doctor! Let him go and drink! Let him wag! Let him be gay if he is! Stop giving him the impression he has to live up to your expectations of the white picket fence family!"

John's father was bright red in the face now. "John, go up to your room."

With a quick "thank you" glance toward Harriet, John did as he usually did and followed his father's orders. As he hurriedly climbed up the stairs, he could still hear Harriet and his father bickering quite loudly. Of all the nights this could happen, why did it have to be tonight!

Inside his room, John hurled himself onto his bed and crawled under the covers fully clothed. He didn't want to have to deal with anything else tonight; not his mother, his dad, Harriet or even Sherlock. He just wanted to sleep forever and hopefully never wake up in the morning. Either that or discover it had all been one big nightmare.

Just as John felt himself drifting off, a shout echoed throughout the house that sounded like Harriet. His eyes snapped open and then the front door slammed, followed by the sound of his sister's car screeching off. Fuck. John's father then started barking at his mother who could be heard cleaning dishes. What the hell sort of family was this? And John felt like it was his fault… Why couldn't he just want to work at the factory like his dad wanted?

The door creaked open. "John?"

Sherlock entered the room – still fully clothed apparently - and closed the door behind him. John didn't bother to respond. He knew if he spoke it would only encourage tears and so he burrowed his head underneath his quilt, hoping Sherlock would think he's asleep. He felt his mattress sink and then a hand pulling back the quilt. He closed his eyes firmly.

"I know you're awake,"

Dammit. "Sorry you had to hear all that…"

"You should probably know that Harriet won't be coming back for a long time. Your dad hit her."

John sat up abruptly. "He what?!"

"Sorry… I should probably be more sensitive… Yes, he did. I could tell. Simple deduction. But I imagine she will fill you in tomorrow."

John laughed pessimistically, a tear dribbling down his face. "My life is literally just crashing around me. Everything is so fucked up right now."

"You still have me." Sherlock smiled sadly. "If that's any consolation."

Another tear fell and John reached out to grasp the back of Sherlock's head, pulling him into a forceful and messy kiss. He hadn't kissed him in over a week now and he needed this. He needed Sherlock's chapped lips on his, to feel his tongue in his mouth and curl his fingers in that mess of hair. John clung desperately to Sherlock's curls and pulled him closer; sure he was bruising his lips. A moan escaped Sherlock and John pulled away.

"I need to ask you something."

Sherlock pressed their foreheads together. "Shoot."

"Will you fuck me, in my bed, with my parents in the house?"

"…Now?"

"Now, . Fuck me. I need it. I need you. All of you."

John watched Sherlock lick his lips and then dip his head down, hungrily attacking his mouth. He felt Sherlock pull the bed clothes down and climb on top of him, pressing their groins together tightly. John was already ridiculously hard and the feeling of Sherlock's own dick against his was making it a whole lot worse. He had never needed release so badly in his whole life. John whimpered as Sherlock kissed a trail along his jawline down to his neck, gently sinking his teeth into it.

"Ah!" He cried out. "Don't bite!"

Sherlock stopped. "Too hard?"

"Oh my God, you idiot, I wasn't being serious! Get back on top of me!"

John's boyfriend gave a sigh of relief and returned to his neck nibbling, beginning to swiftly unbutton his shirt. As Sherlock pushed the material aside, John reached down to palm his erection eliciting a noisy groan and a harsh exhale. Sherlock's cock was straining against the denim of his jeans and John decided to help him out. A tongue started lapping at his nipple, making him lose focus for a second. God dammit, why did his nipples have to be so sensitive…? Concentrate, John! He slid the metal button out of place and dragged the zipper down, revealing Sherlock's usual satin boxers. Another moan and exhale.

"John… You do… Have… Stuff… Right?" Sherlock asked, kissing down his abdomen.

John had almost forgotten about that. "Yeah… I've got condoms and I'm pretty sure there's lube with the box."

With a nod, Sherlock continued kissing until he reached the waistband of John's jeans; which he undid with his teeth. John tossed his head to the side with a moan, feeling his briefs being slid down his legs and then nimble fingers tracing his cock. Lazily cracking an eyelid, John watched as Sherlock leant down and slowly took in his entire length, gripping the bottom of his dick in a very tight squeeze. He began to move up and down, his lips firm around him, applying the right amount of friction to drive John crazy. Pre-cum was leaking out of his cock and he moaned generously.

"Ngghh, Sherlock! Fuck… Need you now…"

Sherlock stopped and slid off the bed. "Direct me."

"Top drawer of my desk."

"Really, John?" Sherlock asked upon opening it. "Your sock drawer? I read online that that is considered 'amateur'."

"Oh shut up and fuck me, would you?"

Whilst Sherlock retrieved the condoms and lube, John kicked his pants off onto the floor as well as his underwear and felt butterflies in his stomach. What if he didn't like it? What if Sherlock was too big? What if Sherlock didn't like it? What if, what if, what if…

"Sherlock… I'm a little scared now…"He admitted meekly.

Sherlock leant over him and kissed his forehead. "Me too."

"Really…?"

"Of course. I'm not exactly a sex God. But I'll do my best."

John chuckled, calming down. "Okay… Okay, I'm ready."

With a nod, Sherlock pressed their lips together gently and John heard the crinkling of the condom being opened. A rustle of clothes being removed was audible and then John felt Sherlock's now sheathed cock pressed hard against his stomach as they kissed, slowly and passionately. John then discarded Sherlock's shirt in a few hasty movements and let his hands and fingers explore, feeling the curve of Sherlock's neck and the planes of his chest.

Sherlock pulled away. "How do you want to be?"

"I don't really know…" John blushed. "How do you want me?"

"On… On your hands and knees… Is that okay?"

"I guess so… Jeez, how much porn have you been watching?"

"Irrelevant," Sherlock answered, glancing down. "I'll prepare you like this first."

John nodded and then suddenly over taken by embarrassment, reached over and turned his bedside lamp off. He didn't really like the idea of Sherlock being able to clearly see his arsehole, even if his dick was going to be in it. Sherlock gave him a reassuring smile and John watched him fumble in the now darkened room to open the small packet of lube. The plastic was torn and then John felt a slick, cold finger rubbing at his entrance. It tickled a little and he bit his tongue to keep from giggling.

"This might hurt. So I apologise for possible future reference." Sherlock murmured.

Before John could respond, the finger pushed its way slowly inside him and he had to grip the bed sheets to stop from crying out. It didn't necessarily hurt, but it was a very foreign feeling and a little bit pleasurable. He inhaled deeply and watched Sherlock as he began to move his index finger in and out of him, stretching his tight hole. He then added another finger with more lube, this time causing John to feel a small amount of pain. He whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Do you want me to stop?" Sherlock asked, leaning over him.

John kissed him gently. "I'm fine. It… Feels good. Please, keep going."

Sherlock stretched him a while longer before pulling his fingers out and opening another packet of the lubricant. With nerves dominating his body, John could do nothing but stare at Sherlock as he coated his erection thick with the gel and then sit up on his knees. He slid his hands underneath John's waist and rolled him over. With a deep breath, John got up on all fours and gulped uneasily as he felt Sherlock grasp his hips, pressing his cock against his arse.

"Tell me if it's too much," he said, gingerly pushing into him. "Oh fuck… So tight…"

John gritted his teeth as he felt Sherlock inside him, filling him up. He was sure he would need a whole lot more lube if he was going to endure an entire session of love making with a dick that big inside of his arse. There was no pleasure whatsoever at the moment, just a burning sensation and John felt his eyes watering. He forced himself to toughen up, knowing that it should eventually feel incredible and gripped his sheet tightly in both hands. Sherlock suddenly began to move, very slowly, causing the burn to intensify and John was sure he was about to tell Sherlock to stop. But then Sherlock somehow managed to manoeuvre to the right spot and…

"SHERLOCK!" John gasped. "THERE! PLEASE, THERE!"

With a grunt, Sherlock gripped John's hips more firmly and began to thrust harder, hitting his prostate with dead on accuracy. John was sure that he was dreaming, because this sort of pleasure simply did not exist. It was like having an actual orgasm from a wank, but not and John moaned loudly just thinking about what his actual climax would be like.

Forgotten for a while, John suddenly remembered his aching cock that was hanging between his thighs, begging for attention. He reached down for it and rubbed clumsily, unable to concentrate properly from the pounding Sherlock was giving him behind. Sherlock was moaning uncontrollably by this point and letting out a string of swear words John didn't even know existed. He knew that Sherlock's release was growing near by the frantic and harsh thrusts he was giving John and he rubbed at his dick harder.

"John… John! John, ah! John I'm going... I'm going to…" Sherlock sobbed.

John could feel his breathing becoming erratic and stroked himself as fast as he could, sweat dripping down his face. Sherlock was now moving in short, fast and uncontrolled thrusts, his breath coming out in raspy gasps with each penetration. John could feel the end nearing as his hips began to tremble and the pleasure in his cock becoming all too much. Desperate sobs escaped his lips as he felt his prostate receiving that final, needed hit and then everything went white. John heard a very faint, sharp cry from Sherlock and then his legs gave out just as cum spurted out all over his fingers and sheet. He was sure that he would never be able to walk again; his legs felt numb. Still breathing quite frantically, John opened his eyes to discover that Sherlock had collapsed on top of him and wasn't moving.

"You alright?" John breathed.

"Can't… Move… Never want another orgasm again…"

John laughed. "I'll hold you to that."

"Please don't." Sherlock replied, suddenly able to sit up again.

John rolled over. "Hurry up and take that rubber off so you can cuddle me."

"How masculine of us," Sherlock smirked, going to the bin.

John sighed, feeling rather content. It had been a shit night, but as per usual Sherlock somehow managed to make him feel better; in multiple ways, actually. Hell, he was sure he wouldn't need another wank for quite some time now after that. And when he was able to jerk off again, tonight was sure to be the fuel of his fantasies for a very long time.

The bed sank beside him, and John felt Sherlock gather him into his arms. They were both ridiculously sweaty and sticky from each other's bodily fluids and the room smelt musty of sex. Out of nowhere, realisation came over John as he remembered that he needed to tell Sherlock about the party. It made him feel sick and like the cry baby that he was, a lump formed in his throat.

"I need to tell you something," he mumbled.

Sherlock squeezed tighter. "Me too, actually. It's important. Can I go first?"

"I-I guess…"

"It's just that… Every time I see you, this warm feeling spreads through my chest and I get this weird sensation in my legs as if they are going to collapse. Whenever you leave me, the pit of my stomach goes cold and this sense of… Longing fills me. I never want you to go and the thought of you disappearing from my life completely… Well, it terrifies me. John Hamish Watson… I… Well. Basically, the only deduction I can make from these facts is that… I love you."

Those three words were all it took for John's tear ducts to fail him and suddenly he was a blubbering mess, smearing snot all over Sherlock's bare chest. Sherlock clearly didn't understand what was going on and continuously kissed him on the forehead, begging him to stop. If John had hated himself before, he felt nothing but pure, self-loathing now. He had actually caused Sherlock, the boy with no emotions, to fall in love with him. Not just puppy love, actual love; the sort of love where you would die for the person in a heartbeat. And John was going to tear that all apart just because he was too much of a coward.

"Please, stop it… You know how I feel about you crying… What is the matter? People aren't usually supposed to react like this; unless of course you're happy. But considering you are getting mucous all over me, I highly doubt that's the case." Sherlock was evidently panicking.

John sniffled. "I'm sorry. Sherlock, you know about the party, right? Roland invited you?"

"Yes, I know."

"Well you see… He's planned something… Something really horrible… And I – "

Sherlock pressed a finger to John's lips. "It's okay. I know."

"You know…?" John frowned.

"Of course. It was a very simple deduction. Perny is going to humiliate me, yes? Obviously. Why else would he invite me to his own party? He never has before. Therefore he obviously wants to embarrass me in front of everyone."

"Yes, but – "

"It's okay, John. It will all be fine. If whatever he has planned happens, I'm not going to take it seriously. I'm stronger than that and a whole lot smarter than him."

John wasn't sure. "Well… Okay…"

"It'll be fine. I might even play along to mess with their incompetent, little brains." Sherlock grinned.

"Hm, maybe you should try to be a little human instead…"

Sherlock kissed John gently. "I'd better go back to my room now. Don't suppose you really want to explain to your parents tomorrow morning when we come out of the same bedroom together."

"Not particularly…" John answered. "Okay, well, I'll see you in the morning… Night."

He watched Sherlock stumble around the room in search of his clothes and then open the door to leave. Sherlock gave him a wide, genuine smile and then disappeared into the hallway. With a sigh, John rolled onto his side and curled up underneath his duvet in the foetal position. Four days until Roland's party. Four days until he kissed Molly. Four days until Sherlock Holmes would never want to speak to him again.