A.N. Last chapter...for now. For all of you who asked: yes, there is more. But I can't promise that I will post regularly. Will try my best ;) thank you for the lovely feedback!


Chapter Nine

Sherlock lay on the couch, sleeping. John's heart almost stopped when he saw him, peaceful, almost smiling in his sleep. John's laptop sat on the table, the screen saver text floating across the screen. John briefly wondered where his fish tank screen saver had gone, but knew that Sherlock had probably gotten bored with it and changed it.

He hung up his coat and then moved closer, trying to catch the writing on the screen.

Property of John Watsonit read, and John could feel his heart flutter. "Damn you, Sherlock Holmes," he whispered with a smile.

Knowing that Sherlock had probably not slept for six days, he let him sleep. Sherlock had attempted to make tea but never had gotten around to pour water over the tea bags and when John felt the kettle, it was luke warm. He couldn't have been home for long then, so he would have to be extra quiet to not wake him up. John thought about going upstairs, but decided against it. Instead, he carefully picked up his laptop and sat down in his chair, intending to watch Sherlock in his sleep, because, quite frankly, it was a beautiful sight to behold. Heavens, now he thought of Sherlock as beautiful? But had he ever really thought of him as anything else?

He absentmindedly drew his finger over the touchpad of his computer and when the screensaver disappeared and revealed the window that had been open, his focus shifted to the screen.

Sherlock had been reading John's blog, but John had not updated in a while, not since the library, really. It made him think back and wonder why he had the blog entries printed out in his room. Sherlock hadn't really complained anymore, and only occasionally commented on the trivial facts that John typed out that had apparently nothing to do with the actual deduction, but he had given up trying to dictate him what to write. John scrolled down the list of comments, and, at the very bottom he found an anonymous comment made up of seemingly random numbers.

He raised an eyebrow and looked at Sherlock's sleeping form, wondering whether it was his comment or whether he had been trying to read the message. Sherlock knew too many codes for John to figure out which one was used here without intense research. With a sigh he turned to the skull, but, as always, the skull did not give away any of Sherlock's secrets.

So instead of watching his sleeping friend, John started to try to figure out the message. After an hour of typing out the numbers in any possible order and not getting anywhere, and after typing the message into all kinds of internet search engines, checking for possible clues, he decided to let it go. Before he closed his computer, he changed the password to 'I love you.' Sherlock would undoubtedly make fun of him for choosing such an easy password to hack, but he didn't care. In the end, no password had ever kept Sherlock from using John's computer, and now he would make him smile, at least.

"John?"

He started, realising that he must have fallen asleep a while ago.

"John!" Sherlock was up in a flash and over the table pulling him out of his chair and into his arms. John needed a few seconds to gather his wits, remembering somewhere in the back of his head that he had planned on chiding Sherlock before their first hug, but that seemed like a very stupid plan now. He also remembered that he had dreaded the moment when he would want some attention and Sherlock would be ignorant of that need. Apparently, he had been very wrong about that as well.

"John." Sherlock's vocabulary seemed alarmingly reduced. John chuckled.

"Hey there."

"I'm sorry. Are you still mad? Don't be mad. I came home and you were not here." The last sentence made John hold on tighter as he remembered Sherlock asking him to be home.

"I had no idea you'd be coming back today."

"I know, I should have told you, but I thought that if I told you, you might leave on purpose."

John pushed him away and took Sherlock's face in his hands, his thumbs gently tracing his cheek bones. Irrational thinking was not something Sherlock did. "Did you really think that?"

"I don't know what to think anymore. You were mad at me. It all made sense at first and then suddenly it didn't." Well, seeing and hearing how much it troubled Sherlock that he might be mad at him, he couldn't really stay mad at all…or whatever he had felt that had made him throw the phone against the wall. It now seemed like a shadow in his memory, something far off and unpleasant that happened in another time and place.

"Sherlock, I…I'm not mad at you, not really. Not anymore."

A small smile revealed Sherlock's relief. Mycroft had obviously not found it necessary to inform Sherlock about John's revelation. "How was your trip back?"

"John, can we not do that?"

"Do what?"

"I was so worried you would … I don't know…be mad, yell at me, move out?" Surprised, John understood that Sarah had not been entirely right and that she had not given Sherlock enough credit. He clearly cared for John's opinion, that much he had long since established, but he obviously also feared upsetting John and would just possibly try to make it alright again. John could feel his ears burn.

"Have I ever really considered moving out? Sherlock, I was mad at you, yes, but it doesn't mean that I would leave you. It also doesn't mean that I would care about you any less…it quite possibly means the opposite."

Instead of an answer, Sherlock took off his jacket and then started unbuttoning his shirt. Now that was definitely an unexpected turn of events. John's breath caught when Sherlock got rid of his shirt, dropping it carelessly behind him and reaching out to pull at John's jumper. When John did not react right away, Sherlock blushed, his eyes searching his face for something to make sense of. John could see Sherlock's breath quicken and he could see goose bumps spreading over his naked skin under his stare. John was incredibly aroused, but he knew that he needed to make Sherlock see that he was not mad, maybe slightly irritated, but sex would not be helpful right now.

"Sherlock?"

"John?" He still sounded insecure, but he also seemed determined to undress John as his hand was still lingering on the rim of John's jumper, tugging lightly.

"Sherlock, can we please talk about this with our clothes on?"

"Why?"

John chuckled. "Do you really think I could formulate a coherent thought with you naked right in front of me?"

"And I was hoping that we might think a little less and feel a little more? Isn't that what you wanted from me?"

His fingers tugged again, more insisting now. John forced himself to look at Sherlock's face. He knew that his friend was aroused just as much as he himself was, and he knew that if he let himself get lost in that train of thought he wouldn't even be able to start explaining himself. And he wasn't sure whether Sherlock was just manipulating him in order to avoid that discussion or whether he really just wanted to forget about it and for once do what his body told him and not his brain.

But then he thought about Mycroft's comment about appropriate behavior and found that Sherlock's insecurity might actually be a bigger problem than his pride, and so he stepped closer, watching as Sherlock rocked back on his heels as if the movement towards him had compressed the air between them, pushing Sherlock away a bit.

Then Sherlock closed the gap between them, pulling John's jumper over his head just to start unbuttoning John's shirt with nimble fingers. When Sherlock's hands gently moved over the bare skin of his stomach, John could feel himself shiver. Sherlock stopped his movement and looked up at John's face, breathing heavily. Without a word, John leaned in to kiss him.

The moan that he drew from Sherlock was surprisingly loud, and John thought that they should probably move upstairs so Mrs Hudson wouldn't be disturbed - in every sense of the word. Sherlock, however, had a very different idea. Working John's shirt over his shoulders, he pushed it down behind him. Not having bothered to unbutton the cuffs, John's wrists got caught in them and suddenly he found himself restrained, Sherlock turning him around so he could properly hold onto the make-shift handcuffs. John's mind blanked and the only thought that was left was that he was more aroused by being restrained by Sherlock than he had ever thought possible.

"John." Sherlock spoke into his ear. Since when was he so completely in control? He had been so nervous just days ago and now he was acting as if this was completely normal. As if he knew exactly what he was doing. Sherlock gently kissed John's left shoulder, right above the scar. "John," he murmured again, kissing the nape of his neck. For a moment John considered fighting, but even as he silently formulated the plan Sherlock pulled at the shirt, forcing his arms up just so high that it didn't hurt. "Can I keep you?" Sherlock whispered that sentence, obviously aware of how silly it was, but John felt like crying. "Can I?" he inquired again.

"Sherlock." John felt a hand on the small of his back, warm and strong, mapping his skin, feeling the strain of standing in the strange position he was in. "Sherlock, let me turn around."

A sigh and a kiss like a feather on his right shoulder, and then, for only a second, Sherlock loosened his grip on the shirt. John used that second to pull away and turn around, pushing his arms over Sherlock's head, trapping him in an embrace. Their faces were only an inch apart and they were both breathing heavily. The smile on Sherlock's face told John that he was proud of him, and positively surprised. With a grin, John leaned in to kiss him again and carefully pushed Sherlock back until his calves bumped into the coffee table. "John," Sherlock mumbled into John's mouth, but he didn't let go. Laughing and still kissing they navigated themselves around the table and just before falling on the couch, Sherlock pulled John's arms back from over his head so he wouldn't break his wrists on impact.

With a grunt John landed on Sherlock who immediately wrapped his arms around him again. They were both breathless and when John shifted his hips, just a fraction, he could finally feel Sherlock's arousal against his own, and Sherlock jerked violently, gasping at the intense feeling, eyes wide in surprise. John wanted nothing more than to grind into him, make him writhe and moan and come, but considering his strong reaction, he thought better of it and lifted his hips again, moving to the side to give Sherlock space to get his breath back.

"Are you okay?" John asked, breathless and a little light headed.

Sherlock swallowed hard and then nodded. "I'm sorry. I did it again, didn't I?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I didn't include you in the decision making."

John laughed and kissed the spot on Sherlock's chest that had become his favorite place in the world. "I would have had ways of stopping you, you know? And if you plan on manipulating me or forcing me by doing what you just did, well, you're more than welcome to keep doing it."

For a moment, John wondered if he should move off him entirely, but when Sherlock's hands started moving up and down his back, he decided to stay and take the wind out of their sails by just lying there, listening to Sherlock's quick heart beat and breathing.

"I'm glad you're home."

"Did you talk to Sarah?" Why was he bringing her up now? Sherlock clearly did not know anything about good timing. Was he scared that she might not want to let John go? Was he jealous?

"Yes. She says hi."

Sherlock was silent, but John could practically hear him think. He was probably evaluating the information he had on Sarah, John and their break up.

"She was surprised you didn't show up when we had lunch." John chuckled as Sherlock's hand moved up further until he ran his fingers through John's hair.

"I think I feel a bit sorry for her, but not really."

John lifted his head to look at him and caught Sherlock's grinning.

"I am grateful, though, because she lets me have you."

The appropriate argument about the ownership over a person was a ship that had sailed long ago. John's screen saver neatly spelled out what Sherlock thought about that.

"I'm sorry I upset you," John said, and he meant it. "I overreacted. I know that it was not reasonable, but sometimes I can't help it. I just want you to know that I'll be here, no matter what, I'll always be here."

With a sigh he pressed his cheek against Sherlock's chest, a little overwhelmed by how glad he was that his friend was back home and the fact that they were holding onto each other, shirtless and aroused and that it did not seem weird or wrong in the least.

After a while, he felt Sherlock's breathing slow down and eventually he fell asleep. John was astonished that Sherlock could fall asleep with him lying splayed on top of him, but then again he probably needed to sleep very badly and his body just gave in, not caring for any disruptions. The predicament now was that John knew that if he moved, Sherlock would probably wake up, no matter how deeply he slept. There was really only one solution, he would have to stay just as he was and hope that their bodies would suffice to keep them warm.

However, knowing that he was too heavy for Sherlock, he carefully and slowly moved just a bit to the side so that Sherlock was pressed against the back of the couch with John lying on the other side, using Sherlock's chest as a pillow with his left arm drawn over his chest. Sherlock's arm was still on John's back, and when John exhaled deeply he could feel the grip tighten lightly. It took John a minute to figure out that he had caused the reaction because he had been blowing air on Sherlock's left nipple, causing a reaction that reached him even in his dreams. With a smile John thought that nobody would ever believe him if he told anyone about this private version of Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective; sleeping on the couch with his shirt off, half hard in his dress pants, so vulnerable and silent, and with John Watson on top of him. Bliss.

Fin