Epilogue (Part 1)
JOHN:
After a month of fantastic hand jobs, blow jobs and every variety of mutual jerking off that John could possibly think of, they were a deliriously happy couple. At least, he thought they were. All of his dreams were fulfilled – the happy ones, anyway. He seemed to have stopped dreaming about the Hound completely and that made him happy too. It was always difficult to know when Sherlock was happy. He seemed quieter and less frantic and that probably equalled happiness for an eccentric genius, didn't it?
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SHERLOCK:
After a month of satisfying John every night with his hands and mouth in various combinations Sherlock was starting to get paranoid. How long could he string this out before John asked him for sex? Actual penetrative sex – the kind he'd never had? He wasn't even sure if John knew he was technically a virgin. Sure, Irene Adler had mentioned it as a tease, but had John taken it seriously? Realized it was the truth? Thought about why? Why would a man who had experimented with drugs, chemicals, explosives and just about every substance on earth – why would such a man not have explored sex? And how on earth was he going to broach the subject with John?
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JOHN:
John came home from the surgery one Friday night to find the flat in an unusual state. Unusually clean, that is. For the first time he could clearly remember the kitchen table was bare of experiments, and it even appeared to have a tablecloth on it? What had Sherlock blown up this time to make such drastic reparations necessary?
John climbed the stairs to his own room and took his time changing out of his work clothes into a soft tee-shirt and jeans. He left his feet bare and padded down the stairs again in search of tea. Tea first, then he would be in a better state of mind to deal with whatever craziness Sherlock had thought of next. Where was Sherlock anyway?
As John walked into the kitchen he saw the answer to his last question standing staring at the kettle. The kettle appeared to be full of water but not turned on. Had the resident genius forgotten how to use the 'on' switch? John reached past the immobile figure and flicked the kettle on murmuring as he did so, "I'll just turn this on and make us some tea, yeah?"
At the sound of his voice Sherlock leapt almost a foot into the air, whirled around and burst out at the usual blistering speed he used for deductions, "John, I'm a virgin and I think I'm too frightened to ever have proper sex with you and I think you should just leave me now because I can never make you happy and you need to find a woman who can have sex with you and make you happy and give you children and I can never do any of that." Then he stopped, panting and staring at John's stunned face. Then he whirled around and ran out of kitchen and into his own bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
John waited for his brain to catch up with his ears as he processed the verbal onslaught. By then the kettle had boiled so John set about methodically making tea. Sherlock had obviously deduced himself into near-hysteria and would probably deal with the coming conversation better with a cuppa inside him. John certainly would.
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SHERLOCK:
Sherlock had spent the whole of Friday cleaning the flat and preparing to ask John for sex. Real, proper, romantic traditional-couple-on-a-Friday-night penetrative sex. An hour before he expected John home he had another shower and changed the sheets on his bed. He put a tablecloth on the kitchen table – he couldn't cook, nothing to be done about that, but they could order take-away and at least eat at home at the table. Then Sherlock would confess that he was a virgin but that he wanted to finally 'do it' and John would take him to bed and be kind and considerate and it would all be wonderful.
Except that when he heard John's key in the lock and John's footsteps on the stairs, he froze completely. He felt detached from his own body but observed himself distantly: heart rate high, sweating, hands trembling. If this were anyone else he would call it a panic attack. Except that he was Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, and he did not have panic attacks.
Then John sneaked up behind him on bare feet and clicked the switch on the kettle and had given him such a fright it was all he could do to bite back a scream. Then, instead of the calm and romantic speech he had prepared proposing dinner and a night of mind-blowing sex, all his fears and insecurities came pouring out. And John just stood there. Instead of saying anything reassuring like, "It's all fine" or instead of agreeing, "Yes, I should leave you for a woman and children," John just stood there. Finally, his nerve broke and Sherlock fled to his bedroom. He didn't want to be there to witness John packing up his things and preparing to move out.
He flung himself face-down on the bed and tried not to listen to what John was doing. It was impossible to turn off the deductions, of course. There was a clink of John taking china out of the cupboards. More than one mug, so he wasn't just making tea for himself. He was moving out. Kettle pouring water, maybe John was having a cup of tea as he packed up his things? Fridge door opening and closing, yes, that was milk going in the tea. Sound of the cutlery drawer being opened and closed, but John doesn't take sugar so he must be removing his things from that drawer. Did John bring any cutlery with him when he moved in? Sherlock didn't remember him having any. Oh, it was all too aggravating. He pulled a pillow over his ears to muffle the sounds.
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JOHN:
"Sherlock, we need to talk. I'm coming in." John opened the door and walked over to stand beside the bed. "Sherlock, sit up and have some tea and then tell me what on earth you have been deducing now. I've told you before that assuming without asking is going to get you into trouble. Now stop being an idiot and talk to me properly!"
"I'm not an idiot." Sherlock mumbled sulkily.
"Oh, don't be upset. Almost everyone is." John replied lightly. He sat on the edge of the bed and swung his legs up so he could sit and lean back against the headboard. He took a sip of his tea and sighed. "Now, tell me what is going on in that funny old head of yours to say such things. I'm not leaving you for a wife and children, let's get that off the table to start with. God, can you imagine me as a father? I'm a returned war veteran with PTSD and I already have two full-time jobs, one at the surgery and the other as an assistant to a consulting detective. Not to mention my appalling track record with women, even before I was having fantastic sex with you. So forget it, there's no way you are getting rid of me that easily!"
"Except that you aren't." Sherlock's voice was still muffled by the pillow.
"Is this about sex? You're not happy with what we've been doing together?"
Sherlock sat up suddenly and glared at John. "We haven't been having sex. I just toss you off. You will eventually want sex and I can't give it to you. That's what this is about. I'm a virgin. There, I said it. Are you happy now?" Sherlock flopped face down onto the bed again.
"God save me from the drama." John took another sip of his tea. "Mycroft warned me about your tendency for the dramatic."
Sherlock groaned. "Please don't mention Mycroft while we are in bed together. It turns my stomach."
"Anyway, so what if you are a virgin?" John shrugged. "We all were once. I can help you with that, or not, as you prefer. It isn't really a big deal."
Sherlock turned over on his back and blinked at John in disbelief. "Are you prepared to never have sex again? How is that not a big deal?"
John frowned. "I think we might be misunderstanding each other. In matters of sex it is always best to be crystal clear, even if it might be a bit embarrassing. I like the way we have sex now. You make me feel fantastic, and I hope I do the same for you. Half the time I can't control myself and I come into your amazing mouth or hands long before I'm ready for it to end. I've had more orgasms in the last month than in the whole three years previously. I love you. I love making love with you and don't you dare call it 'just tossing off' as if it doesn't mean anything."
"You were in Afghanistan."
"Sorry, what?" John was confused by the apparently irrelevant remark.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You were in Afghanistan for the three years prior to coming back to London. There's no comparison between there and then, and here and now."
"Fine," John huffed. "Forget the comparisons anyway, they don't matter. This is about you and me. If you like what we do now, that's all that matters. I like what we do now, very much." He raised his eyebrows suggestively. "In fact, we're both right here in a bedroom, we could do it again any time you're ready…"
"Jo-ohn!" Sherlock groaned. "Don't make jokes about it. I'm serious! Would you be happy never to have sex again your whole life?"
John turned to face Sherlock and fixed him with a glare. "Don't keep saying that! Listen to me when I tell you that I have all the sex I need right here with you. Don't get fixated on the whole 'Tab A goes into Slot B' mechanics of it all. As far as I'm concerned the main event is the vulnerability of getting naked with another person and being open enough to let go and have an orgasm with them and a cuddle afterwards. That's all I need for good sex, and with you it has been all that and a packet of crisps. We have fantastic sex and to answer your question, yes, I'd be happy to continue just as we are for the rest of my life."
Sherlock sat up and stared into John's face while John stared back, hoping and willing for Sherlock to read the truth of his words in his face and body.
Finally, Sherlock said slowly, "But you've had penetrative sex with a man before. Did you like it? Would you want to do it again?"
John thought seriously about the question. "I have, yes. Did I like it? Well, yes. It's fun, but I don't hold it up as the be-all and end-all of having sex. It's just another variation, another way to achieve an orgasm together. I'd be happy to do it with you if you want to, but I'd be happy never to do it again if you don't want to. I want you to understand this clearly." He looked full into Sherlock's face. "I'd rather have whatever kind of sex you want to have because it is with you, than have the craziest kinkiest variant of Kama Sutra sex with anyone else. Get it?"
Sherlock nodded slowly, never breaking eye contact.
John smirked, lightening the mood again. "So anytime you want to let me fuck that fantastic mouth of yours, that would be just peachy with me…" He winked.
Sherlock pretended to be shocked. "Sex fiend," he sniffed. "I think we should have dinner first. That was my plan, you know." He shot a sideways look at John. "Romantic dinner, then sex."
John nodded gravely. "By all means, let's stick with the plan. Shall I ring for Chinese or Thai?"
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SHERLOCK:
After a bit of bickering they settled on Thai food, which they ate at the table using actual plates and utensils. It was a bit of a novelty but it meant more than the usual amount of washing up. Sherlock made a mental note that for future romantic events he would take John out to eat.
Sherlock was jittering around the living room, unable to settle without an experiment on the go. He had just opened John's laptop and was cracking his password when John came in with two cups of tea.
"Is that my laptop?" he asked.
Sherlock was absorbed in breaking into it, so he just nodded.
"Fine, have fun with my new password. I've changed it, just so you know." John sat down and flicked on the telly. "You only have about twenty minutes anyway. As soon as I finish this cup of tea I'm going to bed, and I expect you to join me there."
"No problem," Sherlock answered absently. "I just want to check my website for any new cases or messages. I'll probably be done before you are." As if to illustrate his point he took a large gulp of tea. The new password was turning out to be tricky, and in the end Sherlock had to resort to breaking into the computer manually and choking the password out from the inside. "John, what sort of a word is 'Johnlocked' anyway?"
John just laughed. "Plug it into Google and you'll soon see. Might give you some ideas, actually."
Sherlock did so and felt his mouth falling open. People had some amazing ideas about what he and John got up to in the privacy of their flat. And those people had drawn those ideas in incredible (and anatomically correct) detail. He marvelled at the time and talent which had been devoted to himself and John. John was worth it, of course. He wondered if his pectoral muscles really looked like that, and if the height difference between himself and John was really so obvious. To him it felt quite comfortable. John was just the right height to tuck under his chin or lean against his shoulder, and when they were both lying down it didn't matter anyway.
John's voice broke into his thoughts. "You're quiet, love. See anything interesting?"
"Mmm." Sherlock gave a non-committal murmur. "I think you said after you finished your tea it would be time for bed? I'm done here so I'll use the bathroom first, I think." He closed the laptop and headed out of the living room.
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JOHN:
John slowly finished his tea, not really paying any attention to whatever show was flickering across the screen in front of him. He was hoping to give Sherlock time to get into bed and settle his nerves – obviously the whole virginity thing had got him quite wound up. In a way, it was rather cute that Sherlock thought John could have a woman and children for the asking. In John's experience it wasn't quite that simple. It was a moot point anyway. He was with Sherlock now.
John frowned to himself. Viewed in another light it was not a very flattering picture of John's character. Did Sherlock really think John would leave him if he said 'no' to any of John's sexual requests? Or did he think that John was so hot to stick his dick inside him that refusing would be the instant end of their friendship?
John wondered briefly why Sherlock was so frightened of losing his virginity, but then decided that this was not the right time to press for those details. Tonight he had to make good on his earlier speech and really press home to Sherlock the idea that good sex meant having a good time together and damn anyone else's definition of it. He dropped his mug in the sink and went to get ready for bed.
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SHERLOCK:
By the time John reached the bedroom Sherlock was already ensconced in the bed and fretting himself into a state. His fists were balled up in the covers and he was sitting up stiffly rather than resting against the head of the bed. He put down his phone and looked up as John came into the bedroom.
"I want you to take my virginity tonight," Sherlock said bluntly.
"No, you don't," said John calmly as he climbed under the covers next to Sherlock. "You think I want to take your virginity tonight, which is a very different thing. Actually I don't," he yawned widely. "I'm much too tired. Let's have sex the good old way and do what we know works. We can get experimental another night."
Sherlock sighed with an odd mixture of relief and disappointment. He was relieved not to have to face his fears just yet, but having nerved himself to the task was disappointed that John didn't seem very keen. He frowned. John had said he was too tired. Did taking someone's virginity take a long time? Was it a lot of work? The reading he had done so far had never suggested that.
"Don't fret, love." John leaned over and kissed him. "It isn't that I'm not interested or that it is all so awful. It's just that I want to take it slowly and make it good for you and right now I'm still processing the idea that it will be your first time." He smiled slowly. "When you are ready, I have something I'd like to show you…" He gave an exaggerated leer and trailed his hand slowly up Sherlock's thigh over the covers. Sherlock was not yet hard – he had been too nervous. He tried to relax into John's kisses.
It will all be OK. Sherlock told himself. This is John. He loves me and he won't force me into anything I can't handle.
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JOHN:
John kissed Sherlock softly, undemandingly. This was not the time for heat or urgency. His kisses were loving and gentle, intending to convey without words that it was fine, it was all just fine. He slid his right arm under Sherlock's neck and wound his fingers through Sherlock's curly hair. Usually they minimized the height difference by embracing the other way around and letting John slide down the bed a little, but tonight John wanted to be in charge. This night was for showing Sherlock that love comes in many different forms.
John wrapped his left arm around Sherlock's back, stroking the tense muscles of his back and shoulders, rubbing warmth and relaxation into the knots and feeling them loosen under his fingers. He covered Sherlock's face with soft kisses across his eyelids, along those amazing cheekbones, the tip of his nose and back down to his lips. He kept the kisses light, not demanding that Sherlock open his mouth. He teased with varying degrees of pressure from his lips. His only hint that this might go further was the pressure of his erection against Sherlock's belly, but he could hardly help that.
After what felt like hours of kissing, Sherlock finally groaned and flopped over on his back, pulling John on top of him. "John, I need more. Do something!"
Finally. John kissed his way down Sherlock's chest, stopping to pay suitable attention to each nipple in turn. He wriggled his hips backwards as his lips moved down – ah, yes, Sherlock was standing to attention now. Good. He grasped Sherlock's erection firmly in his left hand and kissed quickly down until his lips joined with his hand. He rubbed the rough side of his tongue all over the head of Sherlock's cock, enjoying the feel of it leaping in his hand each time his tongue passed across the frenulum. He wasn't able to take the whole lot into his mouth at once, but he coordinated the strokes of his hand and mouth together. According to the gasps and moans from the head of the bed it seemed to be working for Sherlock.
His jaw was starting to ache and the movements of his tongue were getting a bit sloppy, but from the gathering tension in Sherlock's thighs it wouldn't take much more. He brought up his right hand and pressed on the sweet spot just behind Sherlock's balls. Deep, firm pressure with just a little bit of movement for extra stimulation and that did it – Sherlock was gasping wordlessly while pulsing in his hand and spurting into his mouth. John did not usually like to swallow but tonight was special. He sat up slowly, stretching out his neck and back from the unusual position.
Sherlock was still out of it, and John smiled smugly. He did not give head as often as Sherlock did to him, but it appeared that his skills were increasing with practice and with thanks to some amazing sites on the internet. He reached over to his own bedside table and took a long drink of water, hoping it was not too obvious that he was also washing out his mouth. He did this because he loved the way it made Sherlock feel, not because he loved the act for its own sake.
Sherlock finally rolled onto his side and seemed to be reaching for John. "Mmmm?" he mumbled.
"I'm right here, love." John murmured back.
"Wha… 'bout you?" Sherlock's hands were groping vaguely in John's direction and he seemed to be trying to force his eyes open. "Wanna blow job?"
"No, I'm so excited from pleasing you, just touch me twice and I think it will be all over." John chuckled, then groaned as Sherlock's wandering hands finally connected with his aching cock. Sherlock was half asleep but it didn't matter. He wrapped his long fingers around John and pumped him up and down a few times. As John had thought, it took less than a minute before the whole evening's worth of pent-up desire came rushing out of him and onto Sherlock's chest.
"Wazzat goo'?" Sherlock was falling asleep again.
"Very good."
Wrapped in each other, contented and loved, Sherlock and John slept.
