The speeches were over, the wedding cake sliced, and the first dance done. John looked around the room as he sipped his wine. He really should have brought a date to this. It would have made everything a little easier.
Mike was off dancing with his wife, the only people he knew well beside the groom, an old friend from their med school days.
"So, you live in London?" An older woman to his right asked, trying to start a conversation.
John nodded, giving her a stiff grin. He really wasn't in the mood for polite chitchat.
She leaned towards him. "Isn't it rather expensive? Even a tiny flat-"
"Yes. I just have a bedsit. I'm on my own so I don't need much." John cut her off. "Excuse me." He nodded her way as he got up, and gave Mike a small wave before he slipped out of the room. It was a little early to leave, but he'd had enough.
It was lightly drizzling, but John didn't have far to walk to get to his inn. It was too early to head up to his room, so he went to the pub. Perhaps he was a little overdressed in his suit, but he would manage.
The pub was a welcoming space with light coloured stone walls. He took an armchair near the hearth, ordering a whiskey when the server came by. It was comforting, staring into the crackling fire and sipping his drink.
Sometimes, it was good to get away. This weekend was only a few hours from London, but felt so different. A quiet medieval village, surrounded by rolling hills full of sheep. It was like stepping back in time. He could feel his inner tension and stress unwinding.
Being at a wedding on his own made him consider things though. A man his age marrying for the first time. Being around Mike, and his wife for a decade. And John, still alone.
At times like this, he missed his army friends so much. One friend, Andy, had always been there for John, letting him talk about the women he dated, his relationship problems. What would he have thought about Sherlock? John chuckled to himself at the idea of discussing the strange situation.
How could he even describe Sherlock to someone else? Gorgeous, for sure. Intensely sexual. Obviously smart, from the way he kept tracking John down, but must also be in his other work. At times funny, flirty or teasing. John could also sense he was a loner, who liked following his own schedule, his own interests. Not a man who worried much about conforming to societal noms. Who else would become a part time whore just for no-strings sex?
John just shook his head, clearing his mind. As much as he enjoyed his time with Sherlock, there was no potential for more than casual, mind-blowing sex with him. Five more times, and the man would apparently disappear from his life.
Strange to think of never seeing him again, when the man had been so often on his mind. He seemed to haunt John as he went through his day, memories popping up when he was on the tube, at work, or getting groceries. Whenever he was out, part of his attention was always on watch for the man. After all these months, it had almost become second nature to him.
Sipping his whiskey, John realized being out of London was a good opportunity for a reality check. To see his life from a different perspective, away from work and Sherlock. Seeing now how much he had been caught up in him. He wanted to be like Mike and his newly married friend, in a healthy, stable long-term relationship. Sherlock could never give him that.
Perhaps the subscription had been just the gift he had needed. Get him feeling alive, confident enough to date and put himself 'out there' again. A reminder how exciting it was to meet someone new and feel that chemistry, just wanting to get to know them better and see where it could go. He could always try dating a few people, test the waters, and if anything started to develop, call things off with Sherlock. It wouldn't be right to keep hooking up with him if he was getting intimate with someone else.
Would he be open to dating men as well? Was he bisexual now? Was he attracted to other men besides Sherlock?
Looking away from the fire, he let his eyes review the other people there. A group of attractive women, likely in their twenties, one of them returning his gaze with interest after looking over his suit. Likely thinking of him as an older man who could be her ticket out of this town. He moved on. He wanted a partner who had more than just a pretty face.
A group of elderly men, obviously old friends. John moved on fast. He wanted someone closer to his own age.
Two women chatting and laughing together. Likely around forty, but still attractive. He felt no particular pull towards either of them.
Three men at the bar, watching the game with a few pints. His age, but one overweight and another with an irritating laugh. The third one was more attractive, with salt and pepper hair, and a relaxed expression as he chuckled with his friends.
Funny that out of a whole room, he was only slightly attracted to a man.
He heard the bell over the entrance jangle, and turned to glance that way, freezing at who he saw there. Sherlock? Here? One thing that had felt different leaving London was letting go of his constant watchfulness for the man.
With a smirk, Sherlock sunk into the other armchair by the fire. "Good evening, John." He acted nonchalant, like it was prearranged that they were to meet here. He was wearing a tailored black suit with a teal dress shirt, looking like a male model. Completely at ease in his clothes.
"Just a normal Saturday night in Wales, is it?" John asked, giving the berk a questioning stare. It felt so jarring, seeing the man here.
Instead of answering, Sherlock waved to a server. "Is the kitchen still open? I'd like a hot meal if possible."
"The restaurant is closed, but we can serve you in here or with room service." She said, looking a little frazzled.
Sherlock nodded. "I'll order from room service."
Once the server had left, Sherlock waved towards John's drink. "Finish that up. I'd like a proper meal before the kitchen closes."
"No need to wait for me. You go on ahead." John said, taking a small sip.
With a huff, Sherlock looked at him like he was an idiot. "But you want a meal as well."
"Do I?"
"Of course. You hardly ate any of the rubber chicken at the reception. When is wedding food ever good?"
John gave a half-laugh at that. The man was astute. "Fine." He finished the drink and paid the server.
It was a small inn, and John climbed the stairs with Sherlock. At his door, he fumbled with the key, bemused that Sherlock was still standing with him.
"And your room?" John asked as he opened the door.
Sherlock sailed through. "You want to eat alone in your room while I eat alone in mine? Think before you speak, John." He had already found the menu, flipping through the pages. "Salmon or lamb?"
...
An hour later, they had finished their meals, and shared a bottle of a wonderful Pinot Grigio. John was feeling mellow, from the wine and good company. As frustrating as Sherlock could be at times, there was no denying he was smart, funny and attractive.
That thought popping into his head made John sit up straighter. He really should just stick to sex with Sherlock. Eating meals, hanging out with him, would only made John want more. It would end up in John getting hurt if he didn't watch himself. Limit his time with the man. Focus his romantic interests on finding someone else.
"Well, it's getting late, Sherlock. Surely you need a good night's rest so you can be up early to take care of whatever mysterious business brought you here." He stood up, stretching, and carried the tray of their dishes out to the hallway for the staff to collect. He left the door open, standing near it, looking at Sherlock expectantly.
He slowly stood, and walked to John. "A goodnight kiss before I go?"
All his thoughts of distancing himself from Sherlock faded as he took in this tempting man before him. John couldn't resist tipping his face up towards him, expecting a hard, deep kiss. Knowing the sexual tension simmering between them all night didn't need much to burst into flame. Wanted it, welcomed it.
But instead Sherlock cupped his head, kissing him firmly, taking his time. After a minute, his arms went around John, holding him close as the kiss went on. Finally, they pulled back to catch their breath, and Sherlock reached over to close and lock the door.
...
John woke, taking a moment to remember he was in the hotel room in Wales. The wedding, the dull reception, Sherlock. The man still sleeping beside him.
That part was the most shocking of all. The man showing up in the pub, pushing John to eat together, lingering, that goodnight kiss so different than all the ones they had shared before. Undressing, getting into bed together, slow sex, knowing they had all night. It felt natural to curl up together afterwards, not even surprised that Sherlock made no attempt to leave.
For John, it felt like more than just sex. Despite all his warnings to himself to keep his feelings in check around this man, he had indulged himself in the fantasy, holding nothing back. He had been a bit lonely, needy, and Sherlock had been there.
But why was Sherlock here? Why was he dressed so nice, and acting so charming? So irresistible? He said he avoided romantic entanglements and then he shows up in this ancient inn, finagling his way into John's room, John's bed. Acting like a lover, not just a hook-up.
He thought about it, and a couple possibilities came to mind. John had requested that the rest of their sessions took place in beds, so maybe this was Sherlock's interpretation of that request. Still surprising John, still making it exciting and different. Then again, maybe Sherlock was reading him again, acting the way he thought would work best for John. Acting like a sexy street walker one month, a charming wedding date the next. John should just play along. Enjoy him.
He rolled over, finding Sherlock on his back, looking at the ceiling. "Good morning, Sherlock."
"Morning. Um, I should go back to my room, leave you in piece." Sherlock shifted towards the edge of the bed. He wasn't meeting John's eyes, looking a little awkward, his motions lacking his normal grace.
John stopped him with a light hand on his shoulder. "You don't have a room. You only have one reason for being here, me." There was no point being awkward or making a big deal out of the situation. They were both mature adults. Might as well enjoy their time together. No strings.
"I...um...what..." Sherlock blinked a few times, clearly not coming up with a different explanation.
Leaning in, John gave him a kiss before swinging out of bed. "I need a long, hot shower and a big breakfast, before that long train ride home. Are you going to join me?"
Sherlock sat up, looking adorable with his messy bedhead. "In what? The shower, breakfast, or the train ride?" Was it just that he was sleepy, not a morning person, that he seemed so befuddled? He looked younger in the morning light, blinking his light green eyes slowly.
"All three, of course." John said as he went to the bathroom and started the shower. As he was working the shampoo into his hair, the shower curtain moved aside as Sherlock stepped in.
...
"John, wake up." Sherlock said softly, his voice pulling him out of his light nap.
Blinking a few times, John sat up, seeing they were entering London. "Oh, thanks. Sorry for falling asleep on you. I haven't been the best company, have I?"
Sherlock gave his hand a squeeze. "It's OK. I kept you up rather late last night."
John was looking down at their joined hands. Had they been holding hands the whole train ride? "Um...yes, that's true."
His mind went back to it, kissing, touching, being naked together. Going down on Sherlock, feeling proud at taking him deeper than last time, and being eager to make him cum that way. Riding Sherlock, loving the control and being able to try different motions to see what felt best. Watching Sherlock's responses, loving seeing how affected he was by John's actions. It had been so intimate, so good.
At Paddington Station, John carried out his suitcase, noticing Sherlock only had small messenger bag with him, and he was wearing the same clothes as yesterday. He had used John's toiletries earlier, and when he leaned in to give him a quick hug, he noticed that his scent seemed blended with John's.
"See you next month, Sherlock." John said, giving him a sincere smile as he gathered up his case and suitbag. No matter what the future held, he had real affection for the man.
It wasn't until he had gone about a dozen steps that he realized Sherlock hadn't replied to that. He stopped, turning around to look for the man, but he was swallowed up by a crowd.
...
-A/N: Confusion on all sides...
-Inn: I based the Inn on the real one used in "The Hounds of Baskerville". The Bush Inn in St Hilary, Wales, doubled as the Cross Keys pub in Dartmoor. It is a 3.5 hour train ride west of London. From their website: "Built in the 16th Century, The Bush Inn still recalls the ambience of those days in its old world bars with bare stone walls, flag stone floors, original oak beams, huge inglenook fireplace and stone spiral staircase to the side of the fireplace. In these bars, locals and visitors alike have enjoyed traditional ale and good companionship for more than five hundred years!"
