Author's Note: This chapter does contain Smut. You've been warned.
Sherlock fairly flew down the stairs and onto the street, John tumbling after him. The detective nearly dragged the doctor into the back seat of a cab. Like a beast on his prey, Sherlock was on him. His hands groped and clawed at the thoroughly shocked doctor. It took two minutes too long for John to react. He pushed the man off of him with a huff.
"Sherlock."
The doctor's voice remained calm, despite his raging emotions. The detective ignored him, crashing his lips against John's once more. He bit the doctor's lower lip, and John chocked back a moan.
How did Sherlock know how to do that? With a grunt the doctor shifted away from the detective, holding him at arm's length.
"Sherlock. We need to talk about this."
The detective rolled his eyes and threw his hands out to the side in frustration.
"Why, John? Why do we have to talk about this? Talk is boring! But this-"
He gestured between them.
"This is exciting. Invigorating. I can feel the adrenaline John!"
The doctor sighed, leaning his head back with a groan.
"You're on an adrenaline high from the case. You've now found a new way to extend it. That's all this is."
The words were firm, but the truth in them stung the doctor. He hated the idea that Sherlock was just using him to stave of his encroaching boredom. As well as the thought that all of this so far had just been a physical response that means nothing.
Sherlock jolted back a bit, sitting up stalk strait in his seat and staring forward. His eyes glimmered in the dark cab. John doesn't want him. He miscalculated. He was wrong, this was all wrong. He put a trembling hand to his lips, averting his gaze from the doctor's.
John saw Sherlock's reaction, and silently cursed himself.
"Sherlock please, just, hear me out. It isn't that I don't want this."
The detective glanced over at him cautiously.
"It's just, you're not thinking about this. It's me. John Hamish Watson, your flat mate. I'm not a genius, or gorgeous. It's just me, normal, average me. And you're Sherlock Bloody Holmes."
The doctor's gut was twisting now. He felt horrible for breaking whatever spell that had possessed the detective, but he knew that if he didn't, the guilt of it all would be unbearable.
Sherlock could have screamed. Did his blogger really not think him capable of feeling for him?
"You complete and utter idiot."
Sherlock stated flatly. The doctor sighed. Back to normal then.
"Did you honestly believe for one second-"
Oh god, this was going to hurt.
"That you're not what I wanted? Do you really believe that I would just snap and snog you after a case just because I felt like it? Really John you've had some absolutely stupid thoughts but really."
The doctor blinked, completely and utterly lost. The cab pulled to an abrupt stop, with the driver twisting in his seat.
"221B Baker Street."
Sherlock passed the man a wad of bills and bustled out of the car, John lagging slowly behind him. Sherlock was still ranting as he pushed open the door to the house and stomped up the stairs.
"I thought you of all people would have picked up on it by now. It's as obvious as the nose on Mycroft's face. For months now-as I've come to notice- I've been growing increasingly attached to you. At first I simply wrote it all off. I tried to ignore it."
The detective forced his key angrily into the lock and wrenched the door open.
John simply stood in the doorway, confused, and more than a little worried. What was going on with Sherlock?
"But I couldn't ignore it now could I? Not when you go off doing bloody brilliant things like accurately deducing a crime scene completely on your own. Or handling a crazed stalker fan far better than I ever could have."
Sherlock was pacing now, simultaneously tugging at his scarf.
"Really how could I even possibly attempt to ignore you when you go and make it so difficult. And attraction, well, attraction is a new concept. I've studied it before, observed it, but I've never really been one to FEEL it."
Sherlock was unfastening his coat now, still pacing, still ranting.
John couldn't help but watch his graceful fingers work at every fastening.
"Physical attraction was a knew thing. I've felt it before, as a teen, but I always ignored it. With you that was bloody impossible, but embraceable. I could be physical, once I learned the ropes. That really doesn't bother me. The problem lyes in the fact that with the physical attachment comes emotional attachment. Sentiment. I can't separate them, I can't remove one from the other. With you comes my sentimental attachment to you."
Sherlock stopped suddenly, turning to face the flustered doctor square on. His face was peering strait down at him, his ever changing eyes boring into brown ones.
"Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side. Sentiment is weakness, John."
John worked his jaw, trying to bite back the swell of rage that those words summoned. Sherlock had just confessed his feelings for John, or at least that fact that they exist. And then gone and made sure John knew that the detective didn't want them.
"Do you really believe that Sherlock? Do you honestly think that caring for someone makes you weak?"
The doctor couldn't help the strain of anger that was seeping into his voice.
"Do you really think that? Because I care a lot about you. I've sacrificed a lot for you Sherlock. I've done a hell of a lot of things for you. Does that make me weak? When I shot that damn cabbie, or fought that Chinese assassin, was it because I was weak? All of the criminals I've chased all of the people I've fought or apologized to for you. You think me weak for it?"
John shook his head, hurt and angry.
Sherlock was frozen. He had made a mistake. A terrible horrible mistake. John was angry with him, and more than that he was hurt. Those four words weren't meant to leave his mouth. They comprised his own internal rule, one that even as he said it he refuted immediately in his heart.
"John. I, I did not mean for that to sound like it did. I didn't, you aren't-"
He growled, tangling his fingers in his hair. How to say it?
"You are not weak. By no stretch of the imagination are you weak. You are the strongest person I have ever met."
He could see that the doctor was still wounded, that he still hadn't managed to fix things.
"That's why you're the exception to the rule. You are my weakness, but you are by no means weak."
It was the doctor's turn to freeze. He stood still, one hand still gripping the door frame tightly, the other in front of him, finger pointed.
"Hold on a moment. What exactly, are you getting at? Are you wanting us to, I don't know, be this-"
He waved between them.
"Or are you saying no to it? Because I'm getting mixed vibes here."
Sherlock rolled his eyes and grabbed John's collar, pulling him into a searing kiss with the hopes of instilling every ounce of passion that he could into the gesture. They pulled apart, both gasping for breath. Sherlock raised a hand.
"I'm saying that you are my weakness, but you are also my strength. Because where I flounder, you flourish. I'm saying that even though I've never actually done any of this before, I want nothing more than to do it with you. I'm saying that this is all very hard for me, but that I'm taking the challenge."
He took a deep breath, trying to muster the courage to say the three words that his heart was screaming, but was cut short by a firm pair of lips on his, rough hands surrounding his face. He heard a gasp of what was most likely Mrs. Hudson, and the sound of a door being kicked shut.
John backed him slowly to the couch, his hands stroking soft circles on the detective's cheeks. Half of him wanted to attack the man, take him with as much savage passion as they had shared on the roof and in the cab, but the other half knew that that wouldn't be right. Sherlock was new to this, it wouldn't do to ravage him right off the bat. So he went slow, steady, gentle. Soft caresses and soft kisses on soft lips.
Sherlock was worried. He knew the mechanics of their current actions, he knew how it worked in theory, but he lacked experience. What he had done in the cab had been pure instinct. Adrenaline controlling his actions. Now he was afraid. Afraid of messing up, afraid of John leaving him because he isn't good enough.
As if sensing the detective's shift in mood, John's already slow pace came to a halt. His hands cradled the detective's face in his hands as he pulled back looking Sherlock dead in the eye.
"Sherlock, I don't want to do anything that you don't. If you want me to stop, or slow down, tell me, please."
The detective 's sideways smirk answered the doctor.
"I trust you."
John's heart fluttered in his chest, almost painfully. In any other situation that would have made him smile, but now, now he knew exactly what that meant. Exactly what underlined those three words. Sherlock was giving the doctor explicit permission to do as he liked. He was determined to make it count.
He tugged Sherlock off the couch, wrapping his arm around the man and pulling him to the bedroom.
Sherlock leaned against the door, his eyes focused intently on the doctor's.
"Are YOU ok with this John?"
The doctor looked slightly startled, his ears reddening slightly. He pressed his hands around the taller man's neck and pulled him down for another kiss.
Sherlock responded eagerly, his tongue tracing lightly around the doctor's teeth.
"Answered that then." John chuckled softly, his fingers toying with Sherlock's collar.
Sherlock caught on to John's hesitation, and rolled his eyes. Without further preamble he burrowed his fingers under John's jumper and shirt, pulling them off in one swift motion.
The sudden loss of clothing seemed to jolt the doctor from his apprehension. He moved swiftly forward. Fingers moving languorously over the detective's chest.
Sherlock growled in frustration.
"Do you have to be so bloody slow?"
John laughed out-right. With a flick of his wrist he unfastened Sherlock's belt, thrusting his hand in unceremoniously. Sherlock gasped in shock and pleasure.
"I had planned on dragging this out, but since you're so eager."
He wormed his fingers under the silk of Sherlock's boxers, his own breath hitching when they reached their prize.
Sherlock bit his lip to keep from moaning, the whole of the situation so unfamiliar, anything he could do to control it was needed. That gave him an idea.
He pressed himself flush with John. Stooping himself so his lips attached firmly to John's. In one swift motion he hooked arm around the doctor's waist, and a leg behind his calf.
Before John could register what was happening, Sherlock had flipped the doctor onto the bed, facedown.
John grunted as he impacted he matress, dazed by the sudden turn of events. He attempted to flip himself over so that he could face the detective, but was suddenly pinned down by a heavy weight resting against him. He felt the soft cotton of Sherlock's shirt, rub against his back, the buttons scraping his skin. The contact made him moan.
Sherlock laughed
"John, this is a fascinating view."
He tenderly ran his fingers over the small scar on the older man's shoulder, and was suddenly possessed by the need to see the whole of it. He stood, flipping John over and looking him directly in the eye.
John was surprised by the detective's forcefulness. He hisses slightly as the younger man's fingers grazed over his scar. Sherlock stopped, pulling his hand back
"Did that hurt?"
The tone of his voice revealed worry, and fear. Not the disgust or horror that so many of his female counterparts had expressed when faced with the scar.
"No, it's just that, well, it's quite, err, sensitive."
Sherlock's smirked returned. He leaned in and took John's mouth with his and then trailed a wet stripe down his chin. His fingers moved quickly to divest him of his shirt, the too tight buttons only too happy to oblige.
Kisses ran down John's neck, forcing the man to shiver. A particularly violent shudder when those lips brushed the crook of his neck led to Sherlock sucking on the skin there lightly. John groaned, and the pressure increased. The detective nibbled and sucked at the spot, eliciting many a gravely moan from his blogger. He noticed a prominent bruise beginning to form, and his already aroused form shivered pleasantly.
He had just marked John. The world would know that he belonged to Sherlock Holmes. The detective smirked inwardly. A few more of those wouldn't hurt.
John was quickly loosing any form of rational and coherent thought. For someone who had no idea what he was doing, Sherlock was amazing. And in control. He had always fantasized everything the other way around. Him on top of Sherlock. Him controlling and pleasing Sherlock. Now, though, he wouldn't change a thing.
The detective found himself once again drawn to the patch of soft white tissue that bloomed from John's shoulder. His lips brushed against it, a soft kiss finding its way to the very center. John's wanton moan shook Sherlock viciously.
Sensitive indeed. He laved his tongue over the skin, hot, wet, perfect. John shouted breathlessly.
"Sherlock!"
The detective pulled up on his elbows, and grinned at him.
John couldn't take it. That little gesture had brought him way too close way too fast. He pulled a hand up to Sherlock's chest and tweaked a nipple, rolling the hardened nub between his fingers.
"Jesus, John."
Sherlock gasped, his hips bucking into John's thigh.
The doctor grinned, pushing forward and locking his lips with Sherlock's, his finger's working mercilessly on the detective's nipple. Every little touch brought a groan from the detective, and the doctor used this distraction to his advantage, flipping them around.
As his back hit the mattress ,Sherlock's mind registered that he had lost his control, and he didn't mind in the slightest. Especially with what John was doing to his lips with his teeth.
John pulled back, his lips trailing hot, open mouthed kisses down the detective's chest. He pushed to lick each nipple in turn, and then again to dip his tongue into the other man's navel.
Sherlock tried desperately to control him self, but everything John did was making his hips back and his mind reel. He couldn't focus, couldn't think. Everything was clouding over with pleasure.
With Sherlock bucking his hips against his stomach, John decided it was time to move things forward.
He scooted back,dragging Sherlock's trousers and boxers with him, relishing the way Sherlock's skin was melting over with chill bumps.
He kissed up the younger man's legs, resting to suck a love bites of his own on Sherlock's inner thigh. His hands began rubbing circles into the younger man's hips with his thumbs. He moved, huffing hot breaths over the man's shaft.
"John."
Sherlock whispered his mind seemed only to consist of that word, over and over and over again.
John Was alight with pleasure. To see Sherlock like this. Hard, lips parted, skin flushed, eyes shocked open, pupils blown. And all the while chanting John's name with each breath. It was enough to get him over any apprehension over what came next.
He took Sherlock's head into his mouth, running the tip of his tongue over the slit. Sherlock attempted to buck into the searing heat of John's mouth, but the once soothing hands had firmed, holding him down to the mattress.
He whimpered and moaned when that mouth was removed, and that tongue instead pressed against the vein at the underside of his cock. His fingers curled into John's hair as he once again closed around him, deeper this time,taking him partially in. One of the hands left his hip and found it's way to his base
John could already tell that Sherlock wouldn't last long. Truth be told, neither would he. The way that Sherlock was moaning and writhing was driving him to the brink, and he had yet to even release himself from his own jeans. He smiled, as much as he could with his mouth so full, at the wonder that is Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock was shaking. He was so close to the edge that he could feel one foot in the air. He had never experienced such pure pleasure. With what was left of his mind, he managed a warning to his...partner? Lover? Later.
"J-John."
The doctor glanced up, his, eyes locking onto Sherlock's. With a final flick of his wrist, he sent his best friend over the edge.
Sherlock saw stars. Colors he could never fathom danced behind his eyes, he remembers shouting something, and John's mouth on his, a peculiar taste on his lips.
John watched the oh so in control Sherlock Holmes fall apart, and loved the that it was all for him.
He had done this.
He has reduced this great mind to a panting, shaking, mess.
The only problem was that he was still desperately hard. It didn't help matters that Sherlock had shouted those three forbidden words when he came. John stood, peeling himself out of his jeans, hissing as the cold air hit him.
Sherlock came around slowly, his first foray into the pleasures of the flesh truly sending him around the bend. The first thing he saw was John standing, and his jeans still on. He panicked.
John was leaving?
After all that?
He was just going to leave him in bed, limp and out of his mind?
Had he done something wrong?
He made to sit up, to go to John and apologize, when those jeans slide down John's well toned thighs, followed by his pants.
John turned around, and Sherlock's jaw fell slightly slack.
John was, err, well endowed. For such a small man, he was anything but. The thing that troubled the detective was that his doctor was still hard. Very hard.
John caught Sherlock staring at him, and blushed.
"Give me a minute, I'll be back in a bit."
He made for the bathroom, but was stopped when Sherlock's slender fingers brushed his hip.
"No, come here. I'll take care of you."
To emphasize his point he scooted to the other side of the bed, beckoning John to lay beside him.
The doctor nodded, sliding in and blushing further under Sherlock's interest gaze.. One slender hand wrapped around his cheek, and drew him into a languid kiss, while the other wrapped firmly around John's cock.
John gasped into the kiss, the relief of touch overwhelming.
Sherlock stroked him slowly, his bony fingers soft in places and calloused in others. The difference in texture was exhilarating.
It took exactly seven strokes before John came.
Hard.
He had never had such a strong orgasm in his entire life, and was vaguely away of trying to shout, but the words being quickly swallowed by Sherlock's lips.
Sherlock watched John come, with equal part fascination and jealousy
. The fascination was of how completely John had trusted him, to let him witness his utter destruction.
The jealousy was of the women that John had been with, and will be with in the future.
He had no doubts that John would leave him in the future. It was only a matter of time before he truly mucked things up and chased this man away.
He felt a warm pair of arms wrap around him. John's eyes were still closed, but and soft smile played at his lips. He opened his eyes to see Sherlock's scowl, and instantly released him, scooting back and attempting to sit up.
"Shit, sorry Sherlock."
Sherlock's eyes narrowed.
Sorry?
"For what?"
The detective snapped, hurt.
Was John apologizing for the blow job?
Or for Sherlock getting him off, or all of this?
"I should have figured. What with you being you."
He shook his head, snatching his shirt from the floor and cleaning himself off.
" What about me being me? What are you going on about?"
John stopped, and locked eyes with Sherlock.
"I was, talking about the...cuddling."
He said softly,then snapped.
"What did you think I was talking about?"
Sherlock glanced away, and John gave a silent oh.
"I wasn't apologizing for-"
He waved between them, reminiscent of his earlier gesture.
"This. When I saw how pissed you looked, i figured that it was over me trying to cuddle."
It was Sherlock's turn to feel out of sorts.
"Alright then. Good. Because that was nothing to apologize for."
John grinned once more. It split his face from ear to ear, and made the detective's stomach knot pleasantly.
"You're not so bad yourself."
The doctor yawned, laying back down and stretching out on the bed.
"So what we're you scowling about anyway? Are you really that adverse to a cuddle?"
The detective shook his head. To prove his point, he tucked himself around John, legs intertwined, his head beneath John's chin.
"Come now, be honest. You won't bother me."
Sherlock sighed.
"I got to thinking about the after. You know, when you leave. I was jealous-" John laughed. It resonated through his chest and shook Sherlock.
"You ignorant git. I am not leaving you. Especially not now!"
Sherlock hurmphed.
"Why not now?"
"Because, I, well you-we...You said."
John huffed.
"If I get my way, I will never leave your side. I often don't understand the what goes on in your head. I get fed up with body parts in the kitchen,for experiments in the bathtub. You are arrogant, condescending, rude, and socially inept."
Sherlock winced. John had often pointed these things out to him, but never like this.
"You are also brilliant in near every manner if the word. You are intelligent, talented, caring in your own way. You are loyal, my god are you beautiful."
He kissed the top of Sherlock's hair.
" and so long as you will let me stay,then I have no intention of leaving."
Sherlock was shocked. He had no idea that John felt that deeply. Or that he would dare make a claim like that.
"What brought that thought on then?"
Sherlock bit his lip, burying his head further into the soft curls on John's chest. His reason seemed so stupid and insulting that he regretted ever thinking of it.
"Err, well, it's of no consequence really."
John pulled back, catching the detective's eye.
"Sherlock." He warned, and the man pouted.
"I figured that you would leave me when this-"
He ran his hand between them.
"wasn't enough. I am not a woman John. I doubt you'll be satisfied in this arena."
John was actually stunned into silence. A few tense moments passed before he smiled, and kissed Sherlock's forehead.
"You really are an idiot. "
John took Sherlock's hand in his, stroking his fingers.
"I have been with, well, my fair share of women, I won't lie. But none of them, not a one, has made me come, so hard, or so quickly. and you barely touched me. I mean it. If that is what me blowing you does to me, I can't imagine how other things would feel. " He blushed.
"If, that is, you were amicable to other things later on." It was Sherlock's turn to laugh.
"Of course I'm amicable! I have more than just my fingers John." The doctor grinned.
"But what fingers! I've never dated a violinist before. I am definitely glad I made that choice. Talented things, your fingers."
Sherlock blushed. He wasn't used to being referred to as a violinist. Freak, consulting detective, genius, sociopath. These were his titles. But his more artistic talents often went ignored.
"Maybe I'll play something with them later."
The innuendo was palpable, and John chuckled deeply.
"But, now, John, I am hungry."