Chp 10

Hello! Just wanted to give a quick announcement! I plan on trying to up date everyday but I do have school so just keep that in mind! Also I need to say thank you for all the reviews, honestly they bring a huge stupid smile to my face. I can't say how awesome it is to know you guys are enjoying, that said, these are not my characters, but please enjoy the chapter anyway.

There was no doubt in Sherlock's mind that they needed to get out of the hospital as soon as possible. He would call Mycroft tomorrow and speak to him about getting John released quickly. Moriarty might have thought John was going to die that night but it surely wouldn't take long for him to figure out John had survived. In fact he probably already did, and while there were no clear indicators he would come back to finish him off, Sherlock didn't want to take the chance.

Oddly enough the Moriarty problem really wasn't the scariest thing on Sherlock's mind at the moment. He far more concerned about having to tell John, again, how he felt. Or at least there was a good chance he would; he wasn't sure how much John had heard. More troubling was that he wasn't sure what it was that pushed John over the brink and into unconsciousness. He could be laying there, ready to wake up and sock Sherlock in the jaw for all he knew.

He picked up John's small calloused hand in his own large boney ones. He squeezed for a moment and began rubbing circles in his skin with his thumb. The motion seemed comforting to him. For now he was allowed to touch, to drink in the delicious sensation of John at his finger tips. It seemed that this may be the only time he'd be able to do this, to hold John. He knew that he was a monster, in more ways than one, and he wasn't something to be loved. John had put up with him more than most, had shown him kindness and praise, and had given him friendship. There was only so much one person could take though, and Sherlock was sure that this was the limit, he had come to the end of John's rope and he could feel himself slipping. There was just no way that John would want Sherlock, especially after what he had done. He'd had fantasies about John loving him, holding him; he'd wanted to make them real. However now that he found himself needing to tell John about those feelings, it became painfully clear how unlikely it was that those feelings would ever be reciprocated.

John's fingers twitched and he began to shift underneath the covers. Sherlock quickly removed his hand and observed his friend wriggling into consciousness. His heart picked up its pace a bit. This was going to happen, it was so soon! He wasn't sure he was up to the task, that he'd be able to survive the look of disgust on John's face, the disappointment.

"mmm, Sherlock?"

John mumbled sleepily turning slowly to his left side to face Sherlock. His eyes blinked slowly until he was looking up at Sherlock through half lidded eyes.

"John are you…ok?"

Sherlock asked tentatively, he wasn't sure just how angry John was and he didn't want to make the situation any worse than it already was.

"Oh yes, better than ok. You were holding my hand, why'd you stop?"

"Excuse me?"

Now that, was not something he had expected to hear! He tried desperately not to read into what the man had just said. He didn't want to get his hopes up, there was a good chance John was still a bit off from the morphine he'd received an hour before.

"You were holding my hand, it was nice…I blacked out when you were talking…sorry."

"Don't-don't be sorry, I'm sorry. Whatever I said that upset you so much I apologize."

Sherlock looked sheepishly at John thinking that with those words John would remember and snap out of his jolly little mood, no doubt a result of the opiate rushing through his veins.

"Sherlock Holmes, sorry? Now I know I'm dreaming."

"Dreaming…?"

John propped himself up and leaned in closer to Sherlock, their faces inches away. Sherlock could smell the man so well; he could feel his breath on his lips.

"Yes, I knew I was getting myself into a particularly nice dream when you were holding my hand, but I wasn't completely sure, but now it's very clear."

Sherlock blinked a few times. A nice dream? Did John often dream of them touching? More importantly, did he like it? He reached his hand out and once again clasped John's smaller hand, completely smothering it with Sherlock's long elegant fingers.

"I regret to inform you John that this is not a dream, but I will gladly take hold of your hand again."

He began to gently rub in a circular motion with his thumb again. John let out a soft approving moan.

"No Sherlock, that's what you usually say. I've learned not to trust those words. You say that but I know it's a dream because you never touch me in real life. You always back away, you don't like touching in real life."

John frowned as he said this; obviously this little fact upset him. Sherlock's heart went into overdrive. John did like touching him! John liked him! John wasn't angry, or at least he wasn't at the moment.

"John, I do like touching you, it's just that which my affliction touching you proved to difficult a task without…well with out snogging you senseless! I-John, I've wanted to hear you say these things for so long."

Sherlock was smiling so big now and he could feel tears filling his eyes. This was too good to be true. Maybe Sherlock was the one dreaming. For one brief moment the idea crossed his mind and became filled with dread, only after reviewing the facts did he allow himself to once again be filled with the growing feeling of euphoria.

"Oh, yes, I bet. Hmmm, this is bit I like the most."

Jon said shuffling even closer. Sherlock flinched at the closeness, he was so tempted to lean forward and capture those lips. However it seemed that John might still be under the assumption that this was a dream. While it was heart warming, relieving, and oh so comforting to know that John had been feeling this way, he couldn't allow John to get into anything without being fully aware of his actions. Although Sherlock was curious as too what "bit" John was referring to…

"Wh-what bit is that?"

He asked shakily, because at this point John's closeness and scent were becoming very tempting and his body ached for more.

"This one love."

John whispered as he closed the distance between them. His lips smashed against Sherlock in a dazed feverish manner. Sherlock sat absolutely still, unsure of how to proceed. On one hand John wasn't exactly aware of what he was doing, or at least that what he was doing was actually happening, which made Sherlock feel as though he should really stop his friend and shake some sense into him. On the other hand the pressure John was applying to his lips was enough to bring stars to his eyes. He felt John warmth seeping in through his lips. Sherlock let out a tiny whimper as he tried desperately not to press forward and pin John to the bed. John let out a low hum in response and slowly pushed himself even closer. His lips parted just slightly and he let his tongue slowly brush over Sherlock's bottom lip. Sherlock gasped at the contact, John really was making him loose control of himself, every iota of his will power was focused on not tackling him back onto the bed and taking him. So he was powerless to stop John from taking advantage of Sherlock's shock and insert his tongue fully into the detective's mouth. Sherlock let out a deep moan into John's mouth. Sherlock wasn't experienced in kissing as he'd never met anyone who he seemed it would be desirable, but lack of knowledge in this matter didn't keep him from deciding that John Watson was the world's greatest kisser. He was sitting up right now and cupping the back of Sherlock's neck with his left hand. His was exploring the taller man's mouth and rubbing tongue against tongue. Sherlock felt himself being pulled onto the bed and he felt a quick jolt of panic.

"John, you-you're not dreaming. You need to-"

John recaptured his mouth and pulled Sherlock fully on top of him so that the detective was lying directly over him, his trembling arms the only force keeping there bodies from pressing together. John continued to ravish his mouth with slow but passionate kisses. John's hand traveled from Sherlock's neck and lazily made its way to his lower back. Sherlock let out a low rumble of pleasure, really wishing he had the will power to break away from this kiss. John then cupped the man's arse and applied a surprisingly strong force, sending Sherlock's hips colliding into his own. Sherlock gasped from the contact, he really had to get through to John because if he let this happen there was no way he'd ever get to do it again, and there was no way John would ever forgive him.

"John stop, please, I-I'm not ready."

It wasn't a complete lie, although he figured the morphine was making it impossible for him to convince John that he was in fact awake, so perhaps he could appeal to his emotions. If John thought that his dream Sherlock wasn't ready for the encounter, perhaps he would stop. Because in reality Sherlock had never been this close to having sex, it was his first kiss for Christ's sake!

"Oh, Sherlock. I'm sorry, c'mere."

He cooed and pulled Sherlock down beside him, allowing Sherlock to rest his head on the older man's chest. Sherlock let out a deep sigh of relief and allowed himself to remain snuggled up to the man. His scent was filling him up, his eyes had definitely gone golden at some point during the kiss, and Sherlock was aware that the events had left him with a nagging erection. However he was content. More than content, he was over-fucking-joyed that he was lying there with John. No matter the circumstances. He was reeling with excitement and realization. John liked him! John had wanted Sherlock to kiss him, to hold him, just as Sherlock had been dreaming. He felt a single tear pass down his cheek because this had been everything he'd hoped for, and while he wasn't sure if he deserved it, he knew that there was nothing that would take this feeling away from him. He was so enthralled with his swirling emotions and the smell and utter closeness of John's not slumbering form; he didn't sense the very menacing pair of eyes watching him. He didn't feel the piercing glare, and he most certainly did not smell the blood on his hands and lips.

Oh shit! More cliff hangers! Also kisses! Hopefully I'm not too busy to update tomorrow. Also! It may not be your thing, but if you're into Peter Pan I'm reading this great new fic about it, it's seems really promising: .net/s/7872497/1/