A/N: I don't know if this is going to come out smaller than any of the other font, but I can't fix it and I'm tired of trying. So, with that said, maybe making it bolder will make it easier to see . . .
Thank you all! I wanted to try and make up for the no chapters, but giving three, but I'm not sure if I can do that as I have other things I need to do today . . . :(
'M' and not mine . . .
S/W/S/W
"Therefore, since your choices were really no choices at all and certainly notgood ones, they were quite literally forcedon you. Because sex that is forced on someone or they were coerced into any sexual act through blackmail or violence is labeled 'rape', then logic dictates that you were raped, and that I, Sherlock Holmes, raped you," bitterness filled his voice with self-loathing and John clenched his fists in anger as Sherlock continued. "Having been raped by your purportedly best friend, you should be far from all right and your first question afterward should notbe 'are you all right, Sherlock', it shouldbe 'when am I, John, going to call the police and have Sherlock arrested for perpetrating rape."
"Oh no," John sat up on his elbow and stared down at Sherlock. "Don't you dare call yourself a rapist. I may not have had a real choice, but you just saved our lives, damn it, and as you'll recall, not just ours.
"Granted, it was in one of the most unorthodox ways I've ever experienced having my life saved, but in no way am I all that surprised about the 'unorthodox' part especially when ti comes to you, but that's exactly what you did and I'm not going to let you regret that.
"Yes, it's true I never showed any inclination toward men, but that's because the thought never occurred to me that there'd ever be a time when I actually would have to be inclined to! And as I'm sure you'll recall, I wasn't exactly an inactive participant," he pointed to the mess on his chest and stomach and shook his head as a small smile pulled the corners of his lips upward. "And, Sherlock, really, if there's someone out there better than you, then it's a good thing I was with you and not him, because I'd've had a heart attack before we'd even gotten to the really good part."
"That's not what I meant . . ." Sherlock snapped and John scowled.
"I know exactly what you meant, and I'm ignoring it because if I responded, I'd be yelling and we'd be here beyond our allotted three hours and you'd have to pay for another three hours because I'd still be yelling at you."
"Speaking of which, we can leave now," Sherlock said and John swore he was going to get whiplash one day from Sherlock's lightning fast subject changes. "I believe those who were looking for us actually kicked the door in, but . . ." He actually colored, and once more looked away. "I wasn't really listening," he admitted, his voice low, and John couldn't keep the short burst of laughter inside but choked it off before it could turn into hysteria . . . one hysterical drama queen . . . again he choked back his laughter . . . in that situation was enough. Well, he guessed he knew what Sherlock was now, so again, screw you Irene Adler.
"Yeah. Me either," he finally said as he drew his mind back to their conversation. "But from the way the bed was hitting the wall, I'd say we convinced them, at least three of our neighbors, plus the next building, that it wasn't us Marsialli's men were looking for. But you aren't going to get away with changing the subject, Sherlock.
"Despite what you think, you really, after a time, didn't do anything that I didn't want done," he blinked. "Much to my surprise . . . and . . ." he had to admit it, after all it was true. "Pleasure."
"Damn it, John!" Sherlock pulled himself as well as the bedspread off the bed and put several feet of space between them as he wrapped the bedspread around himself. "Don't you understand!? Pleasurable though it may have been, and as you recall, I did say I could make it that way, it should have been wanted . . . and special! The first time should always be special!" Sherlock stared at the bathroom door. "It should be special. Not with . . . with someone like me in a place like . . . like this!"
John sat up, pulled the sheet up to his waist, his knees to his chest, and wrapped his arms around his legs. "Sherlock, this isn't like you at all, and I don't like it." He frowned and Sherlock looked down. "I'm going to tell you one more time and then this is it. We're going to drop the whole thing, get a shower, get the hell out of here, and get whatever crap that's needed to Mycroft,. Then we're going to forget, or if we can't forget, then at least, push this so far to the back of our minds, or in your case, delete it, that it never comes up again, especially since it bothers you so damned badly.
"Sherlock, if, if I were going to do anything like that with anyone, it would have been you. For my first . . . and last time, it was special. It . . . you . . . was and were good," John tilted his head and revised his thought, and smiled. "No, it was better than good, Sherlock. It was bloody fantastic. Now, I'm taking a shower and we're going to get past this, okay?"
He waited until he received a curt nod from Sherlock, got up and all but stalked to the bathroom and closed the door. When he was on the other side, he all but slid down the door and rested his head on his knees. His breath came fast and furious, and he felt the sweat and Sherlock's body fluids run down and out of his body, and he almost groaned out loud.