The next day was almost uneventful. Well, as uneventful as living with Sherlock got. Whenever John looked at the detective, it sent sparks through his blood and whenever their eyes met, those sparks were joined by a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach. And every time the detective talked about someone else, even if that 'someone' was just a case, it made John feel strangely jealous. Which was probably what love was all about.

The doctor had been 'in love' before, all right. But it had been those kind of relationships you just had, because you needed closure, or sex, or whatever else a relationship had to offer. John had almost thought that this was what love was all about. At least as long as he hadn't known anybody he could look up to. He had met this military Sergeant, who had been so much more than what he could ever hope for. Married, of course, and gorgeous. Maybe not even all that nice. But the thought of being with someone like him had left John breathless. Some nights, when he couldn't fall asleep he had almost thought that there was hope. And this hope had left a tingly feeling in his stomach.

Now that there was more than just hope, it left John paranoid. Well, of course the detective wasn't someone who was easy to live with, probably not someone easy to have a relationship with, and maybe John would never have something like a 'normal' relationship with him. But the former army doctor could live with that. But there had to be something else, something destructive. Something John could not live with.

Maybe Sherlock was into sado-maso, that would be just John's luck. Maybe the detective wanted to be physically hurt. Maybe in a way the former army doctor could never hurt him. He was sure he could never hit anyone, not really. He had heard about relationships like that and they had always seemed destructive, like something which couldn't last or would lead to one of the partners being damaged beyond repair. Because as a doctor, he always questioned the reason behind the need to be hit or otherwise hurt. Was it because of some previous abuse? Or because they had not gotten any appreciation when they were younger? Maybe, just maybe, relationships like that could work out. But John didn't think he could be in a relationship like that. He had heard too much, experienced enough. His guilt would be too big if he hurt anyone, even if that someone asked him to. And he didn't enjoy himself to be hurt.

But why did he even think Sherlock would enjoy something like that? Maybe because the detective seemed to be such an extreme personality who just couldn't enjoy 'normal' things. So it was either virgin sex or sado-maso. And Sherlock surely didn't seem like a virgin. But then maybe... Could you actually enjoy a lot of masturbation, never be touched, know how to turn someone else on without ever having experienced sex? Sex with someone else, that was, because sex was... sex. With a woman you can actually SEE if she was still a virgin or not, but with a man you can't. So is there actually something like a 'male virgin'? If you had never touched yourself, sure, but if you never had sex with someone else? John knew women who were the most prudish, even though they had sex with him. But he was sure they never touched themselves and maybe only had sex with him because it was something you did in a relationship. Others he had never slept with maybe touched themselves three times a day… ok, they couldn't get pregnant from that but could you really describe them as virgins, even if they never slept with a man? They could have the filthiest thoughts…

And Sherlock probably had the filthiest thoughts… he just never acted on them. Well, he did, in a way, but not in the 'usual' way. But then the usual way maybe wasn't necessary at all. John could imagine 'sleeping with Sherlock' like that for a long time, but then there would be a time at which he wouldn't be able to resist the beautiful detective. And how would his flat mate react to that? Would he be angry, maybe even want him to move out? Would he actually enjoy 'real sex'? Would it be a bad or a good thing to take his virginity?

The former army doctor certainly didn't know how to behave with Sherlock. There weren't any rules there and if there were they needed to be broken. It wasn't just the John never had been with a man, it was also that he had never met SUCH a man. And then he didn't know if he actually WAS with Sherlock, or if he just was one of the detective's pass-times. It all depended on the detective having done this with/to someone else or not. So John had to ask him. So John had to speak to him about that. Which he didn't really want to, because he was kind of afraid of the answer.

He wanted to be Sherlock's 'first one', of course, but he was also afraid of hurting the man. Sherlock seemed to be so vulnerable when he showed feelings. And he had especially asked to take it slow. John simply didn't know what to do about that. Because with a woman, taking it slow meant long dates and romantic candle light. With the detective it meant chasing a criminal during the day and then phone sex during the night / in the morning. But was this really taking it slow? And was this really something which was good for them?

Maybe John just worried too much. Other people would enjoy a situation like this. But then he had never been one to simply enjoy a situation. He could enjoy his tea, of course, or some especially good jam, a TV show, maybe, or a long kiss, but not an extended relationship. He always found something bad about it, or, if there wasn't anything bad about it, he made something up. Sometimes he hated himself for that, but at other times he just accepted that as being something he was. He was a doctor; he needed to be worried all the time! That was why he always had been a good doctor. Because he had worried about his patients, even if they seemed to be fine. Because he had gone back to them three times a day, even if they seemed to recover. Maybe this saved only one in ten soldier's lives, but without his worry, this one in ten would have certainly died.

So John was actually quite proud of himself sometimes. Sometimes he could even stand in front of a mirror and appreciate the weight he had gained. Surely, he wasn't the same man as he had been before Afghanistan, but he was a new man now. And there was more of him to love. He had always hated that sentence, but it was oh so true: you couldn't make love to a skeleton. And a few pounds more surely didn't matter. If they didn't matter to Sherlock, of all people, they couldn't be that important. And the detective himself didn't go to fitness centres or anything. He was gorgeous, of course, but John was almost certain that the detective wouldn't care if his body wouldn't be that perfect. It was just looks and Sherlock wasn't that superficial.

One of his former girlfriends had told John he was a bit chubby, but he just couldn't imagine Sherlock telling him that. And just like that, the former army doctor started to feel a bit more relaxed about their relationship. Maybe it didn't matter if they slept with each other or not, if they went on dates or not or if Sherlock really was a virgin. It was all just superficial stuff, after all. It just mattered that John did the best he could. Because this was what he had always done. And because this had always lead to success in the past.

John looked up from his eggnog and saw Sherlock standing in the kitchen door. "Enjoying Mrs. Hudson's gift, aren't you?", the detective smirked. The doctor looked down looked down at his glass, then at the bottle which was already half-empty. And he didn't even like eggnog that much. He had thought their landlady's moving-in present would stand in the cupboard for an eternity. And then drinking during the day wasn't his thing at all. But then it was sweet and went so well with the cookies John had bought from the bakery the other day.

Suddenly, Sherlock was kneeling in front of him on the floor. Those eyes! "John, you're drunk," Sherlock stated. "Oh, really?", John grinned, "Have you deduced that?"

"Shut up and close your eyes, you need some treatment," the detective growled.

John swallowed hard but complied. He leaned back when his zip was opened and a warm hand freed his already half hard cock. Alcohol didn't seem to have much influence on THIS part of him today.

Soon, his hard-on was engulfed in wet heat and John moaned loudly. So good! Christmas should always be like that!... Christmas? Was it already Christmas? Was it winter when they moved in?

But John's thoughts quickly snapped back to his raging hard-on. "Faster," he said and then added, appreciatively, "yes, like that, hmmmm, so good. Such a good boy. Suck me hard. Nnnngh."

John was already close and wondered if the detective would swallow and if he should warn him. But then he didn't want to ruin this moment by stating the obvious.

So he just let go and climaxed in Sherlock's mouth, shooting sperm down his throat.

After calming down a bit, John opened his eyes and found himself in a dark, silent apartment. For a moment, he didn't know where he was, but then he realized that he had just woken up from a very nice dream. He put his hand between his legs and found the evidence of his dream. A very wet dream, it seemed. But when he palmed himself softly through his trousers, enjoying his post-orgasm bliss, he realized that his trousers were half-open. And the damp spot there was really just damp, as if he had climaxed somewhere else…