Ahoy there me heartys! The slashy ship has sailed! Yaarrrgggh! Sorry for the wait and I hope you all enjoy this chapter!
AN: Any errors are mine and I will go over it again when I have time! In the mean time! Enjoy! Yes guys. This is the chapter you've been waiting for.
They are about two streets from the pub walking in an uncomfortable silence. The memory of yesterday is clearly occupying their minds. When Sherlock had returned to the apartment, he had been quiet and withdrawn, quickly whisking himself away to his room. John had managed to coax him out eventually but it is evident that both men are hurt and confused.
John looks at Sherlock, the sharp features of his face standing out vividly under the street lights, wondering how he can fix this. If he can fix this…
They enter the pub and immediately see Molly practically vibrating in her seat. She waves her arms at them and ushers them over with a happy smile. Sherlock gives a polite nod and John returns her wave smiling at Lestrade. They arrive at the table and Greg orders some sweet-smelling shots that immediately have Sherlock grimacing. He looks at John who lines up his in front of him and offers Sherlock a small, shy smile.
Molly looks between them nervously and John can tell she is worried about whether he is mad at her for not telling him. He decides it is better to get it out the way now so that they can enjoy the evening. He wants to celebrate the fact that Sherlock is here with them and not linger in the past year.
"Molly, I want to thank you, for helping Sherlock. I…it can't have been easy for you. So thank you" he says awkwardly trying hard to not let his words tinge with any jealously he may be unwillingly feeling. All he wants to feel towards Molly is gratitude and friendship. If it wasn't for her...John doesn't even want to think about it.
Molly's bright smile slips into a more solemn expression and she quickly flicks her eyes between Sherlock and John. Sherlock can feel some of that tightness of his body unwind at John's words. He watches John carefully. He sees how John's body tenses as he speaks; his eyes shine and crinkle kindly towards Molly. The way his voice is ever so slightly lowers and has a deep, delicate tremble that is almost too faint to hear. Sherlock doesn't need to comprehend all of the complexities of human emotion to understand how grateful John really is. He can feel how much John cares and it banishes any doubt in his mind. John will stay with him. He will not share him. He will not watch John from the shadows and fade from his life. No matter how much pain he may cause Mary or even John. He will make him see how much he cares for Sherlock and he will do everything that he is capable of to return the sentiment.
Sherlock tears his eyes from John to see Molly watching them; curious and warm but with none of that adoration that she had previously held. Instead it is directed at Greg who returns it warmly, both of them looking so indisputably happy.
"I am uncertain if I fully expressed my gratitude to you at the time given the…situation. But I…you have my sincerest thanks." Sherlock adds genuinely grateful to Molly. Without her, he would not have been able to ensure his and everyone's security, and he would not have been able to return home. She needed to know that she matters.
Molly's face turns a delightful shade of red, causing Greg's eyes to light up, and she ducks her head with embarrassment.
"I…that is…your very welcome, both of you. It's good to see you again, Sherlock." She says biting her lip nervously and smiles warmly at him. She then turns to smile at Greg and he squeezes her hand in approval. Before she would have stared at Sherlock with unrequited affection but now she only had eyes for Greg. It makes John incredibly happy to see them both looking so loved up but it also serves as a reminder of his current predicament. He can feel Sherlock's side pressed up against his and he looks at Sherlock who does one of his small genuine smiles. All memory of yesterday seemingly gone. The sight causes him to down one of his shots quickly in an attempt to distract himself from the dazzling vision. An action he immediately regrets as the sweet taste, briefly reminding him of cherry, fades and his throat burns. He starts to cough into a fist, one eye squeezed shut, as he tries to quell the burn.
"Hey, no starting without us John! You alright?" Greg chides playfully. He grabs one of his shot glasses and indicates that everyone should do the same. Sherlock picks up his glass gingerly examining the shot glass distastefully. He is hardly compelled to consume a toxic liquid that can cause short-term memory loss and destroy vital neurons. John has also done nothing to decrease his revulsion by choking on the foul-smelling liquid. For what possible purpose can people find to consume this? He wonders to himself. He looks around the room hoping for some indication as to the purpose of this activity. All around the room there is people laughing and leaning into one another. Some people look to be completely inebriated; half unconscious and drooling on their tables. Others appear to use the substance as an excuse to lose all inhibitions. A large number had taken to groping and kissing in a manner that Sherlock is certain is not suitable for public display. He looks at John and wonders whether he will become more acceptable of touching Sherlock if he consumes more alcohol. His eyes have already begun to take a glassy look and his grin that he directs at Sherlock is completely charming and open. It is utterly disarming.
John picks us his second shot glass determined to get Sherlock to loosen up and pliable for questioning. He watches as he eyes the glass with an expression that can only be described as pure disgust and suspicion. It is vaguely reminiscent of the look he had often seen directed at Mycroft. John decides he is having none of that.
"To Sherlock" he says putting on what he hopes is his best smile and raises his glass towards Sherlock. He sees Sherlock's expression falter for a moment before he slowly extends his glass towards John chinking the glasses together. He does the same to Molly's and Greg's and throws the liquid down his throat. If he experiences any unpleasant sensations John can't see it. Sherlock's face is as cool as ever except for the slight twitch of the muscle in his jaw.
Sherlock fights to keep his face straight after consuming what had felt like liquid fire down his oesophagus. The cherry taste does nothing to soothe his palette and he is fighting the urge chuck the rest in Greg's face as he orders more for the table. He quells the urge to let his mouth hang open in shock. How many of these did these insane people expect him to consume?
However John directs another one of his disarming smiles towards him and picks up the shot glasses. He is laughing at something Greg is saying and Sherlock finds that the urge to complain leaves him.
The rest of the evening goes well. Sherlock is surprised at the fun he had regardless of how pointless the evening actually was. Molly had typically fumbled over her words and blushed furiously whenever she made a tasteless joke. Greg spent most of the evening fawning over her, oblivious to her poor taste in humour, clearly enamoured. John had laughed a lot this evening. He gave frequent little chuckles and a couple of full blown laughing fits that caused him to clutch at his sides in pain wiping tears from his eyes.
Throughout the evening John had become much more tactile. He would sling his arm around Sherlock's shoulder to pull him close and whisper something in his ear. Or nudge him playfully with a sharp elbow to the ribs and rubbing an apologetic hand on his thigh. Sherlock had revelled in the touch that from anyone else would revile him. He had also become much less inhibited allowing his face to display more of his feelings. He smiled and laughed more. He even went as far as to hug both Greg and Molly when it was time for him and John to leave causing them both to start in surprise. When he pulled away John had this warm expression on his face that was a mixture of pride and…something else that Sherlock could not recognise. It felt warm and familiar. It had caused his stomach to swirl although admittedly that could have also been due to the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed.
So now he is walking down the street one arm slung over his shorter friend as they both stumble down their street back to their apartment. John's arm is slung around his waist since he would not be able to reach Sherlock's shoulder without him bending down a considerable amount. Sherlock finds John's height to be very appealing even if slightly inconvenient. They reach a street that is familiar to Sherlock but he finds he cannot recall it. A fact that would have been troubling if it wasn't for John's elated shout. He pulls himself away from Sherlock's grip and laughs sprinting off.
"Come on Sherlock!" he yells sprinting considerably well despite his obvious blood alcohol level and Sherlock realises why John is running. He chases after him letting out a delighted laugh following the path they had once taken to find their way back home. The path they had run that very first time they had met. His body is alight with endorphins and nostalgia as he follows his friend down the streets of London. His body pumps with adrenaline and his long legs soon catch up to John. They soon make it back to the flat and stand backs pressed up against the wall of the hallway. Sherlock can feel his heart pounding and his body feels wonderfully alive. Sherlock's mind is clouded but is also somehow painfully aware. He is so conscious of John's side pressed against his. The small, panting sounds his breathing makes causes his blood to rush downwards and his fingers clench.
John looks at Sherlock watching him. Sherlock looks practically feral. His hair is wilder than ever from the wind whipping it around from their run back home. His broad chest his moving quickly and his eyes are dark. John licks his lips involuntarily. It was easier to admit his attraction when he is like this. When his mind is blank and his body is left to feel without inhibition.
Sherlock watches John's lips as he wets them with his tongue calling to mind a vivid memory of John sucking stray bits of sweet alcohol from his fingertips. He hadn't lied to Mycroft when he had said that sex didn't alarm him. It didn't him. Previously it had disgusted him. To him it was a messy act both physically and emotionally. Unnecessary information. But now the need to touch, to feel and find release was almost painful.
Adrenaline making his thoughts jumbled and brave; he moves closer to John. His long arms press against the wall enclosing the smaller man in. John looks up at Sherlock's face that is so close now. He can taste the sweet, sharp flavour of alcohol on his breath and the sheer heat radiating from Sherlock's body. It happens suddenly. One moment they are watching each other. Bodies painfully close but not touching. Lips grazing and breaths mingling. The next Sherlock pushes his lips against his and they are kissing ferociously, ravishing each other's mouths. It's not timid or hesitant. It's powerful and possessive.
Sherlock, even drunk, is a fast learner and John is not shy about teaching him. He mimics John's movements as their mouths open. Their tongues making hot, wet caresses causing shivers and low groans in both men. Sherlock's senses come alight with John's touch and the sounds he is making. He loves the way he looks when Sherlock pulls back, just to see him. His face utterly open and wanting. He rushes back to John's mouth grinding himself harder against him. He pushes a long-fingered hand under John's jumper revelling in the shudders that it causes and threads his other through John's hair. It's soft and just long enough for him to grasp and tug so he can nuzzle his face into the soft skin of his neck. He presses wet kisses to the side of John's neck noting the breathy groans he emits when he sucks at the tender skin.
John pushes past Sherlock's thick coat and shirt, offended by the layers he covers his body with, and slips his hands up his shirt. He runs his hands firmly over his muscular back as Sherlock continues to attack his neck with sharp nips and soothing wet licks of his warm tongue. Soon the urge to kiss Sherlock again overpowers him and he threads one hand through his curly hair tugging his downwards. Sherlock meets his lips with a low growl that makes John jerk his hips into Sherlock's. John finds it hard to believe that Sherlock is a virgin. But he cannot imagine Sherlock any other way. The confidence in his movements and the way he maps John's body is so utterly Sherlock.
Sherlock feels a deep rumble in his chest as John presses his hips into his and feels how aroused he is. The urge to feel John's naked body against his is overpowering and he wants, for the first time, to know what it is like to drive into another person. To know what it is like to breach that barrier and become connected. To pleasure them with your body and imprint yourself in their flesh. But he is so very afraid that if John lets him become close that he will never want to leave. That he will become hopelessly addicted as he is to this kiss. His first kiss and its John's. He's John's.
They pull away and look at each other. They can barely breathe. They take in shuddering and gasping breaths. Their grip on each other's bodies is tight and powerful. John looks into Sherlock's eyes; bluer and darker then he has ever seen them and he suddenly remembers that these are not the eyes he should be looking into. Mary's eyes are green and he is with Mary. What is he doing? John feels guilt begin to drown out his current lust as he realises what he has done. He never intended to betray Mary like this. He pushes away from Sherlock putting a shaking hand to his mouth and begins to pace the hall. He desperately tries to ignore the taste of Sherlock on his lips and stops to stare at him helplessly.
"Why?" he asks; his voice sounding so broken and full of some nameless emotion. It cuts through Sherlock and all he can do is stare blankly at John. His mind is dumb with alcohol and is trying to comprehend how they went from kissing to this.
"I…I don't do this, Sherlock! I don't cheat. God Mary…Why Sherlock? Why did you kiss me?" he demands again.
His mind is a jumble of voices that are trying to shout over each other. Some want Sherlock to tell him that he has feelings for him. That he wants John and that's why he kissed him. Other scream in harsh, cruel voices that Sherlock could never feel that way and it was only an experiment. The rest are just crying about Mary and how she deserves better. How he could have been happy with her. How he isn't even supposed to be gay.
Sherlock stands there, his body thrumming with alcohol and endorphins no doubt affecting his brain performance. John's eyes are shining with tears and he is looking at Sherlock so desperately. Clearly he needs Sherlock to give him the right answer. But at Mary's name. All he can think of is how he has made a grievous mistake. How he may have lost his only friend. He finds that this one time. No matter is resolution to keep John. He realises that attraction is not love. And to admit it now would leave him so completely vulnerable for rejection. John will pick Mary because she is who he is supposed to pick. She is the easier choice. The one expected of him and who can give him everything he wants. Although perhaps not what he needs Sherlock can't tell him the truth. He cannot give John the answer he wants.
" I…I don't know…" he croaks.
"You don't know?" John laughs bitterly; the sound sharp and it cuts through Sherlock.
"You don't know! You never 'don't know' anything Sherlock. You always have a reason for everything. So I'm going to ask you again. Why?" he demanded his mind clearing from rage and guilt.
Sherlock answers the only thing he can without giving too much away.
"It seemed like a good idea…" he answers desperate to argue that John seemed to enjoy it. That he kissed him back.
"Seemed like a…? Argghh! I'm going to bed." He cries out and angrily stumbles his way upstairs slamming the door behind him. He leans against it fighting the urge to cry. He knows he kissed Sherlock back. But he never wanted it to happen like this. He slowly climbs to his room; the images of their kiss the only thing in his mind.
Sherlock stands in the hall swaying on the spot. He licks his lips tasting cherry and something intrinsically John. His head hurts and his chest aches painfully. He tries to pinpoint where he has gone wrong. Where his error has been but all he can recall is how perfect that kiss had been and how he wants so much more.
I hope you all enjoyed the kissing and angst! I won't be able to update this week as I have to prepare for an interview. So hopefully this will keep you all going until next week!
Reviews are love and are so wonderful to read! Please give this author two minutes of your time and let me know what you thought!
Thanks, take care. -Poet.