daily forecast for this chapter: explosions and orgasms
When he had arrived back from Belarus, seeing John was his number one priority. They had been apart for 3 days, and contact had been limited to a phone call in the morning, texts throughout the day and a Skype call before John went to bed that night and Sherlock lay awake writhing in loneliness and yearning. However, he had come home to a vacant flat, his doctor not anywhere in sight.
"I suppose coming back a day earlier would get me in this situation. John's obviously at the clinic." Sherlock thought unhappily, sighing as he went to his bedroom. A smile did however, manage to cross his face as he caught sight of a meticulously made bed. He and John had been together for how long now; borderline two months, if Sherlock remembered correctly. Which he did, and could put exact minutes on the start time for their relationship, but put that thought away in the small, but existing sentiment department of his Mind Palace as he dropped his suitcase on the floor. Flopping onto the bed, he stared up at the ceiling and grimaced. God, he was so bored. Sherlock had formulated the perfect way to kick off his return, including kissing John and pushing themselves into the realm of touching, something both men had been a bit wary of. The last thing either wanted was to impose on a boundary or somehow screw it up.
But now, with Sherlock's 3 hour plane flight planning gone to waste, he was left with absolutely nothing to do.
"Text John?" his mind offered. The doctor wouldn't hesitate to hurry home if he knew Sherlock arrived back a day early. But no, he couldn't. Surprising John had been the whole point of hurrying his stay along (that and just not wanting to be away from him), so why would he ruin the last part of his plan that still remained intact?
"Crap telly?" God, no.
"Experiments." All ongoing labs had been concluded last week.
"Eat lunch." Dreadfully boring. Out of the question.
Each suggestion was turned down, and Sherlock growled in frustration. He moved onto the bed more and laid in what had become John's spot. Putting his face to the pillow, John's sort of fresh, rustic scent filled his nose. The man smelt like tea and coffee (no sugar, but lots of cream) and leather and just John. Sherlock sighed and relaxed into the bed, thinking of him. Those 3 days had seemed like such an eternity to him, and only hearing John's voice, or seeing him over some harsh laptop screen in the night made it worse. They always ended it with "Goodnight, I'll see you soon. Miss you." Nothing more, nothing less. Though, Sherlock did admit that last part much less then John had. The detective wondered why John had decided to stay with him. He had only put John in dangerous situations, in which he conversed with murders and horrible, twisted people. Granted, John loved these situations, he loved the feeling of blood pumping through his veins just as much as Sherlock did. But the sensation that he would be John's ultimate downfall always nagged at the back of Sherlock's head. Hell, if Sherlock was John he would've left himself already. He had said that to John once, and the doctor looked downright mortified.
"Well, you're not me. You're Sherlock Holmes, I'm John Watson and I'm mad for you. And, I don't plan on not being that way anytime soon either."
Sherlock smiled at the memory and released his clutch on the pillow. He turned onto his side and stared blankly into space, feeling boredom starting to eat at him again.
"Shoot holes in the wall?" Hm, possibly. Only if John stayed late at the clinic.
John was filled with alarm when he heard the gunshots in their flat, but after ducking into Mrs. Hudson's flat quickly and seeing that she was completely unfazed by it, if not a bit annoyed, John knew just who was upstairs.
"What the hell are you doing?!" He exclaimed as he bounded up into the flat. Sherlock lay slouched in his chair, wearing his dressing gown, a great big frown on his face.
"Bored."
"What?"
"Bored!" Sherlock exclaimed, jumping up and aiming again. John swore under his breath and recoiled, covering his ears. Sherlock shot the smiley face on the wall, then throwing his arm behind and around himself, he shot again.
"Bored!"
Another shot.
"Bored!" Sherlock finally let his arm drop and John took the chance to rush forward and snatch the gun from his hands. Sherlock sighed as John unloaded the clip and he sulked over to the sofa. John locked the pistol in a small safe before turning back to Sherlock.
"So you take it out on Mrs. Hudson's wall?" he asked incredulously.
"The wall had it coming." he muttered, dropping himself dramatically onto the couch. John sighed and shook his head.
"What about that case in Russia?"
"Belarus, John. Open and shut domestic. Not worth my time." he replied curtly, grimacing. John gave him a look of sympathy, then turned his attention to the kitchen.
"Anything in? I'm starving." John opened the fridge then slammed the door as soon as he got a look at its contents. John leaned against the appliance, trying to process what he just saw. Opening it again, John stared at the head, and made a noise in disgust.
"A head!" Sherlock turned to look in John's direction. "There's a bloody head in the fridge!" he threw up his hands and walked back into the living room. Sherlock looked over at him.
"Of course. Where else was I supposed to put it?"
"Why is it in our fridge?"
"Experiment. I picked it up from St. Bart's while you were gone." Sherlock turned to get a better look at John. "You don't mind, do you?"
John made an exasperated noise and gestured at the fridge again, but said nothing. He walked over to couch and stood there until Sherlock retracted his legs enough for John to sit with him. Immediately, Sherlock stretched his legs back out over John and stared him down. John looked back over at him and sighed.
"I would've been here if you told me you were coming home a day early."
"It was supposed to be a surprise." Sherlock muttered, pouting. John smiled slightly and patted his knee. "I wasn't just going to sit around the flat while you were gone. I get bored too, you know." John told him. Sherlock continued to pout but his expression softened.
"I wrote up the case about the cabbie." John said, gesturing over at his laptop. Sherlock nodded.
"I read it on the plane. A Study in Pink. Nice."
"Well, you know, pink lady, pink case, pink phone...there was a lot of pink. Did you like it?"
Sherlock had picked up a magazine and was flipping through the pages, a frown coming to his features. He shot John a look.
"No." he said tightly. John looked at him confusion.
"Why not? I thought you'd be flattered." Sherlock lowered the magazine and glared at him.
"Flattered?" Sherlock sat up suddenly and raised his index finger, as through the laptop was in front of him and he was reading off the screen. "Sherlock sees through everything and everyone in seconds." he recited, sending a pointed look at John. "What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things."
"Now hang on a minute. I didn't mean that in a-"
"Oh, you meant "spectacularly ignorant" in a nice way! Look, it doesn't matter to me who's Prime Minister..."
"I know..." John interjected quietly. That had been topic of which many people at Scotland Yard hadn't let go, the inside joke between all of them now to ask Sherlock who it was. John suspected Sally and Anderson, but hadn't done much about it.
"Or who's sleeping with who..."
"Whether the Earth goes round the Sun." John muttered. Sherlock groaned.
"Not that again. It's not important!"
"It's primary school stuff. How can you not know that?" John asked incredulously. The Prime Minister was one thing, but Sherlock's lack of knowledge about the solar system was beyond him. Sherlock pressed his palms to his head, and groaned.
"Well, if I ever did, I've deleted it."
"Deleted it?" Sherlock sighed and looked at John.
"Listen." Sherlock pointed to his head with one finger "This is my hard drive, and it only makes sense to put things in there that are useful." He looked John up and down, then looked away. "Ordinary people fill their heads with all this rubbish, and it makes it hard to get to what really matters. For me, it's my work."
"But it's the solar system!" John burst out. Sherlock moaned and buried his face in his hands.
"Oh, hell! What does that matter?!" He looked at John in frustration.
"So we go round the Sun! If we went round the Moon, or round and round the garden like a teddy bear, it wouldn't make any difference." Sherlock ruffled his hair in his hands, the curls now sticking up in random directions.
"Put that in your blog. Or better still, stop inflicting your opinions on the world." Sherlock tossed the magazine onto the coffee table and curled into a ball, then wrapped his dressing gown tightly around himself. John pursed his lips, holding in the not so kind words he wanted to say. He stood up and stalked over to the door. Sherlock looked over his shoulder at him.
"Where are you going?"
"Out. I need some air." he replied tightly, throwing on his coat and opening the door. He bumped into Mrs. Hudson in his haste and apologized quickly. She smiled at him, then knocked on the door.
"Hello!" she greeted, walking inside. Sherlock stayed in his ball, not acknowledging her.
"You two had a bit of a domestic, hm?" she tried again, setting bags on the table in the kitchen. Sherlock shot up, stepping on the coffee table to get over it and going to the window. He watched John walk away as a heavy feeling settled in his chest.
"Look at him, Mrs. Hudson. Quiet, calm, peaceful." Sherlock sighed. "Isn't it hateful?"
"Oh, cheer up! I'm sure something will come in, a nice murder!" she replied brightly. As Mrs. Hudson turned to leave the flat, she stopped and glared at the wall.
"Hey, what have you done to my bloody wall?!" she exclaimed. Sherlock smiled and chuckled slightly. "I'm putting that on your rent young man!" she huffed and left the flat, making Sherlock chuckle again. He slowly walked away from the window to stand in the middle of the room. Letting out a sigh, Sherlock's shoulders sagged and he slouched forward.
The explosion that blasted open the windows and and sent glass flying knocked Sherlock right off his feet, and hit the floor hard. All the detective could do was groan at his misfortune.
John had cooled down quite a bit within the first 5 minutes of his walk, leaving him cold and unbelievably hungry. He was now waiting in a Chinese restaurant, his order already taken and the food being made. John supposed he understood why Sherlock reacted the way he did. The man relied on John's presence and affections to be happy, and after being gone for 4 days, then having his plan to surprise him foiled, it was enough to make anyone irritable. And, calling him ignorant hadn't been the best choice of words. Sherlock did take offense pretty easily, especially from those who mattered to him. Adding to that, the case in Belarus seemed to have done nothing but bore him and take him away from Baker Street, so Sherlock's behavior was a bit justified.
John's order was called out, and he thanked the man at the counter as he grabbed the bags of food. The meal smelled heavenly, and John couldn't wait to dig into it. He shivered at the brisk London air and wished that he had worn a warmer coat. Suddenly, a siren blared past John, catching him off guard. Squad cars and an ambulance sped down the street and John felt his blood go a bit cold. They were headed right in the direction of the flat.
"Easy there. Sherlock is fine. Nothing happened." he thought, trying to calm himself. And much to his relief, they were at the building opposite the flat. The first floor of the building was torn open, all the room exposed to the chilly night air. Still, the flat's windows were completely blown in from what he could tell. John was stopped by an officer as he tried to go to the flat.
"Sir, please stay back-"
"I live there, can I go in?" he pointed over to 221, and the officer nodded then let him past. John walked in and saw that not much damage had been done to the first floor. A few of Mrs. Hudson's picture frames lay on the ground and the side table she kept out there was overturned. He bounded up the stairs and the scene in front of him made John freeze. Glass and wood littered the floor, and all the papers that had been on the desk lay haphazardly on the floor. Many of Sherlock's book had been cleared from their shelves, and his laptop was sitting preciously on the edge of the desk.
But still, there was no Sherlock in sight.
"Sherlock?!" John's voice sounded a bit strangled as he looked around for the detective.
"I'm in here, John." Sherlock smooth voice floated out to him and John ran to it, letting out a sigh of relief when he laid his eyes on the man. Sherlock was standing in the bathroom, inspecting himself in front of the mirror. John stared at Sherlock, his eyes taking in the sight.
"Oh, you got dinner."
John dropped the bags in his hands and ruses forward to seize Sherlock in a hug. The taller man staggered backwards from the impact and looked down at John in confusion.
"John-" Sherlock was cut off by John's lips pressing against his in a deep embrace. Sherlock kissed him back, sensing a feverish tone behind it. John pulled away and held Sherlock's face in his hands.
"Oh Jesus Christ, Sherlock, thank god, you're okay..." he searched Sherlock for any injuries and his eyes settled on a cut on his hand. John hurriedly went to the cabinet in the bathroom and pulled out the first aid kit.
"John, I'm quite alright. It's just a scratch." Sherlock protested, but stopped when John turned and looked at him. He remained quiet and sat down on the edge of the tub as John took out disinfectant and bandages, then went to work on Sherlock's hand.
"Jesus, Sherlock. What happened?" John shook his head in disbelief. The detective shrugged. "Not much. After you left a bomb detonated and I cut my hand on some glass. Nothing major."
"Nothing major?!" John looked up at Sherlock, his eyes wide and his brows furrowed. "Sherlock, you could've been seriously hurt! You...You could have died!" his voice cracked at the end and Sherlock stared at him with surprise.
"John, I would have been-"
"No." John grabbed Sherlock's shoulders and held him tightly. "Do not tell me you would've been fine. You could have been injured very badly, and the last thing I would've ever said to you was about the bloody solar system! So, do not say you would've have been fine, okay? Do you understand me?" John breathed out and pulled Sherlock into a crushing hug. "Jesus Christ..." he muttered, swallowing hard. Sherlock wrapped his arms around the shorter man and nodded, squeezing him tightly.
"Alright, John. I understand."
John nodded and swallowed again, then pulled away and went back to Sherlock's hand. They sat in silence for a few minutes as John bandages Sherlock's cut gently. Sherlock cleared his throat then looked at John.
"Just so we're clear, you do realize that the explosion wasn't here, correct?"
"Yes, Sherlock. I know that." He sighed and sat back on the cool tile floor. "My mind just went to the worst possible thing and all I could think about was you hurt or something far more..." John looked at his fists, the memories of many men lost at the hands of explosives coursing through his mind. "Gruesome." He let out a shaky breath and looked up at Sherlock. "Sorry."
Sherlock shook his head and grabbed the sides of John face. "Please do not apologize to me when the situation does not justify it. It is highly tedious and a waste of time, John. It's alright." He leaned in and pressed his lips to John's, trying to calm the doctor. John relaxed into the gesture and held Sherlock's arms, clutching the silky blue dressing gown tightly. Explosions and heavy gunfire and things of the like always managed to rile John up, making his mind go back into its war state. Sherlock himself had seen it happened on three times, this occasion being the third. He before had let John be, not wanting to impose or ruin some type of ritual he had set in place. But now, it was Sherlock's duty to help John, was it not? He didn't press against John, only letting their lips brush and their bodies remain in close proximity. John was relying on Sherlock's presence at the moment, and the detective was eager to give it to him.
Suddenly, John's stomach let loose a long, gurgling growl, and the doctor pulled back sheepishly. Sherlock look notice of the discarded bags of Chinese that had been dropped on the floor when John found him and gestured to them.
"Should I grab plates?"
"If you would be so inclined." John replied, picking himself up off the floor. Sherlock followed, rising from the edge of the bathtub and exiting the bathroom behind John. He shivered as they walked out into the kitchen and scowled at the broken windows. John sighed.
"What are we supposed to do about this?" he moaned. Sherlock reached into his pocket and took out his phone which was, thankfully, unharmed and went to one of his few contacts.
"I suppose Mycroft could be of service."
"For someone only occupying a minor position in the British government, he does seem to have plenty of connections, hm?" John raised a brow and looked at Sherlock. The detective snorted and gave him a little nod. John shivered now, and looked ruefully at the room in front of them.
"God, it's going to he frigid tonight." John muttered, frowning. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's shoulders and kissed his neck.
"Mm, what a shame that'll be." he whispered. John looked back at him, seemingly unaffected by Sherlock's tone.
"Sorry Sherlock, but that Chinese is winning over your art of seduction."
"Me? Seducing? Absolute blasphemy." Sherlock looked scandalized, and John laughed. They parted and Sherlock went to the cupboard to grab two plates. John glanced around at the state of disarray and sighed again. All that glass was going to be a pain to clean. He supposed that if they asked, Mycroft would send in a crew to clean. Even if they didn't ask, he would probably send them. John wasn't sure whether to feel grateful or pestered by Mycroft's slightly obsessive behavior. He tucked the thought away and turned back to Sherlock who frankly, looked freezing in his pajamas and dressing gown.
"Let's eat in the bedroom."
"And risk ruining that gorgeous bedding? I don't know..." John said, honestly worried about soiling what he knew was a very expensive, and very comfortable duvet. Sherlock scoffed and headed off into his bedroom, taking the plates with him. John shot the living room another distasteful look, then went off after Sherlock.
The temperature difference was obvious upon entering, and John sighed at the warmth as he closed the door behind him. Sherlock had placed each plate on a tray and sat cross-legged on top of the blankets. John placed the bags down, then climbed onto the bed. He opened the first bag and drew out chicken lo mien, to which Sherlock automatically reacted. He seized it from John's hands and began to plop the noodles on his own plate. No matter what Sherlock liked people to think, he did eat and he did have favorite foods. And he never passed up a favorite food. John chuckled and reached back in the bag to grab a smaller container. He put two eggrolls on his plates and Sherlock made a disgusted noise.
"Those are the most repugnant, detesting things I have ever tasted-"
"Shut it." John replied, picking one up and taking a large bite. Sherlock made a gagging noise, then somehow, took a graceful bite of lo mien. John had always believed that it was impossible to look refined while chowing down on fried food, but Sherlock managed to prove him wrong again. However, his royal like aura crumbled and he tore into the food with little poise. John did just the same, thoroughly enjoying the greasiness and scent of their dinner. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a thought occurred that perhaps this wasn't really healthy.
John was too busy snarfing down fried rice to give a damn.
Sherlock let out a fulfilled sigh and leaned back against the pillows, full from everything he had ate. John had finished a few minutes ago and was lying face down in the bed.
"I'll feel like I weigh a million stones." he muttered. Sherlock looked over at him.
"You still don't compare to Mycroft." They both laughed at that, then descended into silence. John looked over at the bedside alarm clock and sighed at the time.
"I can't believe it's only 9:30." he said, rolling onto his side. Sherlock looked over at him with an eyebrow raised.
"Tired?"
"More than you can imagine. It takes a bit out of a guy to not see his boyfriend for 3 days and then come home to him shooting holes in the wall." Sherlock stiffened a bit and the corners of his mouth turned down.
"What is it? Look, I didn't mean it in a bad-"
"You said I was your boyfriend." Sherlock said, his voice dropping a bit. John stared at him, then nodded slowly.
"Uh, yeah. That's what we are, right? Boyfriends." Sherlock picked up on an undertone of hurt in John's voice and nodded quickly. The shorter man relaxed at this and so did Sherlock.
"I guess we never really discussed what to call each other. Do you not like the title boyfriend, or-"
"No, no, it's alright," Sherlock reached out and took John's hand in his own, interlacing their fingers. "You've just never said it before. I suppose I do like it..." Sherlock's voice trailed off at the end and John smiled. He scooted closer to the detective and kissed him.
"I'll say it as much as you like." John whispered, their lips still brushing. Sherlock made a noise in the back of his throat and pushed forward, capturing John's mouth with his own. The doctor hummed in the gesture, then held the detective's face gently. Sherlock moved and he was soon on top of John, their bodies pressed close. John groaned quietly, and took Sherlock's bottom lip between his two and sucked lightly. Sherlock pulled away and for a moment, John thought he'd done something wrong, but their lips were back together the next instance. Sherlock moved his hips against John's, his breath hot as he moaned. John's hands traveled down Sherlock's back and to his arse, feeling the lean muscle. He squeezed Sherlock's bottom, and the detective's breath hitched. Sherlock pulled away, his breathing heavy. John licked his lips at the sight of Sherlock so flustered and was suddenly self conscious of the erection he was sporting.
"You're going to ruin me, John." Sherlock murmured, his voice low. John smirked and flipped them over before dipping down to kiss Sherlock's neck. He sucked at the pale skin and nipped slightly. Sherlock moaned, and his long fingers ran through John's hair. The doctor trailed kisses all along Sherlock's sharp jawline before returning to his mouth.
God, John loved Sherlock's lips. Whether they were moving at a million miles per hour during a deduction or bright pink and swelled like they were now, John found himself enticed by them. They were always soft, always perfect and very kissable. John flicked his tongue over Sherlock's bottom lip, then darted into the detective's open mouth. Cool hands ran down John's sides and pulled his hips closer. John rutted up against Sherlock, the friction driving him mad. Sherlock moaned again, and pulled back from John.
"G-God John," his breathing was heavy and he licked his lips. "Just do something. I've never been in this situation before and I apologize, but please just do something." Sherlock's voice strained and he sounded desperate. John nodded, and struggled to catch his breath. He had the notion up until a few months ago that Sherlock was an asexual, or perhaps just found sex unnecessary and boring. He would've loved to take Sherlock right now, but truthfully, John didn't think that it was the appropriate time for it. In all of his past relationships, sex had always occurred on the second, if not first date. But with Sherlock, John didn't feel as though they needed it. He was perfectly content with the way they were, and that just so happened to be without sex. So instead, he ran a hand down Sherlock's abdomen and came to a rest at his baggy pajama pants which frankly, were doing nothing to hide how aroused the man was.
"How bad do you want me, Sherlock? How much do you want me to touch you?" John whispered, inching the bottoms down achingly slow. Sherlock made a strangled noise and his hands flew to John's belt.
"Just as bad as you want me, John." Sherlock growled, and he palmed John's erection. The superior, more in control cover John had tried to pull crumbled now and he nearly melted from Sherlock's touch.
"Ahh, fuck..." he moaned, pushing his hand into Sherlock's pants and taking hold of Sherlock's cock. He ran his thumb over the head, smearing precum on the skin. Sherlock shivered beneath him and fumbled with John's belt. He managed to undo it, then unbuttoned John's jeans and unzipped the fly. Sherlock pulled the pants down as far as he could, then John shimmied out of them and kicked them off. Sherlock's eyes followed John's body down, taking in every little detail. His hands followed, feeling the warmth that radiated from his skin. God, this man was absolutely beautiful. Sherlock pulled John down for another kiss and moved his hips up to meet John's.
"Fuck Sherlock, you're so gorgeous." John kissed the side of his neck down to his collarbone and sucked at the skin. John's hand brought Sherlock's cock out of his pants and he gave it a firm stroke. Sherlock made a broken noise and moaned John's name. His cool hands pushed John's briefs down to his thighs and the doctor swore at the temperature difference. His curse melted into a moan as Sherlock began to pump him. John tried to retain his composure and take control of the situation by wrapping his hand around both he and Sherlock's cocks. The detective let out a shuttering noise as John stroked the both of them, going painstakingly slow and whispering in Sherlock's ear.
"You don't know how good you look Sherlock. Everything about you is stunning." he kissed Sherlock roughly and pulled away. "You're so flustered and you look so damn good like this." John bit off this last word and went back to kissing and sucking Sherlock's neck. His hand still pumped the two of them together and Sherlock was reduced to a moaning, shivering mess.
"Oh god," he panted. "John, I'm close-"
"Good." John nipped at Sherlock neck and sucked on the spot. "I want to see you come undone, Sherlock. I bet you look beautiful when you come." John lowered his voice and whispered in Sherlock's ear, his breath hot against the skin. Sherlock ran his fingers through John's hair and tugged at the strands. He moaned into John's mouth as they kissed and his breath hitched. Sherlock's fingers clutched the man's back and his finger nails dug into his skin. John quickened his pace and dipped his head down to nip at Sherlock's collar bone.
"O-Oh fuck, John!" Sherlock shouted his name as he came, and John followed after him with a low moan. They stayed like that for a minute, the two men panting and struggling to catch their breath. John collapsed next to Sherlock with a heavy sigh and looked over at his boyfriend.
"Good?" he asked. Sherlock's curls were sticking to his forehead and his cheeks were flushed an deep pink. His eyes were closed as he nodded, his lips parting to take in a breath.
"Jesus fuck..." he sighed, making John laugh. The doctor pulled him close and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Sherlock's hands trembled as he interlaced them with John's and exhaled against the man's skin.
"I'm bloody spent." Sherlock chuckled a little and relaxed against John, his body warm and a bit slick, John sighed and looked down at Sherlock. "We have to get cleaned up you know." he said, making Sherlock groan. The detective sighed again.
"Must we?"
"Sherlock, I'm not going to sleep covered in semen and have the room reek of fried food and sweat. Come on." John sat up and propped Sherlock up with him, then all but dragged him out of the bed. John was a bit shaky on his feet, but Sherlock was similar to a fawn in his movements. John looked at him with a raised eyebrow as they went into the bathroom.
"You alright?"
"Of course." Sherlock scoffed. He shrugged off his dressing gown and pants. "I'm just a bit...new to a climax of that sort." John snorted and unbuttoned his shirt, letting it drop to the floor carelessly. Sherlock clicked his tongue as he looked in the mirror.
"Look at these, John. You marked me like a bloody canvas!" Sherlock gestured at the hickeys that now showed on his neck, bright red and stark in contrast. John smiled sheepishly, a tad embarrassed by how many he's put along Sherlock's neck and collar bones.
"Whoops, sorry."
"You feel no remorse for these actions. Do not try and act like it." John laughed and shrugged a bit. They both headed into the shower and quickly washed, then went back into the bedroom. Sherlock complained and griped while he and John changed the sheets, not bothering to make them even slightly neat. They were both drained as they finally climbed back into bed, and settled amongst the warm bedding. John was pulled close to Sherlock and the taller man had his arms wrapped around John. They lay there in near silence, just focusing on the breathing patterns and sounds of one another. It was astonishing to Sherlock to feel this happy, to truly feel as if all were right in the world in this moment, with John in his arms, John who was his amazing, loyal, perfect, perfect, perfect boyfriend and best friend and just his entire world.
John couldn't have agreed more wholeheartedly.
wow what a long ass chapter
so yeah moriarty's gonna be making an appearance
hope everyone's ready