Second to last chapter, loves. Thanks for reading!

Mycroft was insufferable, as always. He tried to get Sherlock clean through force, through bribes, through threats, through guilt trips, but Sherlock remained stubborn and got high as much as he could afford to.

Eventually, Mycroft gave up, surrendering to Sherlock's addiction. Their last conversation in Sherlock's university days was heated and hurtful. Sherlock declared his brother his "archenemy" and they parted ways.

Sebastian took advantage of his emotional distress, seeking him out between dates and relationships for a quick shag or a bit of petting. Sherlock accepted every advance, taking solace in the fact that, even if his love was unrequited, he had a chance to kiss Sebastian every once in a while.

It was almost enough.

It was domestic bliss, Sherlock mused to himself over the newspaper. He and John, sitting quietly across from each other, their ankles brushing every so often and gentle smiles passing between them, were the picture of contentment. Sherlock sighed and dropped the first section of the paper to the desk.

"Over a thousand years old," John began, and Sherlock's gaze flickered up to him and back to the rest of the day's paper. "And it's sitting on her bedside table every night."

"He didn't know its value," Sherlock replied in a low voice. "Didn't know why they were chasing him."

John hummed in understanding. "He should have just got her a lucky cat."

Sherlock smiled briefly at him, the ghost of a laugh issuing from his mouth, but then his expression was pensive again. The doctor eyed him warily.

"You mind, don't you?" Sherlock turned back to John curiously, noting how concerned he looked and how the maturity was offset by his hands folded in front of him. He looked younger when his hazel eyes were filled with care.

"What?"

"That she escaped. General Shan. It's not enough that we got her two henchmen."

That hit the proverbial nail on the head. "Must be a vast network, John. Thousands of operatives. You and I? We barely scratched the surface."

"You cracked the code, though, Sherlock, and maybe Dimmock can track down all of them now that he knows it."

It was a nice thought, and Sherlock envied his boyfriend for his optimism, but that didn't stop his answer slipping out even before John was finished speaking. "No." He paused. "No, I cracked this code. All the smugglers have to do is pick up another book." He opened the paper, only half paying attention, and watched the young man on the street spray-paint some new symbol on a post.

"And our employer?"

Sherlock frowned. "We received compensation. I'd prefer not to think of him again."

John pushed his plate away, running his fingers though his short golden hair. "Sherlock, we have to talk about this. And what better time than when you're free of cases?"

"What if I don't want to talk about it?" Sherlock admonished himself for sounding petulant, but couldn't help it. John was prying in something Sherlock had managed to keep quiet for years. "Sebastian hit me a little when we were in University. I got over him."

"Come here." John slid his chair back and opened his arms. "It's just you and me, Sherlock."

The consulting detective hesitated to stand, clutching the newspaper and it's painfully obvious cases in a nervous grip, before he took a few long strides toward John and sat in his lap, straddling his toned thighs. "He hit me quite a lot, actually," he murmured, wrapping his arms around John's neck and pressing his nose into the shorter man's hair. "Almost every day. I used a lot of concealer back then."

John held him around the waist and kissed his neck a few times. "Is that why you flinched from me so many times?" He could feel Sherlock swallow under his lips.

"A bit. Not much." Sherlock closed his eyes and tightened his thighs around John's hips. "He, ah… I lost my virginity to him. I was in my early twenties and everyone else around me had already been active for years." He swallowed again. "I've always had a low libido. Sebastian… didn't. If I didn't want it, he would take it. If neither of us wanted it, his friends would take it."

The doctor's loose grip tightened suddenly. "Sherlock, you—they did what?"

"I got used to it," Sherlock continued, determined not to lose steam. If he stopped now he probably wouldn't be able to start again. "I started cocaine. He started me on cocaine. It really helped with the pain, you know? Sometimes I got a bit too high and he would counter it with morphine." He laughed hollowly. "It was hard to juggle both addictions but I have an exceptional mind and it became habit."

John stroked the base of his spine from under his dressing gown, sliding his cool fingers into the gap between Sherlock's shirt tails and his trousers. "You are truly amazing, Sherlock. Truly amazing. Bloody brilliant, too, to get through that alone."

Sherlock shrugged his narrow shoulders. "I was forced to get clean eventually. It hurt so much… it hurt more than anything Sebastian could ever do. And now here we are."

"You're holding back so much, aren't you Sherlock?" John reached behind his head and captured Sherlock's hands in his. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, but… Christ, if this is still hurting you, you should share it with me."

"Maybe one day." He allowed himself to be pushed off of John's lap and dragged upstairs. "You aren't put off by this?"

"Put off by what? Your resilience? Or my hatred for that clot of a banker?"

Sherlock sat on the edge of John's bed, watching the shorter soldier close the blinds to the morning sun but leave the bedroom door wide open. "I'm already used." He smirked wryly. "Thank you for being so careful, but I don't need that. You can just sort of… stick it in, and we'll be fine."

"If I wanted a quick shag, maybe." He pushed Sherlock onto his back and kissed him chastely. "But I… I love you, quite a lot, and you deserve more than that." John unbuttoned Sherlock's dress shirt and pushed it from his shoulders along with his dressing gown, smiling indulgently at the pale skin that was revealed.

Sherlock's slight frown deepened and he blinked rapidly, fighting the burning sensation behind his eyes. "You love me?"

"I do. Of course I do, how could I not?" John kissed the lines on his forehead worriedly. "I can stop saying it if it makes you uncomfortable."

"It doesn't really." Sherlock murmured, and then closed his eyes. "Could we turn the lights off? I don't want you to see… this."

John opened his mouth, his expression one that usually preceded protest, but he only stood and did what Sherlock asked. They were plunged into darkness, only a faint light from the street between the curtains giving Sherlock's pale eyes a predatory glow. "You're beautiful, Sherlock."

"Mm," Sherlock mumbled, pulling John back on top of him and between his legs. "Do you have lubricant? It's alright if you don't."

"I wouldn't do this if I didn't." John clenched and unclenched his fingers above Sherlock's head, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. Sherlock looked up at him, barely able to see him through the thick darkness, but he could feel his tenseness. "I also have condoms. Are you not used to those, either?"

Sherlock visibly recoiled, turning his head away. "I am clean. Just because… just because I've been fucked more times than I can remember doesn't mean I haven't—"

John silenced him with a kiss to the corner of his mouth, wiping a thumb under his eye to catch a tear that hadn't fallen yet. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I didn't mean to snap at you." He slid his hands around Sherlock's waist and kissed him again, waiting until he was relaxed to pull back. "Can I undress you?"

The detective nodded at him, lifting his hips to allow John to pull his trousers and pants off, then waiting quietly for his next instruction. John stroked his thighs, coaxing them back open, and then pulling his striped jumper over his head and dropping it onto the floor. "Should I turn over?" Sherlock mumbled, eyeing the strip of condoms John procured from his bedside table.

"It depends. What seems more comfortable for you?" John tore off one of the condoms, dropped it on the bed beside them, and carded his fingers through Sherlock's thick curls. "I would prefer to kiss you while we make love, but…"

The seemingly unflappable Sherlock Holmes blushed high on his sharp cheekbones. "Alright." He unbuttoned John's fly with shaking fingers, his blush growing darker at the prominence under the dark fabric of his jeans, but his own penis was flaccid against his thigh, refusing to show interest.

John caught sight of this and bit his lip. "If you're not ready, we don't have to do this," he said slowly, shifting to get his own trousers and pants off.

"I'm perfectly ready, why wouldn't I be ready?"

John replied with a soft laugh, and stroked Sherlock's dark locks away from his eyes. "Okay. I believe you. But if you're uncomfortable with anything, tell meimmediately."

Sherlock nodded grudgingly, his annoyed expression replaced with surprise when John leaned forward and their arousals brushed. "Oh!" he gasped, startled by his body's positive reaction. "Do that again?"

"My pleasure." John thrust a bit harder against him, intertwining their fingers and stretching Sherlock's arms above his head. The younger man looked lost, his eyes shut tightly and his bottom lip between his teeth, turning white from pressure. The doctor slowed his movements, hesitant, but Sherlock bucked against him.

"What if we just…" he began, extricating his hands to wrap his arms around John's broad shoulders. "I'd really prefer we didn't…"

John stared down at him, smiling in a comforting way. "If we didn't what, love? Explain it to me. Small words, if you wouldn't mind."

Sherlock breathed an unsure laugh, tightening his thighs against John's hips. "Do you know what frottage is?"

"Yes. Is that what you want?"

"After my last relationship, I would prefer you didn't penetrate." He shifted a bit uncomfortably. "If that's alright."

John kissed across Sherlock's sharp cheekbone, slowly and arrhythmically thrusting against Sherlock's precome-slicked stomach. "Thank you for telling me," he murmured.

The younger man bit back a moan, attempting to even out the long, slow strokes into something that would bring him to orgasm. John allowed him to, pressing himself harder against Sherlock's pale chest until he could feel his heartbeat. Their movements became more urgent; Sherlock leaned up for kisses more than once, but would break away after a second to softly gasp his pleasure, and John would take the opportunity to compliment him.

"John, John," Sherlock began to moan, pressing little crescent marks from his fingernails into the doctor's back. "Please, let me come, please."

John was disconcerted by exactly how vulnerable Sherlock sounded, as if he thought John could do anything but grant him his plea. "Come, Sherlock. I'm right here…"

Sherlock cried out as if he were in pain, ribbons of come coating his and John's stomach's and slicking John's movements. "J-John!"

"Sherlock," he replied, his mouth pressed hard on Sherlock's proffered throat. "Oh, God, Sherlock…" They were both still for a few moments, waiting for the aftershocks to settle and the afterglow to set in, until John rolled onto his back and laughed, surprised. "That… that was…"

The detective didn't answer, bringing shaking hands up to cover his reddened lips. "Is it always like that?" he asked in a whisper.

John held back his own anxiety for his boyfriend's sake, turning to stare through the darkness at Sherlock's eyes—still glinting faintly in the sliver of light that made it inside—and stroke his arm. "I like to think it is, especially when the participants love each other."

"Can I think about it, for a while?" Sherlock asked, his voice still small.

John ran a hand through his slightly damp and mussed dishwater hair. "Of course. All the time you need." It was still late morning, but John was willing to stay with Sherlock until the next morning came around. It was the least he could do for Sherlock allowing him into his very small bubble of trust. "If you want to talk about anything, I'm here."

Sherlock replied with a non-committal noise, folding his hands under his chin and closing his eyes. This new information would certainly take a while to process.