"Make love to me?"

"Of course."

John stopped right next to their bed and turned to face Sherlock. Locking eyes, he slowly began to undress the detective, one button at a time. Sherlock shuddered under the gentle brush of John's fingers against his skin. When he was done, he undressed himself equally slowly, while Sherlock stood there and stared. John loved when he had Sherlock's attention like this, when he was the only thing Sherlock saw.

He pushed Sherlock gently onto the bed and slid into place on top of him, humming in contentment. He laced his fingers in Sherlock's hair and looked into his eyes, trying to communicate everything he felt for this man in that one look. Sherlock melted under his gaze, sighing when John finally leant down and met his lips. The kiss was slow and deep. John poured his passion into Sherlock, and Sherlock was overwhelmed. But he gave his all right back. He let his desperation seep into the kiss, his fear of losing John, his need to keep him safe.

John gasped at the emotion coming from the other man and groaned as Sherlock's lips moved across his jaw and down to his neck. God, Sherlock was amazing.

"Hmm." Sherlock hummed against John's neck. "John." His voice was low and rough and it sent a shiver down John's spine.

"Touch me." John didn't need to be told twice. He slid his hand from Sherlock's hair, and let his nails slide down Sherlock's neck and chest, circling his nipple before rubbing it between his fingers until Sherlock was gasping underneath him. John's hand continued its journey downward until he had Sherlock in his hand, hard and throbbing. He stroked him slowly, watching Sherlock's face intently, cataloguing everything. The way Sherlock's head was thrown back against the pillows, his eyes shut, his mouth slightly open as he let out beautiful little breathless gasps. John drank it in. Until it became too much and he found himself reaching for the lube and then sliding his fingers into Sherlock, suddenly desperate to be inside this man. He needed to reassure Sherlock, but he also needed to reassure himself. He was afraid of Moriarty, despite the brave face he put on for Sherlock. He was paranoid every time he left the flat, constantly looking over his shoulder, searching for the mad man that wanted him dead, or worse. Right now, John needed to ground himself in something real, something safe. He slid into Sherlock in one long smooth motion.

When John entered him, Sherlock felt his body come alive. Every nerve was on high alert, trying to absorb as much feeling as possible. Moriarty was completely thrust from his mind and replaced with John, there was nothing but John, and Sherlock was so grateful for that. He lost himself in the sensation of the slow roll of John's hips, of the feeling of John inside him. He wrapped his arms tightly around the army doctor, and pulled him in for a long passionate kiss.

They moved together for an eternity, meeting each other's thrusts in perfect harmony. They clung tightly to each other, reassuring, comforting, loving, and they refused to let go. Sherlock's orgasm hit him gradually, sliding over him like a rising tide until he was completely submerged in warmth and pleasure and John. He clenched around John, causing the doctor to groan obscenely into his neck. He could tell John was close so he just held on tight while John thrust into him, relishing in the feeling, until John's movements became erratic and he was coming with Sherlock's name on his lips.

Cleaning up the mess with the sheet, John fell to Sherlock's side and wrapped his body around the taller man. Sherlock turned into John, burying his face in the doctor's neck and tangling their legs together. He wanted to stay like this forever, but as he came down from the high, Moriarty and all his frustration slowly began to seep back into his mind. John sensed the change immediately and knew Sherlock would be up and pacing in less than a minute if he didn't do something about it.

"Sherlock." John whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

"Hm?"

"You haven't slept in days. Please try and get some rest." Sherlock tensed as if to pull away, but John just held on tighter. "There's no new information, nothing's happening, I'm sure a few hours sleep won't get in the way." Sherlock was not sold.

"You've been working yourself into a frenzy ever since this began, you're driving yourself crazy and you're wearing a path in the floor from all your pacing. I've never seen you like this before, please Sherlock. Just give yourself a break. You can give it a fresh think in the morning once your rested and clear headed. I wouldn't be surprised if your subconscious solved the thing in your sleep." John gave a little chuckle at that, but Sherlock remained passive. John was stroking his hand up and down Sherlock's back gently and his body was slowly relaxing. John was so close to winning he could almost taste it.

"I'll stay right here the whole time, by your side. I promise." Sherlock looked up and met John's gaze. He didn't want to let the man out of his sight, but he supposed if he stayed in his arms while his eyes were closed that was good enough, right? He nodded slowly and laid his head back down, snuggling impossibly closer. John smiled and placed a kiss in his hair.

"I love you Sherlock." He breathed gently.

Sherlock sighed happily, and finally allowed himself to drift off to sleep.

After several blissful hours of peace, John was groggily aware that Sherlock was beginning to stir beside him. Sherlock was suddenly alert and out of bed before John even had a chance to open his eyes.

"Sherlock relax. You just woke up." John groaned as he sat up, gesturing for Sherlock to come back to bed. He wasn't surprised that Sherlock made no move to join him.

"Yes John, I just woke up. I shouldn't have been sleeping in the first place, but no, you just had to have your way and now I've lost four valuable hours." Sherlock huffed angrily as he threw on his dressing gown and stormed from the room. John gaped at his flatmate, and soon, he could feel red-hot anger bubbling up inside him. He got up and followed Sherlock in nothing but his pants.

"Somebody has to make sure you take care of yourself cause you're sure as hell not qualified to do it." John said hotly. "Excuse me for actually caring about your wellbeing."

"I don't need to be coddled John." Sherlock flung himself down on the sofa. "I was just fine on my own before you showed up."

"Showed up and what Sherlock? Ruined everything?"

"Distracted me." John didn't know whether he was more angry, or hurt.

"Is that what I am? A distraction?" John's voice was getting louder and louder. Sherlock remained silent. "Making love last night was a distraction?! Because you weren't begging for it or anything."

"I wasn't in my right state of mind!" Sherlock snapped a little too sharply. John sucked in a breath.

"And if you were you wouldn't want anything to do with me, is that it?" Sherlock didn't answer. "Well this distraction is getting the fuck out of here. Have fun by yourself Sherlock."

John went back to their room and threw on some clothes before grabbing his wallet and mobile and storming out of 221B. He almost expected Sherlock to try and stop him, but of course he was much too proud for that. He remained on the sofa, immobile as John made a display of leaving. Sherlock knew that John didn't deserve to be treated this way, knew that his words were cruel and untrue. But he couldn't seem to stop himself. His frustration was seeping out onto the only person that could take it. Perhaps John had finally had enough.

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and pushed the thought away. John couldn't leave him, he wouldn't allow it.

Watch him. –SH

Have another domestic did we? –MH

Sod off Mycroft. –SH

Sherlock struggled to push John and their fight out of his mind so he could think. Sighing in frustration he began lining his arms with nicotine patches, desperate for the clarity the might provide. John was gone and he couldn't think. His mind was a whir of conflicting thoughts and emotions; he was drowning in a sea of them, and desperately needed relief. He stuck a patch to his neck. What he really wanted was cocaine, he could feel the familiar itch in his bones. One thought of John had him pushing that itch to the back of his mind. He didn't want to disappoint him yet again. So he added another patch. He settled down into his thinking pose and breathed deeply. He was going to have a break through if it killed him. There must be something he was missing, and he was going to figure it out right now. He slapped on another patch for good measure.

It wasn't long before John spotted the black car tailing him. He didn't even have the energy to be pissed off about it. As soon as he left the flat all his anger drained out of him and he was left feeling worthless, and more hurt than he wanted to admit. He knew in his heart that Sherlock's words were spoken out of frustration, but he wasn't confident enough not to doubt that they had been rooted in truth. He knew that Sherlock needed him, that he loved him, but Sherlock wasn't like anyone he had ever met. Maybe Sherlock really did resent him for opening up a part of him he had worked so hard to lock away. Maybe Sherlock really did see him as a distraction. Maybe he wished they had never met.

John shook his head to dislodge his thoughts. He was being ridiculous. Sherlock loved him. Without a doubt. But that didn't mean he wasn't a prick. John knew that Sherlock said things sometimes purposely because he knew they would sting. He always chose the words that would cut the deepest. And John was always left feeling angry, and desperate, and empty.