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Part 3 – Chapter 6
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Date: December 25th, 2013. 0128 hours.
Position: Main wing of Holmes Manor, Pensford (51° 22′ 15.6″ N, 2° 32′ 47.76″ W ), Somerset, England.
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They had been warming up in the ancient but extremely comfortable drawing room for a while after their walk outside, drinking tea and chatting in the company of the other two family members. John sat in the corner of one of the huge sofas with Sherlock lying across the whole length of it, resting his curly head in John's lap as if it was the most natural thing to do.
Evangeline asked John to share a few of their adventures and so he did, starting with the one about the Aluminium Crutch- his all-time favourite- and then going into the Hounds of Baskerville, because it had a good portion of action and horror in it. While he was talking and occasionally sipping his tea, Sherlock threw in some scathing remarks about how he should leave out all those 'irritating and unimportant details, because our cases really are not one of your awful poems, John' and one or two more or less helpful insights about his deducing process involved at the time. After a few moments, John realised that keeping his right hand gently entwined with Sherlock's curls would reduce the agitation with which the detective illustrated his point and even produce some contented, barely audible humming noises now and then.
Over long, though, the events of the day caught up with them and even Sherlock agreed that it might have a positive effect on his transport system if he got a few hours of sleep. So they retired to Sherlock's old room.
They got ready for bed as usual and now lay close to each other under the large comfy bedding, talking quietly about that shared summer of their childhood. Suddenly Sherlock fell into a coughing fit that went on for a few seconds before he could calm down again.
"Jeez, you're still trembling," John said. Pushing himself up on one elbow, he held a hand to Sherlock's forehead, checking for temperature.
"I'm fine," his patient answered dismissively. "It's just cold."
John couldn't help the smirk, even if this was bordering on cliché. "I might be able to help with that, you know," he mumbled, leaning over Sherlock and softly caressing the thin skin on his forehead with slow kisses.
Sherlock closed his eyes and hummed. "And how... would you do... that?" he asked between soft purring sounds.
Something about the tone registered in one of the parts of John's brain that were now steadily switching over to stand-by mode. He looked down to the man next to him, studying his expression. 'Oh, God,' he thought, as he saw the honest confusion in Sherlock's eyes. "You're not kidding, are you?" John asked in an attempt to grasp the situation.
Sherlock's gaze changed into mild annoyance. "Why would I? Other than producing an external heating device from somewhere nearby or lying directly on top of me- which, in fact, I assume to be quite uncomfortable- I don't see how you could regulate my body heat, John."
John cocked his head to the side, not able to decide if he should worry or smile fondly at this marvel of a man. "Sherlock, was what Mycroft said about you and sex true?"
Sherlock scoffed. "Don't be absurd, John. I know perfectly well what sex is and how it works. And it certainly doesn't alarm me."
"Yeah, but did you have sex before?"
"Why should I?" Sherlock answered nonplussed, stretching out next to John's bare torso like a cat and fixing him with an incredulous stare. "I detest being close to people and spending time with them apart from the absolute necessary. Losing control over one's own body and mind in the presence of another person and in such a messy way is certainly one of the least desirable things I can think of. Everything I need to know concerning the topic I was perfectly capable of gathering through observation and extensive research."
"So you don't want sex with me, then?" John couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed.
But if Sherlock didn't want to get intimate than who was John to push him? This, them, was about love, about finally feeling complete, about building a home- their home. If sex wasn't part of the equation then John would deal with it. Hell, a few hours earlier he would have never thought that Sherlock had feelings for him which went beyond friendship. And he apparently was even completely alright with kissing. This, all of this, was a perfect miracle already.
John was pleasantly surprised, though, when Sherlock carefully pulled him down to give him a chaste but soft kiss to the lips. "You've proven almost every single one of my social priorities wrong so far," Sherlock stated matter-of-factly. "It would be only logical to at least run an experiment on the topic before dismissing it."
John held his friend's cheek gently. "Sherlock, we don't have to. It's all fine, remember? I don't care that you're a guy, because I love you for being you, not just your transport, right? And as long as you can live with me getting a boner from time to time when we kiss, we can just leave it at that."
"I don't share, John. I have a very addictive personality."
"Well, I'm yours since ages already, you possessive git," John said fondly, wondering what Sherlock was heading at.
"You won't be happy without sex. You're going to search for it somewhere else, just as you did before I left."
"No," John replied, determined. "Sherlock, no." He searched his gaze and held it, willing him to understand this vital point. "We weren't as close then as we are now. We weren't a couple. Dating for me was the normal thing to do, but even that I stopped after Jeanette. Because I realised that it would always be you."
Sherlock cocked his head in wonderment. "You didn't know that I love you at the time."
John swallowed past the lump in his throat at hearing those words for the first time. Even in an indirect context, they still sent his heart stumbling. "I ... no. I didn't know that."
"Then why would you have wanted to be exclusive without getting anything in return?"
"Because it felt wrong to be with someone else when all I could think about was you. It wasn't fair to them and it wasn't fair to the both of us. You and me, Sherlock. You. And me. That's all I need. It's more than I hoped for already. If you want me, you'll have me. If you don't-" He shrugged, "as long as we're together, it's all fine by me."
The detective seemed to process that for a moment, lifting his hand and splaying it over John's breast, deep in thought. His thumb started to slowly caress the skin underneath. John's hand wandered down from Sherlock's cheek to gently hold his shoulder, patiently waiting for him to tell his decision, but keeping close contact. Needing to feel them being together in this.
"You will stay with me no matter the consequences," Sherlock half-asked in a quiet voice.
"Yes. As long as you want me to."
"And you're attracted to me."
"I... yes, but Sher-"
"- Shh, John, I'm thinking." He furrowed his brow, studying his hand still lying over John's heart. "You want to have sex with me."
"Sherlock-"
"- Just answer the question, John. ... Please."
John swallowed again, closing his eyes, opening them- feeling Sherlock's hand on his skin, seeing the intense focus and the spark in those beautiful eyes fixed on him... "God, yes."
Sherlock's eyes lit up. "Then I conclude that conducting this experiment will serve the situation at hand best."
"What?"
"You can have sex with me and I'll get the perfect opportunity to test my theory. Under the premise that I cannot lose you, which you guaranteed, there won't be any disadvantages or drawbacks possible to occur in the aftermath."
John leaned in closer, stealing another sweet kiss. "You have a theory about this?"
Sherlock hummed appreciatively. "Of course I do, John."
John nibbled at Sherlock's lower lip, and then teased the slightly open mouth with his tongue, just barely slipping in and out, until he coaxed a small moan out of his best friend. "And what is that theory about, then?"
Sherlock slid his hand up and around John's neck, pulling him ever closer. "That you are my exception."
John kissed him deeply at that, chasing his tongue into Sherlock's mouth- and oh... that mouth. The sweetest breath, hot and gasping at John's open, wet lips. Sherlock licked at them, took them between his teeth and bit down, stopping just before causing pain. And John moaned against that tempting wet tongue as their kiss deepened, loving the feel of the slick slide against sensitive, soft flesh and sharp teeth.
Sherlock's hands travelled down from John's neck, mapping the usually kept hidden skin at his bare back, gripping the muscles over his shoulder blades tightly, while their tongues danced hungrily against each other, arousal beginning to buzz across every nerve ending.
John kissed a wet path down Sherlock's impossibly long throat, paying extra attention to every little mole he came across. The one at his jaw. The one just above the hem of his shirt. When he lavished the skin just under his Adam's apple, Sherlock pressed the back of his head into the pillow and made such a deep, guttural noise of pleasure that it went through John like an electric wave.
"Oh, God... Sherlock..." he moaned between shallow breaths, lifting his head to drink in the sight of Sherlock splayed out beneath him, positively dishevelled and pupils blown wide. All those times his thoughts had guiltily wandered into the dangerous fantasies of him and Sherlock together- and now that dream was practically splayed out underneath him like this, waiting for him to lead on. Christ. "Are there enough androgens in your blood already to tell you that this is possibly the most beautiful sight I've ever seen?" John knew perfectly well that this experiment was a risk for both of them- should Sherlock decide to stick to his abstinence after all then John would need to work hard on getting his control over his hormones back, probably including loads of cold showers. But he could do it. And he would.
"Is there enough blood in your nether regions already that I could confess about you probably being right concerning my body temperature?" Sherlock countered.
John gently bit into Sherlock's jaw once more, ravelling in the unrestrained sounds of lust it evoked.
"Hmm... definitely," he rasped, kissing Sherlock's neck while slowly sliding his left hand down his lover's torso towards the hem of his sleeping shirt, making his intention clear to give Sherlock the opportunity to stop him.
When John's hand slipped underneath the thin fabric unstopped, splaying out over Sherlock's belly and gently pressing down while sucking at his pulse point, Sherlock's groin helplessly bucked forward. "Oh... John!" Sherlock gasped, making John impossibly harder. It felt good, so good, to feel this amazing energy running through his veins. Sherlock dug his fingers ever deeper into the skin on John's back, stimulating nerves he didn't remember having at all.
Sherlock was still lying on his back and John slid his left leg between both of Sherlock's, pressing his erection into the detective's thigh, making them both groan at the contact. John dove in for another deep kiss, caressing Sherlock's tongue and sucking it into his mouth while he tentatively let his hand wander higher underneath the shirt.
He found a nipple and slowly rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, making it harden under his touch, the darker skin rising towards more and more pressure. Sherlock let go of John's back for a moment, only to pull his shirt up and off, forcing a frustrated noise out of them both when they had to separate to pull the offensive fabric over Sherlock's head.
They came back together only a few seconds later, eager to regain the contact, their bare chests sliding against each other for the first time-
And it was like catching fire.
John grabbed Sherlock's waist and rolled them over, pulling his lover on top of him. When Sherlock smiled at him wickedly, his dark eyes burning with unknown desire and mischief, John had barely time to register Sherlock scooting down on him before he felt a hot tongue lick a broad, slick stripe over his right nipple. John threw his head back, sinking his hands into the sheets above it in order to hold back on the urge to press Sherlock's unruly mop of hair further down.
Sherlock took the wet nipple into his mouth, sucking at it. He softly bit down, pulling it upwards between his teeth, further, further, only stopping at the verge of pain. He released it, licked it again. Cataloguing John's reactions, every gasp, every moan.
Sherlock then paid the same close attention to the other nipple while massaging the first one between his fingers and leaving John positively panting underneath him, his hips moving in an unconscious rhythm and a desire for more friction.
Sherlock moved upwards just as John thought he'd have to go crazy under his lover's curious ministrations. Sherlock kissed every inch of bare heated skin on his way towards John's shoulder and then halted, his lips hovering barely an inch above the scar, waiting for permission. John loosened his left hand from his death grip on the sheets and softy twined his fingers with Sherlock's curls once more, wordlessly inviting him to go past that invisible barrier between him and the world around him.
And Sherlock moved in with enthusiasm.
Sending delicate shivers directly down to John's cock, Sherlock hummed excitedly and lapped at the numb skin at the centre of the old entrance wound. He nipped and sucked at the sensitive, uneven fringe while John held his lover's head close to his weakest spot, revelling in the intimacy of their connection.
"Does this hurt?" Sherlock asked, biting down experimentally at a corner of the frayed star before pressing his nose into the skin and breathing him in deeply.
"No," John gasped, "feels amazing..."
"Hmm..." Sherlock hummed again, licking at the soft tissue one more time and then coming up for another kiss.
It started out slow and sweet but soon grew into a hot and passionate connection that made them both wanting to get closer, closer, closer, oh, Jesus Christ, this was good. Their tongues mingled, massaged, devoured each other's mouths. Desperately trying to keep that basic, human, worldly link they'd lost far too often by now.
The next minute John found himself on top again, looking down at a smirking genius.
"Oh, you're a fast learner," John purred as he licked at Sherlock's lips, paying full attention to their corners now.
Sherlock slid his hands down John's lower back, gripping his arse and pulling him down, pressing their groins together. John, who had just been nipping at Sherlock's throat, bit down hard, making his lover buck and their erections slide together through the layers of fabric surrounding them still. John groaned heatedly and rocked his hips, circling them in an almost languid rhythm, feeling Sherlock's swollen cock trapped between their moving bodies.
"... John!"
"Was that a good 'John' or a bad 'John'?" he panted smirking.
"That was a 'don't you dare stop that-John'," Sherlock answered in an attempt to sound irritated, but his pulse under John's lips was stuttering wildly, his hips bucking helplessly.
John pushed himself up on both elbows, so that the centre of his body was now lying lower, and used the new angle to press his groin further down to Sherlock's, keeping up that circling motion. He felt hot, wet spots of pre-come forming on the fabric of their pants and John knew he needed more, wanted to lose himself in this man, needed to show him what could lie ahead for them, and he was kissing him hot and deep until they both needed to come up for gasps of air.
When he carefully lifted himself off his lover and to the side, Sherlock's protesting groan sent another jolt to John's cock. Taking a somewhat calming breath, he held himself up on his right elbow, settling his left hand carefully over the waistband of Sherlock's pyjama bottoms.
He kissed him softly, searching his eyes.
Taking out a bit of the rush, needing to ground the younger man and let him focus just enough to be able to make a conscious decision not purely based on the urge of hormones alone. Sherlock was not used to these emotions and passionate intimacy and it would have been so easy, even natural, to take away his mind's control completely, making him surrender and give himself over completely to John's guidance.
But this was important, this was Sherlock. And John needed to let him set the pace, even if it probably would kill his pulsing, aching cock if he'd had to stop right now.
Sherlock held his gaze, eyes wide but filled with lust and determination.
"Okay?" John asked quietly.
Sherlock nodded hesitatingly. "Yes."
John kissed him, equal parts relieved and nervous. He slid his hand under the waistband and slowly pulled it down, inch by inch, careful to lift the fabric up over the dark, glistening head of Sherlock's cock first to prevent it from getting caught.
He licked and sucked a path down Sherlock's chest and across his abdomen, dipping his tongue into his bellybutton and Sherlock's hips bucked again, rubbing the tip of his cock up John's stretched throat in the process, sliding over his Adam's apple, and making them both moan as John fucked Sherlock's navel with the tip of his tongue.
Sherlock dug both hands into John's scalp, pressing him down harder and John hummed in lust, feeling goose bumps rise on Sherlock's fiery skin in answer.
John then sat up and swiftly untangled Sherlock's long legs from his pants, casting the removed item to the side. He didn't lose time with shedding his own bottoms as well and then knelt at Sherlock's legs, taking a moment to just look at his genius, his mystery, outstretched before him. Strong, lean legs slightly spread apart, muscles straining, chest heaving up and down with heavy panting, hands fisted into the blanket at his sides, and a long, thin, perfect cock rising from his clean-shaven groin, a drop of pre-come leaking from its swollen tip.
"God, you're beautiful..." John heard himself whisper in awe.
Slowly he moved up Sherlock's body once more, not touching it, just hovering above him, holding himself up on knees and hands and leaned over Sherlock's naked body to kiss him again. Even like this it was as if he could feel the heat radiating from Sherlock's body. Sherlock arched up under him, instinctively searching for friction, his tongue diving deeper into John's mouth.
John then lowered himself, slowly, so achingly slowly, until he could press their naked bodies together at last.
And both men gasped at the contact.
"John..."
"God, yes!" John sighed, pulling Sherlock in, kissing him deeply and revelling in the soft slide of skin on skin, their leaking cocks trapped close together, setting every nerve ending on edge at their touch.
He marvelled at being this close to his mad genius, feeling Sherlock's every breath deep inside his mouth, his chest. Rocking with his stuttering pulse, hammering their connection into every pore. The air smelled of lust, of two bodies colliding in sweet passion, making the world stop around them and ever wanting, needing more.
John rolled them to the side to relieve his left shoulder of the strain, never breaking their kiss.
Sherlock gripped John's now bare arse, pressing their groins further against each other in their rocking motion, their cocks slick with pre-come, sliding together in hot unison.
John licked a broad wet stripe across his palm and then reached between them, taking both of them in his hand while Sherlock held their bodies close. "Oh, jeez, Sher... Sherlock..." John panted between kisses, feeling the hard yet velvet flesh pulse underneath his fingers as he set a steady pace and Sherlock suddenly broke the kiss, throwing his head back, gasping loudly.
"John...aah..." he moaned deep inside his throat, the noise bitten off as another gasp followed suit. Sherlock's nails dug almost painfully deep into John's muscles at his shoulder and arse as John's thumb swiped over the wet glans, smearing clear pre-come over the sensitive skin. Sherlock was sweating, quickly losing his rhythm, his hips stuttering wildly.
John managed to get his second hand between them as well, carefully massaging Sherlock's balls which already pulled up tight. John enjoyed the slide of his thump over the fragile dry skin, teasingly playing with the small nuts inside, making his lover nearly scream with desire with every tentative pull and squeeze. Wanting to taste but controlling the urge for now. He needed to make sure that Sherlock wouldn't be overwhelmed, that he kept Sherlock in control of what was happening. He needed to make this last.
Sherlock was close, so very close, his skin was burning, his breath catching, pulse jumping. John could feel his heart hammering a stampede in his chest.
"John!" he panted helplessly, fighting his ever dominant mind for release.
John's rhythm stumbled as he, too, got closer and impossibly closer, their open mouths resting loosely against each other now, too far gone in their lust to keep up a steady motion, breathing hot air into the other's lungs. Their wet cocks pressed tightly together underneath John's hot pumping grip.
"Let go..." John panted soothingly against his lover's swollen lips.
"John..." Sherlock's eyes flew open, searching John's gaze. Urging him to understand with pupils dilated to absolute blackness, wordlessly begging him to help, to make it stop.
"I've got you, Sherlock," John pressed their foreheads together. "You're safe. I love you. Let go..."
"Oh... God... John!"
And then he felt Sherlock finally giving himself over and John tucked at his lover's balls and gripped the base of his hot, leaking cock tightly. Squeezing the hard flesh and watching on as Sherlock bit down on John's shoulder, muffling his cry as he came forcefully, shooting a dozen long, pulsing thrusts of thick semen out between John's trembling fingers, whimpering between his teeth closed around John's burning flesh.
The sight alone was nearly enough to push John over the edge after his lover.
And then Sherlock's hand wandered over John's bucking arse and between his cheeks and he pressed down just right behind his balls and John saw his vision plunging into darkness, felt his breath stutter and then he was coming and coming and coming, oh God, yes, yes, with Sherlock's name on his lips, moaning, groaning, coating their stomachs and chests with hot, white come, feeling the slick fluid smear his skin.
And he wouldn't be able to stop the vibrations in his groin if he wanted to. He kept bucking in aftershocks, bucking, trembling. Bucking. Pulsing. ... Bucking. Until even the last pulse of come was spent and cooling in his navel.
And he had a ringing in his ears which he couldn't bring himself to care about.
And then John dipped over into oblivion and for a minute there was sweet nothingness... while he tried to catch his breath... and get his senses back online.
Jesus Christ. When had he last come like that?
After a moment, he was slowly becoming aware of his surroundings once more, as he could feel Sherlock licking soothingly at the mark on John's shoulder. Sherlock examined it and, apparently relieved by his findings, let himself fall back into the cushions, sighing softly, equally spent.
John took another few deep breaths and waited until he felt capable of walking without toppling over. He then got up and went into the bathroom to clean up the worst and grab a wet towel.
Turning on the cool white-tiled floor, he risked a look into the mirror and couldn't help but smile tiredly at his reflection: He looked so thoroughly shagged and ridiculously happy that he almost couldn't believe this was actually his reality. His shoulder would bruise just nicely, though.
Upon returning, he found Sherlock surprisingly still awake and seemingly lost rather deep in thought, lying in the exact same position John had left him in a few minutes prior. Worried, John climbed back into bed and handed the towel to Sherlock, who took it and wordlessly wiped himself clean. Meanwhile, John busied himself with taking care of the sheets and then got the blanket back on top of them.
John lay back down and scooted close to Sherlock–
When he noticed that the detective was trembling again.
John reached out, carefully twining his hand into the dark curls. "You okay?" he asked quietly.
Maybe this experiment had been a failure in his books after all.
Sherlock looked at him with eyes big and tender, leaning into his touch. "I... did I hurt you?"
Relieved that Sherlock spoke after all, that he hadn't retreated to his Mind Palace, John shrugged. "I'm fine. Nothing that won't heal quickly. What about you, though?"
"You didn't hurt me," Sherlock answered, apparently wondering at the question.
"What is it, then?" John queried, trying to conceal the worry in his voice. "Can you hear and see properly? Any tingling in your arms or legs? Pain in your chest?" God only knew how long it had been for Sherlock's body since it last had to deal with the force of an orgasm- and this one had been pretty fierce on top of that.
Sherlock shook his head, looking perplexed. "It all stopped, John."
John instantly pushed himself up on his arm, feeling for Sherlock's pulse- ... which seemed to be at a normal rate, thank God. So he certainly wasn't panicking over having lost all feeling in his extremities. But then... "What did?"
"The voices, John. The thoughts. My mind! It went perfectly still. Quiet." He held his gaze. "You told me to let go, to trust you, and I did. And then it was quiet."
John took a steadying breath. "So nothing feels wrong with your body?"
"No. Well. Apart from feeling like having chased after a fugitive for approximately 48 minutes and solving three cases in a row."
John smiled at that, finally feeling reassured enough to talk about Sherlock's original train of thought. "So, is that a good quiet in your head, then? You look rather alarmed, to be honest."
Sherlock shook himself slightly. "Yes. No... Yes. I don't know," he sounded frustrated. "I never experienced something like this outside of a 7 percent-solution before. It was good while it lasted... now I feel just..." he furrowed his brow, "... content."
John sighed in great relief. "Oh, good. That's good. I was afraid you'd say 'hollow'."
"Why?"
"Because that would have meant that you think this a mistake," John said, still a bit unsure about how this conversation would end.
Probably deducing this, Sherlock pulled him down and kissed him softly, leisurely, yet passionately on the lips. Upon releasing John he smiled, leaning their foreheads together. "Don't be absurd, John," he stated quietly. "I told you: You're my exception."
John chuckled happily. "Well, I'm very glad I am." He lay back down, lifting his arm for Sherlock to scoot closer, resting his head on John's chest where it met his shoulder.
"You're saying that now- wait until I found out that sleeping with you might become my new addiction," Sherlock yawned. "I confess the aftermath of sex is far more pleasant than that of cocaine."
"Always happy to be of help," John laughed, kissing Sherlock's forehead, already feeling himself drift off to blissful sleep.
"Only you, John," he heard his dream whisper distantly.
XXX