I touched my lips with the tips of my glove covered fingers as I walked towards Baker Street. My mouth twitched upwards in a soft smile; I knew that I would forever refuse to delete the past hour from my memory. I never understood the infatuation with prolonged kisses—I never permitted lips to touch lips whilst I experimented—however, John, he made the very depths of my mind yearn for more.

I made my way between people, occasionally crashing into them while lost in thought—was it normal to find ones-self constantly stuck with another person on their mind? Was it normal to feel a dull ache at the loss of their being around you? My phone interrupted my thoughts and I glanced down as I pulled it from my pocket—oh yes, a voicemail.

Lestrade telling me he needs my help—yet again—I bet Anderson wasn't too fond of this phone call. I turned the corner and crossed the street; Mrs. Hudson left the light on again. I made my way in and up the stairs. I settled down on the couch, my legs folded beneath me and my gaze settled on the skull on the mantle.

"Do you think it wrong of me to ask that John move in? For propriety he could take the upstairs room—I'm certain Mrs. Hudson will have a comment on that, she has one for most decisions I make. Would I be making a right one though?"

I tilted my head just slightly.

"Of course I have to rearrange a few things; he'll find my organized chaos most disdainful, his banal apartment still screamed military order and cleanliness. Mrs. Turner's married ones can share the spotlight for once. Though I suppose you're correct, I do have to take into the minute consideration that he could very well decline."

I blinked rapidly and sat up straighter. I cannot allow that to happen, the man is constantly in rotation within my various thoughts, and on the odd occasion in the past while, if I lick my lips just right, his taste lingers and causes me to recall in vivid detail the hour spent on his bed.

"Is it normal for one to stare at another's mouth? Want to—erm, forgive me John, I'm not used to this."

"It's all fine Sherlock."

I finally met his gaze after staring at his mouth; a longing to press my own against them. Wanting to taste what lie behind them, to let them touch mine. I inched forward, slowly, I didn't want to scare him—and it permitted him capable time to back away or shove me to the side. The moment his eyes darted to my mouth I knew I was given permission—whether he realized it or not.

His fists were grasping at his duvet—he wanted this too, I couldn't help the slight feeling of warmth that spread through me at that notion. I could feel my breath rebound off his features, fluttering between us and the instant our eyes met once more, and the barest of nods I leaned in and pressed my lips gently to his. My eyes closed instinctively and I pressed further into him, my knees knocking the edge of his bed, my fingers reaching forward to balance myself on his shoulders—I felt as if the room were spinning despite our stationary positions. Well mostly stationary.

The moment my fingers touched the shoulders of his jacket I held on tightly, feeling how tense he was holding himself—I pulled away and glanced at him. His brows furrowed, eyes still closed, mouth agape, harsh breaths meeting my own.

"John?"

His eyes snapped open and immediately met my own—I was made speechless at everything he wasn't able to say. I unclenched my right hand and trailed the tips of my fingers up his neck, down his jaw till I could cup his cheek. I ran the pad of my thumb over his lips; his breath hitched. He closed his eyes.

"Sherlock, don't—I'm trying very hard to contr—"

I pressed my lips to his once again. The warmth within me grew to an overwhelming sense of desperation I haven't felt since my early pubescent days. I felt the urge to touch him—anywhere really. My hand cupping his cheek ventured further up, trailing over his ear, only to get lost in his hair. The moment my fingers tugged on those short strands I felt his hands take hold, latching onto my biceps, constricting movement on my part.

Without even realizing, or noticing for all of three seconds, John had manhandled me, shifting us on his bed. On my back with him on his side leaning over me, and for once, I was willing to let someone else lead—a surprise for him I am most certain. His right hand trailed down my left arm, searching out my hand, clasping our fingers together between us. The short spurts of hot air coming out of his nose caused minute shivers to course through me as his lips claimed mine. Every nerve ending felt like they had fully awakened to maximum use—all due to the small man hovering over me.

I'd had these bodily reactions before, due to stimulation, my body functions quite well, yet with only our lips, hands and one thigh touching, this is new to me. This longing for John even though he is right there, his body heat mingling with mine—would this happen every time we kissed? What if we progressed, would it amplify these feelings? He pulled back and stared down at me, his cheeks a soft pink, lips red and panting, I couldn't help but to smile.

"Figure you could stop thinking and just let go?"

His slight smirk let me know he caught me off guard—he did. For the third time in my life I opened my mouth without even contemplating what I was saying in the moment.

"Baker Street, come live with me."

His eyes widened a fraction but his smirk turned into a smile. The unspoken 'yes' made me feel giddy inside, a feeling I hadn't felt since the first time Mycroft told me he was proud of me. I used my right arm to reach up and pull him down, pressing my lips up into his—why had I never allowed someone to do this before? My quick shift in his position caused him to reach out with his free arm, he was now fully leaning over me, a slight shift of his leg and he could be straddling me.

He made a slight groan—not of pain—and began to kiss the corner of my mouth, then down to my chin, up my jaw, down my jugular—oh how delightful that feels—then moved down to my barely visible collar bones and nipped with his teeth. The sound I emitted was embarrassing; I even felt him chuckle against me. I felt him shift, placing one of his legs between mine, a hand ran down my side, tugging at the bottom of my shirt—the moment his fingertips touched my skin I lost the ability to think.

"It appears to me that you are not up to par Sherlock, does not suit you to be lost in thought."

I narrowed my eyes at the man sitting at my desk. He twirled his umbrella and looked at me with a raised brow.

"You'll leave him alone. You've interfered enough."

He gave me a flat stare.

"You know I can't do that. Mummy will wa—"

"She will not! I won't allow her to. You may give her whatever information you feel will please her, but she will not be meeting him."

He nodded; he wasn't done. He wanted to say more but he doesn't know how—I'm not certain I'd permit him to.

Deepest apologies for the wait! Life has been a bit on the busy side.

I have a puppy now. :D His name is Opie (oh-pea), he's a beagle, terrier mix, and he's about 9 weeks old. He's a handful and too cute for his own good. XD

I'm not certain I like this chapter, I revisited it numerous times these past two weeks and finally just gave up and posted this. That being said, if there's any mishaps, I'm sorry, I grew frustated and just wanted this part over with.

-J.