Chapter Twenty One

Sherlock held onto him for a long time. John was happy to just lie there and not do anything else than run his hands over Sherlock's back and to feel him breathe against his shoulder, but eventually he could feel Sherlock growing restless again. It made John a little sad that they couldn't just stay like this, but that pretty soon they would head out again into the cold and he so wanted to be warm. John wondered whether Sherlock would actually count as a warming device after they fished him out of the Thames and he had to chuckle, giving Sherlock an excuse to pull back his head and look at him.

"What about you?" he asked, and John understood that his restlessness might not have stemmed from the case but from the fact that John hadn't come yet. He kissed Sherlock, trying to snuggle even closer. "I just want to stay like this a little longer."

"Okay, but you know that I would be happy to ..." He stopped when John kissed him again.

"Well, do whatever you feel like doing. I'm just happy to be here with you."

"You are such a romantic."

"Oh, shut up, you know nothing about being romantic. You'd probably send me a bouquet of fingers and think I'd like that."

"I would never do that. I would keep them to experiment on them," he replied with a grin.

"I love you," John said against his shoulder, "and I love that you seem to have figured out what humour is after all this time."

Sherlock laughed and hugged him tightly. "Thank you," he said quietly, and John was fairly sure that he referred to the blow-job.

"I'll get better, I think I just have to practice a bit."

"Better? John, this was incredible. I have never felt anything like it."

John smiled and shook his head. "You'll see, I will practice and prove to you that this was not the best I can do."

"How often do you intend to practice?" Sherlock asked, sounding almost shy.

"Whenever you want me to."

Sherlock moved back so he could look at John. His eyes were wide and John was amazed once again by how young he sometimes looked. "Are you saying that you would do it every time I ask you?"

"If you behave," John retorted with a telling arch of an eyebrow.

"John, I think you might be the best thing that has ever happened to me in my life. Well, there were a few cases now and then which could be comparable, but really ..."

John shrugged. "I just know that it will shut you up for a while and I might actually get you to eat."

"Do you think?"

"Yes, you'll see."

"I'm not hungry now."

"Not yet."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him as if he couldn't quite believe what kind of a conversation they were having. Then he started to kiss John's shoulder, slowly pushing him to lie on his back. His fingers gently fluttered over the scar and John let him do it. He had been curious about it all along, but now that he had the chance for a close up examination he made use of that. Then he moved over to John's collar bone, and, drawing a gasp from him, started to suck. Apparently he wanted to make sure that there was no mistaking in who was responsible for the love bites. John tried to remind himself to wear a scarf when they went out but then he thought that if he really had to jump down thirty feet into the murky Thames water, a scarf would certainly do nothing to hide it once he peeled his wet clothes off.

Oh, sod it, he thought, arching up against the mouth that was still vigorously sucking on his skin. Why should he care, really? Lestrade would either avoid the topic of their relationship like the plague or his curiosity would get the better of him and he would ask exactly those questions that would make both of them uncomfortable.

"John!"

"Sorry," he grinned. "How do you do that anyway?"

Sherlock detached his lips from John's skin and looked up, seemingly annoyed. "Do what?"

"Know when I'm thinking."

"I just do. I can hear you. Now if you would please let me concentrate ..."

John grinned and leaned back and enjoyed the tongue that was now pressing against the spot where Sherlock had just nibbled his skin. Sherlock eyed the spot for a while, watching it change colour and when he was satisfied that it would be a visible mark, he moved up and kissed John's lips. "Can I keep you?" he repeated the question he had asked before, and again John found it hard to breathe. "Sherlock. I'm yours, I love you."

"Mine?" he asked, carefully, as if he was trying to make sense of what that would mean. "I've never hadanyone."

"Sherlock, you had me when you stopped that cab after the chase through Soho and you had stolen Lestrade's ID and were going on about 'welcome to London'." He grinned at the memory.

"Really?" His hand rested on John's waist with just enough pressure to not tickle, but the lines started to blur when his thumb started to caress his skin. His breath hitched.

"You were the one who told Mrs Hudson that I would be moving in, so I figured you knew that I wasn't going anywhere."

"Right. But really, I just selfishly wanted you to stay. I told her that to make sure that you would, because it would have made it harder for you to say no once she knew about it. I wouldn't have liked it very much if you had then decided to go, especially after Lestrade came in with his stupid excuse for a drug's bust which completely altered your high opinion of me." His hand moved up to his ribs, and John squirmed, drawing a small smile from Sherlock. "You were the first person I laughed with in several years. I mean, not laugh about, but with, you know? And you still stayed, which was amazing. And you did not only stay but you cared enough to go after me and save my life."

He looked down on John, comprehending that he had just answered his own question. He inhaled sharply and kissed him once, quickly, knowing that he wouldn't be able to stop if he kissed him properly. "I am very glad that you stayed."

"You can keep me," John said with a smile, but the smile faltered when he brought his hand up to run his fingers through Sherlock's hair and he couldn't. But Sherlock smiled back and quickly kissed him again and then moved down a bit to proceed with his oral examination of John's skin.

When he came to his nipples, John knew that there was no way that he would make it through this with his dignity intact. Sherlock might not have been experienced, but he knew what he was doing. Just like the way he moved completely graceful without doing it on purpose, he was immensely talented with his hands and mouth. Or maybe it was just the fact that he liked to learn and experiment and therefore aimed for the best possible outcome with the least trouble. Whatever it might have been, when he closed his lips around John's left nipple and the hand that had been resting on his chest came up to massage his right one, he felt all thought leave him, leaving only room for "Oh God Jesus Christ Sherlock!"

Sherlock stopped his sucking and grinned up at him. "I had no idea you were so religious. I mean, I don't mind to be placed within a series of deities, but still, I would prefer to be counted more among scientists and thinkers. Why don't you try something like 'Newton, Bell, Einstein!' I think that might put things into perspective a bit."

John burst out laughing, his hands flying up to his face, wiping at the tears that the laughter forced from his eyes. "You are fucking impossible! Insane! I love you!" he gasped, still shaking with laughter.

Sherlock just grinned and flattened John against the mattress by pressing both hands down on his chest and returned to John's nipple, making him arch up again, his laughter dying in favour of a low moan. And Sherlock went for it. He alternated sucking, licking and gentle biting, making John writhe underneath him. Then he moved to the other one, repeating the teasing, but eventually lessening the pressure, starting to be gentler and definitely more playful. He let his tongue flick over the nipple and then blew cold air over it. He obviously had enjoyed the sensation when John had done it to him.

Then he carefully sucked the nipple into his mouth and bit down gently, pulling and finding that John's whole body followed the movement. "Interesting," he murmured when he let go again.

"What is?" John was breathless and somewhat surprised that his voice was still in working order.

"I think you should get a piercing. I'm sure you'd enjoy that."

"What are you talking about?"

"I could play with it and make you suffer a bit," Sherlock grinned and bit down on his nipple again.

"Good God, Sherlock, I had no idea you were so kinky."

"Kinky, huh? I'm just letting you know what I'm finding out about you here."

John blushed a bit. He wasn't sure whether he wanted Sherlock to spell out his as yet unknown sexual preferences for him. "Just get on with it."

Sherlock grinned and gave both nipples a lick before moving down. He kissed his way along the linea alba but diverted now and then to nibble on the bits of skin where John's ribs were visible. He could feel him smile against his skin when he came down to his belly button. With a small hum he buried his tongue in it, drawing a groan from John. He pushed down again and John shuddered, feeling his cock leak right next to Sherlock's chin that was resting just below his belly button. "Please!" he demanded, hoping that Sherlock didn't plan on spending the rest of the afternoon exploring his belly button, no matter how good that felt. He just couldn't wait to feel those lips on his cock and he shivered in anticipation.

Sherlock moved away but started to kiss his way towards his hips, making him buck up in the hopes of making clear what he wanted. But Sherlock's hands came to rest on his hips and he pressed him down, keeping him still. "Spread your legs," he whispered, and John looked down, finding him looking at his cock with such interest that he had to laugh, earning a quick amused glance from below. He spread his legs, just as he had been asked to and pushed himself up on his elbows so he could see what Sherlock was doing. Sherlock moved down on the bed and started kissing and licking John's inner thigh, keeping his eyes on his cock. When it twitched, he smirked and repeated the action just to see it twitch again.

John tried to tell himself that it couldn't be right to be turned on by being used for a scientific examination, and that the fact that Sherlock repeated an action not primarily to please him but to gather evidence and evaluate the outcome of certain actions was not supposed to be so sexy.

Sherlock took his time to repeat his experiment with John's other leg, but ended up pushing his legs farther apart, attaching his lips to a spot which he found to be particularly sensitive and started to suck in earnest. John was sure that his heart stopped for a moment and that the rest of his body was on auto pilot now because both of his hands flew up to the headboard and, injured or not, pressed against it to be able to hold onto reality somehow or else lose his mind.

It also took him a few seconds to realise that he was not only writhing under Sherlock's lips as if he was being tortured, but that he hadn't stopped moaning his name for the better part of a minute. The mark stood out angrily against his light skin and Sherlock looked at it proudly. "Now you're mine, and mine alone," he said with a low hoarse voice. "Nobody will know about this one, nobody."

John remembered that this might not turn out to be true, but he chose to ignore it in favour of the butterflies that had decided to just now explode inside of him.

But the butterflies were rather effectively scared away again when Sherlock decided that it was now time to pay some attention to John's cock. He drew him into his mouth, his lips stretching around him, and even if John's elbows were shaking he pushed himself up yet again to be able to see Sherlock's mouth making love to him. He was speechless. There were no curses, no pleadings, nothing that could have expressed what it felt like. His body shuddered violently when Sherlock let him slide all the way inside his mouth. John had not expected anything like this, and when those soft lips pressed down on the base of his cock, his tongue lapping at the underside of it and he swallowed, John's elbows gave in and he fell back, his back arching up. He knew that he would probably kill Sherlock if he bucked up against him now, but then again, there wasn't much more of him that could actually go anywhere that wasn't already in Sherlock's mouth. Slowly, Sherlock pulled back. He inhaled sharply through his nose and cleared his throat. Then he smiled and repeated what he had just done and John lost complete control. If it hadn't been for Sherlock's hands that now pressed him back against the mattress again he would have been unable to keep himself from fucking his mouth, but this way it felt safe to let go.

Sherlock repeated the process a few times, trying a little bit of teeth, making John let out an incoherent string of words that neither of them would remember afterwards. Then he started to finally build a rhythm, experimenting with speed and angles, using his tongue to draw lazy circles around and over his head, licking down all the way to the base and up again.

John wasn't sure why he hadn't come yet. He was so in awe of the man who seemed to enjoy it so immensely to give him pleasure that he just plainly refused to come. Sherlock loosened one hand from his hip and pressed his thumb against the love bite on his inner thigh. This time, John almost choked him when he involuntarily jerked upwards. But Sherlock just seemed to register his reaction and continued unerringly to drive him mad with desire.

John could feel that his orgasm was only seconds away. Everything seemed even more intense from one moment to the next and he felt the control over his body slip completely.

"Sherlock," he groaned, warningly. He didn't want to surprise him and he didn't know whether Sherlock wanted him to come in his mouth. "God, I'm so close."

And Sherlock looked up at him, and even though he had his mouth full of John, he managed to smile. To be looked at so lovingly by Sherlock while being deep-throated by him pushed him over the edge.

He couldn't really remember what it had been like, all he knew was that his vision blanked and that his body shook with the intensity of release and that Sherlock kept him locked in his mouth the entire time.

Then – it must have been minutes later – he found himself in Sherlock's arms, his face pressed against his lover's chest, still out of breath and with tears on his face. Sherlock had drawn the blanket over them so that they were both comfortably warm. Still, John shivered when he opened his eyes again, feeling Sherlock's arms tighten around him.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked him, gently running a hand through his hair.

John only managed to nod, inhaling deeply.

Now it was definite; if he was about to die tonight, he would have felt more for another human being than he had ever thought possible.