John

When we reached Baker Street I re-did my sling which had become stained by Sherlock's blood and then sat on my bed. I wanted to cry; I felt so emotionally drained, but no tears would fall. There was so much death here; probably more than I saw in Afghanistan… and Sherlock was so obnoxious and inhuman so much of the time. I felt as if I couldn't talk to him as if he were a person because it hardly ever seemed like he was one. Sherlock was plucking at his violin viciously in the living room. I knew he'd also been affected by the events of the day. He had been so frightened of doing CPR he'd been willing to let a young man die. Maybe I was being hard on him… the pizzicato of his long-fingered playing had been replaced by silence. Then the shock of a gunshot that set my heart racing. I actually had to squeeze my eyes tight shut to prevent my brain being overrun by visions.

"Jesus, Sherlock!" I shouted, slamming my bedroom door behind me as I went to confront him about his behaviour that night. If I'd felt sorry for him before I certainly didn't now.

Sherlock guiltily placed his gun on the mantelpiece and pushed it behind the skull.

"Um… That wasn't me…?" He said, smiling like the idiotic genius he is.

"Sit down." I commanded, taking my own seat in my usual armchair.

Sherlock looked at me quite reproachfully but did as he was told, taking a seat opposite me.

"What happened earlier?" I asked rather too forcefully, "What was that?"

"What was what?"

"You not wanting to give Jake CPR. You being scared." Which was one of the only ways I could

describe what had happened.

Sherlock bowed his head and looked up at me through over-bright eyes.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stay angry at him for long; I was mildly annoyed that I was having to comfort him when his sister hadn't just died and he hadn't just been shot but I knew that he couldn't help having, contrary to popular belief, feelings.

"I want to know." I said, which was true, "You knew everything about me five seconds after you first laid eyes on me-"

"-fifteen seconds, actually."

"The only thing I know about you that matters is about your childhood and where your drug addiction sprang from."

"John, don't make me. I don't want to-"

"You owe it to me and Jake to explain. Please, I won't be angry, Sherlock, I just need to understand."

Sherlock slowly uncoiled himself from his armchair and padded softly across the small stretch of carpet towards me, keeping me prisoner with his eyes. He carefully clambered onto the chair, kneeling with one of his knees either side of my legs. He was so close to me. I felt my breath catch in my throat with anticipation. Sherlock's majestic lips were at the level of my nose; his breath made my eyelids flutter. Sherlock dipped his chin slightly and then leaned his head slightly to the left. He parted my lips with his own and ran his tongue over my teeth. I reciprocated. We kissed, softly and sweetly, for a long time. Mine and Sherlock's breathing faltered; stuck in our throats… we panted as one, each consumed by his own desire.

"God, Sherlock… not now…" I breathed.

Sherlock buried his head in my neck and kissed my deeply, tickling my jaw line with his curls that were moist with sweat, "Shhhh… don't ruin it," He sighed.

I felt my legs slacken and raised my head, forcing my tongue into Sherlock's mouth. I felt the damp ridges on the roof of his mouth with my tongue. At the same time Sherlock nibbled gently on my bottom lip. A low moan sounded in the back of Sherlock's throat and he slowly moved downwards, kissing and licking and breathing his wet warm breath onto my throat, my chest, my stomach. He grabbed the waistband of my jeans and I stood up and stepped out of them. I was now standing with the back of my calves leaning against the worn armchair and my good hand tangled in the black curls of Sherlock's hair for intimacy and balance. Sherlock was kneeling at my feet.

My dick grew large and hard; I could feel the shooting warmth running through it and my stomach even before Sherlock pulled my boxers down until they were around my ankles and began to tickle the dome of my penis with his tongue. After a few moments spent licking the end of my penis with his flicking tongue, Sherlock closed his lips over it and proceeded to tenderly suck it.

All I could hear was the sound of myself panting like a dog and occasionally saying, "Yes," without meaning to.

Sherlock gradually increased the intensity of his sucking until he was furiously consuming the wetness on the tip of my penis as fast as my body could produce it. The ball of warmth grew inside me until I could bear it no more. I exploded into Sherlock's mouth and then his hands as he rubbed my penis vigorously. The white stickiness of my sperm coated my penis and I could feel its coldness as a sharp yell of pleasure escaped my lips. I dropped backwards onto the chair, my dick still pumping cum out onto my bare thighs and the armchair. Sherlock lapped it up with his tongue like a cat might a bowl of milk where it pooled between my left ball and thigh, the sandpaper feel of his tongue probing the loose skin of my testicle made my legs spasm. I shut my eyes and cherished the ecstasy of the gloriously irrepressible heat within me.

When the fairy dust faded I opened my eyes. My legs were still stiff and shaking. Sherlock was sitting on his haunches, looking up at me, he'd taken his tight shirt off. Without speaking I dropped off the chair and pushed Sherlock to the floor so he was lying on his back. I kissed him for a long time, feeling the soft flesh of the inside to Sherlock's lips with my tongue. He and I licked each other's tongues at the same time, winding them together and then sliding them apart again. I was wearing my socks, jumper and shirt; Sherlock his trousers. It was difficult to breathe. I was sucking on Sherlock's upper lip, occasionally licking my saliva from beneath his nose. He was doing the same to my lower lip.

I moved onto Sherlock's neck, feeling and smelling and tasting his sweat. As I did this I felt Sherlock wriggle out of his trousers and underwear beneath me. I took his warm, flaccid penis in my hand and moved my hand up and down it, slowly at first, then more quickly until it swelled and hardened beneath my fingers. I'd never done this to anyone but myself and only ever had sex with women. It was exciting. Sherlock gave me a long, lingering kiss on the mouth and whispered, "Do it," into my ear. He turned around so he was on his hands and knees in front of me.

His pale naked body was quivering with anticipation. I could see his spine and shoulder blades; being that thin couldn't be healthy. I crouched down onto my knees, unsure of what entirely to do now Sherlock's arse was inches from my face.

"Erm, I'm sorry if this hurts…" I told him.

"Just do it." Sherlock moaned.

I spread some of the wetness from the end of my dick up the length of it and used my finger to do the same to Sherlock's butt crack to act as a lubricator. I prised Sherlock's right butt cheek to the side, feeling downy hair beneath my good hand, so the hole of his anus was stretched larger than normal. My penis was still erect and I eased it into Sherlock and settled on my knees behind him.

I thrusted myself in and out of Sherlock repeatedly, feeling ripples of pleasure run through my dick and stomach as I did so. There was blood on my penis from ripping Sherlock's anus but I didn't care. Sherlock was grunting rhythmically in time to my humps. As I gained speed and momentum the feelings within me grew more intense; I could hear myself moaning aloud, "Mmmm…"

Sherlock's grunting was gaining in pitch and volume, "Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!"

I pushed myself into and out of Sherlock a couple more times, knowing orgasm wasn't far off, "Yeah, come on…" I groaned.

Sherlock was screaming by now and shaking uncontrollably, "AH! AH! AH! AH! YES! YES! YES! YES!"

I felt myself erupt and pulled myself out of Sherlock.

He had rolled over onto his back and was covering his stomach with his cum; massaging it into his skin and the hollows beneath his hip bones whilst laughing uncontrollably.

I stood over him, spraying sperm over his face, my laughs mingling with his.

When Sherlock heard me laughing, he raised his head and madly sucked me off; licking me up and down and making low sounds of pleasure that made me vibrate.

When we'd finished we went to bed: Sherlock's bed. As we were settling down Sherlock said quickly, "I couldn't give Jake CPR because I spent two hours giving it to my dead mother. Mycroft had to punch me in the head to get me to stop."

"It's okay, now. Thank you. "

We slept naked with our legs and arms entangled and our noses touching

Sherlock

It was midday by the time John woke up. I'd been pacing the room beside the bed, drinking watered-down lynx deodorant from a thermos flask, since three minutes past nine, my coat whipping my ankles reassuringly every time I spun around.

"What time is it…?" John asked sleepily, sitting up in bed. My bed.

"Twelve O'clock." I replied.

"Oh, shit, really?" He leapt out of bed before remembering he was naked. He cupped his genitals in his hands, suddenly embarrassed, and blushed. "Erm… have you seen my clothes?"

"You left them in the living room."

"Oh, yes, so I did!" He laughed nervously and ran from the room.

We were most definitely an item now. As I understood it, two people couldn't kiss, have sex and sleep together without being a couple. I had lost my virginity to John and it had felt like the most natural thing in the world. My understanding of him had always been present, but now was most certainly deeper. I could tell how he was feeling and what he was thinking without even using my powers of deduction. This was unnerving and exciting all at once.

"John?" I called, wishing to tell him that Lestrade had phoned about the piercings and that I had several theories as to the identity of one of the murderers. It frightened me that this had completely slipped my over-capable mind in a moment of romance.

"Give me a minute! I'm just putting my trousers on!" He replied from the room next door.

My cheeks ached with the effort of repressing a smile but then I remembered that nobody was watching and smiling was a perfectly natural response to being in a relationship and close to solving a case so let it spread across my face.

John and I bumped into each other as I exited my bedroom and he went to enter it.

"Oh, sorry." John said, as his head brushed my jaw.

"No problem." I replied, plucking up all my courage and kissing him chastely on the lips.

John coughed and looked at the ground awkwardly. From the way his face was averted I could see was ashamed but from the way he'd acted the night before I knew he felt the same way about me as I did about him.

Then I remembered that other people are stupid. Even John. "There's nobody here to see us." I explained carefully.

"Yes, I know." John smiled, "And even if there was, I wouldn't care."

He kissed me, but it wasn't enough to disguise his uncertainty.

I was about to tell John the information Lestrade had given me and I had found out myself when his mobile rang.

I listened to John's side of the conversation while sitting across from him in our armchairs. My shirt was still on the floor between us.

"Hello?" John said, "Oh, hi, mum, how are you?... No…I'm working on it, actually, with the police… yes...and my friend, yes…Sherlock Holmes… how's dad bearing up?... I see…" He hung his head and looked at his hands in his lap, "Tomorrow? Where?...Okay," He mimed writing in the air at me so I sprang from my chair to the kitchen and ripped a post-it note off the fridge and pen off the surface next to it. I handed them to John. Still listening to his mother on the phone, he scribbled 'All Saints, Margret Street,' onto the yellow square of paper.

"Yes, mum…" John continued, "I'll be there. You're sure you don't mind?... Okay, okay, great… yep… I'll see you then, then…okay…bye, I love you."

John put the phoned down and explained that Harry's funeral was the following day, which I'd gathered from the half of the conversation I'd been able to hear, I didn't tell him this, though. I thought it would be imprudent.

"Do you want me to come with you?" I asked, hoping he'd say no so I could continue to follow some leads relating to the case.

"Yes." He said flatly, "My entire family hates me because I broke down and was discharged from the army. I'm sure them knowing I've got a boyfriend won't make them think any less of me than they do already."

I attempted to be consoling, "We don't have to do… boyfriend-y things…"

John's face broke into a smile and he sighed. "I know. Do you have a black suit?"

"Er… no. Mycroft probably does, though. I think that's the standard uniform when you're the British Government. I'll phone him and ask."