Author's Note:
I do believe there are only three chapters left after this. Then, get ready for the sequel. Good God, I can't wait to get the sequel. It's...well, I can't say because I don't want to spoil anything but GUYS it is going to be awesome...or at least I think so. I am excited to write and share it with you all! Anyway, the support of this fanfic is so amazing. All the subscriptions and favorites, it is very humbling. Thank you. And of course, to those lovely people who take the time to review, you guys ROCK!
John jumped back after being splattered with blood, dropping instantly to the floor and pressing his back against the wall right below the window. Shit. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. He fished his phone out of his jeans and instantly dialed Mycroft while using his free hand to try and get the blood off of his face.
Right as Mycroft ended the call he stood, looking at Sherlock for a moment. "If you're awake," he muttered as he dialed another number, "John's being shot at. His friend had a sniper in wait. We'll drop by your flat and get the discs." He left the room calmly.
The plan had been to kill John when he inevitably showed up. However, the sniper had other plans and had killed Sebastian instead. When John didn't appear in the scope, the sniper had moved a few rooms over to the room of the other team member was laid up. How unlucky. The room was empty. There were still some loose ends to tie up. Lestrade was one of them. Thank God for being paid in advance, once that annoying Inspector was out of the way the sniper planned on getting the hell out of London and retire. This tiff with Sherlock and John really wasn't any of their concern with Sebastian and Moriarty out of the way. They fled the scene after packing up their rifle.
The nightmares had brought Sherlock somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. Mycroft's words reached his subconscious and after a few moments of his older brother leaving he bolted awake, sweat pouring down his face and the heart monitor beeping rapidly as he fought for breath. This prompted a nurse to come in and fuss over him. He wasn't really listening or paying attention to the nurse's idle chatter though, because all he could think about were the words that ripped him awake and whether or not it was real or just another dream. He finally regained his composure and wits, though it took longer than he have liked. The nurse finally left and he was alone at last. John needed help. He had to get out of here…
John took several deep breaths, running a hand down his face, before scooting to the side of the window to stand up. He knew that Mycroft was on his way and that the smart, logical thing to do would be to get in his car and return to the hospital room. The part of John's brain that was winning the argument was the part that didn't want to deal with Sherlock, the part that wanted to find Lestrade. He just didn't have any leads and now Sebastian was dead.
Sherlock slipped out of the bed and turned off the machines and then went about detaching all the things hooked up to his body. He yanked out the I-V last with a slight wince. No time to change into proper clothes. It took time and effort to just make it to the door and he stopped to breathe heavily. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to help John in his state, but he had to at least try. He opened the door and was caught almost immediately by a nurse coming down the hall. She tried to talk him into getting back into bed. He refused and brushed past her and picked a direction to walk down the hall. Male nurses came to stop him, but he pushed them roughly and then incited a fight. He was administered a heavy sedative and he went limp almost immediately. The doctors had him placed back in his room, with restraints on his wrists this time.
After several moments John left the room, his head low as he felt stares on him. "He was shot," John muttered. "Sniper, through the window." He left quietly and only realized when he was outside how much blood was actually on him. He didn't bother to talk to Mycroft as he slid into the car, only collapsed on the seat and let the car take him where ever he was supposed to be.
It wasn't until the second stop, the first had been the flat, that John was hesitant to get out. He'd texted Sarah, he'd considered sleeping with her again, and Sherlock was acting like a child. He took a deep breath and followed Mycroft into the hospital, ignoring the older man's pleas for him to clean up. He entered Sherlock's room with streaks and specks of dried blood on his face and clothes. "They killed him. I've got a bad feeling I was supposed to be next... or the intended target in the first place. We don't have much time." He didn't even look at Sherlock, instead keeping his eyes locked on the window warily.
John's voice barely reached his drug induced sleep. He murmured without opening his eyes, "you are okay…good…mmmsrry…" and then was pulled back into a deep sleep.
John couldn't help the crooked smile on his lips as he watched Sherlock fall back asleep. He glanced at Mycroft before catching sight of himself in the mirror. "I'm going to wash up." He scratched the back of his neck and shifted a bit on his feet. "I think I might know where they're keeping Lestrade. You can't tell Sherlock." He met the other man's gaze. Mycroft nodded in return.
"If you think you can go in without getting hurt," Mycroft stated coolly.
"I know I can. That sniper was too sure of himself. I know I was the intended target." John nodded his head fractionally before moving toward the bathroom door and slamming it shut to try and compose himself.
Sherlock slept for an hour and when he woke up, he was confused. Why was strapped to the bed? The sedative had left his recollection foggy at the moment. Instead of straining his wrists against the restraints, he leaned forward and undid one with his teeth and then with his free hand took off the other one. He had been so intent on his task, he failed to notice if anyone else is in the room. Eventually, he looked to see if anyone else was here with him.
John emerged from the bathroom with his shirt in one hand and a towel in the other. The water dripping off his face was a faint pink and he caught it with the towel as it ran down his bare chest. He tossed his shirt toward his chair and that was when he noticed Sherlock was awake and had managed to unstrap himself. His gaze ran down the length of Sherlock's body before meeting his eyes. He wanted to say so many things but held his tongue and turned toward Mycroft. "There's an abandoned military base," he muttered as he cocked his head to dry a bit of his neck. "Sebastian would use it. Where else could he be?" He kept his back to Sherlock as Mycroft considered the information.
Sherlock was about to say something to John, but then he turned to speak quietly with Mycroft. What was going on? Damn the drugs he was taking for affecting his memory. He would have moved closer to listen in but he had all these stupid machines still hooked up to him. It was then that he remembered what had happened. The fight with John, the nightmares, Mycroft leaving, him getting out of bed in a desperate and futile attempt. He closed his eyes, at least John was okay. However, it appeared to Sherlock that John was still upset about what had been said. Fine. He turned away from the two, his back to them as he pouted.
"It's possible. I want to look into it first with some of the people I know. We aren't sending you in blind," Mycroft looked down at John, who nodded and pursed his lips for a quick moment.
"Right. Good. Very good." He tossed his towel back into the bathroom and approached the bed, hesitantly laying a hand on Sherlock's ankle. "So? We had a bit of a domestic, didn't we?" He kept his voice even and watched Mycroft leave the room from the corner of his eye. "D'you want to talk about it or continue to pout like we're back in primary school?" He knew it was low but couldn't help it. It had slipped before he had a chance to even think about it.
Sherlock turned to look at John. He was silent a long while. He thought he had been over John sleeping with Sarah, but the truth was he wasn't and it still hurt. Then John had purposefully withheld important information. How was he supposed to trust the man in front of anymore? Not so long ago, he would have trusted John with anything in the world. Now he wasn't so sure anymore. He and Mycroft were clearly planning something they didn't want him to know about. He isn't sure how to formulate his thoughts in way that won't sound bitter and hateful, because that's all he was feeling right now. "It'd probably be unwise to try and have this conversation at this point in time. It'd just make things worse, not better." He could be an adult when he set his mind to it, the problem was he usually didn't.
"I can respect that." John nodded sharply and licked his lips. "Let's talk business then. I ran all of this across Mycroft and he thinks it sounds good." He twisted and sat on the edge of the bed, one hand moving to absently run up and down Sherlock's thigh. "Sebastian was killed. Sniper. Pretty sure the shot was intended for me but the sniper had other plans. I really don't think Sebastian thought he was getting killed." His hand stilled for a moment and John met Sherlock's gaze. "There's an old military base they use mainly for training. It's empty for the new few weeks. It'd be a perfect place to hide somebody. I want to go in and check it out. I think that's where Lestrade is."
Sherlock leaned into the touch automatically. He considered John's words carefully. "If you are right about the shooter changing plans on Sebastian, then they are probably getting rid everyone involved in the operation. Lestrade's few days just dwindled to a few hours. Assuming, the sniper who took out Sebastian didn't go to where the Inspector was located and killed immediately afterward. Though that would sloppy, but from the sound of it this person is impulsive so it's a very real possibility we are too late already." He fell quiet briefly but when he spoke again, he met John's eyes. "Are you going to go in alone?"
John was quiet for a moment before nodding. "I don't really have a choice. You're in no state to do anything like this. Mycroft is having it looked at first so I'm not going in completely blind." He reached up and grabbed Sherlock's hand, running his thumb over his knuckles. "It isn't anything that I haven't done before, Sherlock. I'm pretty well trained." He smirked, squeezing Sherlock's hand. "I promise I'm going to come back. I can't just up and leave my boyfriend, can I?"
All Sherlock could do was nod numbly. He knew that if tried to go, it'd make things worse and not better. John was military trained. Yet, he couldn't help but feel worried. "Just be careful." It was all could bring himself to say because he knew he wouldn't be able to change John's mind.
"Of course," John smiled and leaned forward, meeting Sherlock's lips tentatively. "I love you. I have too much to lose so I really can't get killed." He kissed Sherlock again, deeper this time and more desperate. He didn't pull away and scooted closer to Sherlock's body as he squeezed his hand.
Sherlock surrendered to the kiss immediately, his free hand wrapping around John to pull him closer still. His other intertwined with John's giving it a tight squeeze. He broke the kiss momentarily to speak, "love you too," and then resumed kissing. Not aggressive like usual, but passionately and with meaning.
John let one hand move to tangle in Sherlock's hair as he shifted his body to lay beside him. He let his other hand stay on Sherlock's lower back, rubbing the muscles soothingly. He pulled away to take a deep breath, his eyes searching Sherlock's face before he dropped his mouth to Sherlock's neck. "I wanna shag you so bad right now." He took a deep breath and knew most of this was still from the adrenaline rush he'd gotten earlier but he didn't care. He pressed his hips forward and bit down on Sherlock's neck.
Physically, Sherlock wasn't up to the task but that didn't stop him trying. He bucked under John and growled from the bite. He slid his hand under John's shirt and scratched lightly upon the skin. He nibbled on the only area available to him at the moment, which was John's ear. The drugs were once again wearing off, but he ignored the distant pangs his body emanated and instead tried to focus on all the pleasurable sensations going on.
John took several deep breaths and glanced at Sherlock. "You okay?" He took a deep breath and slid to the side of Sherlock, shoving his hand down the front of his pants and letting out a soft moan. "J-Just rest." He said through gritted teeth, pressing his forehead against the side of Sherlock's shoulder.
The question didn't surprise Sherlock, since he was lacking the usual aggressiveness he had become rather fond of late. He lied with a nod of his head because in moments like these he found it difficult to speak most of the time. Resting. That sounded nice. His whole body really didn't want to cooperate, most notably his penis. He supposed most men would be embarrassed but his analytical mind understood the basic functionality of the human body and why it would be impossible to get an erection right. Given enough time he could, because with every passing it became clear that the drugs were losing their effect.
John pulled his hand away from Sherlock with an impatient sigh, slamming his eyes shut as he undid his own belt and the button of his jeans. He met Sherlock's lips as he shoved his hand down his own pants, pressing his moan against Sherlock's mouth. His breathing picked up slightly as he started to stroke himself in quick, rough movements. He didn't want to make Sherlock's condition worse and, honestly, he needed to do something to relieve the stress of the day. Giving himself a hand job wasn't really what he had in mind but it was really his only option aside from Sarah. His hips moved slightly on the bed, his wrist bumping against Sherlock's stomach as his kiss got more aggressive.
Sherlock watched John with a sense of mild fascination mixed with curiosity. He had never pleasured himself before and seeing someone else do it was intriguing to him. He was distracted easily and quickly by the kissing though and he returned it. For a moment, he considered sliding his own hand down John's pants too but he didn't want to interrupt. So, he continued running his fingers along John's back to keep them busy.
John pulled away from Sherlock's lips with a playful nip, biting his own bottom lip as his body tensed for a moment. His teeth slammed against each other as his hips jolted forward, a broken moan escaping his lips before he managed to slow his hand down. "H-Here," he whispered and moved his hand from his pants to grab Sherlock's. "Just follow my lead." He opened his eyes, they're dark and hooded as he guided Sherlock's hand down his pants and wrapped it around his erection. A small sigh came from John as he wrapped his hand around Sherlock's and squeezed.
Sherlock complied, smirking wryly at the memory of calling John the submissive. Yet, here he was being completely compliant, still and just taking everything in. Really, it wasn't surprise. They were both very strong personalities and it wouldn't surprise Sherlock if the roles reversed often depending on the other's mood. He found himself a bit anxious, because he had never done this before at all. He didn't want to squeeze too hard but John pretty much solved that dilemma for him when the other man did it for him. The skin was soft to the touch but the cock was already hard. What a very strange combination. He allowed John to control the movement and speed of his hand, because really he had absolutely no idea what he was doing.
John bit his bottom lip as he moved Sherlock's hand. "Christ," his face scrunched together and he bucked into Sherlock's hand. "T-This okay?" He sucked in a loud breath and moved their hands in three quick strokes, blindly kissing Sherlock's cheek and running his tongue down to his jaw. "Can stop if you wa-" John jerked his head up, the muscles in his neck tensing as he moved their hands faster. "Yes, Sherlock." he opened his eyes to roughly meet Sherlock's lips.
Sherlock was memorizing the speed and pressure of each stroke, so he'd be able to reenact it at a later date on his own accord. His eyes closed from the licking and kissing with a murmur of appreciation. A brief, "mmmhmmm," escaped from his lips to John's question. He returned John's kisses, nipping on the bottom lip lightly.
John tensed suddenly, moaning into Sherlock's mouth as he came. "Ah, fuck." He went limp instantly with a blush on his cheeks. "I usually last longer." John opened his eyes and managed a breathy laugh. "Made a bit of a mess." He slowly pulled Sherlock's hand from his cock. It had shocked him how quick he had come undone. Part of it was probably because Sherlock's hand was heaven, even if he was moving it. "D-Didn't mean to use you like that."
Sherlock's hand became sticky and he removed the hand so he can inspect the mess on it. His gaze shifted to John and he smirked a bit. "It's fine. It was an interesting experience. Although, anytime I think I have all these intimate interactions figured out something new comes up. Always something new to learn it would seem, but it keeps me from getting bored." The smirk got bigger and he looked around for something to wipe his hand on. He settled for the wall behind the hospital bed.
John laughed as he watched Sherlock, grabbing his wrist gently. "Sherlock," he burst into laughter again, shaking his head. "You can just wipe your hand in the wall in the hospital. Use your blanket." His lips drew into a wide smile as he leaned forward and gently met Sherlock's lips. "New experience? You mean... Well, the other day on the couch, obviously, but you've never..." he cleared his throat as his cheeks turned pink. "You've never touched yourself?"
Sherlock shrugged and finished wiping his hand on the wall anyway. He arched his brows at John's questions. "No. Do…most people? I was never interested in it or curious to be honest." He shrugged again, wincing this time as the motion tugged at his side where his stitches were. In his moment of fascination, he'd temporarily forgotten about the pain he had been feeling. Now it was back, in full throttle because the effects of the medications had completely worn off.
"Yeah, I think most blokes do." John mirrored Sherlock's shrug but froze right away when he noticed the wince. "Shit. I should have waited," he muttered, twisting slightly to inspect Sherlock's stitches. "You aren't bleeding but you are in pain. More pain medication?" He dropped back on to the bed with a childish grin, pressing the tip of his nose against Sherlock's own. "I can stay up here if you like, keep you company until I have to leave."
"No, not right now. It can wait. I'll hold off until you are ready to leave. The drugs make me sleepy and make my brain foggy. Since we are on the subject, you should take back up John. I'm sure one of Lestrade's people would help you. Donovan maybe or God forbid Anderson." Sherlock smirked ever so slightly, but the look in his eyes held an intensity to them, showing the depth of the worry he was feeling.
After a moment of hesitation John spoke, sighing a bit. "I have talked to Donovan. Or, well, Mycroft has." He paused and gently kissed Sherlock. "I'll be fine. Please trust me. I'm doing this for Lestrade, for Mycroft." He met Sherlock's lips again in an attempt to calm him down. "I've done this before. I've been in so much more danger and guess what? I'm right here. I can do this." He ran a hand up Sherlock's stomach lightly. "Let's talk about something else. Tell me a story about yourself before we met." A smirk took over John's lips as he met Sherlock's gaze.
Sherlock sighed. He didn't want to change the subject. "John, damn it. You wanted me to work with Lestrade, when you were in the hospital. Don't make me climb out the window and after you." He was only half joking with the last part, the same worried look in his eyes.
"Alright. Fine." John nodded a bit and licked his lips. "I'll have Donovan going with me. There will be two of us." He smiled softly before pursing his lips. "D'you mind if I sleep before hand?" He kept his voice and face void of emotion as he asked the question. He knew Sherlock would be able to deduce that he was nervous so he hid his face in Sherlock's chest, inhaling deeply and frowning when all he smelt was the hospital. He laced their fingers together and squeezed, closing his eyes to take the moment in.
Sherlock nodded in response to John finally agreeing and then leaned his head against John's, an arm wrapping around the former army doctor to draw him closer into the snuggle. He shifted a bit, so his side wouldn't be in so much pain. It didn't really work; if anything it just got more agitated but he ignored it.
John placed a kiss against Sherlock's chest and sighed. "Want me to move? I think you might be more comfortable." His words slur together as sleep overran his voice. "Help you sleep," the sentence ended in a yawn. He opened his eyes and tiredly glanced at Sherlock. "You need to get better."
"No, I'm fine. I can sleep after you leave, but you should sleep if you are tired. You have a rescue mission to mount soon." Sherlock replied with a gentle hug, because really it was all he could muster at this point. The poison must have really done a number on his body because he was still feeling weak as a kitten.
John shifted his body slightly with the hug before nodding. "I love you." He placed another kiss on Sherlock's chest. "I love you so much. I never thought I would but it happened. It just... happened. And I'm so thankful for it because after everything you are exactly what I needed." He pressed his back against Sherlock's arms, arched his body, and met Sherlock's lips. He studied his face for a moment before relaxing and closing his eyes, falling asleep almost instantly.
Sherlock couldn't suppress the small smile that formed on his lips at John's words. Then why was there was this small part of him that doubted it? Ugh. He had forgiven John right? Why couldn't he get over this? He really didn't feel like analyzing his feelings right now, so he opted to analyze his body to preoccupy his mind. He lifted his gown and cocked an eyebrow at the long line down his chest. Apparently they had cracked open his chest. Now John can't complain about having a scarred body he thought bemusedly. There was also a small incision on his side. Well, John had said he'd had two surgeries. Strangely, the smaller cut bothered him more than the one that cut all the way down to his belly button and up to his sternum. Maybe because he tugged at the stitches all the time. Then there was the hole in his shoulder from being shot. He would certainly be bloody useless for awhile. The thought irked him.
John shifted slightly in his sleep, his eyebrows pulling together before he relaxed again. He muttered something and rolled over. The bed creaked as he pressed his back against Sherlock's chest. He restlessly shifted again. "Sherlo-" he buried his head in the pillow beneath him and moaned softly, pressing back against Sherlock.
Well, now he felt the pain in his chest as John pressed into it. However, Sherlock didn't shift and just endured it. He brought a hand to rest on the other man's head and ran his fingers through his hair lightly, hoping to help John sleep soundly.
John opened his eyes at the soft touch and took a deep breath. "You okay?" He moved away from Sherlock's chest slightly. "Can't sleep. Nervous." He yawned and lifted his head in Sherlock's touch. He turned his head and kissed Sherlock's palm with a weak smile. "Love you," he whispered and glanced at him from the corner of his eye.
"Yep, fine. Just a little sore. Nothing to worry about." It was a lie. The pain was getting increasingly worse, everywhere. Drugs were very tempting but instead Sherlock brought a slight smirk to his face to hide the discomfort he was feeling. "Nervous? Aren't you supposed to be a military man with nerves of steel?"
John chuckled and shifted on the bed to face Sherlock. "Always get nervous before big things like this, even in Afghanistan. Helps me stay focused." He grabbed Sherlock's hand and looked at their shared hands with curiosity as he laced their fingers together. "Do you love me?" He met Sherlock's gaze seriously. Sherlock hadn't returned the endearment at all and John had noticed.
It wasn't often that Sherlock Holmes was caught flat-footed but John's question most certainly did. Of course he did! How could John even question that after everything that had happened in just a few short days? It didn't even occur to him not saying it back, might be construed as such. Sherlock matched John's gaze, and squeezed their hands together. After a moment of stunned silence, he finally spoke. "Doctor John Hamish Watson, of course I love you."
John laughed at the full use of his name, his eyes lighting up. "My middle name is ridiculous," he whispered. "D'you even have a middle name? I mean, you and your brother have unique names but..." He shrugged as he trailed off and gave Sherlock a gentle kiss, nipping at his bottom lip. He closed his eyes and smiled. "Don't want to leave."
"No. I don't think anyone in our family does, although it isn't something I have done any real research in either." Sherlock returned the kiss. "You don't have to…" He said quietly, not caring that it was a selfish request.
"Yes I do. Lestrade needs us, he's been gone for a while now." John closed his eyes when they suddenly became too heavy to open. "I wouldn't want to be in his position so I want to get him out of it. He would do the same for either if us." He blindly met Sherlock's lips in a slow kiss, his tongue teasingly running across Sherlock's teeth.
Sherlock's eyes closed as well, but it was due to how nice the kiss felt upon his lips. He opened his mouth, so their tongues could intertwine together. Despite the pain and discomfort it caused, he leaned into John. The I-V tugged at his arm as well, when he put his arm around the other man trying to draw him closer still.
John shifted easily to straddle Sherlock's hips, gently moving his hand so the I-V wouldn't tug at his skin. His tongue tangled with Sherlock's and then ran across the top of his mouth before he pulled away from the kiss. "You are amazing," he whispered as he sucked against Sherlock's neck with a sense of urgency. This could be the last time they could be together and John wanted to make sure that Sherlock knew he loved him, that he thought Sherlock was perfect. He didn't voice his worries as he playfully pinned Sherlock's wrists to the bed, careful to keep any pressure off of Sherlock's chest.
Sherlock smirked up at John, "Looks like you've got me right where you want me. Whatever will I do? Or more accurately, whatever will you do? It would appear I am completely at your mercy my dear doctor."
"Hush," John growled, glancing at the window in the room to make sure the blinds were down. His eyes glanced up at Sherlock before he released Sherlock's wrists and slid back to rest against Sherlock's shins. "Gotta be quiet," he whispered as he lifted Sherlock's hospital gown and quickly grabbed his penis, giving it a few strong strokes.
Sherlock was about to reply with a snarky retort but it was quite quickly forgotten from John's touch. His eyes closed, as he whimpered, his lower torso bucking reflexively. Pain mixed with pleasure, as his movements agitated the areas he had just had surgery on. He concentrated on keeping his breathing even, so his heart rate wouldn't go up and cause the heart monitor he was hooked up to go off. Personally, he didn't care if anyone else knew what was going on or not but John was a little more sensitive to that kind so he made the effort anyway.
John smirked and glanced at Sherlock, pulling his hand away with a cocky laugh. He pulled his dog tags over his head so they wouldn't get in his way, tossing them on Sherlock's stomach, and lowering himself to place several kisses on Sherlock's hip bone. Both of his hands gripped Sherlock's waist as he swiftly took his cock into his mouth, tongue on the underside as he moved down slowly and hallowed out his cheeks.
Any control Sherlock managed to have, was lost as soon as John's mouth enveloped his penis. His eyes opened in pleasant surprise as a throaty moan passed from his lips. His hands were still above his head, fingers closing into his palms tightly. His body squirmed, from the new over whelming sensation. He was no longer able to keep up his controlled breathing and every intake and outtake was quick and breathy. He suddenly cared very much so if they get interrupted because he didn't want this amazing feeling to be halted. One hand dropped to the edge of the bed and he yanked out the plug of the heart monitor before it can go off.
John watched Sherlock's hand and chuckled around his penis, lifting his eyes to meet Sherlock's gaze. He slowly lifted his mouth before plunging back down again, humming softly as he did so. He lifted a hand to grab Sherlock's and moved it to rest on the back of his head. There was a pause before he sucked gently and bobbed his head several times.
Sherlock's breathing became more erratic, the pain to pleasure ratio shifting in favor of pleasure rather easily. It didn't take long for his cock to become hard. He didn't last long either, his body tensing momentarily before he came and then went limp with a loud moan of pleasure. He continued to breathe deeply, almost panting. His upper body began to ache, with every rapid rise and fall of his chest. "Th-that…" he trailed off, unable to form any real coherent thought right now.
John swallowed easily, pulling away slowly and finally releasing Sherlock's penis with a pop of his lips. He ran the back of his hand across his mouth and grinned at Sherlock. After a long pause he pulled Sherlock's hospital gown back down. "Please breathe." He laughed nervously with a blush across his cheeks. "That was certainly unexpected, I'm sorry." He let his hand brush across Sherlock's hip softly.
After a few moments Sherlock's breathing began to return to normal. "Good God man, don't apologize. That…fuck…" he rarely swore, not because he considered it crass but he preferred to use more intellectual words, "...I don't know what that was…" He trailed off yet again, as a thought occurred. "Wait…did you just swallow that?" His eyes closed from the light touch of John's hand, his leg twitching slightly.
John watched Sherlock happily, biting his bottom lip before laughing. "Yes, I did swallow." He licked his lips and shrugged. "Not a big deal, less of a mess." He blew air from his nose and shifted against Sherlock's thighs. This was perfect and if John never made it back then at least he made Sherlock happy and gave him new experiences. "Why do you ask?"
Sherlock opened his eyes again, to look down John. "Just...seems strange is all… Did it taste good? Did it go down easy?" He was a curious man by nature, and he liked to learn new things. It didn't occur to him that the questions might be awkward or inappropriate. He made a living off of collecting and analyzing data, so to him that's all he was doing now.
John twisted his mouth to the side. "Uhm, I've never really thought about it. It doesn't taste bad, really and I didn't have any trouble with you." He wanted to say that he had practice while he was overseas but kept his mouth shut. The last thing he needed was Sherlock getting jealous after his first blow job. "I would kiss you right now but I don't want to gross you out," he laughed as he shifted to lay down next to Sherlock.
Sherlock arched a brow. "Gross me out? Why would that be gross?" He thought on that a moment. "Is that one of those social things that most people frown on?" He scratched at his chin absently. He had forgotten how scruffy he had gotten and it was worse than when he had last checked the day they had gone to the crime scene. He snuggled closer to John as he remarked, "I can't wait to shave. This facial hair isn't working for me."
"Not really but," he cut himself off and met Sherlock's lips, prying them apart with practiced ease. He pulled away and licked his lips. "See, just tastes a bit different." He moved a hand to run across Sherlock's stubble. "Mmm, I don't mind it. Looks a bit different and the moment you can get it off you should but for now I don't mind." He ran his hand down to Sherlock's shoulder. "But you liked that? The blow job?"
Sherlock took in the taste. It was a bit salty but other than that it didn't seem to have any notable flavor. "I hate it." He replied with a slight pout about his facial hair. The pout was quickly replaced with a smirk. "Yeah, it was fantastic. Completely different experience than with the hand, although I'd say it was better. Not sure words could adequately explain the sensation it provided."
"Only you would put it into that much detail," John laughed but it was immediately cut short when the door to the room opened and Mycroft entered.
"The base is relatively clear and we're fairly sure we found the building where the Inspector is being held." He held out a Manila folder. John slowly pulled himself away from Sherlock to stand on the ground. He flipped through the given information and nodded. "We also brought you a few things," Mycroft said as he tossed a black duffle bag into John's arms.
John unzipped the duffle bag as he set it on the ground, not caring about Mycroft's presence as he pulled his jeans off and slipped on a pair of new ones, followed by a white shirt. He effortlessly slipped a pistol from the bag to stay between his back and jeans before grabbing the pair of comfortable shoes and slipping them on. "I'm going in with Donovan then?" Mycroft nodded and then left, sensing John's unrest. The soldier turned toward Sherlock hesitantly, taking a shaky breath. "Keep my tags," he motioned his head toward the silver chain tangled in between the blankets.
Sherlock was about to reply when his older brother came in. He hated that he would have to stay here in the hospital. He should be there with John, not Donovan. He glanced down at the dog tags. He didn't want to keep them, but he picked them up anyway. He was about to speak again, but was once more interrupted.
Donovan strolled in. "Hey Freak. John." She nodded to each in turn. "Just so you know, I'm not doing this for either of you. I'm doing this for Lestrade. He's a good man and you guys got him wrapped up in your stupid…" she paused for the right word, "…games. I'll be outside when you are ready." She left just as quickly as she had come in.
"Have fun working with her." Sherlock remarked with a faint smirk. At least John wouldn't be going in alone and even if he pretended otherwise she was a capable and competent person. They just had never gotten along.
John laughed nervously. It was forced, like his smile, and he didn't know what else to do. "I'll try," he muttered as he hesitantly met Sherlock's eyes. "I'll do my best, I mean. For you and Lestrade." After a shaky breath he moved forward, meeting Sherlock's lips roughly. It didn't take long for him to tangle a hand in Sherlock's hair, taking control the best he could in his state. "I love you," he whispered against Sherlock's lips, keeping his eyes closed. "Please don't forget that."
Sherlock returned the kiss but broke it after a moment, his light colored eyes fixated on the man in front of him. He wanted to tell John he could still back out, but worrying wouldn't help here. "You'll do fine. Just be careful. Be wary of possible traps or bombs. Bombs rigged to traps. That kind of thing. If you don't rush things, you should be fine. You are a capable solider and you have Donovan." He offered a small smile of reassurance. John didn't really need a pep talk, he figured. Really, it'd been for his own benefit he supposed. "I love you too, John. Stay safe. Just be careful."
"Anything for you." John placed a quick kiss on Sherlock's lips again before the door opened and Mycroft entered the room. The look on his face was bored but John didn't notice, kept his head down as he brushed past the older Holmes brother to get into the hall. If he stayed any longer he would back out and stay in the hospital. He kept his head low while he stood in the hall, taking calm and measured breaths and trying to get himself focused.
"He'll be fine," Mycroft muttered as he glanced at Sherlock. "We both know that."
Sherlock merely nodded at Mycroft. He shifted in the bed, so he would be a little more comfortable and did his best to continue to ignore the pain in his upper body. He stared at John's dog tags for a moment before slipping them over his head so they could hang around his neck. With any luck a nurse or someone would be in to administer a drug dose, not because he cared about the pain but because he was hoping it would induce sleep so he wouldn't have to think about anything. It wasn't often that Sherlock Holmes didn't want to think.
The nurse moved into the room, glancing sympathetically at Sherlock before putting more pain medication into his I-V. "You'll be awake by the time he gets back," she whispered before leaving the room.