Greetings all! Happy Friday! I am ill at the moment, but I still wanted to give you guys this chapter before I curled up on the couch and wrapped myself up in a blanket. I'm already feeling a lot better than I was yesterday, but my nose is still stuffed up, but it's getting better.
InvisibleBlade: Sherlock
Me: John, Mycroft, Greg
Warnings for this chapter: smut (finally!), blow jobs, men going at it, emotions all over the place, mentions of physical violence, Sherlock and John have a bit of a row, biting, bloodplay
Trigger warnings: blood
Chapter 44 – Things Finally Begin to Look Up
The first week home had been a little tense. Neither of them wanted to speak about what had happened, and every lingering glance seemed to make it worse. Things evened out eventually, but they still had yet to talk about what John had come to call 'The Incident.' Sherlock had kept to his word about growing out his facial hair too. He now had a nice, thin beard growing. John didn't like it at first, stating that he looked so different with hair on his face. But he grew accustomed to it and was soon used to it, even going so far as to pet it while Sherlock slept.
October came and went. They celebrated Halloween in a tense and apprehensive silence. Sherlock had put on his bee bobble headband in an attempt to lighten the mood, and John had laughed at how ridiculously adorable he'd looked. They had shared a brief kiss, but that was it. They shared what was left of the candy after the kids had gone through it and had gone to bed.
Now it was the third day of November and John was at his wits end. Work was stressing him out like nothing else. Excessively stupid parents were dragging their kids in to see about stomach pains and tooth aches. It took all his strength to not scream, 'You go to the dentist for tooth aches you ignorant arsehole! Not the bloody doctor!' at each and every one of them. After a while, Sarah dismissed him, claiming she could handle the rest of his patients as he looked about ready to blow a blood vessel. John couldn't get out of there fast enough.
He threw the door open to 221B with a bang and stalked up the stairs, throwing his coat and shoes onto the floor as soon as he crossed the threshold. He collapsed onto his chair with an exasperated huff and rubbed his face with both hands, completely and utterly done with the stupidity of humanity.
Sherlock glanced up at John, an eyebrow twitching upwards in both amusement and curiosity. He studied the good doctor carefully and quickly deduced that he was in a foul mood due to work. His whole body looked riddled with tension. Sherlock hadn't seen him looking this tense since... 'the incident' and all that had followed.
In fact, he and John had both been in rather light hearted moods as of late. Their relationship had started building itself back up brick by brick and Sherlock felt happy again despite the fact that there were still threats in the outside world just waiting to close in on them. They had each other and for now that's all that really mattered.
The consulting detective uncurled himself from his position on the sofa and gently padded over to his grumpy little hedgehog.
'Long day at work,' he stated, nuzzling John's crotch. 'I could make you feel better, you know?' he said boldly. John groaned in agreement about work, tensing in apprehension as Sherlock nuzzled at the crotch of his jeans.
'Idiotic parents taking their kids to the doctor for a tooth ache,' he grumbled. He looked down at Sherlock and licked his lips. 'You sure you want to? Because I wouldn't mind just taking a shower to relax.'
Sherlock clamped his lips over John's crotch and hummed. He wanted to. He wanted to so badly. He loved John and he wanted to be the one to bring him into lighter spirits. John groaned and gripped the arms of the chair tightly, his hips canting toward Sherlock's mouth slightly.
'Ok. Ok,' he groaned out when he felt Sherlock's tongue press against the seam of his jeans. Sherlock sucked John's erection through his trousers and moaned as he felt it quiver between his full lips. John wouldn't last long. That much was clear. John whimpered and thrust harder, his entire body quivering with arousal and need.
Sherlock unclamped his mouth from John's erection and grinned wickedly. He pulled down John's trousers and laughed loudly. 'I'm going to enjoy this.'
'Oh, god!' John cried out as Sherlock sucked his member into his mouth. His mouth was hot and deliciously wet, and it felt bloody fantastic. Sherlock bobbed his head up and down as fast as he could, ensuring that his newly grown facial hair was leaving bright red marks on his lover's thighs.
'Gah! Fuck!' John thrust deeper into Sherlock's mouth, pressing his thighs closer to his face so Sherlock's scruff would leave more marks. He never thought it would feel good to receive whisker burns. How wrong he was.
Sherlock swirled his tongue around John's cock, his eyes dancing with humour. He rubbed his beard harder against his lover's skin and chuckled.
'Ugh! Faster!' John demanded. 'Please,' he added as a second thought. Sherlock went as fast as he could, sucking, swirling and rubbing, determined to make John cum. John tightened his thighs around Sherlock's face, drastically close to falling over the edge.
'Oh fuck. Gonna cum,' he grunted in warning. Sherlock sucked in his cheeks harder and closed his eyes in ecstasy, groaning as John's cum began to splash down his throat. John groaned and pulsed down Sherlock's throat, a hand reaching out and grasping his hair tightly. He collapsed against his chair as his orgasm subsided, panting but with a goofy grin on his face.
'Wow,' he breathed out. 'Just... Wow.'
Sherlock pulled John's trousers back up and clambered onto his lap. 'Wow indeed.' He rubbed his beard against John's chin. John moved his head to capture Sherlock's lips, pulling his hips down to rub against his lover's own erection.
Sherlock shifted and moaned, kissing John heavily. 'I love you so much.'
'I love you too, Sherlock,' John panted, thrusting his tongue into Sherlock's mouth. 'So bloody much.'
Sherlock whined needily and rubbed his erection over John's crotch. John reached down and unzipped Sherlock's trousers, pulling him out of his pants and stroking slowly.
'You're absolutely beautiful,' he moaned, pumping faster, squeezing tighter. 'Gorgeous. Sexy. And god, that beard. I never thought it could be so erotic.'
Sherlock moaned and threw his head back. 'Told you you'd like having whisker burns, dear,' he gasped out, thrusting himself into John's hand.
'Mmm. I most certainly do.' He squeezed harder, pumped faster, wanting to drive Sherlock over the edge. 'I may just grow my facial hair out again to give you some whisker burns in return.'
Sherlock's mouth dropped wide open and he panted happily like a dog, tongue sticking out of his lips. 'Please do – oh – gah!' He moved faster in John's hand. 'Not long now.'
John slowed down slightly, his other hand moving down to massage Sherlock's bollocks.
'Cum for me, love,' he purred down Sherlock's ear. 'Cum all over me and then I want you to lick me clean.'
Sherlock came with a cry, his cum spilling out all over John. He fell forwards with a wet smack and rubbed his whiskers against John's cheek whilst purring like the cat that got the cream.
'So beautiful,' John smiled, settling back in the chair. He rubbed his cheek against Sherlock's, scratching them harder. 'Thank you. I definitely feel a lot less tense.'
Sherlock laughed loudly. 'My cunning plan worked.' He slithered down John's body and began lapping up his cum.
'Mmm. It certainly did,' John hummed. He watched Sherlock lap up his own cum and groaned. 'How do you taste?'
'It's hard to describe.' Sherlock lapped up every little drop. 'So you might as well taste me yourself.' He crawled back up John and kissed him tenderly. John moaned and shoved his tongue inside Sherlock's mouth, tasting and taking.
'My god, you're absolutely delicious,' he panted, breaking away to catch his breath. 'I missed it.' He claimed Sherlock's mouth again before he could say anything, sliding his tongue against his lover's as he tasted him again. Sherlock's tongue fought with John's for dominance and he whimpered. This was so good. After all that had happened the kiss was like heaven.
John wrapped his hands in Sherlock's hair and tugged, deepening their kiss and shoving his tongue down Sherlock's throat. He growled and thrust his hips against Sherlock's, his cock coming out to play again.
'Hello,' Sherlock mumbled against John's lips, his own cock perking up again.
'Mmm. Hello indeed. Whatever shall we do about this predicament?'
'Hmm. Remember that one time I told you exactly how to wank? We could do that. If I remember correctly that sent you a little haywire.'
'Mmm. Sounds like an excellent idea,' John purred. 'Shall we move to the bedroom?'
'Mmm. Let's.' Sherlock scratched John's cheek one more time with his beard before scooping him up and carrying him to their bed.
'I want you to undress me,' John said huskily, working on Sherlock's shirt buttons. 'And I want you to follow every one of your orders as well. So you'll be teasing yourself as well as me.'
Sherlock slowly and seductively began to take John's clothes from him. 'You're not going to last long, dear,' he said huskily.
'Of course I'm not. Especially with you giving the orders.' He stripped Sherlock's shirt from him and began to work on his trousers, palming him through his pants. Sherlock tutted and patted John's hand away before chucking his lover's clothes to the floor.
'We have to set some rules,' he said, shrugging off his trousers and then rolling off of John. 'We're not allowed to touch each other, only ourselves, and only when the other says it's ok and tells you a pace for you to go at.'
'So we get to direct each other?' John asked, staring hungrily at Sherlock's naked form.
'Exactly,' Sherlock grinned like the mad man he was. 'Bonus points for dirty talk.'
'Mmm. Prepare for some filthy demands then.' John slid up the mattress and got comfortable, his cock standing erect and proud, waving at Sherlock. John patted the spot beside him and grinned.
'Come. Make yourself comfortable. Then I'm going to begin teasing you until your cock is red and thick and full and you're begging me to let you cum.'
'Are you now dear?' Sherlock deadpanned, crawling up the bed. 'Just so long as Little John is prepared for such a fate.'
'Or I could make it as quick as possible while still being quite satisfying,' John shrugged. 'I haven't decided which yet.'
'Ah, I see. I threaten your cock and you back down from the offer of teasing,' Sherlock smirked.
'When you're going to be instructing me how to wank then yeah, I'll back out of something like that. Because I want to cum just by listening to your voice. So very, very badly.' He quickly turned and kissed Sherlock thoroughly, both their pricks twitching in interest as he did. When he pulled away they were both red in the face and quite breathless.
'Just to start things off right,' John said, settling back against the bed. 'Now, shall we begin?'
'We shall.' Sherlock's whole body hummed. 'But I have other plans on how I can make you cum. Firstly, I want you to suck your fingers into your mouth. Swirl your tongue around them. Imagine my member pulsing in your mouth.'
John did just that, sucking three of his fingers into his mouth and coating them liberally with saliva. He imagined they were Sherlock's cock, warm and pulsing in his mouth. He moaned and sucked them in further, stopping when he gagged slightly when they hit the back of his throat and tickled his uvula.
He coughed and took them out of his mouth, spluttering a 'now what?' as he caught his breath.
Sherlock chuckled darkly. 'I want you to start fingering yourself. You're going to prepare your arse for a cock that will never fill it.'
'I, um... I've actually tried that and I didn't like it,' John admitted. 'It's just not as pleasurable for me unless you're doing it. I don't seem to enjoy it otherwise.'
Sherlock raised his eyebrows. 'Don't you trust me to make you feel good? You weren't being instructed by me before, were you? I think I can make you love anything. Just ease into it with one finger to start with.'
John sighed and closed his eyes. If he was going to do this then he didn't want to watch. He circled one of his fingers against his entrance and grimaced. It felt so weird doing it to himself. He gently pushed in and grunted. He squeezed the sheets tightly with his other hand and pushed in farther until he couldn't push in anymore.
'It feels so weird,' he grit out.
'Shhh,' Sherlock hushed him, crawling closer to whisper into John's ear. 'Just relax, my love. I've got you. Start pumping that finger in and out of yourself.'
John shuddered from Sherlock's voice being so close but followed his order, pumping his finger slowly. His grunts slowly changed to small gasps and pants as he eased into it, Sherlock's deep baritone coaxing him on softly.
'Ok. Good. You're doing brilliant, John,' Sherlock praised his lover. 'Now curl that finger and try to find your prostate.'
He found it easily, his medical training coming in handy for something other than runny noses and upset stomachs for once. He groaned and pressed against it again, his cock starting to leak. Fuck that felt good. He did it again and his entire body lurched in pleasure, a soft gasp of Sherlock's name escaping his lips.
Sherlock chuckled against John's ear. 'Add a second finger and stretch yourself nice and wide. My cock's a big bastard.'
'Thick and juicy,' John moaned as he added another finger. He hissed slightly from the burn but he worked his way through it, the discomfort turning to pleasure.
'Add a third, stretch yourself further, and then hit your prostate repeatedly.'
John did and cried out, pumping his fingers furiously and rocking back on them. His cock was leaking profusely now; he could feel the small puddle growing on his abdomen.
'Please,' he gasped out, whimpering. 'Let me touch myself. Please. Let me cum.'
'Not yet,' Sherlock tutted. 'I want you to imagine my thick lips around Little John, my cock both shoved down your throat and up your arse, and god lord can you pump faster John?'
John whimpered and tried to move his fingers faster but his arm and wrist were beginning to get tired. He wanted to cum so badly, wanted his relief.
'Can't,' he mumbled, stopping his arm to let it relax. 'Arm hurts.'
'Do it for me,' Sherlock whispered softly. He gently pushed his hot tongue into John's ear, moving it in and out as motivation.
'Ugh. Fuck.' John turned to face Sherlock and stole another kiss, thrusting his tongue in between his lover's plump lips and licking along them. Sherlock sucked John's tongue into his mouth and reached down to tug playfully on John's beautifully tight balls. John groaned and started moving his fingers again, stroking his prostate gently with each movement.
'Please. Please. Sherlock,' he moaned, pressing himself closer to Sherlock's hand. 'I want you to make me cum. Touch me. Please.'
Sherlock slid down John's body and gently removed his furiously pumping fingers.
'Well done.' He placed his cock between John's butt cheeks and grinned. 'Oh yes,' he moaned, working himself into John as his lover watched in shock.
'Sherlock, what–? Ohhh god,' he moaned as Sherlock began moving. 'I thought we weren't– fuck it. Come here you sexy bastard.' He pulled Sherlock down into another bruising kiss and wrapped his legs around his waist, digging his heels into his bum to keep him close.
Sherlock rocked gently into John. 'To hell with it,' he grit out. 'Wanna sit on me?' he murmured, thrusting a little harder.
'No. Not right now. Just make love to me,' John moaned softly, rocking back on Sherlock's prick.
Sherlock kissed John lightly and began to tenderly move in and out of John, making love as carefully as possible.
'You can go a little faster,' John moaned against Sherlock's lips. 'It's ok.'
'Please, just let me be gentle,' Sherlock whispered back. 'Gonna make love nice and slow to you.'
'OK, baby. Whatever you want.' John kissed him gently, rocking back against him.
The love making was slow and steady and the kisses were feather light, and Sherlock was so beautifully close to his release. Sherlock was taking his sweet time and being incredibly gentle. While John was glad their sex life had returned, his cock was not appreciating the slow and gentle pace at which they were currently making love. It slowly began to go limp, but he didn't want Sherlock to see. He would feel so horrible otherwise.
He could tell Sherlock was close, could sense it in how tense his body was becoming so close to an imminent release. So John decided to play along, fake an orgasm (not for the first time, and probably not the last) to make Sherlock feel better. He rocked a little faster, egging Sherlock on, and panting harshly.
'Come on, love. Cum for me,' he purred down Sherlock's ear, clutching him tight and making his body twitch as if he were already cumming. He squeezed his arse tight around Sherlock's cock and moaned obscenely, hoping to drag him over the edge. Sherlock didn't need much convincing. His lover sounded so delicious when close to the edge. He arched up into the air and gently began to pump cum inside of John, glancing down at John's orgasm face but frowning when for a fraction of a second he didn't see it.
John groaned and threw his head back, squeezing tighter around Sherlock. He looked back at him to watch him cum but found himself staring into Sherlock's bright, sad eyes. Shit.
'You faked your orgasm,' Sherlock whispered, sounding dejected. He pulled himself out of John. 'I didn't make you cum.'
'Sherlock, it's not your fault,' John said, sitting up as Sherlock pulled away. 'My cock's been picky lately, and sometimes it just loses interest. This isn't the first time this has happened. This wasn't your fault. You didn't do this to me.'
'Then why not tell me that instead of faking?' Sherlock asked bitterly.
'It was the only thing I could think of at the time!' John sighed. 'I thought it would be better to fake it than to say my cock had lost interest! I didn't want to hurt your feelings that badly. Or have you think I had lost interest in you completely!'
'Well you were wrong! Don't keep things like that from me!' he snapped, leaping to his feet and grabbing his discarded clothes.
'I'm going out!' he yelled over his shoulder as he made his way to the bathroom to get dressed.
'Sherlock!' John leapt from the bed and followed Sherlock to the bathroom just as the door was slammed shut in his face.
'Sherlock! I'm sorry! I didn't expect us to go that far. I just thought it was gonna be a bit of mutual masturbation! I didn't think you would need to know about my flagging interest. Please! I'm sorry! Don't go!'
Sherlock ignored John's pleas, quickly getting dressed. He flung the door open and glared at the blonde haired man intensely before shoving past him and storming out the flat.
'Sherlock!' John cried after him. 'Sherlock, please!' The door to the flat slammed loudly, reverberating throughout the flat. 'Come back,' he sobbed, collapsing to the floor.
Sherlock stormed out into the night and walked through the streets, his legs never faltering, his mind blank. He groaned as the cold set in and began to sink into his unprotected body. He'd have to go back for his coat.
John sobbed on the floor, not caring that he was naked and cold. He slowly made his way back to bed, curling up in the sheets. He hugged Sherlock's pillow to him as he cried himself to a restless sleep.
Sherlock made the journey back to the flat. He crept inside and grabbed his coat and a scarf too. Glancing over to his and John's bedroom he felt a stab of guilt but that quickly left him. He wasn't the one to fake a bloody orgasm!
He slipped back out of the flat and back into the dark night.
…::-::…
John woke early the next morning. Sherlock was still gone, or maybe he was sleeping on the couch again. John pulled on some fresh clothes and went into the kitchen, turning on the kettle. He needed crisis tea.
Sherlock wasn't in the sitting room. John ventured upstairs to check just on the off chance that he was in John's old room. He wasn't. John was beginning to worry now.
When he went back downstairs the water was ready. He poured himself a nice cup of tea and sat down in his chair, deciding if Sherlock wasn't back by the time he had finished his cuppa then he would call Greg and see if there was something he could do.
…::-::…
Sherlock had set up camp on the other side of London. He was hidden amongst the homeless community. No one asked questions here because everyone was in the same boat. Everyone was running away from something, everyone had reached rock bottom.
What was he running away from?
The guilt, the lies, the pain, life, John.
He sat in a hunched position, hands under his chin, pondering on what to do next.
…::-::…
John took his time finishing his tea. He wanted to give Sherlock the benefit of the doubt, that he hadn't run away and that he would be returning very, very soon.
But he didn't. John waited another hour watching crap telly, hoping Sherlock would walk through the flat door and sit and sulk on the sofa like he always did.
But he didn't. So John finally pulled his mobile out and phoned Greg, telling him Sherlock had walked out in a fit last night and hadn't come home get. Greg, as per standards of missing persons cases, said there was nothing he could do until Sherlock had been gone for forty eight hours. If he didn't return by then he would do everything in his power to get him back safe. John thanked him and hung up, curling in on himself on his chair, sick with worry.
This wasn't Sherlock disappearing while he was on a case. This was so much worse. And different. This was Sherlock walking out because of him. Because he had faked an orgasm so Sherlock wouldn't get his feelings hurt. Fat lot of good that did. And now he was gone, doing god knows what god knows where. He just hoped he was safe and sober.
His gaze flickered to the wall where they hung their coats, hoping Sherlock's newest Bellstaff would provide him some comfort. But it wasn't there. Neither was Sherlock's scarf. John paled. Where had they gone? Sherlock had left without them. Had he come back to get them? Or had someone broken in and taken them? Oh no. Did Moriarty have Sherlock finally? After all this time?
…::-::…
Time ticked by and soon night was beginning to fall once more. Sherlock knew that John would be worried, but he couldn't bring himself to move from the spot he was sat in. He was sifting through his mind palace at a hundred miles per hour. It was just like his cases when he was trying to solve one big puzzle. Why had John faked an orgasm? Why did their sex life have to be so damn complicated all the time? It should be easy, right? They loved each other, they were made for each other, their bodies fit together perfectly. So why had things turned sour?
He shivered, pulling his coat closer to him. The cold nipped at his skin angrily and he could tell from the thick clouds overhead it was going to rain. He still didn't move from the spot he was sat in. His stomach rumbled for food but he paid it no heed. His eyes ached for sleep but he ignored them too. He simply weaved in and out of past memories, trying to bring some light to the situation.
…::-::…
John slept restlessly that night. He was worried about Sherlock, panicked that Moriarty had gotten him and would be coming for him next, swimming in guilt from his fake orgasm and how hurt Sherlock had been.
He wanted to apologise so badly. Wanted to take Sherlock in his arms and just hold him. But Sherlock wasn't there to embrace or apologise to. John only had his pillow, which smelled faintly of his shampoo. The comforting scent lulled him into a false sense of security and he fell fully asleep, no dreams entertaining his mind that night.
…::-::…
When morning came around, Sherlock hadn't come to a conclusion. He decided that perhaps it was about time to get some shut eye if he were to come to any conclusion at all. What was the saying? You should sleep on the situation? Something like that. Closing his eyes, he fell asleep to strange and taunting dreams that didn't make sense.
…::-::…
John woke up the next morning in a cold sweat. He had finally started dreaming, but it wasn't a very nice dream at all. Moriarty had Sherlock's coat and scarf and had been going around committing crimes dressed as the detective. And Sherlock had been hunted down like a mad dog. No. John would not allow that to happen!
He bolted out of bed and got dressed, flagging down a cab to take him to the Yard. He wanted to see Greg face-to-face if he was going to fill out a missing persons report. He would need some comfort from his friend. And maybe some coffee.
…::-::…
Sherlock woke up with a groan. His muscles were cramped from sitting in such an awkward position for so long and he was shivering. It had rained in the night and his coat was soaked, clinging to him like a second skin. It would be some sort of miracle if he didn't get sick and John wouldn't approve at all. He groaned again as he remembered John and the whole situation came flooding back to him. Sleeping on it hadn't helped at all. It had just made the events blurry from the sleep clouding them.
…::-::…
'I've got the forms right here,' Greg said as John entered his office. He looked up and frowned at John's haggard appearance. 'Wow. You look like shit.'
'Thanks for putting it mildly,' John grumbled. He took the forms and filled them out, hoping his doctor's scrawl would be legible. He passed the forms back and sighed, running his hands over his face with an exasperated sigh.
'This time is different, isn't it?' Greg asked as he typed the information into the computer database. 'It's not for a case this time, so why'd he leave?'
'Got into a bit of a personal row,' John groaned. 'I'd rather not elaborate right now if that's alright.'
'No. It's fine. Only talk if you're comfortable.'
'I'm sure Mycroft will get it out of me soon enough. How much does he know?'
'None of it so far. But as soon as I enter this into the database I'm sure he'll know. Probably keeps tabs on Sherlock's name popping up in the media or in police reports.'
'Don't let him punch me this time. He's got a mean swing.' He rubbed his jaw in reminiscence of his precious punches and grimaced.
'I'll do my best, but I'm not making any promises.' John smiled softly and closed his eyes, falling into a worry-filled sleep as he listened to Greg fill out the entry on his computer.
…::-::…
Sherlock wasn't sure how long he was stuck in his mind palace this time, but he knew it was a long time as it was nearing night again. He sighed heavily. Perhaps he should go back to the flat now. The nice, warm flat. He could cuddle up to John and apologise for running off and everything would be fine. Except it really wouldn't be fine. There was still a massive issue that was coming between them and he hadn't solved it yet. So instead he remained huddled in his corner, shivering in the cold.
…::-::…
Mycroft had visited John that afternoon, demanding answers as to why Sherlock had disappeared. John had told him everything, not wanting to get hit again. Mycroft smacked him across the face anyway.
'You're no better than your father!' John had wailed. Mycroft had looked down at the hand that had struck John, the smaller man broken and crying on the floor, and then at his reflection in the sitting room mirror. He had apologised profusely and then disappeared as well.
John didn't feel guilty at all for that one. If Mycroft was going to start beating John every time he did something wrong to Sherlock then he needed to see the truth of his actions. He sobbed into his pillow again that night, fully clothed. He didn't sleep, just cried until he couldn't and the hiccups had started.
'Sherlock!' he wailed into the dark, empty room. 'Sherlock! Please come home! I'm so sorry! I won't ever let it happen again! Please, love, please! Come home! Come home!'
…::-::…
The days ticked by and Sherlock grew more and more miserable. He was tired. He was hungry. He was frozen and had developed a terrible cough. And yet the puzzle to his and John's relationship was still unsolved.
It had been four days and nights so far and he was missing John terribly so, and he knew that meant John was missing him equally as much.
I can't go home now. I have to solve this puzzle.
…::-::…
Mycroft had come back a couple days later, apologising profusely. Said he was taking anger management courses now. Said if he was ever violent toward John again to report him for assault. John nodded, not really taking it all in.
Sherlock had been gone for four days. At this point John would be surprised if he was still alive. Moriarty had yet to contact him in some way, so John firmly believed that he was not behind Sherlock's lengthy disappearance. It was solely his fault for faking his orgasm and sending Sherlock away. Now he could only wait for him to come back. If he ever did.
On the seventh night Sherlock couldn't take it anymore. He left his hiding spot and caught a taxi back to the flat, feeling utterly deflated. He might be able to fit into the homeless community with relative ease but since he and John had become a couple he had steadily become used to the comforts of domestic life. Tea and a nice hot shower were what he was craving right now.
He stumbled into the flat just past midnight and immediately made his way over to the kettle to start a cuppa. He glanced guiltily at his room, knowing full well that he'd worried John terribly so.
John stuttered awake. Something didn't feel right. He sat up and stretched, then closed his eyes and listened. Someone was in the kitchen. Someone was making tea. His mind flashed back to the last time someone had broken into his flat and made tea, and then he started to panic.
Moriarty.
John slowly got out of bed and unlocked his bedside drawer. He pulled out his gun and made sure it was loaded before moving to the bedroom door. He stood and listened for a moment. Moriarty was stirring his tea now, his spoon clinking against the mug every now and again. Only when he'd stopped stirring and had moved to the sitting room did John dare to move.
He exited out the door that lead into the hallway, creeping down it silently, making sure to avoid the squeaky floorboard. He hid behind the wall for a brief moment, checking to see if Moriarty was on the sofa. He wasn't. Which meant he was in Sherlock's chair. Again. John growled and leapt forward, gun at the ready, and pointed it at the intruder.
'Get out of my flat,' he spat, shutting the safety off and pointing the gun at Moriarty's chest. When he looked up he didn't see Moriarty, a burglar, or even a homeless person in search of a free meal and a warm cuppa. No. What he saw was a very dirty, tired, and malnourished Sherlock sitting in his chair nursing a warm mug of tea, staring up at John with eyes so dull John didn't believe he was real.
'Sherlock?' he asked softly, slowly lowering his gun but holding it still just in case.
Sherlock stared at John with a blank expression, paying no notice to the fact he'd almost shot him. He took a long sip of his tea and exhaled deeply before finally acknowledging the befuddled looking man.
'Hello,' he said out of habit more than politeness.
John clicked the safety back on and slowly made his way over to Sherlock. He sat his gun on his chair and knelt down in front of his love, studying him.
'A week of your disappearing without a trace, and all I get is a simple hello?'
'Hello, how have you been? Better?' Sherlock replied sarcastically, sighing tiredly.
'Not even in the slightest.' John stood and took Sherlock's face in his hands, gently turning it this way and that in what little light he had. He began prodding him, checking for injuries, sighing with relief when he found none.
'Other than a sore throat, you don't appear to be hurt,' he stated, kneeling down in front of Sherlock again. 'What were you doing for the past week? Just sitting in one spot, unmoving and thinking?'
'Bingo,' Sherlock said bluntly, stretching out his aching muscles and arching in his chair till his back clicked. 'Not something I would recommend. Terribly bad for spines.'
'What were you thinking about?' John asked softly.
'Us.' Sherlock gave another blunt answer and sipped at his tea, moaning almost in pleasure as it soothed his throat.
'About what I did?' John looked at the floor, studying Sherlock's shoes.
Sherlock shrugged. 'It doesn't matter, John. I was only gone a week for goodness sake. I am a grown man. Why are you so curious about my thoughts?'
'Because you're you. You have to analyse everything. I was just curious.' He stood slowly, his knees creaking from kneeling on the hardwood floor. 'I'm sorry about what I did, I really am. I... I hope you can forgive me.' He grabbed his gun from his chair and returned to their room. He locked it away and crawled back into bed, curling in on himself and willing himself not to cry.
Sherlock sighed heavily and all but slammed his cup of tea down on the coffee table, feeling frustrated at himself. He stood to his feet and crept into their bedroom. A shower could wait. Time to snuggle his John now. He slid underneath the covers and wrapped his aching body around his lover's.
'I forgive you.'
'I still don't know why I did it,' John mumbled, shifting as Sherlock's body pressed up against him. 'If you're going to cuddle me would you at least get undressed? Your clothes smell like the Underground.'
'I'm so tired,' Sherlock complained, shifting closer to John. 'Let me sleep.'
'Hmph. Then I'll undress you.' John turned over, splaying Sherlock on his back, and began unbuttoning his coat and shirt. Sherlock groaned sleepily and ran a finger under John's left eye, tracing a dark purple bag.
'Tired too?'
'Haven't slept in three days,' John stated bluntly as he began to work on Sherlock's trousers and shoes.
'Because of me?' Sherlock sighed sadly.
'Yes. Because I thought Moriarty had you. Or you were already dead.' He chucked Sherlock's clothes to the floor and turned back over, giving Sherlock the option to cuddle him again if he wanted.
'I'm sorry.' Sherlock cautiously wrapped John in a hug. 'Just needed an escape for a little while.'
'You couldn't have called me to tell me you were alive at least?' John mumbled, clasping Sherlock's hand tightly. 'I filled out a missing persons report. And Mycroft came to visit – well, I say visit. He actually came by to yell at me and smack me about.'
'You would have forced me to come home,' Sherlock grumbled. 'And I swear, the next time I see my brother I shall smack him one.'
'Of course I would have made you come home. And you don't have to worry about your brother. I... said something that opened his eyes and now he's taking anger management courses.'
'What did you say to him?' Sherlock asked curiously.
'That he was no better than your father,' John swallowed thickly.
Sherlock's whole body stiffened and he rolled away from John. 'You told him he was like our father?' he asked coldly, hardly believing his ears.
'He is, Sherlock!' John protested, curling in on himself again, refusing to look at Sherlock. 'He would always punch and ask questions later! He was always looking for a reason to hit me after last December. I'm afraid of him now. I become a frightened little child in his presence, just waiting for him to find a reason to hit me. So, yes, I called him out on it in the worst way possible. But he's now taking courses to help him control his urges and his anger toward me.' John stiffened, almost waiting for a strike from Sherlock.
'Bullshit! You're a grown man, John!' Sherlock raised his voice angrily. 'He had to cope with both his own abuse from Father and watching his kid brother getting almost beaten to death by him!'
Sherlock was seething, a surge of protectiveness for his brother rising in his chest.
'And then he had to witness my self destruction after... after you raped me! You beat me up good and proper! Have you any idea of what that must have done to him? How scared he was? How he was terrified that I was going through the same hell as I did when I was a child?! You're the one who needs help! Not Mycroft!'
'Then send me away!' John cried. 'You obviously don't want me here! All I do is cause you pain! Just send me away!'
'Shut the hell up! You have no idea what I want! Just–' Sherlock growled and grabbed John, dragging him from the bed. 'Just bloody apologise to my brother, ok?' he asked, his voice a little softer. 'Now.'
John screamed and fought his way from Sherlock's grasp. 'No! No! Don't! Please!' he sobbed. 'Don't hurt me!'
Sherlock let go and took a step back. 'So you think I'm like my father too?' he questioned. 'I just want you to apologise to my brother. I wasn't going to hurt you.'
'I'm not scared of you,' John sniffled. 'I'm scared of your brother. Scared of him hurting me. Don't want him to hurt me.'
'Then give him no reason to,' Sherlock linked his hand with John's. 'My brother is not a bad man. He just wants to protect me.'
'By beating me?' John sniffled. 'How is that protecting you?'
'I suppose in those moments he sees all the times he didn't stand up to our father when he hurt me.'
'I don't want to talk to him right now,' John said softly, wiping his eyes clear of his tears. 'I just want to sleep. With you. Without arguing. Is that even possible anymore? Can we even have a conversation without one of us shouting or leaving?'
'Please,' Sherlock begged. 'Then we can sleep and just cuddle all day tomorrow. And I promise I won't leave. We can shower together too. Sound good?'
'Ok,' John sniffled softly. 'Bring me a phone or something. I'm not going out at this hour.'
Sherlock nodded and fetched his mobile. 'Here.' He handed it to John.
'What am I supposed to say?' he asked softly, staring down at the phone. 'What if he doesn't want to hear me apologise?'
'You tell him – tell him that I'm ok.'
'And then what?'
'That we'll see him tomorrow for dinner.'
John groaned. 'I thought we were gonna cuddle all day tomorrow? I'm not sure I want to have your brother over for dinner.'
'Shh,' Sherlock hushed John. 'We shall hug all day but I was rather hoping to have a proper dinner. And I know you need some food in you too. I bet I could guilt trip my brother into buying us a free meal.'
'Good. Because I don't want cook for anyone right now.'
'I don't blame you,' Sherlock sighed.
John looked down at the phone and scrolled down until he found Mycroft's name and number. He swallowed thickly and hit TALK and held the phone to his ear. He slid closer to Sherlock until he was enveloped in his arms. He was trembling slightly, from nerves and from being on the cold floor. He desperately wanted to hang up and go to bed. Or that Mycroft didn't answer and ignored his call.
'John?' Shit.
'Hey, Mycroft. Sorry about calling so late, but... Sherlock's back. And he's safe.'
'My brother has returned?! How long ago did–'
'Only a few minutes ago. Look, he wants me to apologise to you for what I said. Will you listen to me?'
'What? No! I want to talk to him!'
'He wants to talk to you,' John said softly, passing the phone over to Sherlock.
Sherlock groaned, knowing that he was in for an ear full.
'Mycroft, will you please just listen to John? He's sorry for what he said.'
'I don't care about that right now! I want to know where the hell you went! I'm coming over.'
'No, you're really not coming over. I'm tired and dirty and hungry. We'll catch up tomorrow at dinner time. Dinner's on you since I think you owe John an apology too.'
'What?! How do I owe him an apology? He's the one who said I was like Father! Did he tell you that?'
'Yes. That's what I told him to apologise for. You're nothing like father, Mycroft. But you did hurt him and I'm not very happy about that.'
Mycroft sighed loudly into his phone. 'Fine. I'll bring dinner. I'll be there at six. I want you two to be dressed properly.'
'So, no bee pants then?'
'Definitely no bee pants!'
'TARDIS pants? Red pants? Dalek pants? Pirate pants?'
'Just normal pants! My god! Don't dress like a child! Dress like an adult!'
'Then stop treating me like one,' Sherlock huffed.
Mycroft huffed and mumbled a 'see you tomorrow' before he hung up.
Sherlock chuckled and grinned at John. 'I think I pissed him off.'
'Good,' John half smiled. 'Help me up to bed?'
Sherlock placed an arm around John's waist. 'Have I ever shown you my pirate pants?' he asked as he levered his lover onto the bed.
'You have pirate pants?' John quirked an eyebrow, a smile threatening to brighten his sullen features.
'Yup. Ooh that reminds me!'
Sherlock began tapping a text out to his brother.
Bring my sword over tomorrow! I want to go all pirate on John's ass. –SH
Pirate how? You're not going to swashbuckle him or whatever it is pirates do, are you? –MH
I don't think you want to know the details. –SH
Unless you want to hear about John being quite the screamer. –SH
Excuse me while I burn my eyeballs to rid that image from my brain. –MH
Go to sleep. I'll see you tomorrow. –MH
Arr meharty. Be prepared to walk the plank. –SH
Shut up and go to sleep. –MH
Very well. Goodnight brother. Don't let Gregory bite. –SH
He doesn't bite me. I bite him. –MH
'Sherlock? What are you giggling about?' John asked, pulling his phone down to look at his lover.
'Uh, nothing.' Sherlock snorted and bit back more laughter. 'Now let me send one more text.'
'Hurry up. I want to snuggle you. And maybe kiss you until we fall asleep.'
'Sounds like a plan.' Sherlock grinned and typed out the text.
Shame. You wouldn't believe how good it feels to be bitten. –SH
We tried it once. I didn't like it. Now go be with your Jonathan. –MH
Sherlock giggled. 'Oh god.' He wiped his eyes and placed his phone to one side.
'What is so funny?' John giggled softly.
'My brother doesn't like to be bitten it would seem.'
'Not sure I needed to know that,' John smirked. 'Now get your arse over here and snuggle with me.'
Sherlock practically jumped onto John. 'Told him I like to be bitten. Bite me.'
John hummed and sunk his teeth into Sherlock's neck.
'Shit,' Sherlock moaned. 'Harder!'
John growled and bit down until he tasted blood.
'Harder!' Sherlock roared. 'More!'
'I don't want to rip a chunk of flesh out of you like you did me that one time,' John said softly. He licked the wound with his tongue.
'John, this is the most active our physical relationship has been in a while. If I tell you to bite harder then you bite harder.'
John groaned but sunk his teeth into the mark on Sherlock's neck again anyway.
'Yes! That's it! Harder! Bite me harder! Deeper!'
John bit down until he felt the blood trickling into his mouth at a steady rate.
Sherlock giggled giddily. 'That's the spot!' he panted. 'Why'd you stop?'
'Just let me sooth it for a moment,' John said softly. He licked the bite wound, lapping up the blood, before sinking his teeth in again harder and deeper.
Sherlock moaned obscenely. 'That's it–' He gasped, feeling more blood pulsing from the wound. 'Bite me nice and hard.'
'Fuck me,' John gasped out as he came up for air. He lunged back down on Sherlock's neck and bit harder, a large spurt of blood flowing down his throat.
Sherlock's cock stirred as John gnawed at his neck. 'Maybe I will if you bite me all over,' he grit out. John moved to bite down on Sherlock's shoulder, quickly drawing blood from the force of his bite.
'All over, John. Mark me. Show me how much you love me.'
John bit down all along Sherlock's arm before moving to his other one. He sat back to admire his handiwork before realising his lover's chest was just too bare. He lunged forward and gnawed on his collarbone. John was leaving him with marks everywhere. Blood trickled down his body from them but Sherlock found that sensation turning him on something chronic.
'Quite a kink you have, Mr Holmes,' John purred against one of Sherlock's nipples. He bit around it hard and swirled the tip of his tongue around the pert bud. 'We'll have to find out what it is.'
'Shut up and bite!'
'Hurry up and fuck me!' John countered.
'I want more bites first!'
John bit down on Sherlock's pectoral harshly, blood flowing down into his mouth. He'd probably be sick later from all the blood he'd eaten, but for now he was fine.
'Gah!' Sherlock yelled loudly. His vision was beginning to blur from the blood loss but he didn't care. John sucked more blood down his throat like a ravenous vampire. Sherlock was becoming quite heavy, his body falling as his limbs became weak. Blood loss. Shit.
John released Sherlock and set him on his back, looking at all the tears in his skin he'd left. He groaned and dashed off to get his medical kit and some dressings to stop the bleeding.
'Your brother is going to kill me,' John groaned when he returned.
Sherlock giggled. 'Wha? Wha you done wrong?' His voice was slurred and it only made him giggle harder. 'Wha you stop biting me?'
'You're losing too much blood, Sherlock. Stop wriggling! I'm trying to save your life!'
Sherlock groaned. 'Bite me!' He impatiently waited for John to mark his skin once more.
'No!' John stated, dressing the worst of Sherlock's bites. The others were wrapped in gauze, the blood flow not severe enough to warrant thick bandages.
'You have lost too much blood as it is. Now go to sleep so your red blood cells can multiply and you can regain some of your blood supply. I'll be making you a nice, big breakfast in the morning.'
'Gotta fuck you,' Sherlock whined. 'That was the deal. Cus look at how turned on I am from the blood.'
'Look at how limp you are from the blood loss,' John growled. 'You can't lift your head or limbs and your prick has gone soft. Just sleep and we'll see how you feel in the morning. If you're better, I'll let you fuck me then. Ok?'
'Mmm alright,' Sherlock huffed. 'I feel brilliant though. Dun see what you – m-m-mean. Blood loss isn't that bad.'
'You're stuttering and shivering. Here.' John set his medical kit down and grabbed another blanket to drape across their bed. 'We'll have you warmed up and a little more coherent by breakfast. Now please sleep.'
'I'm sorry, you know,' Sherlock muttered as he closed his eyes. 'For leaving you like I did.'
'I'm sorry for faking my orgasm. I won't do it again.' John crawled beneath the covers and snuggled up to Sherlock. 'Now go to sleep. I'll see you in the morning. I love you.'
'G'night,' Sherlock slurred weakly.
John didn't sleep much that night. He wanted to make sure Sherlock wasn't going to slip into another coma in his sleep. Or that he wasn't going to wake up at all. He would check his vitals every couple of hours or so, listening to his heart, checking his pulse, listening to his breathing to be sure it never got too shallow. But the man slept peacefully and deeply throughout the night, his vitals only improving as he slept. John would have to check his blood pressure when he woke, but he looked OK otherwise.
He crawled from the bed at ten to eight and pulled on his TARDIS pyjama trousers. He padded out to the kitchen and began preparing a simple breakfast of bacon and eggs with some fruit on the side. He was surprised they even had fruit other than bananas in the flat. Especially since the fruit he found was a mix of strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, and blackberries. The fruit salad must have been from Mrs Hudson. John made a mental note to thank her later.
I have basic medical knowledge, and I realise John probably should have taken Sherlock to the A&E or wherever to deal with the blood loss, but let's say for the sake of the story that when John is worried about Sherlock his medical knowledge kinda flies out the window. Until of course Sherlock faints or something like that. But things are finally starting to look up for the boys, and it's about damn time, right? Next chapter is a little shorter, so I'll probably post an update on Wednesday and Friday next week. See you then.
TSA + IB
