An old friend
PruePhantomhive
—O—
(Disclaimer)
Characters and settings of Sherlock belong to their respective creators and they are used in this story with no profit.
(Summary)
If John had never meet Mary, that night would have been different.
—O—
It was curious. To kiss Sherlock through the cascade of blood coming from his nose, that is to say, but John willingly submitted to rarity, since he had been the one who had hit the detective and not just one nor two but three times. The first, with his hands on his neck, the second, with his fist on his lips and the third, with his head against his face, but fury was still there, very deep inside him, mixed with happiness and pleasure.
"You aren't dead" he assured Sherlock, kissing his neck and getting rid of the annoying shirt that covered his body quickly.
Sherlock laughed.
"No, no: in fact, you are making me feel pretty alive in this precise moment" he said, digging his fingers into John's ashy hair in the same moment the man bit his shoulder, making him moan. "Shit: if you wil receive me like this every time I return from death, I'll try to die more often" he joked.
To his surprise, John stopped kissing him to see his face, then, came another hit that send him flying to the floor from the couch.
"Never in your life, Sherlock, never again!" he sentenced before kissing him again.
Okay. Sherlock could do without faking his death again. For John. His John.
—O—
English is not my first language, so, if I made any mistakes, please, let me know to fix them :)
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