"Sherlock..." John moaned, arching off the bed.

A long forearm was slung over his hips, pinning him down as hot kisses went up his sensitive inner thigh.

Shamelessly, John spread his legs wider, savouring Sherlock's attentions and just craving more. He shuddered in pleasure, reaching down to run a hand over Sherlock's dark curls.

Green eyes opened, seeming to gleam in pleasure at seeing how wrecked John was, reduced to a panting, begging mess. He moved his mouth up higher, licking and kissing in the way John liked best.

"Ahhh!" John jumped, his hand clenching in Sherlock's hair, and pulling him back. "Did you just bite me?"

Smiling a bit wickedly, Sherlock slowly nodded. "You liked it, didn't you?"

Staring down at his unrepentant lover, John could only give a chuckle and settle back on the bed. It had been a shock, the feeling of teeth firmly against such a sensitive area, but... "Um, maybe. Do it again..."

A few minutes later, John was pulling away, fumbling in the bedside table for the lube. He passed it to Sherlock. "Enough. Prep me..."

The handful of times they had met up at Sherlock's, spending hours in bed playing around, touching and pleasuring each other, had made them very comfortable asking for what they wanted. John couldn't remember the last lover who was as open and passionate.

Taking the lube, Sherlock just shook his head. "I was thinking of something different, John."

John rolled over onto his stomach, shamelessly showing his ass. It was great having a partner who was a switch as well. He arched his back as Sherlock ran his hand down his skin.

Leaning closer, Sherlock planted a few kisses and soft bites into the hot skin of John's lower back. He pulled back, lying beside him, giving him a quick kiss. "John, do you trust me?"

The question was a surprising one, especially in the middle of such a hot session. John's brows lowered a little as he gazed at Sherlock.. "Why are you asking that? Why now?"

Sherlock looked down, a mischievous grin making him look even more appealing. "I have a little concoction, something I made and want to try on you."

John's eyebrows shot up at that. "A drug? You want me to take some of your drugs?"

Shaking his head, Sherlock sat up. "No, no...a topical ointment of sorts, sort of like a lube...". He glanced towards the kitchen.

"What does it do?" Part of John wanted to shut this down, refuse outright. He had glanced at things in Sherlock's kitchen laboratory enough times in passing, shuddering to himself as he pondered what the chemist was preparing for his clients, not wanting to know what he was getting up to. It had worked well for them so far, keeping their 'relationship', if that's what you could call it, strictly physical, and not delving into topics that would just get them arguing like they had outside the hospital.

But another part of John, his libido, was curious. Sherlock had proven himself an incredible lover, giving and receiving pleasure generously, sensual and sexual in a way that made John more open to things too. "What does it do?"

With an excited grin, Sherlock scrambled off the bed and ran naked out of the room. He returned in seconds, practically landing on John as he jumped back in the bed. In his hand was a dark blue glass jar. Unscrewing the lid, he scooped up a small amount of colourless gel with his finger.

Waving his finger under John's nose, there was a mild eucalyptus scent, and a light chemical base note. He watched, without objection, when Sherlock smoothed it on his upper arm.

John's breath caught when Sherlock dragged his fingers upwards, sending a rush of intense heat in their wake. He reversed direction, his fingers heading downwards, and John felt a tingle of icy cold race along his skin. The contrasting sensations felt good on his arm...what would they feel like in a more sensitive place? Imagining that sent a surge of arousal through him.

Sherlock had been watching him carefully, and saw it all. Picking up the lube, he shifted to be knealing between John's legs. "Lube first." He patiently began prepping John, both of them getting more eager with every minute that passed. By the time Sherlock wiped his fingers free of lube on a handy towel, John was completely excited to see him scooping a generous dollop of the clear gel.

John held his breath as Sherlock was soon thrusting slowly into him, his size perfect for a good stretch. Fully in, he paused, giving John time to adjust, until John tilted his hip upwards, signalling he was ready for more.

As Sherlock pulled back, there was the sensation of heat, and as he pushed in, intense cold. John involuntarily tightened around Sherlock, making him groan harshly as he grabbed John's hips with both hands.

They were both lost to it then, straining together, matching in an escalating rhythm, harder and faster than ever before. Chasing the intense sensations, wanting to experience it to the fullest.

...

Sherlock was collapsed facedown beside John as they tried to recover their breath, both sweaty messes. Grabbing the towel, he chuckled as he cleaned them up.

John rolled onto his back, floating on the lingering endorphins and the pleasant exhaustion of a good fuck. Picking up Sherlock's hand, he placed a fervent kiss in the centre of his palm. "That was so fantastic. Amazing..."

Sherlock opened an eye to look up at him through his curls, taking in John's satisfied expression.

Moving his mouth lower, John bit gently into the heel of Sherlock's hand playfully. But then he froze, his eyes widening slightly. He set Sherlock's hand down on the sheet, and turned his face away to look at the wall, his thoughts in a whirl.

Sherlock rolled onto his side after a minute, and put a hand on John's shoulder lightly. "Is everything OK?"

With a deep sigh, John turned to face Sherlock as his dark blue eyes searched for answers. "When did you realize who I was? Did you know the whole time?" His gaze flicked down to his mouth. "You were giving me such obvious hints, Fort Knox, the biting...You must think me such a fool."

Shaking his head, Sherlock looked concerned. "No, no...not at all, John. I figured it out during the autopsy." He shrugged.

John sat up, draping his arms over his bent knees, feeling confused. "Did you purposely try to hook up with me after the memorial service?"

Sitting up behind John, Sherlock laid a tentative hand on his back, making a small soothing stroke. "You think I orchestrated that attack just so I could rescue you? Lure you back to my lair, my poor damsel in distress?"

The image made John chuckle, the tension in his shoulders easing, and he twisted to look back at Sherlock. "Sorry. I'm just a bit thrown by everything."

Leaning in, Sherlock gave him a light kiss. "Maybe I should had said something earlier. I wasn't sure how to bring it up. It's not a common conversation to have."

John shifted to the side of the bed, reaching for his clothes from the floor. "It's OK." He slipped everything on, and went into the washroom to tidy up.

When he came out, Sherlock was dressed but looked rumpled, his hair looking like he had dragged his hands through his curls to tame them. He hovered near the door as John put his phone in his pocket and slipped on his shoes. "John..."

Looking up at Sherlock, he had a hard time reading his expression. He was mixed up about his own feelings too. This wasn't like any other relationship he had ever had. Such incredible, intimate, exciting sex. Such an attractive, intelligent man. They had fun together, flirting and enjoying their physical attraction.

"Could we..." Sherlock started, taking a half step closer, but then stopping. Hesitating.

John looked at him curiously. "Could we what?"

Sighing, Sherlock turned to look towards the window. It was just beginning to get dark out. "Would you like to get some dinner? There's a good Chinese place a block away."

Dinner...together. Like a date?

"Um, thanks for the offer, but I really should get going. Another time, maybe?" John found himself saying, and saw how quickly Sherlock looked away, nodding curtly.

He stepped to the door, but paused with his hand on the handle. When had this become so awkward? He looked back at Sherlock, still standing near.

"Sod this," John murmured, grabbing Sherlock with both hands to push against the wall, kissing him hard and deep until he was completely out of breath.

Sherlock looked a bit dazed from it, speechless, and it sent a zing of satisfaction through John to see that, somehow.

With a small smile, he said goodbye and slipped out the door.

...

The ride home on the tube gave John a chance to think everything through. Adding the time he had known Sherlock online to when they had met in person, it had been nearly two months.

It had been so sexual, right from the start. Intense and incredible, connecting on that level in way John hadn't with anyone else for years. They had been having sex together several times a week for the whole time, and it kept getting better.

Sherlock had been different today. Was he worried that John was bothered about learning of their virtual sex? Did he think it would make John end whatever it was that they had? A fling? An affair? Fuck buddies?

Was that why he had made the dinner invitation? He had never done that before, never even offered John a drink except for the tea on his first visit, and that was only because his blood sugar had been crashing. They didn't do that...did they?

The thought of going out together in public just seemed so foreign. Sherlock didn't fit into that area of John's life, the area of dressing up, acting charming and flirty, building casual dates into a possible relationship. Sherlock was not a relationship type of guy. The idea was just laughable.

Had Sherlock been hurt when John turned him down, or relieved? Had he asked out of real interest, or because he thought it was expected somehow? How did fuck buddies act? Was it OK to eat together in a restaurant, or was that too date-y?

John got up at his stop, still feeling confused. Was this whole thing just going on too long, and getting messy? Was it best to end things soon?

As he walked up the station steps into the cool spring night, John knew he couldn't stop it. Not yet...

...

A couple challenging cases at work had John at the hospital for longer hours the next week. It was only when he had an earlier night, listening to some jazz with a big glass of red that he realized Sherlock hadn't contacted him at all. And he hadn't thought to even send him a text.

That, more than anything, said a lot about what their relationship was. Purely physical, something they could both enjoy as it fit their schedules. There was no expectation of daily contact or frequent get-togethers.

With another sip of his wine, he flipped through his email, deleting what he could to see what actually needed a response. There was an email from Dr. Foncha, with the subject line "Paolo Baresi, Final Autopsy".

He opened it up, scanning over the information Molly had verbalized at the autopsy, and went to the test results and conclusions. Traces of chemicals found in most professional athletes, but nothing at alarming levels.

As he prepared to read on, there was a hard knock on his door, almost causing him to spill his wine. He wasn't expecting anyone, there were no messages from anyone on his phone.

Getting up, he made sure his robe was closed, and went to peer out of the peephole.

Sherlock. Why was he here? How did he even know where John lived?

Pushing the questions aside, John fumbled with the lock and opened the door. The man looked pale and wretched, such a difference from his normal vibrant air. "Sherlock, what are you doing here? What-"

His words were cut off by Sherlock stepping into the apartment quickly after a glance around, and shutting the door behind him. "Shhhh..."

His eyes were wide, the pupils dilated, and he turned to look through the peephole for a few moments. Finally he turned, slumping against the door, and giving John a beseeching look. "John...I know I shouldn't be here, but I didn't know where else to go."

He paced away from the door, digging his hands through his hair, the complete opposite of his normal composed state. John even saw that his hand was shaking.

Army and medical training kicked in, seeing only a person in distress, and he guided Sherlock over to sit at the kitchen table. "Of course I'll help you if I can. What's wrong? Are you injured?" A quick scan over him didn't show any blood or other signs of injury.

Sherlock just huffed impatiently, and pointed a finger at the autopsy document showing on John's tablet. "Didn't you read it? Can't you see what it's saying?"

John gave Sherlock a puzzled look.

"Oh, look at you. You're so vacant. Is it nice not being me? It must be so relaxing." Sherlock spat out, jumping up from his chair to pace back and forth again.

He stopped, letting out a big sigh. "Look, I know this goes beyond what I should ask of you, but I can I stay here? I know it's a risk to you..."

John was still confused still. "Yes, Yes, Of course. Stay. But how is it a risk...?"

Sherlock glared at him. "Harbouring a fugitive." And at John's shocked look, he sighed wearily. "I'm a suspect for murder, John."

...

-A/U: Dun-dun-DUN! — dramatic cliff-hanger music