- TEN MONTHS LATER-
"Do you like spicy?" Theresa leaned closer to John, giving him a bit of a flirty smile.
John matched her expression. "Definitely." He deliberately looked down from her warm brown eyes to her full lips before meeting her gaze again. Their flirting had been heating up a little on this date, and he was getting the feeling she would welcome some kisses before they said goodnight later.
Theresa smirked back, and turned to the server. "We'll share the Shiro Beyaynetu."
As the server left, she stood. "I'll be back in a minute."
John nodded, and watched as she wove her way through the busy restaurants towards the washrooms, admiring her slim form in a turquoise dress.
"You like her a lot, I can tell." Eva grinned, taking a sip of her wine.
Mike chuckled. "That's hardly news. John has been wanting to date Theresa since they met, years ago."
Rolling his eyes at his friends, John gave a little shrug. "It's early yet. This is only our third date."
So far, it had been going surprisingly well, having enough in common to try a variety of activities. The first date had been some casual after work drinks at a pub near the hospital, running quite late when they got into a spirited game of darts. The second date had been walking the Oak Trail in Epping Forest, watching for deer and other wildlife, and lunching in the small town nearby before taking the train back to London. Somehow, this one ended up being a double date with Mike and Eva, who Theresa knew slightly. They seemed to get on.
John was trying to keep his hopes and expectations in check, just wanting things between Theresa and himself to develop at their own pace. He didn't want to screw anything up by rushing. At the end of the last date, he had dared to take her hand to give it a warm squeeze and kissed her cheek goodbye.
Theresa was soon back, and they dug into their meals, chuckling as they tore off pieces of injera to scoop up the flavorful food. As Mike told a funny story about a recent patient, John watched how Eva nodded along, supporting him even though she had probably heard it all before. They had been married for years and had two kids. John wanted to be as close and loving with his eventual partner as they were.
Theresa reached over, taking his hand to give it a squeeze. Their eyes met, her's fond and happy, warming him. This could really be something.
...
"I really enjoyed that. Although I think next time I'll encourage Mike to have a couple more drinks. He's known you long enough to have some really great secrets about you to spill." Theresa chuckled, looking up at John outside her building.
John was in no rush to go. It was a mild spring night; warm enough to get by just wearing a light jacket. The air was sweet with the scent of the nearby flowering apple trees.
He chuckled, stepping closer and taking her hands. "It won't work. I've got just as many stories about him as he has about me. He'll be silent as the grave."
Her dark eyes glinted in the moonlight. "Hmmmm...I see you didn't bother denying you have some secrets in your past. Were you terribly naughty, John?"
Shaking his head slowly, John moved even closer. "No, just the right amount of naughty." His voice was low, barely a whisper, as he leaned in to kiss her lightly.
She kissed him back, her hands coming up to his shoulders, his going loosely around her back as the kiss deepened. Sweet, short, light kisses became lingering ones.
John pulled back reluctantly a few minutes later, catching his breath as he stared down at Theresa. She looked lovely, her full lips tempting him to kiss her some more, panting slightly just like John. The chemistry between them was undeniable, and a relief to know it was there. It was something they could explore more on future dates.
"Goodnight, Theresa." John said with a warm look.
She stepped back, nodding. "Goodnight, John."
Watching until she was safely inside her building, John turned to walk to the tube station with a spring in his step. It had been a long time since he had dated anyone so promising. What should their next date be? Maybe going to a play or a concert?
He was still thinking over ideas as he waited for the train.
Thanks for tonight. It was fun. -T
The text was a pleasant surprise.
It was. I'm glad you liked my friends. -J
So, why did Mike call you 'Three Continents Watson'? - T
John chuckled when he read that. Hmmm... how to answer... He hadn't text flirted with anyone for ages.
Just bugging me because I've travelled more than most people do these days. -J
Bollocks. He had a bit of a smirk saying the nickname. There's more to it than that. -T
The train came, and John got on. It was about half-full this time of night, and he found a seat easily. He continued the text banter with Theresa, loving her gentle teasing.
He was pulled out of it by a low chuckle nearby, and automatically looked around to see where it came from, a tingle of awareness shooting down his body. It happened from time to time, a low pitched voice, a head of dark curls, a long dark coat...something that had his eyes seeking for more. It was always for naught, feeling let down when it invariably turned out to be a stranger. It was hardly surprising, in the city of millions, that they hadn't run into each other in all these months.
His scanning eyes did stop, a man sitting a few seats away, just the back of his head visible through the light crowd. Dark curls. Could it be him? He held his breath, waiting for more.
The man turned his face to the side, chatting with the young man sitting beside him with an easy smile.
It was Him. Sherlock. After all these months. On the same train, not ten steps away.
John avidly took him in, looking for any changes since he had seen him last, that awful goodbye at the flat. He seemed happy, joking and laughing with his friend, looking just as delicious as always. That thick hair. The sharp angle of his cheekbones. His full lips pulled back as he smiled.
As the train pulled into a station, the men stood up together and stepped off. John rose as well, awkwardly blinking, part of his brain urging to go after them, follow them, while the more sensible part had him sinking back down on his seat.
His heart was pounding, his breathing fast, as he shook his head, gathering himself back together. His phone was still clutched in his hand, and he glanced down, seeing he had missed three texts from Theresa. How long had he been staring at Sherlock? Seconds or hours? Not nearly long enough.
He shoved the phone into his pocket, too distracted to think of replies. Staring out of the window, stations whizzed past. They had gotten off at Warren Street, no where near Baker Street. Were they lovers, heading back to the other man's flat? Sherlock had certainly seemed close with the man. John had been looking at Sherlock too much to really evaluate it.
It was so frustrating, just that quick glimpse of him. John got off at his station, walking home. That stupid part of his brain was urging him to get back on the tube, go to Baker Street.
And what? Do a stake out? Huddle in the shadows waiting hours for Sherlock to return? To barely catch another unsatisfying glimpse of him as he entered the building?
It was the same part of his brain that had him doing just that when they had broken up. He had felt ashamed later, giving into such weak impulses. He wouldn't do it again.
Shaking his head, he called himself a dozen types of fool as he went into his flat. He eventually calmed down, replying to Theresa's texts after apologizing for the delay.
...
"I think the garden would be best. We could string up some fairy lights and light candles." Francesca suggested, taking a sip of tea.
Belinda from John's floor nodded in agreement. "We could set up a stage in here for any musicians in the building, leave the doors to the garden open for people to move around freely."
John poured himself another cup of tea from the pot. "I know Bill has been brewing some beer."
It was developing into quite a good party. The building sometimes had bigger events than the monthly potluck, getting a group of planners together to work out the details.
Bill walked by, and John waved him over to their table. "Hey, will the beer be ready by the 21st?"
The tall man nodded. "Yes, and it will go great with the fish." He sat down, joining the small group as they made more plans.
"We have enough to invite a guest or two, right?" Belinda looked up from her notes.
Francesca nodded. "We'll have lots of side dishes, salads and desserts."
Bill looked over at John. "You should invite Frank. The whole system wouldn't have worked so well without his help planning it."
Frank. The name hit John out of the blue, bringing up so many memories. He had barely shoved them down after seeing Sherlock a couple weeks ago on the tube, and here he was again.
Francesca reached over, giving John's hand a squeeze. "He's in Cambridge, Bill. Why would he bother coming down for a fish fry?"
He appreciated her quick reply, giving him a convenient excuse. She was one of the few people in the building who knew how hard he had taken the break-up with Sherlock. They had talked many evenings while working in the garden, or over a glass of wine in his flat. A good supportive friend.
The meeting carried on, John barely following along, trying to act normal.
...
Later, back in his flat, he went to bed early, feeling tired.
It was so strange to have Sherlock popping up now, when he hadn't for so many months. Odd to think back on it now. This time, last year, they had been fooling around on PlayLand. Paolo had died about a year ago, and he had met Sherlock in person at that hospital meeting. Theresa was there too, ironically.
Things lately had been going well with Theresa. They had found time to squeeze a few more dates into their busy schedules, progressing to holding hands often when they were out together. End of the night kisses were heating up enough that John was wondering if he should push for more. He was still careful, not wanting to screw things up.
Theresa was heading to a family wedding in Manchester the weekend of this building party. Things were still a bit too new to attend a family wedding together, or go away for a weekend. John looked forward to having those firsts with Theresa later.
John would have invited her to the fish fry though, happy to show her around, introduce her to his created family.
Could he, should he, invite Sherlock as his Plus One to the party? He knew everyone, although as Frank. And Bill was right. It was Sherlock working on the plans with him that really made the aquaponics system work so well, the nutrient rich water fertilizing the plants in the greenhouse. The tilapia were fully grown now, and they were holding this building party to celebrate.
Would it be OK if he just sent the invite as a friend? 'Come see the results of what you started with Bill.' He could just drop by for an hour or two. Hanging out with the whole group. Casual.
They could be friends now, right? So much time had passed.
...
"John."
The low baritone voice had him whirling around, almost spilling his beer. "Sherlock! You came!"
The taller man arched an eyebrow at that. "You invited me." His expression was neutral, his green eyes scanning over John quickly.
Doing the same, John saw that Sherlock had changed very little. Still as attractive as ever. He swallowed hard, feeling awkward. Should he hug him hello?
He was saved from his internal debate when Sherlock stepped closer, wrapping John in his arms for a quick, friendly hug. "It's good seeing you again, John."
That voice in his ear, the scent of Sherlock's cologne, the warmth of his quick embrace had John hungering for more. He tried to appear normal as Sherlock moved away.
"Um..Sherlock, it's great to see you here. I wasn't sure if you would come." He could see Francesca giving him a funny look from across the room and sighed. "Look, people here know you as Frank."
That got him another raised eyebrow response. "Should I go put on the old cap and glasses again?"
John forced out a chuckle. "No, no...but we will have to introduce you as Sherlock and explain why you were staying here last year." It was time to start again with a clean slate. They couldn't move forward as friends without it.
He pulled Sherlock to a nearby clump of neighbors and got to it, explaining everything.
...
"Come on, I'll show you the tanks." Bill smiled at Sherlock as they finished their meals an hour later.
Glancing over at John, Sherlock flashed him a small smile when he nodded back, encouraging Sherlock to go with Bill. He deserved to see the results of his ideas.
John wasn't alone long, with Francesca and Janine filling the vacated chairs.
"I still can't believe I thought he was a different man! Why didn't you tell me Frank was Sherlock?" Francesca was never one to hold anything back.
John shrugged. "Would it have made a difference? It was over between us, either way."
She rolled her big dark eyes expressively. "I've been thinking you cheated on Frank this whole time!"
Chuckling, Janine rubbed her friend's back to quiet her down. "Are you so sure it's over between you? I saw how you looked at him during supper. There are some feelings there still."
It was hard hiding things from Janine. She knew him so, so well. He sighed, sipping more beer. "We have history. But we haven't been together for almost a year, and I'm with Theresa now."
"Are you?" Her eyes pinned him, and he floundered, the quick dismissive answer he was about to give disappearing like a puff of smoke.
Francesca reached over, giving John's arm a pat. "I know you are attracted to Fr-Sherlock. But I know also know how sad you were with how things ended. You are much better off with Theresa."
She had met Theresa briefly about a week ago, when John brought her back to the flat to cook her dinner. It seemed she haunted the building's hallways sometimes, ambushing John whenever he brought people around.
Janine scoffed. "From what I've heard about her, she sounds so uptight and dull! It is true she's a complete vegan and you didn't bring her tonight because she would have been freaked out about us eating fish?"
"No! She's tolerant about things like that. She's at a family thing in Manchester this weekend." John defended her.
Her eyes flicked over to Sherlock, now back in the room with Bill, talking animatedly. "So the mice are playing while the cat's away?"
John let out a small huff, getting up. "No. We had a quick fling last year, and we're just friends now. Quit reading more into it."
He escaped before the women could bug him anymore.
Going to stand at Sherlock's side, it was obvious that he was making his goodbyes to Bill. "Oh, are you going?"
Sherlock nodded, pulling his coat on. "Yes. It's been nice seeing everyone again though."
Nice seeing me? The question almost popped out of John's mouth, but he shoved it back down, nodding. "Hey, let me walk you to the tube station."
"I know the way, John. I lived here for a week." Sherlock's tone was dry.
Oh. He doesn't want me to walk him there. Stung slightly, John nodded, stepping back. "Oh, OK. Well, I'm glad that you came out to this tonight."
Sherlock pulled his collar up, his hands freezing as he looked down at John. "On second thought, come on."
John didn't question the change, just followed Sherlock out the door. It was awkward, walking in silence for the first block. Both likely remembering the many times they had walked here, hand in hand. It had felt so right. So good.
At the entrance to the station, Sherlock paused, turning towards John. "It meant a lot to me, tonight. Having you introduce me to your close friends and neighbors as your friend. Not being embarrassed that they know you were... involved with Sherlock Holmes."
"I was an idiot, my whole hesitation back then. I can't tell you how much I regret it." Could everything have turned out different, better, if he had come to those realizations back then?
Sherlock shrugged. "It is what it is. I'm glad we've evolved enough to be friends now."
John nodded, but found he couldn't look away from Sherlock. Standing close, taking in the handsome face he had missed so much.
"Goodnight, John." Sherlock said, giving him a light hug, but it soon became more. Was it Sherlock's arms tightening around John, or the other way around? Either way, they weren't pulling back and the hug went on and on.
John's heart was thumping hard, his face tucked against Sherlock's neck, breathing him in. What was this? He was afraid to say anything, for fear he would move away.
Eventually, Sherlock pulled back, taking John's hand and tugging him down into the tube station.
...
What was he doing? What were they doing? What was going to happen?
Questions like that zipped through John's mind, practically in a loop as they rode the tube back to Baker Street, sitting close, thigh against thigh, holding hands. John wanted to cuddle against his side, dug his hands into his hair, kiss his neck, but he followed Sherlock's lead. A quick glance at his face revealed little.
Was this just sex? Ending things like they started? A night like they used to have? More? Surely, if Sherlock wanted more there would be words, kisses...
In the flat, things looked more or less the same. A jumble of glassware and science equipment on the kitchen table. Casual disarray elsewhere. So many memories of their times together here. John swallowed hard, turning towards Sherlock, searching his blank expression for any clues.
Sherlock slipped off his coat and got a couple bottles of water from the fridge, sinking down on the sofa and gesturing for John to sit beside him. He ran his hands through his hair and took a long sip of water before setting it down on the table, and turning towards him.
"I'm confused about you, John." Sherlock finally confessed, his voice troubled. "We are trying to be friends, but you are giving me these lingering looks, and hugging me too long. Aren't you involved with someone else now? A woman?"
John sipped the water, his mouth suddenly very dry. Of course Sherlock had heard about Theresa. He had seen Mycroft at the concert hall for Vivaldi's 'Four Seasons', while helping Theresa at the coat check. Knew he had seen the way she had leaned against his side, her arm around his waist, as they went into the auditorium.
It was no use denying it. John nodded. "You know her. Theresa Santos. We've been dating a few weeks now. What about you? Are you with anyone?" The thought of the man on the train flashed easily back into his brain.
Sherlock scoffed lightly at that, shifting back on the sofa. "You know me. I don't do relationships."
John shrugged. The man in the train seemed like more than a fling. "People can change, Sherlock."
"I can't." Defiant green eyes caught and held John's, daring him to argue it.
John looked away first, blinking fast to try to keep the wetness there from escaping. He thought he had dealt with all this last year. Thought he had put it all behind him. Was this just digging up old hurts, or getting some closure for their shared past?
It might be his only chance. To say whatever he needed to. Finish things off.
"I never wanted you to change. I like you as you are." John met Sherlock gaze steadily now.
Sherlock gave him an incredulous look. "You were ashamed to be seen in public with me unless I was in disguise. You wanted Frank, not me."
"I will admit to needing to come to terms with your profession." John shifted a little, the words uncomfortably true.
Tilting his head slightly, Sherlock nodded. "You didn't seem shy about it tonight though." He seemed to be working through things as well, as confused as John was.
Daringly, John reached over and took his hand. "You are wrong about me wanting Frank. It was always just you."
The words sent a flare of heat through Sherlock's eyes, but it was quickly tamped down, as he withdrew his hand. "You are fooling yourself, saying that. Theresa Santos is a lot like Frank. She will fit well into your life. I'm happy for you."
"Fuck." John suddenly felt exhausted. This was all pointless. He got up, and went into the washroom. He used the facilities and splashed his face with water, staring at his image in the mirror. Sherlock was only saying things he had heard other people like Francesca say to him. What he said to himself. Why did it suddenly ring so false?
When he came out, Sherlock was still in the same position, looking moody as ever. This was futile. John pulled his coat on, and checked that he still had his keys and mobile. "Goodbye, Sherlock."
Why did every step towards the door and down the steps feel like walking with lead shoes? He pushed it all down, all the feelings swirling around inside him, blanked it all out, and trudged forward. He would get to the tube, get home, get to bed. Fall apart there. Not here. Not here. He could do this. Had to do this.
But hands caught him before he stepped out onto the street, pulling him back inside. The door slammed loudly, and Sherlock shoved him against the wall, crowding him, looking almost wild.
John surged up to meet him, mouths crashing together, pressing as close as they could. Hardly catching their breath between hard kisses, desperate and hungry. Somehow they worked their way back up the stairs and into Sherlock's bedroom. Clothes disappeared almost as quickly as they had in virtual reality, torn, wrenched off.
They were even less gentle with each other, greedy hands and mouths everywhere, gorging after months of starvation. Chasing every sensation, every moan and gasp of pleasure.
...
John woke up to an empty bed. It was disorientating at first, but the surroundings were familiar as was the pleasant ache of his body. It was a feeling he associated with his old days with Sherlock in this flat. Hours of uninhibited sex, incredible pleasure, and the ache the next day bringing up delicious memories that turned him on all over again.
He stretched in the golden light streaming through the window. Getting up, he had a long hot shower, and felt almost himself when he dried off. Back in the bedroom, he pulled on his jeans but chuckled when he examined his shirt. Half the buttons were gone, and one of the seams was ripped.
The door swung open, and Sherlock standing there, looking at the shirt in John's hands. His eyes then went to his bare chest, seeing the bite marks and scratches all over it. His expression was shuttered and blank.
"Um, I made coffee. You can borrow one of my shirts." Sherlock turned to go back to the kitchen.
"Sherlock, come back..." John reached out to grab his arm but Sherlock evaded him. Huffing to himself, John opened the closet door, looking for a shirt that would fit him. He knew the dress shirts would be tailored too small for his chest.
Shoved in the back he found a light grey sweatshirt, printed with 'University of Cambridge. Est 1209' in teal with the school's emblem. He pulled it on, and went to the kitchen.
Sherlock must have woken before him, as he was already showered and dressed. He waved towards an empty chair at the table, his equipment moved to the side.
John poured the coffee, adding milk. It was real coffee, and there was real sugar on a bowl too. He was tempted to add some to his beverage, but preferred it unsweetened. Cupping the mug with both hands, he took a small sip, savoring the full rich flavor.
"We can't do this ever again, John."
The flat words killed his good mood. He suspected Sherlock was stewing over something, but after last night, surely that had changed things so much. He took another sip of coffee before setting the mug down.
"I disagree heartedly. I think we should do this as often as possible."
Sherlock stared at him, shocked. He clearly didn't expect that response from John.
"But you are cheating on Theresa."
John tilted his head a little. "Technically, no. We were dating but not officially 'in a relationship'. We haven't had sex yet." He shrugged.
Clearly, Sherlock didn't believe him. "But Mycroft saw you together only a few weeks ago, said you were holding hands and looked like a couple."
"We were taking it slow. Getting to know each other. We have only kissed." Things had gotten to long, heated make out sessions, but no clothes had come off.
Sherlock glared at him, taking a long sip of coffee.
John shrugged. "Look, it's the complete opposite to how we did things but it's how many people date. But Theresa and I have both been in serious relationships and want to get to know each other more before things go further."
It was almost like John was speaking a foreign language. Sherlock seemed baffled by it all. "You just said 'We were taking it slow.' Does that mean you are going to speed things up with her in the future?"
John chuckled. "No, silly. It means it's over with her. It's all in the past now. I'll break up with her when she gets back from her trip."
"Why?"
"Because I'm with you now."
"But I just said we can't ever do this again."
"And I disagree."
Sherlock scoffed at John's statement, looking down at him challengingly. "Oh, you are somehow going to force me to have a relationship with you against my will?"
John shrugged, taking another sip of his coffee. "Who dragged me back inside and shoved me against the wall last night?"
"That was just sex."
"Was it?"
"Yes. Kissing, nudity, fucking. People generally call that 'sex'."
John smirked, partially to annoy Sherlock, and partially because this was fun now. He poured himself another mug of coffee and added lots of milk and sugar. It tasted wonderful and he hummed in appreciation after taking a sip.
"Yes, it was fucking fantastic sex. But it wasn't 'just' sex, was it?"
Sherlock sighed. "You know I don't do relationships. Just sex."
"You did a relationship back in Uni." John looked pointedly down at the logo on his sweatshirt.
"Yes, and it went so spectacularly bad, I've sworn off them every since."
"Perhaps it wasn't that relationships in general are bad for you, but that one in particular. I'm proposing that I'm a better partner for you than some twenty year old wanker."
Sherlock sighed loudly and stomped out of the room. "Come with me. I want to show you something."
John followed, curious now. Instead of heading down the stairs, he was going up.
Emerging on the rooftop, he smiled at the set up similar to the one at his building. But it had its differences. Instead of raised beds of vegetables, these were lower and covered in short green plants with small flowers here and there.
Sherlock beckoned him to one end of the building. It was an amazing view, with Regent's Park to the North, and Hyde Park to the south. He could see the Marble Arch, Buckingham Palace, and the London Eye off in the distance. Most of the other buildings were office and apartment buildings with six stories or less, most topped with green roofs. It had been a mild spring, and everything was growing well.
One of the most striking things though was all the fruit trees in full bloom. They lined the streets, surrounded the buildings and filled the parks. In the last few decades, they had been planted everywhere, and the mature trees made spring in the city a constant wonder. Plums and pears in bloom in March, cherries in April, apples in May.
John smiled over at Sherlock. "It's beautiful up here."
"See, John? It's the essence of what's different between us. It's nothing but flowers everywhere now. You see paradise in all this. It just makes me want a lawnmower."
Rolling his eyes, John waved a hand towards the roof around them. "What's all this then? It looks pretty new."
Sherlock shrugged, looking away. "I found the roof of your building interesting and wanted to try something similar here. Mrs. Hudson got an assessment done, and it can only bear shallower soil. We planted clover because it is easy to grow."
"Seems like a lot of flowers for a guy who was just talking about lawnmowers." John smirked.
Grumbling to himself, Sherlock tugged John over to a bench facing out to the pretty view. "Look, we like each other, and the sex is great, but I still don't think we can have a relationship that lasts. I don't want to get involved in something that is bound to fail. I don't want to hurt you, or be hurt myself." Sherlock said, trying to be as reasonable as he could be.
John shook his head, taking Sherlock's hand. "I don't think it will be easy, but it will be worth it. Being apart from you for so long, and seeing you yesterday, it was amazing how my feelings are still as strong as ever for you, Sherlock. Please, please give us a chance."
Shaking his head, Sherlock looked off into the distance as he gathered his thoughts. "John, John...when things ended with Liam, it was awful how sad and wretched he was. Begging me to be with him again. Depressed and missing classes. It went on for months and I felt incredibly guilty and useless. I didn't share his feelings. I couldn't bear to try with you, and seeing you like that if things didn't work out."
"I wouldn't be. I'm strong." John tried interject.
"I got to understand a bit of what Liam felt when things ended with us last year. Everything in my flat reminded me of you, being with you, being so good together. Walking around London, there were so many places we had been together. It felt like you were haunting me." Sherlock looked down.
John scooted closer. "What did you do? Talk to someone? Drink? Do drugs? Sleep more? Work more?"
Sherlock sighed. "I threw myself into my work. I worked on this too."
"Me too." John said. It had been months before he had started feeling like himself again. He had only gotten back to dating lately.
Sherlock looked at John, his expression sad. "Liam compared me to a storm, destroying everything for him. He had to move away and start over, it was so bad for him. Look at you from one night with me; bites and scratches all over and your shirt in such bad condition you can't even wear it today. I'm no good for you, John. Go. Save yourself. Go back to someone safer, like Theresa."
John shook his head, so sick of hearing statements like that. "A lot of people run away from storms, Sherlock, but maybe I'm just a storm chaser. I like how I never know what to expect from you, and I love how crazy and wild you are. I don't want to tame you, make you into Frank. I love you just the way you are."
The words flowed out so easily, it took a second for John to realize what he had just said. He froze for a second, his heart pounding, and then he met Sherlock's gaze straight on. Letting him see that he truly meant it. His heart pounding hard for a whole different reason.
Sherlock shook his head, looking away, but his eyes were drawn back to John's. Denial changed to disbelief, and than to wonder. "Do you, really..."
John could only nod. Biting his lip. Waiting...
"But how can we..." Sherlock blinked fast, clearly overwhelmed, confused.
Seeing him so affected by John's words made him put a comforting arm around his waist, pressing against his side. "How can we what...?"
"How can we be together without me hurting you? Disappointing you?" Sherlock asked, his lack of experience in relationships showing so clearly.
The fact that he was asking the questions, seemed interested in trying, meant so much to John. He planted a kiss on his neck. "The whole time I've known you, Sherlock, you were never one who played by the rules. You bend them, break them, do whatever you need to do to make things work. We can do that with our relationship too."
Sherlock let out a small chuckle, and hugged John close. "We can?"
"We'll make our own rules, what will suit you, suit me, suit 'us' best. Throw out the rules that don't work. Keep the ones that do."
Sighing dramatically, Sherlock nodded. "Fine. Let's do this."
John couldn't believe how happy those words made him, words he never thought he would hear from this man. He turned Sherlock's head to give him a deep, long kiss. Pretty soon, things intensified, and Sherlock was urging him to straddle his lap.
The bench creaked alarmingly when John was moving, and he ended up jumping up, grabbing Sherlock's hand. "Let's take this back to bed. That bench can't handle the things I want to do to you."
Sherlock followed eagerly back down to the flat, and into the bedroom. As John pulled back the covers, and then reached for the bottom of his borrowed sweatshirt, he stepped forward to stay his hands. "Let me do it."
John nodded, dropping his arms to his sides.
Lifting the sweatshirt, Sherlock slowly pulled it up and off, his sharp, observant eyes taking in John's chest, lingering on the marks he had left there yesterday. He reached out, slowly tracing over them with his fingers, the light touch making John's breath come faster. Sex with Sherlock was exciting, passionate, sensual. But he had never touched John like this before.
Next, those long, clever fingers were undoing his jeans, and sliding them down and off. John crawled onto the bed, settling back on the pillows to watch his boyfriend slowly stripping for him. Never tiring of the sight of his slim, pale form emerging from the tailored clothing. Beautiful, graceful, sexy. Even better when Sherlock crawled over him, his eyes hungry, his mouth soft as he trailed kisses over John's chest.
Although Sherlock had not said those three special words back to John, his actions did for him. He took his time, slow, deep kisses followed by long strokes over his bare skin. Relearning him. His hands sliding into John's underwear to cup his ass, pulling him close, feeling how aroused they both were. Stripping John bare, and doing incredible things with his mouth and fingers, until John was a mess, begging for release. Still Sherlock teased him, using his special ointment that he had made even better. Sharing eye contact as they each found their eventual peak, nothing held back.
…
-A/N: One more chapter... a small epilogue. Thanks to everyone for reading this strange story!
-Follow me: delightful-fear-sherlock on tumblr.
-Shiro Beyaynetu: This is an Ethiopian vegetarian platter for two people to share. Shiro is a delicious chickpea powder-based dish that is slow-cooked with onions, garlic and Ethiopia's popular spice blend, berbere. It often includes other dishes like miser wat (spiced red lentils), kik alicha (yellow split pea stew), gomen (collard greens), dinich ena karat alicha (potato and carrot stew) and key sire (beets, potatoes and carrot stew). Yummy, tasty foods all served on injera, the spongy sourdough flatbread, that is also torn off in pieces to scoop up the foods.
-Oak trail walk: This is a 11 km walk in Epping Forest, a 40 min train ride from central London (20 km to the north of the city).
-'Four Seasons' is a group of four violin concerti by Italian composer Antonio Vivaldi, each of which gives musical expression to a season of the year, first performed in 1725. "They were a revolution in musical conception: in them Vivaldi represented flowing creeks, singing birds (of different species, each specifically characterized), a shepherd and his barking dog, buzzing flies, storms, drunken dancers, hunting parties from both the hunters' and the prey's point of view, frozen landscapes, and warm winter fires. Unusually for the period, Vivaldi published the concerti with accompanying sonnets (possibly written by the composer himself) that elucidated what it was in the spirit of each season that his music was intended to evoke. The concerti therefore stand as one of the earliest and most detailed examples of what would come to be called program music—i.e., music with a narrative element." (Wikipedia)