I edited the summary because I've finished this now and it turned out differently to how I wanted it to, but then again I never planned the ending so wooooooooo it literally just happened. Chapter 5 will be the last chapter.
It took half an hour of scrubbing to get the scent of Moriarty off his skin; even afterwards he watched the water get sucked down the drain. He wasn't going to lie to himself, he felt dirty, and he had lied to John – his best friend.
John had arrived home about ten minutes ago, sighing at the mess in the living room, grumbling about the body parts in the fridge and cursing under his breath when he realised Sherlock had used all of the hot water when trying to wash the stack of plates by the sink.
Sherlock left the bathroom and rushed straight into his bedroom to avoid the gaze from John, especially since his body hadn't healed from the previous...sessions between him and Moriarty, even if he couldn't hide the various purple marks on his throat, he could cover the gashes and scratches on his chest, back and thighs.
He looked at himself in the mirror as he pulled on a dress shirt. Was this really what he wanted? No sexual contact between Moriarty and him ever again? It didn't sound too appealing, but he couldn't lie to John.
Sherlock didn't have the same connection with Moriarty as he did with John; of course there was no romance in both relationships but with Moriarty, it was just sex, no emotion or any sort of attachment, just sex. With John, well, John was his best friend and he trusted John with his life.
He finished buttoning his shirt and refused to look at himself any longer, turning away from the mirror and heading out of the bedroom. Then he paused in the doorway, his eyes gliding over to the nightstand beside his bed. Moriarty's switchblade was still there; obviously Sherlock had to move it from his bed in order to sleep without getting stabbed.
It was simple deduction – switchblade, nightstand – but what did it really mean, why did it always catch his eye? Sherlock shook his head, deciding not to torment himself. What's done is done, Moriarty was gone and Sherlock could think without having guilt stare at him from the other side of the room.
"Would it kill you to clean up?" John began as soon as Sherlock walked into the living room, "I mean, would it actually kill you?"
Obviously their previous argument had been forgotten.
"No, not unless I were to down an entire bottle of bleach or a heavy object were to crush me." Sherlock replied snatching up the laptop from the desk. John stared at him until Sherlock pulled his attention away from the laptop screen and stared right back at John, "what?"
"Nothing, I just," John went back to reading the newspaper, "I didn't expect you to be listening, that's all."
"Strangely enough, John, I do listen sometimes." Sherlock sat down on the sofa, debating his next sentence. It's now or never. "The evidence I'm willing to use is that I broke it off with Moriarty." He said quickly and quietly.
John looked up immediately, staring at him again with that extremely unnerving look. "What was that?"
"I...stopped contact with Moriarty."
John was silent for so long that Sherlock looked up to make sure he hadn't dropped dead, when he did, John cleared his throat and folded the newspaper, standing from his chair, "right. That's...that's good."
Sherlock frowned, "'that's good'?" He quoted, "I thought you would be more..."
"More what?" John asked, his stance looking a bit too defensive.
"More pleased, seeing as you made such a huge issue about it."
John scoffed and shook his head, "you are unbelievable."
"You wouldn't be the first person to tell me that." Sherlock murmured, typing a reply to an email.
"Moriarty is your enemy, Sherlock, and you were sleeping with him!" John shouted, "I didn't think I would have had to make such a 'huge issue' about it if you're really that fucking clever."
"What I do with my body is my own concern." Sherlock felt his temper rising, "I don't understand why you're so adamant to control me."
John looked as if he was about to explode, "control you!?" He shouted, "For God's sake, I am not trying to control you!"
"Then why." Sherlock looked straight up at John, locking the eye contact. "Why have you been so persistent in reminding me of my wrong-doings?"
"Because that's what friends do." John said quietly then averted his eyes, "and if you can't see that I'm trying to help you because I'm your friend, then maybe you should crawl back to Moriarty."
Then something clicked in Sherlock's head.
"John," He moved the laptop from his lap and put it beside him before standing up, "I did this for you – I ended my sexual contact with Moriarty for you, because you were unhappy and you made me realise that what Moriarty and I had was pointless."
John seemed to look a bit bewildered and Sherlock brushed it off as the lighting, "Sherlock, I-"
"This...this is about more than friendship, John." Sherlock didn't – couldn't – look away from John's heavy gaze.
John swallowed thickly, his fists clenching and unclenching. He changed his stance, looking more daring than usual, and suddenly his hands were on either side of Sherlock's face and their lips were pressed together.
Sherlock wasn't as shocked as he thought; he leaned into the kiss instead of pulling back. John's lips felt different from Moriarty's, they were more subtle and- No, don't compare them, John is nothing like Moriarty.
{But wait a minute, you wanted Moriarty earlier today, you were enjoying everything he gave you.}
Sherlock dismissed the thought, he enjoyed John's presence and he enjoyed everything about John. It was purely physiological and extremely simple, how he couldn't see it before was beyond him.
When John pulled back, hands slipping down to Sherlock's shoulders, nothing was said between them. "I knew you would figure it out eventually." John smiled briefly.
"You didn't doubt me for a second, did you?" Sherlock smiled back, his mind racing with various thoughts.
What did this mean for them? Where did they stand? How long would this last?
But he deleted them all, focusing on now for once. Then his phone chimed and he rolled his eyes, "I'll get it." John sighed, walking over the kitchen table and picking up Sherlock's phone. "It's Lestrade, he says there's been a kidnapping and he wants us at the Yard as soon as possible."
Sherlock's smiled grew wider, "brilliant!" He grabbed his coat off the back of the door, but instead of rushing down the stairs, he looked over to John momentarily as the other man shrugged on his coat.
"What?" John asked, slowing his movements.
"I would do anything for you." Sherlock said, feeling his pulse fasten. John paused, blinked a few times, breathed out and chuckled,
"Come on you soppy arse." He smiled pushing a satisfied Sherlock out of the door.
-Cringes- I'm so sorry Sheriarty fans, my Johnlock came out halfway through this story.