A/N: I want to take a moment to thank all of my reviewers. Really, thank you. I appreciate you taking those few seconds out of your day to leave me a handful of words, without which this story would not have gotten this far. Keep reading and reviewing! I'll probably post another chapter tomorrow, if you do!

Chapter Five

Even after the appropriate amount of consideration he devoted to this decision, Sherlock was still shocked to find himself acting on it. He was less shocked to see John's response. His flatmate, his friend, his companion, stood before him, red faced, pupils dilated, pulse elevated, eyes watching his own eyes intensely, looking for something. He was confused, which was ridiculous as Sherlock thought he was being very clear with his words.

He was also incredibly nervous, and thinking intently on something that Sherlock was frustratingly ignorant of. He was prepared to give John time to contemplate his proposal, but honestly, how much time did he need? It had been - his eyes flickered to the clock on the wall behind John - a whole two minutes and thirteen seconds. Again he marveled at how strange it must be, for the average human brain. These poor people, all around him, unable to see, maddeningly incompetent and - wait, stop. Concentrate. John.

"John-"

"Do you even know what you're suggesting, Sherlock?" He asked, finally asking the question that had obviously been bothering him the most. A question that, frankly, Sherlock found rather tedious.

"Really John, I admit that I am inexperienced in this area but I'm not a child."

"Well have you ever… I mean… Have you been… intimate with anyone before?" He stumbled over his words, a renewed flush of color darkening his skin. Sherlock blinked at him once, twice.

No, he had not. But he certainly knew the mechanics of how sex worked, he knew the science. How difficult could it be, to apply his knowledge to action. John was sure to be experienced, so he shouldn't need Sherlock to guide him. But wait, no, that's not why John was asking. His friend looked at him expectantly, watching as Sherlock took a turn to think it over.

"What do you think this entails, exactly?" John asked, trying a different tactic. That was an easier question.

"Simple. Our relationship would remain how it is now, we would work together, live together, with the exception of how your sexual needs are dealt with. In that matter, you will refer to me instead of these random unfailingly disappointing girlfriends you adopt."

John stared at him as he spoke, stirrings of anger flickering in his eyes.

"So you want things to stay exactly how they are now, except that we have sex a couple of nights a week?" He asked, something in his tone gave Sherlock the impression that he did not find that appealing. Careful not to upset or offend him, though he had no idea why John would be offended, really, he should be flattered, Sherlock chose his next words with care.

"If a few nights a week is what you want, then it can surely be arranged. I am open to any suggestion, anything to make this an acceptable option for you."

"What-" John started but stopped, shaking his head at whatever thought had not succeeded in escaping his mouth, and started again. "Why me?"

Sherlock began to speak, but John narrowed his eyes, his pupils contracting as he focused, his throat convulsing as he swallowed. The answer to this question was important, it's meaning exceeded that of any he had asked so far. Sherlock decided to take a moment to ponder his answer, if not for the need to actually think of it, and more for the need for John to see him thinking of it.

Why John? Why John, indeed. There were plenty of other people in the world who could assist him in the way that John did, perhaps even better than John did, but Sherlock found himself averse to the idea of replacing him. Even if he had to go out of his way to offer assisting him with his need for intimacy, which the more he thought about it, was starting to sound less and less distasteful. Perhaps it even sounded… compelling. The idea of getting the chance to explore John more fully, to familiarizing himself with not only his preferences in tea and telly, but his preferences in touch and- wait. Stop. Back to current, clothed John.

Why John? Perhaps it had something to do with the way John was looking at him, and the way it made his chest tighten, and his heart pump a little harder. He could feel his own pulse thread rapidly, a normal response to being put under pressure. Perhaps it had something to do with the way John spoke to him, not with contempt or distaste, but with patience and understanding, and even, at times, a hint of reverence. Perhaps it had something to do with the way he never ceased to fascinate Sherlock, and how he was utterly predictable, except when he wasn't.

Why, indeed, was John the only person on the planet that he could stand to have in his company for longer than three minutes. Why was John the only person who Sherlock didn't want to strangle everytime he opened his mouth. Why was John the only person on the planet to cause Sherlock's pupils to dilate, for his pulse to quicken, for the desire to inspect every line of his face, every tiny scar on his hands, and every blemish that he had yet to see? The desire to touch his face, to feel the barest amount of stubble along his jaw… wait. That. That urge there, had never happened before. Where did that come from?

For the first time since he had even thought to offer his solution to their problem, to Sherlocks problem with John and his distractions, the idea of fulfilling John's sexual needs was… appealing. What an unexpected revelation.

"Sherlock?" John asked, worry coloring his voice, leaving a tangible taste of unease in the air between them.

"Yes, John. Why you? I'll tell you why. Because I tire of watching you walk out of this flat to meet with other people, for dates in particular. Because the thought of you giving your undivided attention to someone else irritates me to no end. Because I hate asking you a question only to find that you are not there. Because you're the only person on the planet that doesn't make me want to gauge my own eyes out with a toothpick. And because, my dear Dr. Watson, I simply and suddenly take immense joy in entertaining the idea of being the only one to satisfy your desires for companionship. All of them." Sherlock finished, narrowing his eyes at his flatmate, who was wide eyed and stunned into a brief silence. "Does that adequately answer your question? If it does, I would very much like an answer to mine."

"Yes." John finally whispered.

"Yes I have answered your question to your satisfaction, or yes to mine?"

"Yes to yours." He answered his voice still breathy as he stared at Sherlock.

"Brilliant. When would you like to start?" Sherlock inquired, smothering the hum of satisfaction that wanted to rise up in his throat.

"Uh, Sherlock, that's not exactly how it works." John replied, calming as he ran a hand over the back of his neck. Sherlock frowned.

"Please do elaborate."

"Well first of all, we don't map out specific times for this kind of thing, it happens naturally. You know, when the mood strikes us." He said, looking at Sherlock now with an expression he had seen many times before, one of a parent trying to explain something to a child, with the smallest trace of amusement. Sherlock ignored the condescending look, preferring to focus on his words instead.

"I'm not sure what you mean, when the mood strikes us? You're not in the mood now?" He inquired. John sighed and let out one short, tired laugh.

"Sherlock, for as bloody brilliant you are, you are really amazingly ignorant." John said, smiling as he turned to the now cold tea on the counter.

"So I've been informed." Sherlock stated blandly.

"When you initiate intimacy with someone, you do it because you want to. Because your body has the urge to touch and to be touched. Not because it's convenient. Do you understand what I mean? Have you ever felt that… need?" John asked, pointedly not looking at him as he put another kettle on.

"No one has ever touched me in that way John." Sherlock said, his voice unemotional to a fault. He watched as John paused, eyes remaining on the kettle. Something in his sentence had triggered something, but what?

"No one? Ever?" He asked, too calm. There was much more depth to that question than he let on.

"No, John. I have never had the need for such contact."

John let his head fall back, looking up at the ceiling as he expelled a heavy breath. He closed his eyes, his lips moving minutely… counting. Counting back from ten. John did this regularly when speaking to Sherlock, usually when Sherlock surprised or angered him. He didn't look angry. So surprised, then.

"Sherlock, I'm going to try something here. You'll have to work with me, communicate and let me know what you're thinking, what you're feeling. If you don't communicate with me properly, it won't work. Do you understand?" John asked, looking up at him.

"Of course I understand." Sherlock replied, with only the barest annoyance.

John turned away from the kettle, locking his eyes on Sherlocks with a look that suggested he was waiting for Sherlock to flee. He stood his ground as John took a slow step closer, and watched as he brought his hands up to either side of Sherlocks face, holding him steady.

"We'll start with this, and see how it works." He mumbled, pulling Sherlock's face gently, hinting at what he wanted. Sherlock complied, lowering down the few inches that would bring their lips close enough to touch.

John's pulse in his neck was beating like a hummingbird's wings, but his hands, his doctor's hands, were sure and steady. He didn't close his eyes, but lowered his gaze to Sherlock's mouth so that Sherlock could see every individual sandy colored lash protruding from his eyelids. He brought his hands up, placing them on John's firm forearms to steady them both, and instinctively closed his eyes as John's lips touched his own.

Soft, so soft was the skin of his lips. They pressed against his own with a gentle force, testing his reaction. The kiss wasn't still, but it was slow. John pulled back only a fraction, and kissed him again, tilting his head to one side, their mouths meeting at a different angle. Sherlock tried to mimic the movement of his lips, going through all the kisses he had seen in his head. There was that one time a few months ago that he had unintentionally intruded upon Molly and Anderson in a heated moment, their arms around each other as their mouths ate each's almost violently. Sherlock mentally shook his head. No, that wasn't right. There was another time when-

"Sherlock, you're overthinking it. Stop trying to analyze it. Go with what you feel." John whispered against his lips. Right, John was right. Sherlock took a deep breath, letting himself focus on John. Their lips met again, this time with the tiniest amount of practice. Sherlock moved his lips against John's slowly, his hands sliding up his forearms to his shoulders, gripping carefully on the side that had been injured.

John's hands slid down to the back of his neck, one traveled up slowly, fingers raking against Sherlock's' scalp, and twisting into his hair. That… that felt good. He gasped, and upon opening his mouth he felt John's tongue slip wetly over his lower lip and against his own, just for a second, before retreating back into John's mouth. He was suddenly breathing more heavily, his heart beating more quickly in his chest. His body was becoming excited in a way that it never had before.

Whatever reaction he had expected from John, it most definitely wasn't the one he received. To his utter dismay, his friend pulled away, disentangling himself from Sherlock's arms to look up at his face. For once, Sherlock wasn't sure what he saw there.

"I need to know what you're feeling, Sherlock." He said, his voice wavering so subtly that no one else would have noticed. At his question, Sherlock took a quick assessment of himself.

The tiny nerves in his mouth were on fire, sending signals upward, into his brain, which in turn sent off reactions in the rest of his body. His salivary glands were in overdrive, his heart was pumping blood downward, warming low in his abdomen. With the extra blood rushing through his body, his skin felt hot and flushed. The touch of their lips had raised his brain's production of dopamine, norepinephrine, and phenylethylamine, colliding with his brains pleasure receptors and giving him the feeling of exhilaration and the need to inch his mouth back towards John's for more. The science of it, well, that was elementary.

The emotion in him was an entirely different matter. The feeling of possessiveness that overcame him at the thought of anyone else touching their lips to John's in this way, surprised him almost as much as the knowledge that he had enjoyed what they had just shared, much more than he had expected. He wanted to kiss him again, he wanted to probe deeper, to see how much more this newfound pleasure could initiate. He wanted John to cease looking at him so calmly.

Instead of voicing his answer, he closed the short distance between them and gripped the back of John's neck, pulling their lips together again. John groaned, a deep, masculine sound that forced more warmth coursing through him. Sherlock, driven by some need to pull John closer, ran a hand up his arm and over his shoulder, with every intent of wrapping it around him in order to achieve his desire when John winced, abruptly bringing Sherlock back into perspective.

"I believe that is enough experimenting for now." Sherlock said, releasing John and tugging at the lapels of his jacket in order to gain some clarity. John looked up at him, his eyes wide and unsure. "Please do not make up some nonsense in your over suspicious head that I am not enjoying the experience John, that is not the case. I worry about damaging your shoulder, as I have already irritated the injury once tonight." Sherlock informed him, glancing down at his arm, having already noticed the subtle way he held it out, away from his body.

"Sherlock, my shoulder is fine." He insisted, frowning. Sherlock could see it forming, some emotion in John's face that increased in relation to the inches between them. As Sherlock took a step away from him, the look grew more pronounced, John's eyes following him seemingly without his consent.

"So is that it, then?" John asked as Sherlock stepped towards the fridge.

"For tonight, yes." He answered, pulling a cold pack out of the freezer. He watched as John's brow furrowed, some errant thought afflicting him. He pulled a hand up to his shoulder again, massaging it without being aware of the action. He did this often.

"Right. I'm off to bed then." He said, dropping his hand and moving to walk passed Sherlock and towards the stairs.

"A moment, please John." Sherlock asked, absentmindedly punching buttons on the microwave before turning to look at his flatmate. John turned, an expectant, almost hopeful expression on his face.

"A compress for your shoulder." Sherlock said, gesturing towards the microwave. The hopefulness in John's eye deflated like a punctured balloon. "Was there something else you wanted?" He added, studying John's face as he waited for an answer.

There, a small flinch, his eyes glanced down for only a fraction of a second before snapping back up, blankness seeping into them in an attempt to hide whatever he was feeling.

"John," Sherlock started, turning the the microwave as it beeped to signify it's readiness, "The way I see it, you have precisely two choices. You can tell me what it is you are thinking, if we don't communicate properly, it won't work," He added in between, smiling to himself as he copied John's own words, "Or we can become very friendly with my riding crop. I will be happy to accept either option, so I'll leave it up to you." He finished, holding out the hot compress.

John's skin turned a lovely shade of red, only widening Sherlocks smile. He saw his mouth form the silent words "riding crop", almost unintentionally before he gave himself a small shake and answered.

"I wasn't sure if you intended on us… sleeping together." He finally said, his face even more red than before. That was interesting, after all that they had discussed tonight, he was feeling the most vulnerable admitting this small thing. It must be important to him.

"Would you like to?" Sherlock asked, narrowing his eyes as he watched him closely. John took in his expression and shutdown, removing himself from the position he had put himself in.

"No, I mean, it's fine. Really. It's all fine. Thank you for the compress." He said, plastering a smile on his face as he took the compress from Sherlock's outstretched hand. Once again, he made to walk passed Sherlock and towards the stairs.

"John." Sherlock called out as his foot touched the first step. He turned, his eyes controlled and showing nothing. "I would be very much inclined for you to spend tonight in my room, with me. If wouldn't mind." John's eyes widened, briefly showing his pleasure at Sherlocks words before he cleared his throat in an attempt to hide it.

"Yes, yes of course."