A/N: I meant to upload this yesterday, but my beta reader/troll of a sister didn't go over it until late last night. So here it is, the part you've all been waiting for. I hope it lives up to your expectations.

Also, I'll be changing the name of this fan fiction when I upload the next (and final) chapter. So when you get the notification and the name is different, you won't be confused. Please leave a review, I haven't written a lemon since my last fan fictions so I'm a bit out of practice. Also, to those of you who have read this and gone on to read the rest of my stories, thus favoriting The Package and/or The Outsider, thank you! It's always wonderful to know that someone likes your story enough to look into what else you have to offer.

That's all for now. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and let me know what you think! Happy reading.

Chapter Nine

The visible response that his words drew out of John was simply enrapturing. Sherlock watched as he paused, his eyelids fluttering as he took a moment to double check what he had said. His lips, those oddly delectable lips, parted as he stuttered out a breath while his chest surged with the effort. Sherlock felt himself smile, incapable of masking his own pleased response. John's grip tightened on him, those strong fingers digging into his hips as he attempted to steady and prepare himself.

With one sweep of his gaze, Sherlock took in his friends appearance. He had neglected to buy a new razor, there was the most miniscule amount of stubble on his chin. Though he was quick to care for others, John never exerted quite the same amount of care when it came to his own well being. He was kind, so kind and considerate. This quality, perhaps it was a flaw, was endearing at times. At other times it was merely an encumbrance.

He hadn't showered this morning after his lie-in in Sherlock's bed. The light scent of his own silk sheets still clung to his skin, particularly around his face and neck where he had buried his head in the sheet for a moment upon waking. The idea that he smelled of Sherlock's bed sent a strange thrill through him, leaving a fluttering sensation deep in his abdomen. It was a primal feeling, one that he was agonizingly unfamiliar with.

Sherlock couldn't help but see the vivid image of John in his bed, surrounded by near darkness and silk sheets as he slept peacefully. It had only taken a small amount of time for Sherlock to follow, sinking down into an unconscious state with an ease that he was never able to accomplish when he slept alone. Why was that? Why was he able to sleep easier when John was in his bed? There it was again, the feeling of partial fear, partial amazement. What was this, genuine sentiment? Was he developing an emotional attachment to John?

"Shut up." John whispered, only seconds after Sherlock had made his demand. Had it been seconds? Or had it been longer?

"Pardon?" Sherlock inquired, raising an eyebrow as he leaned back a fraction to study John's face.

"You were thinking. It's annoying." John breathed, hands sliding up slowly from his hips to his waist. Even through his shirt, Sherlock could feel their warmth. He couldn't help but smile as John threw his own words back at him from so long ago. "No more thinking." He added, and then closed the distance between them.

Sherlock brought a hand to John's neck to steady himself as they kissed needily. Though their first attempt had been clumsy, this kiss was different, sure and demanding. John slid his tongue along Sherlock's lower lip, wordlessly requesting entrance. He granted quickly, reveling in the increasingly familiar feeling of John's tongue in his mouth. So warm, this muscle as it assaulted his oral senses and wrecked havoc on his mental clarity. It briefly occurred to him that the tongue was the strongest muscle in the human body and he could just imagine the feeling of it wrapping around the head of his cock. Said appendage gave an excited twitch at the thought, quickly becoming engorged as the flow of blood in his body was redirected.

He could feel John's pulse as his hand rested against the side of his neck, pounding fast and steady. Quick fingers suddenly pulled at the front of his shirt, untucking it from his trousers with sharp tugs, and then John's hand found purchase on his skin. Oh, the sensation! His body felt so alive, nearly quivering with strange anticipation. John gripped his hip with one hand as he pulled at Sherlock's buttons with the other, slightly clumsy in the left handed attempt. Sherlock could feel the tremor in those usually steady hands, evidence of his own excitement.

He released his hold on John's neck, running his hand up into his sandy hair only to become frustrated when he found that John's hair was too short to get a hold. Forgoing the attempt, he brought his hand around to his jaw and gripped it heavily. He felt the muscles flex as John moved his mouth, kissing him greedily. His other hand seemed to have a mind of it's own, determined to make up for his lack of previous exploration as it moved down John's arm and to his stomach. Feeling brave and inquisitive, he pushed up John's sweater and dug two fingers underneath the line of his jeans, tugging at them with silent demand.

John pulled back with a groan, his slightly swollen lips parted and his lids low as they breathed heavily. With one quick movement, John grasped his own sweater and undershirt and pulled them both over his head fluidly. His torso, now bare, was aglow with the yellow light from their lamps. His chest rose and fell with each breath, skin tight over the movement. Sherlock wasn't given more than a mere second to admire him before John was back on him, nearly ripping buttons open in his haste. Sherlock started to complain before he realized that he was wearing John's shirt. If John wanted to ruin his own shirt, far be it from Sherlock to stop him.

Within moments the shirt was open, leaving his own chest bare. The new skin on skin contact nearly made him lose his equilibrium. How interesting that the mere touch of someone elses skin could cause such a reaction! As they continued to kiss, John's hand grew bolder, pulling at Sherlock's hips to bring him away from the desk. Those hands, so solid and unweilding, reached around him and gripped one side of his arse in each. Sherlock couldn't help but gasp, stealing the breath from John's mouth. John grinned against his lips and then jerked, bringing their groins flush together. Oh, the feeling of him there!

How could he have forgone this experience for so long? He would have made an effort to experience intimacy much sooner, had he known. But was it always this way, was it always this… arousing? Or was he simply so intoxicated on someone elses touch because that person was John? Oh God, he didn't care. At this precise moment in time it didn't matter, because God, he was aroused and it was John. His John.

The feral thought caught him off guard. His John? Was he his John? He barely gave it thought before the answer was clear to him. Of course, of course, his John. It seemed natural, expected. He had always been his John, from the moment he limped into that lab months ago, with his cane and his military induced posture, with his brooding eyes.

A sharp nip at his lower lip and a hard thrust into his front snapped him back to the present along with growling words being pressed to his mouth.

"Focus, Sherlock." John ordered, effectively halting his line of thought. Sherlock kissed him with increased vigor, desperate to feel more of John's erection pressed against his own. Suddenly the fabric of their trousers was too thick, too constricting. He needed John's bare skin on his own, he needed to feel that hard length thrusting against him.

"I demand that you accompany me to the bedroom. Now." Sherlock gasped as John rolled a particularly good bit of friction between them.

"Oh God, yes." He breathed, tugging Sherlock away from the desk and towards the hall. They stumbled as they stepped, neither willing to let go of the other or relinquish their claim on each others lips. They fought as they kissed, each needing to find purchase and dominance, unwilling to submit. Though John was shorter, his body still retained most of the muscular physique that he had acquired in his days with the military. Sherlock was by no means a delicate man, but he could not match John when it came to muscle mass and strength of arms. He was even unable to use his height to his advantage, as John had been dealing with more vertically blessed individuals all of his life and knew his way around such a hinderance. He could gain no advantage.

John pushed him eagerly into a bookshelf as they were too preoccupied with each others touch and each others mouths to judge the distance properly. Sherlock's' shoulders were pressed into the shelves with enough force to make him wince, had he had enough wits about him to feel it. John had chosen that exact moment to reach down into his trousers and wrap those strong fingers around his cock, and suddenly the shelves digging into his shoulder blades were the last thing on his mind.

Oh, that hand on his cock! Those sure and steady fingers began to caress him, pumping up and down the length of him so slowly, giving him a sensation that nearly buckled his knees.

"Ah, John!" He managed to gasp, though he knew not how as he had no breath to spare. John groaned, his hot mouth finding a hold on his neck, teeth nipping at sensitive skin. His other hand made swift work of Sherlock's clasp and zipper, effectively freeing him and giving more room for John to work him. Sherlock grasped John's shoulders, using his sturdy body to hold himself upright.

Sherlock found himself panting, actually panting as John stroked him almost lovingly, with just the right amount of rough jerking as he came to the head. His mouth bit and sucked at the juncture between his neck and his shoulder while his other hand gripped the opposite side of his jaw. Sherlock's heart was pounding, he could nearly hear it beating in his own ears. His body felt hot and raw and needy, his hands grasped desperately at John as he tried to hold on while the pleasure of John's touch racked through him. Just when he thought he could stand it it no more, John's hand came away from him and he dropped to his knees. Sherlock's eyes shot open as he heard the thump of his knees hitting the floor and had just opened his mouth to speak, though he had no idea what he had been about to say, as John's hot, wet mouth closed over him.

White exploded around the edge of his vision as he stared blindly while John sucked him. That tongue, as he had only fantasized moments before, wrapped around the head of his cock and sucked hard, before he loosened his hold and tightened his lips, sliding them along his length. Oh but God, the feel of that mouth sucking him! His nerves were on fire. He was so hard and ready that John's mouth bordered that thin line between pain and pleasure, and all he could think of was having him suck harder.

Losing clarity and all reason, Sherlock thrust his hips forward, needing to be deeper inside that mouth. John gripped his hips tightly, his thumbs digging into Sherlock's hipbones as he held him still. But Sherlock didn't want to be still, he want to move. He wanted to push John into the floor and rightly fuck his bloody brains out.

"John, John you must stop. If you don't I'll… I'll…" Sherlock groaned as John took one more pull, slowly dragging his lips and tongue along him before releasing him with a wet pop. Sherlock looked down at him, breathing as though he'd been running for hours, and nearly melted at the sight of John's shiny, plump lips. He grabbed him by the upper arms and pulled him up roughly, kissing him blindly.

He pushed away from the wall and forcefully dragged John down the hall and to the bedroom, not even bothering to close the door as he shoved John against the wall just inside. His fingers made quick work of John's pants, shoving them down his legs roughly in his haste. He let John finish, peeling them off and stepping out of them while Sherlock removed his own. When they were completely nude, still heaving for air, Sherlock took a step back to inspect his flatmate.

Had there ever been anything shaped so magnificently, so perfectly, as John Watson? His face was dark from exposure from the sun, as were his hands, but that was where the darkened color ceased. From the neck down and wrist up, his skin was pale, with the slightest dusting of freckles. His color would never reach the almost alabaster of Sherlocks, but he was indeed pale and perfect. His body was thick, though he had lost some of his definition from so long away from the daily activity the military had required of him. His short hair was tousled, his mouth open and his cheeks flushed.

But what really drew Sherlock's attention was the sight of his twitching erection. He had never found himself fantasizing about naked men, nor naked women if he was being fair, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from John's perfect cock. He was shorter than Sherlock, though barely, and thicker. He stood straight and unashamed, his tip glistening with smeared semen. Sherlock nearly moaned when John's hand suddenly gripped himself, squeezing more fluid from the tip. His eyes fluttered and glazed over as he watched Sherlock's reaction. He knew.

Oh how Sherlock wanted that cock. He wanted it in his hands, in his mouth. He almost took the time to wonder what had come over him, but he couldn't find the thought to spare as he fixated on that perfect member and the way John's hand wrapped around it. His own twitched at the thought, he licked his dry lips. John's eyes suddenly narrowed on his face and he released himself, striding forward quickly to shove Sherlock down onto the bed.

Then John was on top of him, kissing him again as he knocked Sherlock's legs aside and situated himself between them. Thick biceps and John's face filled his vision as he descended on him again, kissing him roughly. Sherlock could sense the display of dominance, his ire rose as he pushed back, while contradictorily wrapping one leg around John's arse to pull them together.

"Sh-Sherlock!" John gasped as their groins pressed and rubbed together. Sherlock felt a surge of approval as John threw his head back and rutted against him, mouth open in a silent groan.

He knew that they could both finish this way, that there would be no need to take the act any further to receive gratification. They hadn't had the discussion about how this would work, and with the way John was handling him the answer seemed clear. Sherlock smiled grimly, knowing that he would not allow John to dominate him so thoroughly. At least, not their first time.

He allowed his body to work John's for a little longer, resistant to the idea of relinquishing the feeling of John thrusting over him. With one hand, he gripped John's jaw, loving the way the muscle hardened under his touch as he forced his face down and close enough to kiss. John worked his hips as they kissed, their tongues entwining almost expertly now.

When one particular thrust brought John's cock down farther, far enough to brush against Sherlock's entrance, he decided it was time to take control. He brought his hands to John's sides and tightened his grip, smiling at the way John's eyes widened as he realized what Sherlock was about to attempt. He gave him no more warning than the smile, and proceeded to promptly shove John off and to the side, using the momentum to pull himself up and over him. He forced his hips between John's legs, solidly and efficiently switching their positions.

He rolled his long body against John, giving him no quarter as he assaulted his mouth once again. Propped up by his hands, he worked his hips quickly, sliding their cocks together to acquire that blinding friction that they both so desperately needed. John's hands shot down to his lower back, fingers digging in as he pulled Sherlock even closer, leaving no spaces between them.

The activity had caused a sheen of perspiration on each of their bodies. John's skin glistened in the dim light as Sherlock worked him, his breath coming quicker. He began to prepare for the next step in his mind, deliberating on the best course of action to proceed, when John brought three fingers from his dominant hand and pressed them to Sherlock's lips.

"Suck." John ordered, his voice rough with arousal.

Sherlock hesitated, studying his face in wonder before he obliged. John's fingers were rough with caloses and warm in his mouth, but he bit and sucked and nipped them with pleasure that surprised him. He found that he loved the feeling of those digits in his mouth, loved how them slid over his sensitive tongue. He was far from done and almost devastated when John suddenly removed them, leaving a trail of saliva from his lower lip.

Those hot, wet fingers trailed down his neck and chest, in between their bodies and down between their hips. John let his head fall back as his breath hitched. Intrigued, Sherlock pulled back just far enough to observe his behavior. He placed his hands on John's knees, kneeling back to watch with boiling blood as John's fingers worked at his own hole, moving around and stretching. He glanced back up to John's face to see him flushed, eyes closed as he breathed even more heavily than before.

Sherlock could tell by the tightening of his brow and the clenching of his jaw that the action caused him discomfort. He almost moved to stop him, to still that hand, but found himself clutching his own erection instead. He gasped, nearly done in by the sight of John fingering himself and his own hand on his cock. The sound roused John's attentioned and those wide pupils fixed on him suddenly. His face relaxed, Sherlock could see how the ring of muscles ceased to clench so violently.

Eager to ease his difficulty, Sherlock continued to pump himself slowly, relishing in the way John's eyes followed the movement of his hand greedily. Soon all three of his fingers were moving easily. He watched as John brought his other hand to his mouth momentarily, leaving a swell of saliva on his palm. He reached for Sherlock's cock, shoving his hand out of the way to coat him with the substitute lubricant.

When he was thoroughly readied, John brought back hands back to his sides and clenched the sheets, letting his head fall back.

"In me, now." He whispered, and Sherlock could only obey. He adjusted his position and pressed the head of his erection against John's entrance, watching as his friend let out a nervous breath. He took a breath himself, bracing for whatever result was brought by the action, and pushed.

Tight, so tight, and hot. He had only gained an inch of distance before he had to pause as John clenched around him. He paused for John's sake, and his own. John's brows were knitted together and his teeth clenched as he adjusted. He had to wait, for fear of risking hurt to him. Also for fear of not being able to control his own release. So close, he was so close and John was so tight.

He massaged John's thighs as he waited it out, letting him relax. After a few moments, he began to loosen and breath more deeply, his shoulders were less tight and the muscles in his stomach smoothed. Sherlock studied his reaction carefully as he pushed forward slowly, burying himself alway the way to the hilt. John cried out, a strangled noise of half pleasure, half pain. Sherlock shuddered at the sound, feeling John clench around him over and over. He remained motionless, allowing John more time to adjust.

When John let out a loud breath and slumped back limply, Sherlock began to move. He kept his pace slow, watching John intently as he thrust into him languidly. His muscles rippled under his skin, pectorals and biceps flexing in a way that caused a tightening low in Sherlock's stomach. His head was laid back, his back arched, mouth open as he panted through Sherlock's movements. He had never been more bewitching than in that moment, lost in the sensation of Sherlock fucking him.

He would never get enough of this.

Introduced to such an act, Sherlock knew that he would be loathe and quite possibly unable to stop desiring the feeling of John's hands clutching desperately, trying to find purchase, of John's tight heat around him, of John breathing out his name. This debauchery was addictive, devastatingly addictive, and the question arose of; how would they ever stop?

He had no answer as he pounded into John relentlessly, gaining speed and thrusting harder and harder, until the wet sound of his upper thighs slapping against John's buttocks filled the room, along with their heavy breathing. John moaned, his voice like liquid sex as it graced Sherlock's ears, wrapping around him like the wet heat of his arse. He gripped John's legs tighter as he felt the build of his release encroaching.

Glancing down at John's lonely cock as it rested hard and rigid and definitely aching against his stomach, Sherlock flicked his gaze up at John's face as he reached for it, grasping it tightly in his fist. John's eyes shot open, his head jerking up to observe those long fingers wrapped around him. He let out another moan, a shaky sound, screaming of loss of control. Pleased, Sherlock began to pump him quickly in time with his own thrusts. He knew he wouldn't last much longer and he would be damned if John didn't reach the height of his pleasure as well.

John's hip began to move as he pushed against Sherlock's hips and his hand. His tight hole wrapped around Sherlock, caressing him and begging to be fucked harder. Sherlock quickened the pace of his hips and fist, jerking John's cock good and hard until John stilled and cried out loudly, an abandoned sound that resonating like the sweetest music. He spilled his semen all over his own abdomen and Sherlock's fingers. The sight of him jerking and twitching, muscles tightening, sent Sherlock over the edge. His orgasm punched him in the gut, leaving him groaning and doubled over John, his forehead pressed against his collarbone. Their chests heaved as they stilled, too short of breath to speak.

John's legs fell limply, feet on the bed with his knees bent around Sherlock's hips. A hand came up and tangled in Sherlock's curls, tugging his head back with no amount of tenderness so that John could see his face. Their eyes met, both heavily lidded with exhaustion, and John suddenly smiled. His entire face changed dramatically, lines and creases appearing with his expression. The unexpected glee in his eyes was infectious.

Sherlock found himself smiling as well, endorphins overpowering his system in the aftermath of their mutual pleasure. He leaned forward, pressing their lips together chastly before collapsing back onto John's chest. The sweat on his face and neck mixed with that on John's chest, leaving their skin sticky and hot. Sherlock couldn't find it in him to care.

He eventually stretched his legs out, letting his weight rest on John's lower body while still sheathed inside of him. They lay quietly, waiting for their breathing to return to normal and their hearts to slow their rhythms. John's hand remained in Sherlock's hair, fingers massaging his scalp and tugging occasionally. Sherlock had never been so content in his life.

Though it didn't take long for his mind to resume it's normal engrossment. He had just had sex with John. How would this change them? He felt much more altered than he originally thought he would when he proposed the idea. He was unable to grasp the level of detachment that he had cocooned himself in before. Strange emotions were coursing through his mind, undilated and harsh on his usually cool consciousness, ripping through him like a lashing.

Now that he had had John, he couldn't imagine another having him. Did that mean that he wanted exclusivity? Would John? Would they be able to function as efficiently as before during cases, or would this desire continue to be a distraction? Would John be satisfied and content with the direction their relationship had taken?

He lay still on top of his friend turned lover, his body masking John's lower extremities as they basked in the silent afterglow while simultaneously running through all of his concerns in his mind. If John felt his discontent, he did not acknowledge it. He just lay there in silence, fingers tugging at Sherlock's hair.