With school finished, John and Sherlock were free to spend as much time together as they wanted, which was often. Sherlock found a flat close to John's house now that he no longer lived in residence. As they grew closer, John started to learn more about Sherlock. He had heard more of the mysterious Mycroft, but still didn't know who he was. He had asked once, but Sherlock had ignored the question with a silent warning not to push it. However, John had met Lestrade, and he began to help Sherlock on cases. And by help he means that he tags along and stands in awe as his boyfriend makes impressive conclusions. Boyfriend. Sherlock Holmes, my boyfriend. John watched Sherlock as he did his work, his face contorted in calculation. God, he's perfect. How did I ever get him? John waited patiently until they left the crime scene before he pulled Sherlock in roughly, kissing him with fervour. Sherlock was surprised at first, but smiled into John's lips.

"Not here, let's wait until we get back to my place."

"But…" John didn't want to wait. He wanted Sherlock here and now. He sighed heavily. "Fine." John pulled away.

"Don't pout, it doesn't suit you," Sherlock laughed. He stole a quick kiss from John. Sherlock's mood flipped from joking to serious instantly.

"Actually, I've got something I wanted to discuss with you, John."

John's heartbeat took off, worried at Sherlock's sudden change.

"And what is that?"

"Well I was thinking… my flat is so empty and I've grown quite accustomed to having flatmates over the school year..."

"Wait, are you asking me to move in with you, Sherlock?" John looked up at his boyfriend, who, for the first time since John met him, looked nervous.

"If you want to… I mean if you think it's a good idea?" Sherlock waited anxiously for John's reaction.

John frowned, but replied "Yes, I think that could work." His frown turned into a smile, and he pulled Sherlock towards him, giving him a deep kiss. A tingle went down to his crotch, a remnant of experiences past.

Sherlock hesitated. "You frowned."

"Sorry, what?" John pulled away.

"You frowned."

"When?"

"When I asked you to move in." John could hear Sherlock's patience waning. "Why did you frown? Do you not want to? Are you sur-"

"Sherlock! Of course I want to move in! I just thought about my parents, they still don't know about you, and I just worried for a second about telling them. But I want to move in with you more than I fear their reactions. I want to be with you, you thick git."

Sherlock pulled him in for a kiss. This one was deep and meaningful. Not their everyday peck or their lustful, urgent kiss. This one was Sherlock's way of portraying his feelings for John. He put a hand on the small of John's back, pulling him in closer, his other hand behind John's neck. His lips moved slowly over John's, his hands tugged him as close as possible.

John felt weak all over. Sherlock had never kissed him like this before.

"Oh God, Sherlock."

Sherlock felt himself getting hot and pulled away, staring intently into John's eyes.

"John…" Sherlock couldn't find the words, but John knew.

"I know, Sherlock. Me too."

.:.

The wait between the crime scene and Sherlock's flat seemed a life time. John patience waned and he couldn't help himself in the cab as he stroked Sherlock's leg, slowly working his way to the inner thigh. Sherlock had seemed unaffected by the light touch, so John moved his hand closer and closer to Sherlock's crotch. He acted as though the touching was unconsciously done, something of habit instead of intent. Sherlock's lack of response had him convinced that his act was working. He 'absentmindedly' caressed the area, slowly moving up but never actually making it to Sherlock's bulge (which, out of the corner of John's eye, appeared to be growing a little bit. Sherlock's face, however, revealed nothing). As the cab grew close to Sherlock's flat, Sherlock placed his hand on John's, which effectively ended its movement. Placed is a bad choice of words. Sherlock grabbed John's hand, which effectively ended its movement. John looked up at Sherlock and caught the look of desperation on his face, a strangled sense of need. Fuck.

John felt himself grow hard just at the sight of Sherlock hot and bothered in the back seat of a cab, but he kept a straight, innocent face.

When they arrived at the building, the cabbie was paid and they went up the stairs. The minute they entered the flat, Sherlock shoved John against the wall so hard he almost knocked the breath out of him. He inhaled sharply. Sherlock pinned John there, holding his hands firmly so they couldn't escape.

"What was that fo-"

"Don't you ever do that again." Sherlock looked down at John fiercely.

"I don't know what you're talking about," John replied too innocently.

"Yes, you do." Sherlock reached down and clamped down hard on John's erection, which made him cry out. "A little bit stiff for a normal cab ride home, don't you think?"

John couldn't answer; the painful pleasure that emitted from the rough touch was overwhelming his system. He was just able to nod slightly before Sherlock spoke again.

"That's what I thought." And with that, John was completely at Sherlock's mercy.

Sherlock forced his lips on John's, and they kissed urgently. John tried without success to regain the use of his hands so he could pull Sherlock closer. Sherlock laughed darkly.

"It's my turn to use hands, John. You've had your turn." John was barely able to stifle his moan.

Sherlock's free hand went down and started to rub John's erection through his trousers. Lightly at first but growing in pressure and speed. John started to thrust in rhythm with Sherlock's touch.

"Oh God, Sherlock."

Sherlock let John's hands go and they kissed again. As they snogged, John felt Sherlock tugging at his wrists, and when Sherlock finally broke the kiss, John realized that his hands were bound by Sherlock's scarf.

"Sherlock!"

"I told you, it's my turn." Sherlock looked at John with a sly smile. "And I don't think you're going to follow the rules unless I reinforce them."

If John wasn't so turned on, he might have been angry. Sherlock took the lack of response as a positive and forcibly took John to his room.

John hit the bed hard, but the impact felt good. Sherlock slowly undressed John and pulled his bound hands over the bedpost. Sherlock paused, double checking with a questioning expression that it was comfortable for John. With a small, eager nod from John, Sherlock continued.

John lay on the bed completely naked and unable to move. It made him nervous, watching Sherlock look at him. It reminded him of how anxious he was the first time, that one drunken night a few weeks previous. They had been intimate many times since then, becoming more comfortable with themselves and each other, but nothing like this.

Sherlock's long, slender fingers brushed down John's chest, stomach and legs. Goosebumps rose at the touch. Sherlock allowed his nails to drag along John's skin as he followed the path back up, which caused John to hiss.

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock chuckled deeply, but let off. He kissed John lightly but quickly moved down, sucking and teasing John's nipples. He worked his way south with kisses, hickies and small bites, but avoided John's agonizing erection. He spread John's legs and slowly kissed the insides of his calves and thighs. John squirmed as Sherlock would reach the area surrounding his crotch, but Sherlock wouldn't give him the satisfaction of attention. Sherlock gave John a purposeful look and laid one finger on John's inner thigh. He raised his finger so the nail would be the only contact with John's skin. He then imitated the patterns that John had used in the cab, slow but decisive, dragging his nail around the inside of John's tender thigh. John groaned at the feeling flowing up his spine; precum was leaking out of his cock.

"Bloody fucking hell, Sherlock!"

Sherlock paid no attention but instead trapped John's legs under his, so that John was completely immobile, and continued to slide his nail around John's skin.

"Please… Sherlock…" John was panting now.

"Please what, John?" Sherlock looked down at John with a smirk, but didn't cease teasing.

"Please fuck me," John begged breathlessly.

Sherlock stopped touching John, and the trail where his finger had been burned on John's skin. "What?"

"I want you… to fuck me." John felt his face go red, and he felt ridiculous saying it.

"Are you sure?" Sherlock looked down at John. His John. His bound-to-the-bedpost John.

John chuckled lightly, "Yes."

Sherlock lowered himself onto John, bringing their faces next to each other.

"Well," Kiss. "If it's what you want…" Another kiss. "Who am I to deny you?" John felt a little patronized until he looked into Sherlock's eyes. Gone was the confidence, the wisdom and the arrogance. Replacing it was sincerity. Sherlock raised his hands and untied the scarf from around John's hands. Not wasting a minute of freedom, the hands worked away at Sherlock's clothing, removing first his shirt, then trousers, then pants.

Sherlock leaned over and retrieved a bottle of lube from the bedside table.

"You're going to need to spread your legs a little more." John complied easily and Sherlock applied a heavy dose of the lubricant. Sherlock's finger teased the hole, dipping in and out and encircling it. Deep, guttural moans came from John, which only fuelled Sherlock's movements. Sherlock slid a second finger in, which warranted groans from John. John cried out when the third finger was added.

"Oh, GOD! Sherlock!"

Sherlock paused at his outburst. "Is it okay? Am I hurting you?"

John had never seen Sherlock so concerned. "No, it's not bad." Sherlock didn't seem convinced. "I promise. I want this."

Sherlock put a large dose of the lubricant on his stiff cock and slowly inserted himself into John, pausing with each gasp and moan.

"Fuuuuck… Sherlock!"

Sherlock couldn't help but groan at the feeling of John tight around him. He slowly withdrew and pushed back in. Sherlock analysed the feeling of being with John. Not just the physical feeling that was overwhelming his body, but the emotional feeling of intimacy. It was good, more than good. He never wanted it to change.

With each of Sherlock's thrusts, John got closer and closer to coming. Then Sherlock hit his prostate.

"Oh, fuck! Right there, Sherlock! Ohhhh, God."

Sherlock continued to thrust, gaining speed and arousal. John's moans were almost constant now, only interrupted by the occasional panted, "Sherlock!"

Sherlock wrapped his hand around John's weeping cock and began to pump. John fell silent, and Sherlock looked down at him to see his mouth wide open, eyes closed. John made a throaty noise and came on Sherlock, who kept thrusting through the convulsions. Having John around him and watching him cum sent Sherlock over the edge. With a final thrust, he came in John, moaning his name loudly as he did. They stayed intertwined long enough to catch their breath then crawled into bed together. Right before they fell asleep, Sherlock looked lazily at John. He was perfect. Just as he had been before he climaxed. His hair was everywhere, his cheeks were rosy and his face was completely blissful. Sherlock never wanted to forget that moment, and he pulled John closer, hoping to permanently set it in his memory.

.:.

John walked home from Sherlock's flat. His head was in the clouds as he considered the thought of living with Sherlock, and how repeats of the past afternoon could happen as often as they wanted. John thought back to the time he wasted dating Jeanette. As far as women went, Jeanette was one that interested John the most. Men still had no effect on John, except for Sherlock. It still confused John, his love for Sherlock. The more he tried to understand it, the less it made sense. Sherlock was an anomaly and could never be compared to anything John had experienced.

As John strolled down the street, a sleek black car pulled up next to him. He wouldn't have noticed, but they called his name.

"John Watson."

"Huh? Yea, that's me." John was startled. How do they know my name?

"You have to come with me, Mr Watson."

"Who are you?"

"I'm a messenger for a friend who has a vested interest in Sherlock Holmes."

"Oh, that clears everything up," John retorted sarcastically and kept walking.

"Mr Watson, I'm afraid I can't let you leave. You have to come with me."

"And what happens if I don't?" John's gusto grew.

"You will come either by choice or by force."

"Fine," John sighed heavily as though it was a huge inconvenience to go with the stranger. In reality his heartbeat was going a million miles a minute and he felt sick. John climbed into the car with shaky legs, hoping no one would notice.

The car ride was less than 30 minutes and the destination was an abandoned house on the other side of town. It was shabby and run-down, and John was sure that this was the end for him. He was lead inside and delivered to a slender, ginger-haired man with a sickening smile.

"Ah, John! Nice to meet you!" John recoiled at the voice. It was too sweet, as was the smile. The man started toward him with an extended hand, all the while keeping his piercing eye contact.

John didn't return a hand and the man eventually dropped his.

"Who are you and why have you brought me here?" John didn't break the eye contact despite feeling completely uncomfortable.

"Let's just say that I'm a friend, a friend with a keen concern for Sherlock."

"If that's true, why am I here and not him? What do you want with me?"

"He seems to have taken an interest in you, John. I'm curious to know why. And you may be useful in helping me." Something about the mystery man turned John off. He couldn't tell if it was the unchanging face the man wore – looking slightly amused even though it didn't suit their current situation at all – or how everything sounded condescending without effort. Maybe it was a mixture of both?

"Why would I help you? I don't know you at all."

"Ah, you're a loyal one. His last pet, The Woman, always got mixed up with the wrong people. Difficult one, she was. And Moriarty, God, he was one hell of a- well, that's another story." The man's face dropped a little at the memory, but quickly resumed its previous expression. John stood firm, refusing to react to the new information and give the man satisfaction. Sherlock will tell me about his past when he's ready.

"So why do you have me here…?"

"Well, as you know, Sherlock has become more involved with Scotland Yard and an Inspector Lestrade… I want to make sure he remains safe. He wouldn't voluntarily give me information about his life, so I was hoping that you might."

John chuckled a dark, humourless laugh. "No. Why would I give that to you?"

"Because I am genuinely concerned about him."

"Have you met Sherlock? No one cares about him, excluding me. Anyways, I don't even know who you are!"

"My name is Mycroft."

"Ah, yes. He's mentioned you."

"Really?" The man's face seemed genuinely surprised and possibly a little pleased.

"Don't get too excited," John replied sharply. "Nothing impressive enough to make me want to help you."

"But you must understand the importance of my being informed."

"I must understand nothing! Just because he has muttered your name a few times doesn't mean I will join your 'team' and rat out my boyfriend!" Mycroft's face crumpled a bit despite obvious effort to remain unaffected.

"You're dating Sherlock? And he hasn't told you who I am?" The sly cat-playing-with-its-mouse look had disappeared from Mycroft's face. He just looked tired now that he had lost the upper hand. "I'm Mycroft Holmes. I'm his brother."

John was taken aback. Sherlock has a brother?

"Well, I'm sorry but he hasn't mentioned you in that respect. I'm not going to help you. I want to go home, if you would kindly call the car for me, I would appreciate it." John turned and started to walk away from Mycroft without really knowing where he was headed.

"John, I am honestly trying to look out for him."

John didn't reply as he exited the house. He found the black car waiting out front and directed it to his house.

Once he was home he texted Sherlock.

We need to talk. –JW

The response was almost immediate.

Ooh, ominous. About what? –SH

Your brother. –JW

Oh, him. What about him? –SH

Maybe the fact that you didn't tell me about him? Or that he kidnapped me on my way home? –JW

Fine, if we must. Come over in 10? –SH

See you soon. –JW

My apologies that this took so long to upload! I made it a suuuper long chapter to make up for the delay :) I will be writing more often now! I have the next few chapters (semi) planned out, so things will be moving forward. Reviews are ALWAYS appreciated (and very encouraging for my incentive to write)! :D