Title: Feel
Chapter 3: Touch
AN: Chapter 3 is here. It's another John POV, which I must confess I find much easier to write. I get the feeling that John is a person who discovers things as he goes along, one thought merging into the next in a way that doesn't always flow, so that's how I've tied to write it. And no, that's not just an excuse . I wasn't a big fan of the second chapter, so here's hoping that 3 is much better.
It took me ages to write, mainly because I got a new job, so I've been out and about lots. Very sorry for the wait.
Feel
Chapter 3 : Touch
John POV
John could probably say that the skin on his left shoulder, the one that was almost obliterated in Afghanistan, was the most sensitive part of his body. He could feel touch there much more strongly than in his right shoulder, for example. That was why he felt it profoundly whenever Sherlock would rest a hand on his left shoulder to look at the screen on John's computer, or when Sherlock's bicep would brush against his as they walked. Or at least that's what John tried to tell himself. He refused to acknowledge the fact that although the skin on his left shoulder was more sensitive, that was no reason for Sherlock's touch anywhere on his body – and that was a thought to be finished later, much later, when he was alone – to be more intense, more pleasurable than say, the feel of Sarah's fingertips brushing against his own as she handed him a set of patient notes at the surgery.
John was jolted out of his thoughts by Sherlock's shout of "Taxi!" and the almost immediate arrival of a black cab on Baker Street. John was still astounded by the ease at which Sherlock could summon a taxi – if it was down to him they would still be standing there for a good few minutes yet. John got into the cab after Sherlock, pulling the door shut behind him.
"Chalk Lane tube station, please" he addressed the driver when it became clear that Sherlock was settling in for a silent taxi ride.
"Righto, sir" the cabbie replied, pulling away from the kerb and turning in the small street in one swift move. John shifted slightly in his seat and the skin of his thigh burned, even through his trousers, as it brushed against Sherlock's own, solid, warm, thigh for the briefest of moments. As John settled, he moved slightly away from Sherlock but the heat persisted, settling in his stomach and he just knew he was blushing.
He turned his face to the widow, hoping to hide this fact from Sherlock under the pretense of looking out of the window, but knew he had been caught as soon as Sherlock's steepled fingers separated, each hand coming to rest on it's corresponding thigh. Damn it, he should have moved his head slower.
"You're blushing" he heard, though Sherlock spoke it quietly, and John didn't move, hoping he could use the excuse he couldn't hear the words over the traffic. His eyes stayed staring resolutely out of the window of the cab, watching the sights of Marylebone pass them by, though he could tell that the blush on his cheeks got worse at the words, spreading down to his neck.
"Don't ignore me, John. You're blushing" he heard this time, and the volume of Sherlock's words held no option for John – unless he claimed sudden deafness, he had no choice but to admit that he heard them.
"Yes" he replied, hoping that settling on a short, to the point answer would somehow provide him with a way of not participating in the conversation that, knowing Sherlock as well as he did, would take place just because Sherlock wanted it to. John refused to admire Sherlock's tenacity in this, writing it off as sheer stubborn mindedness in an effort to create more personality traits in Sherlock he could most definitely put in the 'con' column of his list – a list he wasn't aware his own mind had been compiling up until that point.
"Why? There's nothing about this situation that would provide a reason for embarrassment. There's no way it can be physical attraction – we stepped out of the flat and straight into this cab, and the street was deserted, as a matter of fact, most of the streets have been so, and we have passed nobosy who fits the stereotype of socially acceptable and attractive, so unless you wish to profess something to me or to our cab driver here, our options are ou – oh" John had turned to face Sherlock without meaning to at some point during his stupid, alarmingly accurate, speech, and Sherlock tailed off when he looked John in the eyes. There was nothing John could do, he was locked in that gaze – so much so he didn't even flinch when Sherlock moved, reaching out tentatively and grasping John's wrist, caressing the soft skin on the underside with his long, delicate fingers.
Sherlock's eyes widened, and John knew he was taking his pulse. He had seen him do this very same thing to Irene Adler, seen him lean in to assess as her pupils widened from the mere prescence of Sherlock Holmes, and so he knew that he had about two seconds before Sherlock would come to the final and unerring conclusion that John was attracted to him. And damn him if he wasn't right. John knew that his pulse had quickened at Sherlock's touch, he could feel it throbbing in his stomach and thighs and all the places in between. John knew that his pupils were blown wide with lust – how could they not be, with Sherlock leaning in towards him, still rubbing the skin of his wrist with a pressure halfway in between firm and gentle, the perfect pressure, John's mind supplied unhelpfully. And John knew that his breathing had become rapid, could feel it drying out his lips no matter how many times he licked them to introduce new moisture to the skin.
And if John knew this, then Sherlock most definitely did.
"You do wish to profess something to me, don't you John?" Sherlock asked, breaking through John's thoughts of doom and gloom and everything that could - and would- go wrong in the immediate aftermath of Sherlock's discovery. His eyes never left Sherlock's - he was mesmerised by the swirling blues and greys he saw there, and he managed to allow himself only the tiniest flicker of hope when the pupils began to overtake the sea of colour.
Sherlock's eyes were beautiful, yes, but there was something much more stunning about visible evidence of the man he wanted above all others wanting him back.
The sweeping motion of a thumb across the skin of his wrist brought John's attention down to where Sherlock had maneuvered their hands into a tight grasp, and he smiled at the sight. Sherlock's hand was surprisingly soft, considering the amount of chemicals he worked with, and there was only the barest hint of callouses on the pads of his fingers from his violin strings, but John could appreciate the slight friction they would cause if he could ever somehow convince Sherlock to touch him in a way past this.
"Yes" John replied, and the sound of his own voice startled him. This was it, two words in the back of a taxi were more than was necessary for Sherlock to figure out the entire history of John's love for him. He stared down at his right hand clasped in Sherlock's left, their fingers entwined, until a hand on his jaw forced his gaze to two pools of black surrounded by the smallest rings of blue grey.
"I must admit that I am in complete and utter concurrence" spoke Sherlock in his baritone voice, which sounded to John as if it had somehow managed to drop a whole octave, and that deep rumbling sound rattled around in John's chest cavity until it grabbed a hold of his heart and forced his blood to pound around in his veins at an unmatched speed. He could feel his lips tug up into a small smile, and the soft pad of Sherlock's right thumb rubbed slightly at the indent below his bottom lip, ripping a gasp from his mouth.
And then there was nothing but a rush of blood in his ears and the feel of Sherlock's soft lips toughing gently to his own, the sound of a moan from an undisclosed party and, as Sherlock tugged open John's jaw with the thumb still placed on his chin, the utterly brilliant touch of Sherlock's tongue to his own.
There are two more chapters (probably) after this one now.,
Again, so sorry it took so long. Hope you enjoy the chapter, let me know what you think.