John jerked awake covered in a cold sweat from his forehead down to his toes. God, that was awful. He squirmed a bit to extract himself from Sherlock's embrace and climbed over the taller boy almost tripping and landing hard on the carpet. He was shaking slightly as he locked himself in the bathroom and turned on the hot water. He stripped off his sweat-soaked shirt and pants before stepping into the shower letting the scalding hot water wash away the fear and doubt from the nightmare. He knew exactly what was happening. An introductory course to Psychological Disorders saw to that. Post-Traumatic Stress. Made perfect sense. Shoot a bloke. Have terrifying nightmares. It was only fitting.
John didn't even know what time it was. Sherlock had arrived at the manor close to two in the afternoon yesterday and it was dark out now but John had no desire to go back to sleep. He stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist before slipping back into Sherlock's room to hunt around for some new clothing in the bag that had shown up for him early yesterday. It was all his own clothing. They must have brought it over from the crime scene. John shied away from those memories and focused on the sound of Sherlock breathing heavily as he got dressed. He crept back out of the room and walked down the hall to the living area and collapsed on the couch grabbing the remote and turning on the telly to at least have something to do. He flipped quickly through the channels and groaned at the infomercials that were irritatingly playing on every single channel. It must be really late. He glanced at the clock and sighed as it told him that yes, it was two in the bloody morning and he had absolutely nothing to do until Sherlock woke up. Sherlock. He still wasn't sure how he felt about yesterday.
He shouldn't have said all of the things he did but he was just so angry and upset and confused. The terrible thing was trying to extrapolate the things that he had meant from the things he hadn't. His heart lurched in his chest at Sherlock's pleading by the front door. He'd looked so lost and frantic. John had never meant to imply that he would actually leave the insufferable git. He'd only wanted some time to think. To process seeing the taller boy again after everything that had happened. He ran his hands roughly over his face in frustration. Why did it have to be so hard? Why couldn't he just be incandescently happy to see Sherlock again? Why did he feel so angry? This was awful. He felt separate from Sherlock for the first time since they'd gotten together. He couldn't even kiss him properly.
"Fancy some breakfast?" A voice called from behind him causing him to jump in panic.
"Mr. Holmes!" John said stumbling to his feet. "I thought you were in Thailand?"
"Misdirection." Mr. Holmes said simply. "The best way to keep people on their toes. So what do you think?"
"About what?" John asked.
"Breakfast!" Mr. Holmes said again.
"It's two in the morning." John replied.
"Come now, John." Mr. Holmes said. "Look at my sons. Sherlock got his weird sleeping hours from somewhere and Mycroft his appetite from that same place as well. Me. Are you coming or not?"
John felt his mind stutter but nodded dumbly before following the tall man down the hall and to a waiting car. Mr. Holmes spent the entire ride to wherever they were going on the phone making cryptic statements. John shifted awkwardly but remained silent as the suave car made its way quickly through London's streets. They stopped outside of a 24 hour greasy spoon diner. Mr. Holmes snapped his phone shut and motioned for John to exit the car. John felt like a lemming as he followed obediently as Mr. Holmes walked into the restaurant, sat down at a table, and ordered a ridiculously large breakfast for both of them.
"How are you, John?" Mr. Holmes asked politely.
"Fine, sir." John answered.
"Fine?" Mr. Holmes asked raising an eyebrow. "You did just kill a man."
"Well he wasn't a very good man." John shrugged. He almost jumped out of his chair as his dining partner barked out a laugh and slammed his hand down on the table between them.
"You are something, aren't you?" Mr. Holmes said cracking a smile.
"I don't know." John murmured feeling a blush rise to his face.
"I do." Mr. Holmes said firmly. "You're smart and pragmatic but you're compassionate and empathetic as well. Brave, loyal, hard-working. By god, John. I didn't even realize people like you existed."
"People like me?" John asked confused.
"Do you realize how rare it is?" He asked. "To find a good person capable of great things? It's nearly impossible."
"I'm not a good person." John answered.
"Self-deprecation looks good on no one, young man." Mr. Holmes scolded lightly.
"I killed someone." John said by way of explanation.
"But we both know why you did." Mr. Holmes answered. "And despite the fact that, morally, killing is considered reprehensible, to defend the lives of others makes the act preferable to other possible outcomes. You made a choice, John. Given the options in front of you, you chose the outcome with the least amount of suffering."
"It wasn't like that." John protested. "I didn't even think. I just killed him."
"Fascinating." Mr. Holmes said folding his hands together and tucking them under his chin. "You acknowledge the pragmatic necessity of the death but you refuse to acknowledge the moral necessity as well."
"Life's not a scorecard." John said quietly. "He threatened Sherlock, me, your family. I made a choice, but it wasn't a good one. And it certainly isn't negated by the possible pain Jim would have instigated if I didn't kill him."
"I'm not saying it is." Mr. Holmes answered. "I just don't want this choice to weigh so heavily on you that it ruins you."
"Shouldn't it though?" John asked fervently. "Shouldn't taking another person's life karmically ruin the life of the killer? I mean, it should matter and there should be consequences."
"And what consequences would you suggest for yourself?" Mr. Holmes asked curiously. "Prison?"
"I don't know." John answered brokenly. "I'm terrified of being convicted of his death but isn't that justice?"
"No court in the entire country would send you to prison for your actions." Mr. Holmes said firmly. "And I think we both know that Mycroft isn't even going to let it go to court. So what then?"
"Did he have a family?" John asked. "Should I make restitution to them?"
"Come now, John." Mr. Holmes frowned. "Don't disappoint me. It's like your reading from some script. Tell me what you need to do to absolve yourself of this action."
"You shouldn't get absolved of murder." John answered feeling anger lap at his awareness. "My emotional wellbeing is superfluous. It shouldn't factor in to the punishment."
"That's where you're wrong." Mr. Holmes answered. "The only thing I'm concerned about is your emotional well-being. The only thing any of us are concerned about is how you are. We don't blame you for the death of that boy, John. Ask anyone. Me, Mycroft, Sherlock. We don't blame you, despite the blame you are so eager to claim as your own. All of us blame ourselves."
John scoffed and looked down at the floor. "I pulled the trigger."
"And I neglected to inform Mycroft of Jim's faked passport." Mr. Holmes said firmly. "Mycroft erred in changing your security status. Sherlock failed to recognize the threat towards your life. If anything we all share the blame. But even that is questionable. We all played a part in the culmination of Jim Moriarty's death, John but blame is hardly the proper descriptive verb for our actions."
"That doesn't change how I feel about it." John whispered.
They both jerked as the food was laid out in front of them.
"No it doesn't." He replied. "But I'd imagine how you're feeling now is much preferable to how Sherlock would feel if you'd let Jim kill you that night?"
John let that thought percolate in his mind as they tucked into the massive spread of food in front of them. They ate in silence letting the hotcakes and eggs distract them from their negative thoughts. John pushed back his plate after making an impressive dent in his meal. He glanced over at the older man and nearly choked as Mr. Holmes took the final bite of his enormous breakfast with a satisfied huff. Impressive.
"What I did wasn't good." John ventured quietly. "But that doesn't mean it wasn't the right thing to do."
"Exactly." Mr. Holmes said resting his hands on his distended stomach. "Ready to head back?"
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Sherlock jerked awake and felt terror grip his heart as he reached over and felt the cool spot where his John was supposed to be sleeping. He fought against the sheets and tripped on his way up. He glanced around the room and noticed John's clothing had been shifted, altered since the night before. He raced into the bathroom and took in the still the drops of water dispersed lightly against the shower walls and the faint scent of John's shampoo still drifting in the air. He sprinted down the hall to where the telly was and then ran back to take the stairs two at a time as he heard the front door open. He was still racing down the stairs as the blond head poked into view around the door. His entire body swelled with love and he threw himself at the shorter boy latching onto him like a lifeline.
"Sherlock?" John called softly holding the taller boy close. "Are you okay?"
"I thought you'd gone." Sherlock whispered. "John, I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here."
He pulled back to stare into John's face and felt his heart stutter at the small smile gracing the blond's lovely features. "I think it's time we said hello properly, don't you?"
Without needing any more encouragement, Sherlock tugged John closer stealing his lips and claiming them for his own. John. His John. He held on as long as he could relishing the feel of those soft lips he remembered so well sliding against his own. They kissed hurriedly, hungrily. It had been so long. Too long. Clinging to each other, Sherlock walked backwards towards the staircase pulling John along with him. They tripped and fumbled their way up to Sherlock's room preferring stumbles to having to separate. Slamming the door behind them, Sherlock began ripping John's clothes off needing to feel that golden skin against his own. He shivered as he ran his hands over the smooth plans of John's chest and stomach. John made quick work of Sherlock's shirt and pants and they both gasped as their skin finally made contact. It was familiar and perfect and home. They fell into bed stroking and caressing and kissing every part of each other.
"Please, John." Sherlock gasped as the shorter boy was marking his neck with delicious sucking noises. "I need you in me."
He moaned as John licked a possessive line up his neck before pulling his earlobe into that sinful mouth and nibbling, "Oh god, yes."
He panted as John continued his ministrations back down to his clavicle before tracing wet lines over his nipples and sucking gently. He rolled onto his back so that he could pull his knees up and spread his legs suggestively, sighing as John settled his weight against him and their cocks pressed together hotly. He shivered at John's audible groan as he grinded their hips together.
"God, I missed you." John whispered brokenly against Sherlock's skin.
"I'm so sorry." Sherlock said. "Never again. Never ever again."
"Better not." John said seductively. "I know that you'd never recover if you never had my cock in your arse again."
"That is an accurate statement." Sherlock answered reaching toward his bedside table for lube and a condom. "Now get in me."
John giggled and it sent wonderful jolts of heat through his whole body. Shifting his hips up more, he hissed in pleasure as John pushed his finger against Sherlock's entrance and began pulsing in and out. John deftly opened him gently and Sherlock moaned as the familiar sensation sent throbs of pleasure to his erection. His mind was numb with heat and sensation while his body was sensitive to each caress that John's body provided him. John's fingers in him, his mouth pressing gentle kisses to his knees and thighs, his free hand running over Sherlock's cock. He let out a pathetic whimper as John pulled his fingers out and squirmed needing more contact with the shorter boy's skin. John shifted to hover over Sherlock as he prepared to enter him. Sherlock looked up into those gorgeous eyes and felt his breath disappear. He reached up and ran his hands gently over John's cheekbones before moving to wrap them around John's neck and pull him down into a gentle kiss that had goosebumps skittering across his skin. He pulled back and felt his heart shatter at the smile on his John's face.
"I love you, John." Sherlock whispered.
"And I love you." John answered. "Ready?"
"I've been ready for this for seven months." Sherlock smiled.
"Git." John grinned back.
Sherlock mirrored John's moan as they finally came together in one smooth thrust. His entire body responded and bucked into the feel of John buried deep in him. They kissed messily barely succeeding in anything more than letting their lips brush together as John began thrusting firmly into the taller boy. Sherlock's cock throbbed at the sensation and he felt heat coil in his gut.
"John…oh my god…this is…fuck…this is…" Sherlock mumbled as John moved against and in him in a fast, heated rhythm.
"I know." John breathed. "Fuck, Sherlock. I know…"
He groaned loudly as John shifted his weight allowing him to take Sherlock's hard leaking cock in hand. Sherlock melted into the sensation of John thrusting into him while stroking him in time running his thumb over his slit over and over again. Sherlock began writhing unabashedly and bucking his hips as the pressure and onslaught of impending orgasm raced through his body. He was panting and moaning John's name when his entire vision went white as electricity and heat flooded his body sending pulse after pulse of come onto his chest. He gasped in pleasure as John came into him matching his own aftershocks perfectly as they held each other. They seemed to freeze in a sort of hazy afterglow for several minutes before John shifted to pull out of his body and collapsed on the side of the bed. Sherlock rolled over to help remove the full condom and toss it in the trash. He grabbed a pair of pants and wiped them off quickly before shifting close and draping himself over John's chest. They lay there gasping and stroking each other's skin before Sherlock finally asked the question that had been niggling at his mind since John had punched him the day before.
"We're alright?" Sherlock whispered into the blond's neck. "Aren't we, John?"
"We will be." John said running his hand through Sherlock's sweaty curls.
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Interactive story time!
Alright wonderful readers, let me know: Do you want me to wrap this up with a gooey, fluffy, rainbow-prevalent ending now or do you want me to angst the shit out of it? Let me know!