John had exactly time to release a small gasp before he felt the pressure of soft, warm lips against his owns and he sighed in the kiss, eyes fluttering close.
Sherlock sinked down to rest his weight on John's thighs, bringing his arms up to wrap around his neck. This was for him, a proper kissing session. Whether it escalated to anything else could be up to John, but the fact that he wasn't getting slapped away was promising.
John slid his hands up his back, tangling his fingers in Sherlock's hair, wondering about the dark, soft curls that tickled his palms as he angled the kiss a little, making it slightly deeper and let out a happy noise. The fact that Sherlock did this, wanted this, was enough to send butterflies around his stomach.
Sherlock sinked and rolled John on top of him, pulling him closer giving a little sigh. "Think I could enjoy this," he murmured against his mouth, quickly silenced again by another of John's kisses. "Hnn.."
John chuckled, silencing him with yet another kiss before pulling away to catch his breath. He was probably wearing the most stupidest grin on his face ever as he kept playing with Sherlock's hair between his fingers.
Sherlock was positively purring at the attention, rubbing his fingers over John's jawline, down his neck. "Where else do you like to be kissed?"
John lifted his eyebrow challening. "Isn´t that something you should be able to find out, instead of being told to?" He asked with hint of amusement, eyes flickering down at him.
"Of course, but I want to make sure you know all of them...and know which ones you don't want to tell me." Sherlock's eyes were promising and sly. John shuddered at the look and the words. Clearly Sherlock couldn´t know his weak spots or turn ons...right? That would be impossible, even for him. "I know my spots and 'kinks' alright." John grinned back at him, not letting his thoughts show.
Sherlock nipped his chin slightly. "When you were pressed against me in the closet, you tensed slightly when my hand came to the small of your back. Sensitive nerves there usually indicate a liking for the back of the neck, but also, you enjoyed the feeling of having someone support you, which indicates a bit of roughness, a need to be supported after being broken or roughened up. You also tended to burrow into me a bit, a mirror neuron response to liking that as well, it's both comforting and sensitive to the average person, but the force with which you did it, and the slight hint of teeth implies you like that kind of treatment. You also are a military man, which shows you're used to giving orders - implies either you love a power struggle, which is less likely, or you enjoy the feeling of someone taking control, based on the partner. Here, I think that's more likely. You also are pressing into me with more pressure from your right hip, so..." He tickled him right at the point where his shirt was a bit lifted off his side, and grins. "Seems like you're ticklish. Am I wrong?"
John eyes widened the further Sherlock's explanation got, and before he had time to react, those clever fingers were tickling on his side, making him yelp and laugh surprised, trying to catch his hand. "Okay, point taken! You discovered almost everything! D-don´t tickle!" He grinned trying to squirm away.
Sherlock, feeling suddenly eager, flipped him over and tickled him mercilessly, digging his fingers into ribs, pinning him to the bed with his legs, trapping his arms beneath his calves, getting every inch he can. "Not letting you go," he hissed over John's high-pitched, begging laughter, "until you guess what mine are."
John gasped and laughed, trying to struggle and roll away from Sherlock's grip, useless. "Sherlock please, I can´t know them!" He laughed body shaking underneath him.
"Looks like I'm just going to tickle you till you go insane, then!" Sherlock's touches became delicately vicious, and he bent to take John's earlobe between his lips, teasing and sucking and nipping a little less gently. "Think, John, think! Or guess! Can't be too difficult, can it?"
John squirmed and released a small moan that was soon drowned in his breathless laughter as he tried to think. "Well you seem to like being in charge, show just what you can do to me, and prove that you can turn me into a begging mess in less than ten minutes." John breathed out, squirming under him.
"Oh, excellent John, that's just what I like." Sherlock's voice was honeyed and tinted in dark chocolate in John's ear. "And what if I just flipped you over and had you right now as The Woman would say?"
"Guess I wouldn´t say no." John stated trying to draw in air, grinning up at Sherlock. "Tell you what, name two of my absolute turn ons and you can do whatever you want with me." He added with darkened eyes and a challenging smirk on his face.
"Easy," Sherlock breathed, and his smile was wicked. "Took a few minutes to discover, but the way you're heart's beating and the goosebumps around the back of your neck make it transparent." He leaned forward, eyes wide. "My voice. And..." He slipped his hand down, feeling John's hands shaking under his calves, grabbing his crotch and breathed down his neck. "Being dominated. I could even declare your favorite positions by now."
Johns eyes widen and he buck up against Sherlock's hand, letting out a helpless sound. For a brief moment John thought about declaring that it was more like dirty talk, then he realized that it´d still be his voice what would be the undo of him. "Favorite positions? Let me hear them."
"Fine," Sherlock whispered, and with that, he inhaled deeply in the space of John's neck and drank in the little moan, the trembling of his hands and he released them from under his legs. "You're a close person, you like tradition - missionary's good for you, when you're with someone you want to impress. Someone like Sarah. But you, the real you, the soldier knows what he likes..." He ran his back over the curve of John's backside and rolled them over once again. "The arch of your back is strong. You hold yourself on top of me like you know what you're doing, and your thighs are gripping me just enough to stay on, not enough to hurt - you like to ride, John Watson."
"Let´s me take up the pace." John smirked down at him, amazement shining from his eyes. He slid his fingers up to Sherlock's face, running his thumb over his bottom lip, pressing ever so slightly. "Well then Sherlock Holmes...you answered your questions correctly." John whispered, looking down at Sherlock submissively and with a grin. "I´m all yours."
Sherlock grinned up at him and bucked his hips a little, pressing his hands into John's thighs to keep him there, making sure he feels the half-hard length beneath his pants. "Mmm...you sure, John? You sure you want me to do what I'm going to do to you?"
John bit on his lip, feeling Sherlock hard and wanting under him. He was still wrapping his mind around the fact that he did that to him. "I did promise if you got them right, that you´d get to do whatever you want..." He said with a sly smile.
Sherlock grinned, gripping the back of his neck and pulled him down for a deep, toe-curling kiss, dragging the tip of his tongue across the roof of John's mouth, slipping hands up his shirt to pinch his nipples without warning, moaning for no particular reason, just because he knew John is so beautifully, magnificently turned on by his voice. "I'm going to do so many things to you, John," he said against John's slightly open mouth. "Can't guarantee you'll see straight tomorrow."
John kissed him back as deeply, hissing at the pinch on his nipples, causing him to arch his back and shiver as Sherlock's voice reached his ears again. "So much talk...so little action.." John murmured with a smirk, breaking the kiss gasping for air.
"Careful now, or I won't speak at all." Sherlock flipped him over and whipped his shirt over his head. He bit that lovely little spot that made him squirm on his collarbone - one that John didn't even know he had, he's sure - and proceeded to drag his teeth down John's torso, to the waistband of his trousers, pressing a hot, wet kiss to his belly and digging his fingers into John's sides. "Hmm...tell me what you want me to do, John. I want to hear you say it."
John squirmed and let out a small whine when Sherlock bit him on the collarbone, shivering all over as he closed his eyes, feeling Sherlock move down on his body, using his teeth and lips to make him quiver. Then the fingers were pressed on his sides and he heard Sherlock's words. He had to ask for it, beg for it? Oh hell no. "Anything..Just touch me."
Sherlock growled slightly and jerked at the button of John's pants with his teeth, pressing his mouth over the bulge of John's cock through his underwear, breathing hot and hard against the fabric, grinning at the evidence that his touch is working. He peeled the waistband away and maneuvered everything down to John's mid-thigh, got lazy and left it there, too intent on gazing at John's cock now lying against his belly, already hard and eager for attention.
John bit his lip as he was exposed to the cold air round them and squirmed under the weight of Sherlock's gaze. He felt exposed, helpless, and god help him he loved that feeling. "Sherlock.."
John said silently, pleading with his eyes for anything at all, he was achingly hard and needed release that only he could give him.
Sherlock was quick and less than gentle as he swallowed John into his mouth, sucking hard. There's no tenderness here, there's no hint of gentleness - he's playing to the soldier in John, he's playing to the one who likes to submit even though he puts up a fight. He sucked so hard that he's sure he'll bruise the roof of his mouth, but he didn't care. John wanted it, wanted that rough attention, and he's sure to give it to him.
John pretty much screams out when Sherlock started to suck him so hard he was sure he was trying to suck his brains out of his dick. Fingers clenching around the sheets, gripping and fisting them tightly, Johns hips moved on their own accord and pushed up in Sherlock's mouth, making him moan out as he was completely surrounded with tight, wet heat.
Sherlock pulled away with a back-arching suck, only to swallow John down again, slipping his hands to the small of his back to support him, letting him thrust into his mouth as he needed to - but it didn't last long. Soon, he's pressing his hips to the bedspread and viciously working his mouth up and down John's cock, cheeks hollowed and air-tight, fingers digging into the soft skin of John's hips.
"Bloody hell!" John yelled his fingers tightening on the sheets, fisting them out of their place as he bucked up into that heat, almost letting out a sob when Sherlock pinned his hips back down on the bed. His whole body was writhing and trembling, the familiar heat boiling in his lower stomach, making his toes curl and he started to gasp for breath.
Sherlock suddenly stopped - John's cock slipping out of his mouth with a delicious pop, and he dove down to nip at his inner thigh, raking his nails down John's sides, touching and caressing all those good, beautifully sensitive spots, paying attention to every single area except the one that wanted attention the most. He loved how the tip is darkening, how his skin has started to flush and bloom, how his hands shook and clenched the sheets. He promptly grabbed the clothes still restricting John's thighs and pulled them off - he's fully clothed above a beautifully naked John, and his eyes took him in for almost a full minute - teasing with a stare piercing enough to cut stone.
John let out a whimper when Sherlock stopped. He was ready to beg for that mouth back on his cock, he was aching and had been so close to relief that he felt like burning under his skin. Shivering and giving slight hisses and gasps at the bites and nips on his skin, he looked up at Sherlock, meeting such a predatory gaze it made his blood run hot. God, this man was going to kill him.
Sherlock's eyes fell to John's erection, which twitched under his gaze. He saw John looking at the bulge in his own pants, and he instantly straddled John's bare thighs and dragged his hand to feel him through his trousers. "Feel that?" he hissed. "Feel that, John Watson? That's what you do to me." He grinded his hips into John's hand, biting and sucking on his neck, the intent to leave a nice, lovely, large hickey that would be evident for days. "Turn over," he said brusquely, and flipped John onto his stomach, now straddling the backs of his thighs, his clothed cock pressing right against the curve of his ass. He ran his hands down John's back, kissing the evidence of the old wound on his shoulder. He took a moment, just pressed against John, to feel him, feel the whole length of their bodies pressed together. "John..."
Oh John feels alright. He feels the long curve of Sherlock's hard on against his hand and he sucks in breath at the dizziness that he did that for him. The next moment he´s flipped over, and he gasps feeling Sherlock grind his cock against his ass and he keens, mouth watering at the thought of it inside him. "S-Sherlock.." John whispered silently, turning his head on the side and pant against the sheets.
Sherlock dragged his shirt over his head, pressing his bare chest to John's back, and kissed his way down the line of his spine - teeth are not optional, and he loved watching the raise of goosebumps when he hit a soft spot on John's skin. He came down to the curve of his ass and spread him apart, running the tip of his tongue down the crease, pressing a kiss to his entrance. "What do you need from me, John? Tell me. I want to hear it."
Johns back arched and he rolled his hips against the mattress, creating friction against his cock that had him mewling shamelessly. Feeling Sherlock press that kiss against his entrance, John felt like his face would explode from the hotness and redness of it as he struggled on his place. "S-Sherlock, you don´t...that´s dirty..." He objected, feeling highly aroused.
Sherlock chuckled, a low, dark note in his voice. "Your mouth is dirtier, John." He bit down on a sensitive spot at the base of his spine. "Do you not want me to?"
John cursed at the bite, tremors running through his body. "Yes, god yes.."
Sherlock spread him forcefully and growls, "I was going to anyway." He dipped his head and pressed the flat of his tongue to John's entrance, drawing a slow, agonizing circle around and around, down the skin behind his balls, back up to massage with two fingers, then positively assault John with his tongue. He's not gentle - he's probing and rough and worshipping and just what he knows John needs. "How does it feel, John? Tell me."
John trembled at Sherlock's words and cried out against the mattress which thankfully muffled his moans, as he felt Sherlock's clever tongue flick on his entrance, making him quiver. Then there were licking, and finally that tongue was in him, making his back arch and fists clench on the headboard of the bed. "C-Christ-!" He managed to get out, Sherlock was not showing any mercy at all, practically fucking him with his tongue, making him a moaning mess.
Sherlock was cruel and beautifully attentive at the same time. He knew where John kept his lube, and promptly slipped it from under his pillow without so much as a blink. In a moment, he's got his fingers slicked, and one probing where his tongue is, pulling back and pushing two in without a care in the world. It's rough, but he knew John. He could handle it.
John bit on the sheets to prevent himself from shouting, legs trembling as the two fingers were pressed inside him, creating the most delicious friction, even though it burned a little. A small moan escaped his lips as he pushed back up on his fingers.
Sherlock pushed deep, listening to John's little moan - well actually, more than a "little" moan - as he twisted and scissored and stretched John, suddenly pulling his fingers out and returning with viciously exploring tongue, then pulling out and replacing it with three fingers - he's determined to break John, to tease him with sensation to the point of insanity. He came up and flipped John over again, hand still down between his legs, looking into his eyes with a devilish little grin. "Not a sound, soldier, not a sound." And he curled three fingers hard against John's prostate.
Johns mind was hazy from all the pleasure Sherlock was giving him, and then he was flipped over and there was a push- Johns breath caught in his throat and he slapped his hand before his mouth, hips bucking up in his fingers, eyes wide open and he fought back the noise that wanted to tear from his throat. The grin Sherlock wore was damn right devilish, daring him to let a noise just so he could use it to punish him more and he shivered helplessly at the thought. Sherlock was breaking him down piece by piece and he loved it.
He's gleeful - John's struggling so, and he's shaking and he can feel him beginning to tighten around him, his pulse speeding up. "Don't you dare come," he snapped, curling his fingers so harshly that John's jaw trembles. "If you come, I'll keep going until you run dry and you can't see straight."
John released a small whine, his body aching and Sherlock's words, the dominant tone and actions didn´t help at all, in fact, it just made it worse. "S-Sher...lock.." He keens, hips bucking wildly, the orgasm too close to be stopped this time even though he fights to try to hold it back, but it´s no use. "Shitshitshitshit-!"
Sherlock's eyes narrowed to aroused, angry slits - of course he's acting, the sight and sound of John literally falling apart has nearly made him come without any stimulation whatsoever, but he's in control, and he loved to torture John - he pulled out his fingers and pushed John's knees towards his shoulders, licking deep inside while John is mid-orgasm, such an overstimulation that John's voice rose an octave, and he's back up near his neck within a milli-second. "You know what this means, don't you?" he whispered against the most ticklish, sensitive part of John's throat, still feeling the glorious spurt of semen against their stomachs. "Say it, John!"
John gasped for breath, head tipped back and eyes lust blown, staring into nothingness as his orgasm kept washing through him, literally making him see starts and fireworks before his eyes. He was aware of the noices he made, but it was all just too damn good to be cared about. Until he heard Sherlock's voice and he came back into reality, turning his head to look at Sherlock's dark, dangerous eyes and swallowed instinctively.
"A...a p-punishment..?" John asked weakly, licking over his lip as his body kept shaking.
God, that's good. Sherlock had jerked his trousers down just enough to free his cock, slicking it with John's come, of all things, and it's kinky and perfect and sticky and John's got that hazy, "Oh god" kind of look, and it's so perfect that Sherlock just rolled them both over and sat John on his cock without so much as a warning look. He arched so every single inch slips it, and he's buried to the hilt in one hard, spearing thrust. "Yes, John Watson. You ride until you can't speak. And you talk. You keep talking until I'm -sure- you can't anymore."
John threw his head back with a cry as Sherlock pushed in him, his legs were trembling on either side of Sherlock's legs, hands braced against Sherlock's chest as he tried to keep himself up and balanced. The head of Sherlock's cock was pressed just before the prostate, and John knew that when he´d move, it'd brush right at it, and it was already overstimulated...He swallowed meeting Sherlock's gleaming eyes. This man was determined to break him. "I don´t know what I shoul-ah! t-talk abou-nnnhh..!" John gasped, lifting himself up and sliding back down, dots clouding his vision.
Sherlock thrusted, and John bounced on his cock once, eyes beautifully dull. His speech was slurred and choppy at the same time, and he loved it. "Tell me what it feels like, John. Tell me how it feels to have me so deep inside you. Tell me what you think about when you touch yourself and what you want from me and everything you know I already know about." He put his hands behind his head and bucked his hips - he could go forever, he loved being a tease. He watched as John's gaze fogs, and he paused. "Tell me. Talk, or I'll leave you here, needy and wanting."
"No..please, don´t stop-" Sherlock got him on edge of begging and over, too late to turn back. Riding on Sherlock, rolling his hips sometimes he tried to form words to describe his thoughts. "I-I think about you, a..bout you c-cuffing me..fuck...on the bed, helpless...S- Sometimes you use a..a vibrating plug in me, using..nggggh... the remote and-angh...t-talk dirty to bring me on e-edge over and over again but never let me fall until i´m..oh god...crying for release.." John babbled with a bright blush on his face, riding him slightly faster eyes half-lidded.
Sherlock arched - the words went straight to his dick and he pulsed a bit inside John, arching his hips forward and back, forward and back, sometimes hitting that good spot, sometimes not, sometimes just deciding to go deep and not caring what he hits, just as long as John kept talking, kept letting him fuck him. He could see John's cock steadily rise again, from over-stimulation and his own filthy words, and it's a sight, a sight for any pair of eyes. "And what do you feel now, John? And what do you want to feel?"
"I feel...I feel you, I f-feel you so -aah- deep in me, it feels so g-g-good, it´s too good, already stimulated, feels too good to s-stop-" He breathed out in one litany, letting his head fall against Sherlock's shoulder, gripping on him tightly as he kept lifting his hips in growing pace. "Want to feel you come in me..want to-shit- be filled with it, marked as yours.." John whispered, moaning low from his throat.
Sherlock grinned and stopped moving. "All yours, John. I think you need more. Ride me like you mean it." He ran his hands up John's thighs. "Make me fill you. Make me want to throw you to the ground and shag you into the flat below. Make me come inside you."
Johns protest of Sherlock's unmoving dies on his lips as the words register in his brains and he draws in air shakily, pushing himself up and leaning back against Sherlock's legs, propping on his hands, his back arched and head thrown back as he bit his lip picking up the pace, soon enough letting out muffled cries as he rides Sherlock as fast as he possibly could, bringing one hand to his own chest, pinching a nipple between his fingers and whines. "Please...oh please Sherlock, please-!"
Sherlock growled as John did as he's told, and John, oh John is so good at following orders, and now he's leaning back, and his beautiful cock slapped against his belly, positively drooling with precome, head thrown back as he rolled and pinched his nipples, and Sherlock had to come up and put his arms around him, nip John's fingers to get them out of the way and sit him down in his lap, forcing him up and down faster than should be allowed, his tongue lapping and his lips sucking and teeth biting down on the nub, driving deeper and deeper with each thrust. "Come now, John." He rocked John at an odd angle. "And talk me through it. Let me know how well I fuck you."
John screamed out once his chest is assaulted, the new angle awkward but positively hitting his prostate with every thrust and he feel like a ragdoll, completely boneless and only good to keep noise. The second orgasm hits him suddenly and he gasps out, whole body tensing and clenching around Sherlock's cock, making him sob through the orgasm, body jerking and thick spurts of come splash between them again as he tries to keep him up, only managing to moan out Sherlock's name repeadetily. He failed orders once again, John realized as he panted against Sherlock's shoulder.
Sherlock groaned, his voice escalating into a cry that's low and guttural and harsh. He forced John down to the point that he's surprised they don't meld together from the heat building between their bodies, and the lift in his gut forces his whole body into a limb-seizing, mind-shattering orgasm. He felt John clench around him, milk him into one long, moaning moment, and he's beyond caring that John's not speaking, he's more than content with his babbling, incoherent sounds. "That's it, John, yes, that's it...oh God, goooooood..." He flipped him over again and thrusts through the last few waves, until his arms tremble, and it takes all the strength he could muster not to collapse, but lower himself next to John. He's in control, just barely. "Didn't tell me, John. Didn't talk to me."
"I´m s-sorry.." John gasped, trying to catch his breath, sweat glistening on his skin. "I forgot, I couldn't-" He tried to explain, looking up at Sherlock and shifting, causing the come in him leak out and he stilled flushing.
Sherlock's cock slipped out with a beautiful slick squelch, and three hard-knuckled fingers thrust into John as a warning, threatening, dancing around the edges of his prostate. "You know what happens when you forget, John?" He pressed a kiss, teasingly gentle, on John's collarbone. "Now...what are you going to do to make up for it?"
John threw his head back with a cry, fingers scraping and gripping tight on Sherlock's shoulders and body shaking with the teasing touches in him. Too much. Too little. More. Less. Johns mind was blown up, he couldn´t decide what he wanted. "W-what happens..?" He asked weakly, blinking and trying to get his eyesight back. "I d-don´t know what I´d do to make it up.."
Sherlock smirked, kissing John into dizziness again, spreading his fingers out before letting them slip down to stroke up his belly, pinching his nipples. "You're so sensitive, John," he whispered. "And I'll make sure every single nerve gets my attention - a lot of it. But you're tired now." He leaned back, leaving John straddling his lap and looking dazed. "So...tell me what you'll do to make it up now."
John breathed out unevenly, finally slumping on his side on the sheets beside Sherlock, feeling boneless and satisfied over the edge. "I...I don´t know what I would do.." He admitted silently, licking over his lips and swallowed, his throat all dry and fucked up. John was shivering at the dark promise in Sherlock voice. After all what had happened between them earlier that evening, he didn´t even thought about finding himself in the place he´s now, and he´s not complaining.
Sherlock skimmed his hands up his sides and tenderly brings John in. "You can start by kissing me," he whispered. John smiled, placing his hands against Sherlock's chest and leaned in pressing his lips against his softly, nibbling and teasing his bottom lip.
They're both tired, and Sherlock loved being kissed by John - he could be content just laying here with his mouth and cheeks being kissed. "John," he whispered, feeling the scar of his should pressing against his chest a bit. He wanted to see it. He could tell John likes it rough, then soft - the soft, freshly-fucked way he's kissing him let him know. "Let me see your scar."
John lifted his head up, meeting Sherlock's eyes. "I...I don´t feel comfortable with that topic.." The scar was ugly, he knew it because he had had to dig it out with a pocket knife himself. It spread on his shoulder as a huge bruise of dead skin, and John hated it.
Sherlock was gentle, but insistent as he pushed John down and gazed at the scar - it had been deep, he could tell. "Shot gun round," he whispered. "Widespread and obviously deep. But that's not collateral damage. Knife wounds, clean but dull." His eyes met John's. "You dug that out yourself. You were probably working on someone else at the same time, weren't you? Had to get it out." He leaned down and pressed his cheek to the scar, as though he's worshipping it. "You foolish man. Too brave for your own good."
Johns breath caught in his throat as Sherlock examined his wound. He could feel his face burning at the soft touches. "I had to get it out or it would have killed me...but I had to take care of my friend." He explained silently, hand sliding up in Sherlock's hair and caressing him gently.
Sherlock nuzzled into his neck. "Well thank God you did," he said. He tilted his head. "Why did you join the military?"
"I wanted to be able to help people. I killed only if I really had to, but mostly I took care of the wounded, I went to the field with them and healed the wounded. One day we got ambushed and..well. I was lucky to survive with this." John explained, his mind going back in that time. He could smell the blood and sweat, hear men shout and run towards the enemy line.
Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "You could have been a brilliant doctor, but yet you choose to be an army doctor. Help less people that way - more die. Why did you really join?"
John swallowed staring at the roof. "I had a friend who was going there too. We were pretty much inseparable, so we decided to go there together."
"An old boyfriend? No..." Sherlock leaned up. "You're lying John. I know why you went there."
"I´m not lying.." John protested, turning his head to meet Sherlock's eyes.
"I'm not talking about why you went to Afghanistan. Hero's soul, it's obvious." Sherlock leaned forward. "I'm talking about why you enlisted. University years."
"Oh." John blinked shifting under Sherlock's gaze. "I think that´s personal."
"I can see that." Sherlock tapped his fingers on John's chest. "You were trying to stamp out your budding sexuality. You've got a plain name, John Watson. Subconsciously, simple name yearns to make something of itself, or sits placidly. You've got a lesbian sister and an obvious family drinking problem, which, unfortunately, follows closely with a family being associated with military service. Rebellion often indicates it - common in the children of clergymen and law enforcement as well, nothing unusual. Although I don't believe that sexuality is a choice."
He's getting off topic, leaning even more forward.
"You obviously tried to go the opposite way, didn't get along with your sister or what she's done, decided to be a doctor. Surgeon would have been good, your hands are steady, but too large for something as intricate as daily surgery. Needed something to do where it was quick and charging - your life was less than exciting, having a life in your hands creates the rush, the pressure, gives you a feeling of pride, of well-deserved accomplishment, something to embrace.
Afghanistan rolls around - it's the perfect opportunity for you, but you've been enrolled long enough that you probably enlisted around university age - sexual awakening usually common around this time. Probably found yourself eyeing men around then, had to have it drilled in your head that you weren't really interested, just needed to surround yourself with masculinity, remind yourself that you're a man, drown in testosterone.
Joined to convince yourself of it, didn't work. Jumped on the bandwagon of war and indulged yourself. All those nights with the lads, all those sticky fumblings in the tents late at night, high on adrenaline, gives you the perfect opportunity to say you're just blowing off steam, when really you're just finding an excuse to vent your own desires, and yet here you are, where you tried to avoid. Invalided from war, scarred, making a name for yourself because of who you associate with, a gay man you're now lying in bed with, who knows everything, literally everything about you."
John stared at Sherlock, growing more irritated by seconds until he reached his peak and pushed himself up from the bed, his movements staggering a little. "You know what, you had no right to figure out all that, none. Those are my personal business Sherlock! Private! Too much is too much you know. Bloody hell..." John shook his head glaring at the man on his bed.
He's angry - Sherlock couldn't say he's surprised. "I'm right. On all counts." He propped himself up on one shoulder. "You have a lesbian sister - why are you so uncomfortable with your sexuality?"
"I´m not anymore, I used to be. I mean-" John stated crossing his arms across his chest with a frown, still pissed that Sherlock had been digging his deepest secrets.
Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't be so angry right now, or call off everybody who calls us a couple if you were comfortable with the fact that you're gay. Now, tell me why. Is that why you and Harry don't get along?
"No, it´s not because of that and it´s still not your business." He replied squirming under his gaze and turned around. "I think I´m going to take a shower." John said pointedly looking at himself, covered in sweat and them, flushed and walked in the bathroom pissed.
Oh Sherlock, always ruining the moments with your brains -shakes head-
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