Please note: While training ANY animal no form of corporal punishment should be used. At all. EVER.
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The sound of the door still ringing in John's ear he continues to stare at Sherlock who slowly moves to the chair beside the settee and sits down. His entire frame has a wary tension in every single muscle, just slightly too taught to be comfortable. John himself has an almost irrepressible urge to grab his own ears and hair in fists, then scream for all he's worth, he's so frustrated, not to mention confused! Loud, yet silent, ticks of time pass on John's watch-face as they stare at one another, neither really sure what to do with Mycroft's pronouncement.
Sherlock ducks his head and ruffles his hair two handed and quite aggressively, "John, I don't know what to say."
Said John quirks up an eyebrow, "Really? Your going to open with that? I'm mortified beyond my ken, and, as I'm sure you know, that after telling you about my 'status'; I was pretty sure I couldn't be more embarrassed! I was sitting there, in your bed, completely exposed, yet not chasing you out. So why did you leave while I had questions?"
A light flush raises on Sherlock's cheeks, "I was embarrassed by my body's reaction to your unintentional arousal and I didn't want to be awkward, or discomfiting, so I left."
John's face scrunches up, nose wrinkled and lips twisted up bitterly, "Right, you were being polite." with a sharp nod of his head, his tone clipped and eyes hard with the lids lowered slightly. Sherlock, head still in his hands, notes only the vocal change, but brushes it off in favour of his mortification. He is therefor startled when a rolled newspaper thumps the top of his scull.
Sherlock's head jolts up abruptly to see John glaring at him and wielding the rolled newspaper. With the manner of a person training a recalcitrant puppy he thunks the paper down into the crown of black curls with every few words, "But you don't DO polite Sherlock, so what does that mean for John Watson, huh? Not even worth some snark? Hmm, no we'll consign him to polite discourse..."
His reprimand is stopped by Sherlock grabbing his paper wielding wrist, "John, really, do you think so little of me, that I cannot show a caring or polite behaviour toward someone?"
All the fight gone out of John now, he drops the paper and rotates his palm to grip his flatmate's arm instead. "Of course not Sherlock, but running away from me - let's not be delicate now - while I'm sitting in your bed hard as a rock, has the ability to make me self conscious. And I've always wondered why you let me into your life, at all, let alone so closely. So, while I don't doubt you feel a great deal and can be polite when the time calls for it, I just..." John trails off, looking around the room as though looking to find his answer. "I have only ever seen you be polite to people, when your trying to wheedle information out of them, or Mycroft when you really want to annoy him." Letting go of Sherlock he hides his face in his palms for a moment, rubbing vigorously, "And that's all lies, yeah? I want whatever this is with us to be based on truth, not lies."
The flush that had crept up Sherlock's cheeks at the mention of hard members has dissipated a bit, "John, I find it completely impossible to lie to you at all. There are times I refrain from mentioning something, but be assured, if I am talking to you it is all real, honust truths."
John gets lost in this momentous comment for a moment, his eyes tracking all over Sherlock's face, not deducting as his flatmate does, but using his knowledge of people and their actions within the bounds of relationships, to see if he can catch the other man out. But after a thorough examination of the wide, pale eyes and unsure expression detailed by the slack lips and uneven shaky breath. John begins to grin a bit, a warmth bleeding into his expression, "Sherlock, please come and sit beside me."
The genius stands mutely, that in and of itself tells John a lot about the state of mind his friend is in, and gracefully sits in the corner space of the settee.
Smiling up at him in a gentle, encouraging way John picks up Sherlock's right hand and settles his fingers gently over the pulse. Even as the fingers press into the bony wrist he can feel the heart rate tripping upwards. Wordlessly he offers his own wrist to Sherlock, who's long somehow delicate and strong fingers press into his flesh. In no time at all it is clear Sherlock's escalated pulse is driving John's up, which in turn sends Sherlock's higher and then John's racing after.
They both have been looking at their hands, propped up by their thighs, separately taking in the immenseness of the whole situation, when they simultaneously look up and catch, reflected back at one another, an awe and shock tempered by a vehement flaring of arousal.
Sherlock, for one, looks taken aback by the fact that the arousal is returned.
John knew Sherlock was aroused, he just can't quite believe his 'deformed' body has inspired that lust.
No one speaks or moves as the intensity increases between them. Sherlock's eyes are drawn to John's tongue, AGAIN, as he unconsciously licks at his lips. So slowly they don't even realise they are doing it, John and Sherlock settle closer and closer to one another. Their hands slide into John's lap and Sherlock comes to rest leaning into John's shoulder, both of them twisting slightly to meet in the middle.
John's eyes dart down to Sherlock's smooth lush lips and he swallows before looking up again. "So, we're going to snog are we?" Sherlock's face splits in a delighted grin, and he says "Yes, I do believe we are." before his lips land on John's.
At first their lips are closed, not aggressively so, but more of a gentle, 'So this is us kissing? Is it nice? Shall we carry on?' kind of way and tremors wash through Sherlock's stomach as he pants through his nose. John gently takes his flatmate's head in his hands and pulls away from the contact gently. At Sherlock's barely voiced mewl of displeasure, John's quick to reassure him, "Shhh now Sherlock, just slow down a touch, I'm not sure how well this is going to go, but I want to try, yeah."
Sherlock nods and surges forward in John's hands to press against his friend's lips once more. This time it will be John who moans slightly as he pulls Sherlock more firmly to him, tilts and tongues his way into the detective's mouth. Devastatingly he licks and tickles Sherlock's gums, behind his teeth and soft pallet, before surging into his mouth covering his tongue and slipping in and out quickly and quite suggestively.
Sherlock growls at the sensation of John's sure and quick penetration. On the seventh pass of the tongue he bites down on it as it's half way into his mouth and snarls. John grunts and then lets go of Sherlock's head with one hand to urgently grab himself through his soft joggies. Taking the opening while he can, Sherlock turns the tables on John and copies his actions back at his friend, grabbing at the nape with both hands and leading off with the tickling that had incited him to base animalistic behaviours moments ago.
There's a few more moments of slick tongues dancing on one another and eager grunts matched to quiet squeals as they roughly grasp at one another. Then the ding of both their mobiles goes off and distracts them both momentarily. "Mycroft." is all Sherlock says as he dives toward John's lips again, but John puts a hand on his chest to slow him down.
"Sherlock, whatever you have going on emotionally, about us, doing this, whatever your normal pattern of 'throw yourself into it without looking back' is urging you to do, I need to take a breather."
Sherlock tilts his head sharply to the side and glances up and down John's frame, "Your worried this is all tied into the revelations of your sex, don't be. I have harboured sentiment and emotions for you for some years." Sherlock takes in the slacken jaw on his best friend's face, "Oh please, you cannot have been so clueless about that? I pretended to die and was a ghost, a horrible demon in the dark, for two long years, all for you. What is that if not love?"
They pull apart a bit and John fixes him with a stern look, "I'm not forgetting Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade would have been taken out as well if you had not jumped."
Sherlock is shaking his head, "If I had had just a tiny bit more time, none of it would have happened, but as it was Mycroft could only guarantee Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson. You were in the wind in the taxi and as soon as you stepped onto the tarmac I had to jump, because no one had eyes on Moran. So I did jump, for you, just for you."
Pinching the bridge of his nose John creates a bit more space between them, "So, your saying you've felt something since before you left? Before I met Mary?" at Sherlock's slow nod, "Good god."
There is now almost a foot between them on the settee and John has turned around to look across the room at the fireplace. Sherlock calmly watches as John sits thinking about it all. His best friend finally has all the data, now things can be, as he dreamed and not the nightmare he lived after John's wedding. Noting the time he looks about for John's tea tray, "It's time for more meds John, and it's about tea time too, shall I call something in?"
John nods slowly, but otherwise makes no sign of having heard him, so Sherlock takes himself away to collect tea and order in a curry. Smiling he looks at his dearest friend staring off into space, 'He'll be creating a mental bunker, soon enough, if he keeps at this behaviour.'
'For you John,' reverberates in his ears as John stares at their chairs together in front of the fireplace sitting there... So close, yet so far away from each other, and John thought that was the way it was going to be for them for the rest of their lives and he was happy with that. Just being in Sherlock's life could be enough.
After all, John Watson has always been the kind of person who's happy to be as sexual as his partner. There was a time in Uni he dated a girl who would only hold his hand, nothing else. She just craved close contact to another person, but anything more frightened her. John always suspected, actual sexual acts, had been forced on her at some point early on, but who knows, she may just not have liked her own reactions to the incited hormones.
With a slight shake of his head he turns away from those memories and is confronted by the image of the two of them on his stag night laying back in those chairs, most definitely intoxicated. Now at this time a few, half remembered, dreams surface, of John turning on his knee and hugging Sherlock around the waist. The feeling of warmth and desperation swells in the memory and John doesn't need help interpreting what that symbolises. The idea of being located in the vicinity of an drunk, splayed open, relaxed, Sherlock's navel is giving him some very interesting ideas.
Struggling he pulls away from where that leads and forces himself to think about what developing a physical relationship could actually mean for John. Could he even do it? Did he throw over Mary and his marriage banking on the fact that the man he loved would never want to be physically close to him. And now that he seems very intent to be very close, what exactly is going to happen? Is he going to be able to handle the process of sex with another man. Is Sherlock actually gay or does he want to...
John's mind goes suspiciously bland at the idea of his 'other' anatomy coming into play during sex. Sure he has a vibrator for those times he needs something inside, but it hasn't been used in ages. He doesn't even store it with batteries in, the usage is so infrequent.
'Well, if my subconscious is to be believed, I do.' he thinks with a huff of laughter. Breaking out of the trance he looks around the room for Sherlock to only be able to hear him puttering in the kitchen. A smile of bedevilment on his lips John thinks, 'Maybe I need to do a bit of RECON on the subject.'
Sherlock comes through the doorway at his half swallowed giggles, quirks an eyebrow at him, "Would you like your tea now?"
"Yes, please, Sherlock." he delivers with a wide smile and thinks to himself, 'This is going to be fun!'
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OK, at least everybody is almost on the same page now ;P