a/n Part five! Please let me know what you think and part six will be on its way soon :D

Showing John how to turn the shower on Sherlock left the bathroom. Standing in the airy bathroom and surveyed the strange selection of bathing products, displayed in alphabetical order on the rack. Stripping down to his red pants John turned on the shower and waited for the water to run warm. When it did, he dropped his pants and stepped under the flow of water. Running his fingers through his hair and fishing out bits of tomato and lumps of congealed flour. It felt a bit odd to be showering in someone he'd known briefly's house, but it just felt right. You know being here with Sherlock felt normal and John hoped that their friendship would progress and possibly blossom into something more. But John didn't have his hopes up for something like that to happen. As he'd said before, Sherlock was too brilliant to be interested in him. Grabbing the bottle of fruity smelling shampoo. He laughed, the bottle was pink. So Sherlock used ladies shampoo, no wonder his hair smelt like raspberries. Thinking about it, in the cinema he could smell Sherlock's hair. The smell was enticing, he wanted to run his fingers through those loose curls. He felt his cock twitch at this thought so he stopped thinking about it.
It wasn't proper to masturbate in your friends shower.

Once he had got every last trace of flour from his skin, John stepped out of the shower. The mirror had steamed up,
so out of habit he wrote 'JOHN' in big letters on the silvery surface. He hoped Sherlock didn't mind. Grabbing the towel and wrapping it around his waist he left the bathroom in a cloud of steam and walked towards Sherlock's room. Tapping lightly on the door he heard Sherlock's low voice rumble through the wood, and he entered the room. Sherlock was sat on the window seat again, book in one hand and cigarette in the other still covered in pasta sauce. He looked kind of funny.
'Showers free.' John said hoisting his towel up over his hips, as it had slipped down whilst walking. Sherlock looked up, not knowing that John had come into his room in just a towel and dropped his cigarette. 'Ouch!' He cried as the hot tip burnt a hole in his trousers and left a red mark on his skin. Both blushing, Sherlock stood up.
'Would you like a clean shirt?' He offered pointing at his wardrobe. 'Sure, thanks.' John said pulling his red underwear out from the rest of his clothes. Sherlock turned his back and opened his wardrobe. There was a small mirror on the inside of the door, which he angled so he could just see John behind him.
As he looked for a shirt, he glanced into the mirror.

John had dropped the towel and was putting his underwear back on. He was bent over, naked in his bedroom and he had a front row seat. Quiet literally. When he had pulled his trousers up Sherlock grabbed the first shirt he saw and closed the wardrobe quickly. Passing the cream shirt to John, he picked up another towel from his bedroom floor.
'I'm going for a shower, make yourself comfortable. There are books and my laptop is on if you would like to use it.'
He disappeared out the door, again leaving John alone in his bedroom. He really did need a shower, his hair was sticking together and the tomato was giving off an awful smell. But he did recall the fruity essence that entered the room along with John, he had used Sherlock's shampoo. Glancing at the mirror as he walked into the bathroom he spotted it, the large letters written on the mirror which made him smile as he wiped them off. Stripping off his dirty clothes he placed them on the floor and hung up the fresh ones on the back of the door, he taken his clean clothes in with him so that John couldn't ask about the scars or the current plaster. He wasn't ready to tell him or anyone just yet.

Stepping out of the shower, Sherlock cleaned the condensation off the mirror once more. He stood looking at himself. What was he doing, he was such a mess. His wet hair all stuck to his face and the towel hanging off his bones. He felt the pizza sitting in his stomach and it made his feel queasy. Grabbing his toothbrush he knelt in front of the toilet. Sliding the end into his mouth and down his throat, he retched and coughed. He'd have to be quieter, in case John heard him. He pushed the end further down this time and he felt it bubble up as he spilled his dinner out into the toilet. He pushed the toothbrush down again when he heard a tap on the door and a little voice.
'Sherlock? Are you okay?' It was John. He had heard him. Frozen to the spot momentarily he shouted 'Yeah' shakily.
'Dodgy pizza I guess.' And heard John's footsteps retreat back to his bedroom. That was close he would have to be more careful in the future. Standing up, he reached for his clothes and began to dress. Wrapping the white towel around his shoulders so he could scrub his hair dry as he left.

Flinging the towel on the floor as he entered the room Sherlock pulled out his mobile, which beeped as he did. Unlocking the screen and opening the message he rolled his eyes.
'Sending my best car to cater to my little brothers every need - MH' Mycroft was an unbearable bastard. Locking the screen he slid it onto the bedside table. 'My brother has sent a car to take you home.' He said turning to face John, who was sat on the edge of his bed. John looked down at his shoes and fiddled with hem of his shirt. Lifting his face slowly he locked eyes with Sherlock and smiled. 'Thanks, you didn't have to you know.' He said blushing. To which made Sherlock blush. John got up from the bed and walked towards Sherlock. 'Thanks again.' Hugging him round the waist. Sherlock froze. He wasn't expecting John to do that, lifting his arm slightly he lightly patted John's shoulder. 'It's no problem.' Sherlock said as John pulled out of the hug, still smiling, he looked back down at his shoes. Sherlock lent forward without really knowing what he was doing and brushed his hand against John's. John looked up and jumped as an extremely loud car horn blasted twice, loud enough to make the window frame rattle a little. John shook himself and Sherlock looked beyond embarrassed. 'It seems your ride is here.' He said opening the door and disappearing down the stairs. Following him down he saw the front door was open, there was a cold draft flowing in and John wrapped his arms around his body tightly. Walking out into the dark John saw Sherlock bent over, leaning on the car door talking to the driver.

John stood staring at Sherlock's arse, the tight material of his trousers perfectly flush against his skin. 'John, are you ready?' Sherlock asked standing up and pulling the hem of shit shirt down. John nodded and walked towards the car. 'So urm I'll see you at school then.' John smiled and opened the door, sliding into the back seat. As the shiny sports car pulled away he looked back, Sherlock was stood at the gate of the house. Turning away he smiled widely and inhaled, he smelt like Sherlock's shower gel. Thinking back about his almost wank in the shower he stifled a laugh. The car slowly turned into a cramped road where John's house was situated. As the car slowed to a stop outside a small red brick house, John cringed at the peeling paintwork and dying plants. Sherlock's house was much nicer than his, and larger. He thanked the driver and watched the car drive away. Digging his hand into his pocket he plucked his house key out. Jumping the small garden wall instead of going round it he bounded towards the door, slipping the key in and shoving it just hard enough to stop it from sticking. He could hear the T.V on in the living room, kicking off his shoes in the hallway he walked towards the sound. Pushing lightly on the worn wood he peered his head into the room. His mum was sat curled up on the beige sofa with a chipped coffee mug and a blanket. 'Hiya Mum.' He said quietly, so he didn't wake his sister. 'Really gotta get that heating fixed.' grinning at her. She tilted her blonde head towards him and stuck her tongue out.
'Good night?' She asked. John nodded, blushing slightly.
'That good eh?' She said winking at him. John scoffed and rolled his eyes, pulling the door shut. He headed towards the stairs. She had no idea just how good a night John had had.

Slipping into his bedroom, John sighed and looked around. His room was nothing like Sherlock's. Photos of friends and family spattered all over the walls and numerous band and football posters. His room was also painted a duck egg blue colour with matching bed sheets, which were bunched up and one pillow on the floor. Picking up the pillow he flopped down onto his bed and looked up at the ceiling. Pulling the pillow down across his face he sighed into it, trying to push the smell of Sherlock into the fibers. Groaning he flung the pillow away and snaked his hand down his torso to the rapidly forming lump in his trousers. Sherlock really did smell good, and he had a gorgeous arse. Rubbing his palm gently over the bump he thought about Sherlock's arse, how firm it looked, nice and round. He'd kill to run his hands over it, squeeze it, slap it. Unfastening his trousers he slipped his cock out of his underwear and felt a sticky drop of pre-cum drip onto his hip. Stroking his cock gently he started thinking about Sherlock in the shower, the way the water would flow over his delicate pale skin. His taut body flushed by the heat, covered in soft white lather. John sped up his strokes and used his other hand to pinch his nipple lightly. Pushing his hips up with every movement he flung his hand to his mouth and bit down on the skin. He could feel the heat building in his stomach as the pleasurable heights of orgasm reared into view. Biting down harder on his hand he came spectacularly hard in a few sharp spurts, which covered the shirt he was wearing. As the haze bubbled up in his brain, he licked his lips, breathing heavily.

After a few moments he felt himself slowly slide back to earth and sat up gingerly. 'Gross.' He said, looking down at the front of his shirt. Cursing remembering it was Sherlock's shirt, he'd have to wash it before he returned it. Pulling the soiled shirt over his head he threw it on the floor and pulled his trousers off, pushing his cock gently back into his underwear. Stretching he picked up the fallen pillow and pulled back his duvet. He tossed and turned for a few minuets to get comfortable. He pulled the covers up to his chin and was encased in warmth, pushing softly into his pillow he closed his eyes. Drifting quickly off to sleep. Sadly this wasn't the same story for Sherlock, instead of falling blissfully into sleep he was pacing around his bedroom. He'd been pacing practically since john had left, well since he'd finished staring off at the car that is. Stopping to look out his window he realised how much his feet hurt and that it would most likely be best to sit down. Flopping down onto his bed Sherlock pondered the days events. John Watson had been naked in his house, none the less in his room. And yet he did nothing. He really need to get a grip and stop being so silly.
Suddenly it struck him, John had heard him throwing up. Groaning he covered his face with his hands and sighed. He hoped John didn't think anything of it. Sighing again he stood up and began searching the piles of washing for some clean pyjamas.

Finally finding a pair old sports shorts and stretched purple t-shirt he decided to go to bed. The shorts were a bit tight around his arse, but the shirt hung off his shoulders. When he was younger he used to pull his t-shirts over his knees,
usually to keep him warmer. He walked over to his wardrobe and opened out the mirrored door. Turning sideways he pulled up the shirt and looked down at himself. His ribs were visible, but only just. His hipbones still jutted prominently out of his pale skin, tracing them with his fingers he wondered what it would feel like if it was John touching them. Bringing his finger slowly across the waistband of his shorts, which sat below his hips he shuddered as a tingling sensation ran through him. He'd love John to do that to him, maybe with his tongue. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, moving his finger up the middle of his body towards his chest, catching his finger in the spattering of dark hair that led up from his shorts. Opening his eyes he let out his breath slowly, tugging his shirt back down he moved over to his bed. Checking his phone one last time he threw it onto his bedside table and fitted himself between the covers. Pushing his curls out of his face he slipped one arm under his pillow and curled up to sleep.