Oh my God, I can't believe how long it's been since I last posted a chapter for this story.
I know you've been waiting for it and nothing I could say would be a sufficient explanation.
So I'm not going to try.
During the last few days, I went over very single chapter of this fanfiction and yesterday updated them.
So if you've read this story before the 16th of April 2015, you might want to read the story again from the very beginning.
I didn't change the story itself, but a few parts might be different from what you remember.
So anyway, have fun with the next chapter!
When John awoke the next morning, it took him quite some time to wake up properly.
He was wrapped up in a warm, nice cocoon of a blanket and the bed was softer than any he ever remembered.
He sighed happily and slowly opened his eyes, blinking against the sudden sunlight that flooded the room.
For a few moments, he just looked around at the unfamiliar room, taking in the antique book shelves, the chandelier on the ceiling and the heavy wooden doors that had led him into this room.
Then he turned his head to his right and saw a still peacefully sleeping Sherlock next to him.
A soft smile appeared on his lips before he could stop it.
Sherlock had wrapped himself completely around John during the night, as if he wanted to make sure, that John wouldn't leave.
It was impossibly endearing and John felt his heart warming at the thought.
He didn't really want to get up, but John knew that now that he was awake, there was no use in drawing it out.
He gave Sherlock a soft kiss on the forehead before he, carefully, so he wouldn't wake his bed companion up, got out of bed.
He went over to his suitcase (where most of his stuff still was, despite his plan to unpack yesterday) and pulled out some fresh underwear, socks and his razor.
Then he took today's suit from where it was hanging against the wardrobe and, with a last fond look back at Sherlock, disappeared into the bathroom to take a shower.
John took his time in the bathroom, knowing that it was still early and Sherlock would (hopefully) still be dead to the world for an hour or two. The detective didn't sleep quite as often as John would like him to, but whenever he did, he would easily make up for it.
What he didn't expect was Sherlock entering the bathroom without so much as a knock, still yawning and only wrapped up in the blanket from the bed when John was standing in front of the mirror, shaving and only wearing a towel around his hips.
Sherlock didn't even seem to notice. "Morning."
"Good morning, Sherlock." John forced a smile and tried for nonchalant, but wasn't sure if he'd managed.
With another loud yawn, Sherlock turned on the shower, dropped the towel and stepped inside.
John tried not to stare at Sherlock's reflection in the mirror, but found it almost impossible to look away.
Why didn't the detective understand how inappropriate it was to walk in on somebody in the bathroom and then take a shower completely in the nude? Especially when said somebody was as obviously attracted to them as John was?
John shook his head. He shouldn't think about it. It would only make things worse than they already were.
Unbidden, images from last night rised to his mind.
John blushed.
They had been making out quite heavily and if they hadn't been at the Holmes' manor, not far away from all of the Holmes family, including Mummy and Mycroft, and if Sherlock didn't have as much self-control as he did and John as much practice in ignoring his wishes and his body' s demands concerning the detective, John wasn't sure how far they'd gone.
It wasn't that John was inexperienced.
He'd just never done ... that.
The farthest he had gone with another man had been a few blowjobs in the army, where efficiency and as less mess as possible were the top priority.
He'd not even been attracted to most of these men.
It had just been ... convenient. They helped each other out because there was no other way to let off some steam.
But now with Sherlock, John had found himself wanting to try more for quite some time now.
Hell, he'd even looked up a few things on the internet and had only gotten more curious.
He wanted all that, if it was with Sherlock.
The thing was, he didn't know if Sherlock wanted that as well.
There was a whole world between what they had done yesterday and what John wanted to do.
John glanced up in the mirror, at Sherlock in the shower.
He was still washing his hair and didn't seem to have noticed where John's thoughts had wandered.
Taking a deep breath to calm himself, John turned back to the task at hand, namely shaving.
He finished quickly and started to get dressed, trying to forget that Sherlock was still in the same room and might watch him.
He tried to act natural as if his highly attractive flatmate slash crush slash maybe-lover wasn't standing just a few steps away from him.
John had just pulled on his boxers when he heard Sherlock emerging from the shower behind him. He didn't turn around and continued getting dressed.
He'd just straightened up to close his zipper and button, when a pair of arms wrapped around his middle from behind.
"I was looking forward to getting woke up by a kiss this morning but instead found myself alone in a cold bed."
John turned his head around with a small smile. "Oh? Since when have you become Sleeping Beauty, Mr. Holmes? It seems I've missed a few vital parts."
Sherlock grinned. "I'm no Sleeping Beauty, but you can be my Prince Charming anyway, if you want to be, darling."
John could tell by his face and his tone that he was just teasing him now, making fun of their little scheme.
"After all, since yesterday everyone knows how in love the both of us are." Sherlock continued. "I bet they're already planning the wedding."
He looked disgusted and John couldn't help but laughing and soon, Sherlock was joining in as well.
Still cuckling softly, Sherlock let go of John and went over to the sink, toweling his hair at the same time.
But before he got very far, John had pulled him back by his wrist.
"I can't let you start your day with disappointment, can I? I'll need to make up for it."
"Oh really? And what, pray tell, do you have in mind?"
Sherlock was grinning and John couldn't stop himself from getting on his tiptoes and kissing Sherlock sweetly.
It took only a few moments, then John pulled back.
Sherlock opened his mouth to protest, but John put his finger on his lips and said. "You'll get more after you had breakfast. And I mean breakfast. Not just nipping at a glass of water."
The detective pouted at that and John, reminding himself that that wasn't supposed to be adorable, pulled away to finally put on his shirt, when suddenly something flew at him and John caught it reflexively.
Staring at what Sherlock had obviously just thrown at him, he blushed.
It was a pair of black silk boxershorts.
He looked up at Sherlock, gaping. His mouth opening and closing without a sound escaping.
Sherlock started laughing loud, one arm around his stomach and the other holding onto the sink so he wouldn't fall over from laughing so hard.
And John, who'd despite all that time already living together with the detective, had never seen Sherlock so ecstatic before, couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped him that soon became full blown laughter.
The bathroom was filled with their laughter and John didn't even remember how they ended up next to each other on the floor, their bellies hurting from laughing too much.
"That" John was still panting, "was ridiculous, Sherlock." Another deep breath. "Throwing your underwear at me."
Sherlock chuckled. "All's fair in love and war. And this is definitely both."
John snorted before he froze. Had Sherlock just really said what he thought he'd said?
But Sherlock was already getting up again, seemingly oblivious to what chaos he'd just started in John's head, and babbling on.
"At least my underwear isn't as ridiculous as yours. Really John. Red pants? Is that supposed to get my attention?"
That got John's thoughts back to the present.
"Stop pretending. I know you like them." He smirked. It was a shot in the dark, but he felt better, going back to their eay teasing.
"Maybe." Sherlock answered with a small smile.
He offered John his hand who gladly took it and quickly got back to his feet.
John picked up the underwear from the floor and held it out for Sherlock to take. "There. I think you might need that."
"Really John, as always you see but you don't observe."
Confused, John looked up at Sherlock who was standing there in front of him, wearing a pair of dark blue silk boxershorts.
The doctor looked from the pair into his hands to Sherlock, to his hands and back.
Then he exploded. "You threw your dirty underwear at me?! Sherlock Holmes -"
But John didn't get any further because a laughing Sherlock Holmes had already escaped from the bathroom in order to get dressed.