A/N: Sorry for the tardiness of this update. I had a lot going on, plus, a bit of a writer's block in regards to this chapter.

Warnings: Sexual content - m/m. Bad language.

Disclaimer: I make no money from this.

Special Note: My wonderful beta, Jarri Scythe has been an incredible help and support these last few weeks. Thanks so much, Jarri!

Shake The Disease - 6

"Are you sure?" I had to hear him say it.

"Yes, John. I love you. I need you. Please."

I'd never been anyone's first before. Not by design, it had just never worked out that way. Most inconveniently, the significance of what I was about to do to Sherlock hit me in that moment. The result was a near-crippling case of performance anxiety.

But, it was fine. It was all fine. I knew Sherlock wasn't exactly a fragile flower and I had both my medical training and prior experiences with women to draw upon. I was careful, and moved slowly, and constantly watched Sherlock closely for cues to either proceed or stop. We went face-to-face by his insistence, which worried me on his behalf, but at least I could study his expressions for signs of pain.

It was a strange role-reversal for us. In the history of our relationship up to that point I had never been so loquacious and Sherlock had never been so silent. I talked almost non-stop, not just explaining what I was doing, but telling him all the things I'd been holding in my heart but had never had the courage to say. I told him how he had saved my life, and then given me one worth living. Told him how each day was brighter and more colorful because he was in it. Told him how I could never imagine a life without him. I thanked him for curing me of my limp, dispelling my loneliness, giving me purpose, giving me himself. I called him by all sorts of endearments that I wouldn't dream of using anyplace else. But for that hour he was my baby, my darling, my gorgeous man, and other things I won't repeat here.

In contrast, the only word that tumbled from Sherlock's lips was my name, but the way he said it set me on fire. It came out of him as whispers, moans, and gasps, each one causing a small flower to bloom in my heart.

It was far and away the most emotionally charged sexual experience of my life so far. This is why I don't want to go much further in describing it. Words are clumsy and can't sum up the meaning of what we did, although I will say that it truly felt like a consummation of what we had been progressing toward for so long. We both shed a few tears of joy and fulfillment as the last of the barriers between us tumbled down.

I made sure that he achieved his pleasure first, and watching his look of surprised ecstasy caused me to follow quickly after. After I caught my breath I carefully unhooked his trembling legs from my shoulders and cautiously disentangled myself from him. After disposing of the condom I began massaging his thighs, in case they'd been over-stretched.

"How do you feel?" I asked.

He looked at me with a small smile, then closed his eyes and said, "A little sore."

"Sorry. Do you want me to take a look?"

"Good God, no! I'm sure I'm fine."

"Sherlock - " I began, but he cut me off with an impatient huff.

"I want to take a shower," he announced and swung his legs off the bed and stood up.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, stumbling a bit.

"Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yes, John," he insisted in an annoyed tone as he limped around the bedroom collecting some clean clothes.

Once he was in the bathroom and I heard the shower running I allowed myself a small giggle. Sherlock was probably never going to be a post-coital cuddler. So, I did what I felt would demonstrate my love best: I changed the bed linens.

Once that was done I sat on the bed wondering what to do. Sherlock still wasn't done in the bathroom. I considered going ahead and joining him, but something told me he probably wanted a little time to himself to process what we had just done.

What we had just done...I just had sex with Sherlock bloody Holmes...oh God!

I flopped flat on the bed and rubbed my face. It was hard to fully wrap my brain around, even though it had just happened. I had a flashback to meeting Sherlock in the lab at St. Bart's. I wondered how he had thought of me in those first few moments. Could he have imagined that I would eventually bugger him? Highly unlikely. I certainly never imagined it until recently.

Thinking those sorts of thoughts started to excite me a little again. I shook my head to clear it. Not a good idea to get myself wound up again. There was a limit to how many showers we could take in one day, and besides, Sherlock would probably be sore for a few days.

Or maybe he'd want to do me.

I shivered slightly - a combination of fear and excitement. I'd had a girlfriend who would sometimes finger me during blowjobs. I'd never felt strongly about it one way or another, but to have Sherlock deep in my arse...that would be a bigger deal, on several levels.

It seems only fair to make the offer, I suppose. Maybe he won't want to, maybe he just wants to bottom.

A few minutes later, Sherlock emerged from the bathroom fully dressed, but still walking stiffly and grimacing.

"Sherlock are you sure you don't want me to take a look?"

"I'm fine," he snapped, then collected himself, "There wasn't any blood, I'm just a bit sore is all."

There was an embarrassed silence, Sherlock's face was pink.

"I, er," Sherlock began, "I enjoyed it very much...but I don't think it's something I want to do on a regular basis. I, erm, I'm not comfortable with the consequences."

"That's fine, Sherlock," I said and gave him a hug, "I only want to do what makes us both happy. Maybe you should try doing me, next time."

Sherlock went even pinker and seemed unable to speak.

"You're adorable when you're embarrassed," I said and kissed his cheek.

"Shut up," he huffed, but he was smiling.

I went and took my shower, and came out to the sitting room where Sherlock was shutting his laptop.

"John, my stomach hurts," he announced.

"How so?" I asked gesturing to him to lay down on the couch to examine him.

"I think I might be hungry."

"Sherlock wants to eat? Did I just see one of the Four Horsemen ride by?"

"Your tactics are not improving the probability of my being forthcoming in the future."

"Right, sorry. What are you in the mood for?"

"Well, I'm not going to leave the flat in my current condition, so either you have to cook for me, or go get something for me, or have something delivered."

I ended up getting Chinese takeaway. We spent the rest of the afternoon and evening on the couch watching telly, eating, updating my blog, reading through Sherlock's messages, occasionally kissing and snuggling together. It was nice. For the first time, I felt like we were truly a couple.

We went to bed early, and Sherlock immediately wrapped around me, using my chest as a pillow. I ran my fingers through his curls while he rumbled contentedly. We didn't talk, there was no need. Everything was perfect.

Finally, Sherlock spoke, "John."

"Yes?"

"If the flat were to catch on fire, I would save you first, even before the Stradivarius."

"The what?"

"My violin."

"You're having me on."

"No, really. You're more important to me than the violin."

"You're not telling me your violin is a Stradivarius!"

"Yes."

"How - ? Christ, Sherlock! How much is that thing worth? I don't believe you! How do you have a Stradivarius violin?"

"It's a long story. Do you want to hear it now?"

"I've been living in a flat with a Stradivarius? What if I'd stepped on it? Or sat on it?"

"You don't observe, John. I do take care of it. I don't leave it lying where you step or sit."

"Normally, I'd be insulted that someone would even feel the need to say I was more important than a thing. But in this case, I think I might be flattered."

"There's very few people I consider more important than my violin."

"That's a bit not good, Sherlock."

"That's why you're so important to me, John. I need you to make me good."

I sighed and pulled him tighter against me, "I can't make you anything, Sherlock. And, for what it's worth, I love you just as you are. If the flat catches fire, you save the violin and I'll look after Mrs. Hudson."

Sherlock gasped, "John, do you really think I'd leave Mrs. Hudson to burn? We'd collect her on our way out of course."

"Sounds like we have a plan, then."

"I'm never letting you go, John."

"I don't want you to."

END

A/N: Please let me know what you think. I will be following this story with another one dealing with Harry's recovery.