Sherlock Pre-Note: Hey all you people. Forgive the unrealistic timeline that will be portrayed in this chapter. And I apologize, as beta, for the odd jumps in time that crop up now and again. Approximate time frame from the beginning of "Can I Test Something?" to the end of this chapter is 4.5 months, as near as I can guess.
Author's note: Thanks to Sherlock for being a patient beta and friend, and putting up with the mistakes. *chapter is just re-uploaded for a minor mistake fixing*
John rolled over in the bed so he was facing Sherlock. The detective mumbled something incoherent in his sleep and scrunched his eyes tighter shut. His hair had grown in the six or so weeks spent in Kent (he had lost track of the time in the blissful days), and John couldn't help noticing how adorably the curls fell around his face and over one side of his forehead. In the days that Sherlock spent reading in the library, or riding alone in the fields, John had been doing some preparation behind his back; something really special. Perhaps a bit rushed and impulsive, but that was how life was with Sherlock Holmes.
Reaching out his hand, John stroked Sherlock's nose with his index finger.
"Wake up, love." He whispered, blowing out a light breath. The ticklish downward strokes of John's finger from the bridge to tip of his nose, and John's slightly minty breath on his eyelids made Sherlock flinch backwards and split his eyes open a crack. John's electric blue iris's looked back at him and the ex army doctor grinned.
"Mm? What?" The detective muttered, blinking bleary-eyed up at his lover. The curtains had never been put back up in his bedroom, so the morning light was almost blinding. John hoisted himself up so he could somewhat shade his younger boyfriend.
"Time to wake up."
"What time is it?"
"About eight." John chuckled, stroking Sherlock's cheek. "We said we'd get up early and finish packing for home."
"Oh right. Home." Sherlock smiled back at John and leaned into his warm hand. "I hope Mrs. Hudson kept our flat from going dusty."
"She's not our housekeeper, love." John gave Sherlock a kiss before rolling out of the bed. He didn't realize he was naked until he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He quickly grabbed some underwear (though Sherlock really didn't seem to mind the view) and headed into the en-suite bathroom.
Sherlock closed his eyes again and snuggled up into the warm spot where John had been lying. Home… London…Sherlock smiled to himself and huddled right under the duvet, engulfing himself in its warmth. He lay awake until John emerged ten minutes later, smelling like Blonde Bombshell shampoo and lemon body wash. The detective got up and wandered over to John, wrapping his arms around his still wet, toned waist, and pressing his nose to the base of his neck. He used his tongue to lick away some of the remaining droplets from John's hair that had escaped down the back of his neck.
"Hmm. What's all this about?" John smiled and leaned back, allowing Sherlock to rest his chin on his good shoulder.
"You smell nice, that's all. And you're warm."
"And you're quite cold. Get dressed." John turned around so he could hug Sherlock. Sherlock chuckled and hugged back.
"Okay, mother. If you actually let me go." John gave his lover one last squeeze before moving away to look for clothes.
"Did Mycroft give us a date yet on when we can go home?"
"He didn't. He has a "matter of national security" to attend to and he doesn't know when he'll be home. But he'll send James with the car." John had to snort at that. How many people had a brother who basically was the British Government?
James picked them up at around half past nine the next Tuesday. The car wasn't the usual sleek black car that Mycroft picked them up in, but this time it was a longer, just as sleek black car; more room for their belongings with the same amount of comfort.
"Did you have a nice stay?" James asked, placing the last of the boxes containing John's laptop into the back of the car. "Mycroft says he'd like to invite you both to dinner with himself and Mr. Lestrade."
Sherlock tried not to groan out loud at that, instead smiling and nodding briefly. "I'll get back to him on that."
"On another note," John cut in, "Our stay was lovely, thank you." James smiled at the two of them and opened their doors. Before they sat in, John turned around to face the house and Sherlock joined him.
"What's wrong?" The detective followed John's gaze to the large, Victorian style house of his childhood summers.
"Nothing. Nothing is wrong." John smiled, reaching out to grasp Sherlock's left hand with his right. He'd never say it aloud, but he was going to miss the old house. "Come on, I'm sure Mrs. Hudson can't wait to see us."
Sherlock chuckled and they sat into the car to head home. James gave them some privacy in the back seat, politely using the divider screen and putting on some relaxing music. The journey back to Baker Street was shorter and more light-hearted, seeing as they weren't on the escape from a dangerous psychopath who wanted to ruin their lives. John tried his best to block out all memories of Moriarty. Of course it was impossible and always would be… But John only had Sherlock's safety in mind. He laid his head on Sherlock's shoulder and closed his eyes for the last bit of the journey.
"Oh, boys!" Mrs. Hudson opened the door of 221B and launched both her arms around John and Sherlock, who caught the old woman in the hug before she could do them all damage. "It's so nice to see you back! Sherlock, dear are you eating?"
"Yes Mrs. Hudson. John is taking great care of me." He pulled out of her grandmotherly hug and slipped an arm around John's waist. The shorter man smiled, while the landlady stepped back to let them in. The familiar smell of the hallway gave Sherlock a warm feel in his stomach and he all but leaped up the seventeen steps.
"Oh, dear me look at him. I was going to offer you some tea." Mrs. Hudson turned to face John and she patted his arm. "Tell you what, go get yourselves settled and I'll put on the kettle."
"No, no it's fine, Mrs. Hudson, really."
"What, do you not like my tea?"
"It's not that." John smiled. "I just think we'll spend our evening starting to unpack. Don't want Sherlock complaining about tea slowing him down." The landlady nodded in acknowledgement.
"Same old Sherlock then."
"Yeah, just about." John gave her another hug before hoisting both he and Sherlock's bags over his shoulders and ascending the stairs after his lover.
"Don't mind me, these bags aren't heavy at all."
"John…" Sherlock ignored his sarcastic complaint (usually he'd tell John that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit) and darted about the room, looking under chairs and in the cupboards. "John, Mrs. Hudson took my skull!"
"She what?"
"Took my skull!" John sighed and dropped the bags down.
"No she didn't. I had it sent to Kent, but I never unpacked it."
"Well where is it?" Sherlock gesticulated with his hands and then pointed to the mantelpiece. "I want it here, where it belongs."
John chuckled, moving over to Sherlock and shutting him up with a light peck against the corner of his mouth. "Your skull is safely and securely wrapped in bubble wrap, in one of those cardboard boxes. Why don't you unpack?"
"You're not going to help?"
"We don't have milk. Or much in the way of food. I need to buy some."
"Can it not wait?"
"Wait for milk? I have my tea with milk." John looked innocently up at Sherlock. The detective had those 'I think you're up to something' eyes. If he did know something was up he kept quiet about it.
"Alright. Just don't get kidnapped or anything."
"I'm sure Mycroft has upgraded our surveillance by now. I'll be fine. Look for your skull."
Sherlock sighed and gave John one last kiss before moving to the pile of unpacked boxes. The flat looked somewhat bare (and maybe a little bit tidier) with most of its books and gadgets gone, so John knew the detective would be kept busy for a while. Good; he needed time. He left with a quick 'I love you' and a 'see you later' (Sherlock simply hummed in reply; too busy unpacking books and arranging them by genre.)
There were so many choices. John's face was pressed so close to the glass case that he was starting to leave little patches of fog, immediately pulling back every time he did so in case the woman who owned the shop noticed.
The silver and gold and diamond bands kept safe behind the glass case were shining out at John. The little details, engravings, gemstones, boxes to go with the rings in all spectrums of colours just made the doctor more determined to find the right one; one that would look nice, one that would fit perfectly, one that said 'I Love You' without having to say anything at all-
"Are you alright, Sir?" The shop owner asked, popping her head out the doorway behind the counter and smiling. She was about thirty with a pointy nose, sharp blue eyes, and creamy skin. Her accent said she came from France and by the looks of it she was at least a few months pregnant. John shook his head at how much like Sherlock he sounded, deducing things mentally. Only to be expected, since they'd been living together for close to two months now.
"Ah, yes please. I'm looking for a ring…" John said uncertainly, casting his eyes down at the glass case again.
"Engagement ring?" The woman pulled out two catalogue style ring-binders, one pink and the other blue. She pushed the pink one forward but when John shook his head, her hand moved questioningly to the blue ring-binder. "Oh, you mean…"
"For a man, yes. I'm looking for a male engagement ring." The woman grinned; obviously it was rare she got customers like John.
"Well, we have some excellent ones right here." She handed John the ring-binder opened it onto the first page, pointing out all the different types. John couldn't help but feel his stomach tighten with nerves.
John took a deep breath as Angelo ran things through with him again, nodding at each point and mentally ticking things off. The set up looked gorgeous, and would look even more gorgeous on the right night when everything was ready.
"Thank you again, Angelo."
"Not a problem. Just give me a call when you want me to put the finishing touches on everything, eh?" John nodded and smiled shakily. He reached into his pocket and fished around, before producing the ring he bought weeks earlier; a simple silver band with a thin blue line running through its centre.
"This is the one I'm going to use. You know what to do with it." It had been hell hiding the thing from Sherlock; the detective hadn't had a case since they had come home and he'd taken to roaming about the flat 'redecorating'.
"Of course." Angelo winked and handed the ring to Billy to keep it safe. "It's a beautiful ring, Dr. Watson."
"Please, you've known me long enough to call me John."
"That I do. Now don't you worry about a thing and get yourself together. Billy and I will make sure the evening is perfect." Angelo clapped John on the shoulders and led him downstairs into the main part of the restaurant. "It's nice to have you back, John."
"Yeah. It's nice to be here. Right, well I'd best be off. Can't have him wondering why it took me so long to buy some groceries." John chuckled and waved Angelo goodbye as he left.
He actually did make a stop to the shops to stock up on necessities, and a couple little luxuries and treats for Sherlock. The man had been acting quite a bit like a fractious child over the last few days, and John had to come up with a way to placate him. He picked up some milk, bread, fresh fruit and vegetables, laundry detergent, washing up liquid, a month's supply of shampoo and body gels, and a new set of Petri dishes for Sherlock (from Molly). The poor little lab tech still didn't seem to realize that Sherlock was taken.
"I'm home!" John called up the stairs. When he got no reply, he instinctively began to worry. No, John, stop it,he mentally scolded himself and allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief when he finally did reach the flat; Sherlock was sprawled out on the sofa with an open book lying carelessly on his chest, rising and falling with each breath he took. The doctor stood in the doorway and smiled softly. Most of the boxes had been unpacked, mainly books, ornaments, the skull, and Sherlock's experiment set. Their bags sat at the bottom of the stairs leading to the bedrooms, now empty of clothes and other belongings, and the kettle was filled with water for boiling later on. There were a couple of empty boxes sitting on the kitchen table that had yet to be broken down and put away. Tobias and Bitsy were asleep in the same bed on the windowsill, the white kitten now almost as big as the silver-striped tom.
John quietly put the shopping away and set about making a cup of strong tea. Apparently the great, unpredictable Sherlock Holmes could be turned into the domestic sort.
Sherlock smoothed down his hair and gave himself one last look over. His curls had been straightened, and it was now only slightly wavy, and very smooth. It flicked out a small bit at the ends, where some of the tighter curls were. Before leaving the bathroom, he smoothed down his suit jacket and purple shirt, flicking off a bit of fluff.
"Are you re-"John poked his head in the bathroom door and paused when he saw Sherlock and his straightened hair. He smirked and leaned in the doorframe.
"Do you not like it?"
"No I do. It's… Different. But a good different." John offered out his hand. "You look lovely, by the way."
"Not too bad yourself." Sherlock nodded, looking over John's black and silver three-piece suit. He took his offered hand and linked their fingers together. "Now, why are we going out tonight exactly?"
"Well, we never celebrated our anniversary in Kent, and we have no cases on so… Why not? I thought it might help relieve the tedium." John licked his lips and inhaled slowly, turning and leading the detective through the hallway and down the stairs to the coat-rack. Sherlock slipped on his usual long coat and scarf, and John hailed for a taxi.
In his mind, the doctor went over what he had planned for tonight. He calmed down his growing nerves by focusing on London passing by outside. They made small talk about meeting up with Mycroft soon and about his relationship with Lestrade, all the time there was still a mass of butterflies dashing about in his stomach.
Angelo greeted them at the door, shaking Sherlock's hand vigorously and grinning massively at John. Sherlock seemed a bit put out by the enthusiastic greeting, but when John linked their fingers together and followed Angelo through the restaurant Sherlock couldn't help but trail after him.
Rather than being led to Sherlock's usual table, the little square one for two by the front window, Angelo led them up the stairs to the rooftop terrace. It was something that was rarely used, but for Sherlock and John, anything. The small terrace, lined with greenery and lush flowers, had a square table in the middle of it. The rail around the terrace was littered with colourful paper lanterns, dimly lit up from the inside. Billy, his black waistcoat and white shirt freshly pressed and fairly gleaming, smiled and nodded his head.
"Oh, John..." Sherlock felt rather foolish, since that was all he managed to say. Made him sound like a girl out of one of the terrible romance films that Sherlock sometimes caught John watching on telly late at night.
"Happy anniversary, Sherlock." Angelo wandered back down the stairs as John stretched up to kiss his lover's cheek. Billy faded into the background as John pulled out Sherlock's chair before sitting down, and he only reappeared to set down the single candle for the table or with dishes of food. Angelo had outdone himself; small Italian appetizers mingled pleasantly with Thai treats, and the meal came to a head with a rather large sea bass roasted whole and seasoned to a perfect turn. Eventually that, too, was cleared away, and Sherlock sat back, nursing a glass of white wine.
John sat very still and fiddled with his waistcoat's buttons, wiping at them with his thumb so they were all shiny. Swallowing lightly, John managed to look up at Sherlock; it was an odd sensation to see him with straightened hair. The tips at the very base still had a slight kink to them, which gave away his original tousled curls. He could see Sherlock giving him that 'I'm deducing you' look, which didn't help his nerves. Still, this was something Sherlock most likely wouldn't be able to deduce. Clearing his throat, John broke the silence.
"You eh, like icing on cupcakes don't you?" John wanted to be sure. "Actually, excuse me a moment." He stood up and walked over to the stereo and changed the music to Yiruma - a personal favourite. Moonlight was the first track that played and John took his seat once again, this time looking at Sherlock with a soft light in his blue eyes.
"It depends on the kind of icing. I prefer buttercream to cream cheese, and vanilla over other flavours." He's very nervous. Can't sit still...His eyes followed John's movements as he crossed to the stereo, curiosity clear on his sculpted features. John had long ago gotten past his awkwardness around Sherlock, and this sudden fidgety disposition and constant movement was completely unlike him. This, of course, led Sherlock to wet his lips and steeple his fingers in front of his mouth. "Tell me what's on your mind, John... I thought you got over this a long time ago."
"Got over what?" John asked, but Angelo had arrived on the terrace with a covered silver dish. As he got closer to the couple, Angelo gave them a warm smile, before setting the platter down between them.
"Hope you're having a good night, eh?" The Italian man winked at John and Sherlock before adding something about privacy and bustling off again.
"Here, this is for you," John lifted the lid off the dish and revealed two buns - Madeira mixture with vanilla sugar icing. He passed Sherlock one of the buns. "Don't eat it until you've heard me out though... Okay?" John let out a long breath and had to wet his lips. But before he could speak, Sherlock set his bun down and cut in.
"You're practically stuttering, you can't seem to sit still, you're flushed and sweating despite the fact that it's cool outside, and your hands are fidgety but not shaky. You're nervous, and you haven't been nervous around me since the first month you moved into the flat and now I'd like to know why. ... Well, go on then."
John listened as Sherlock listed off all those points. Am I really sweating? He almost brought a hand to his forehead to check, but kept it still on the table. "Right, Sherlock erm..." John sat forward, palms resting on the tabletop. "Before I met you I was a mess with PTSD. Then I met you... The first day we moved in together, you invited me on that case. We came here, actually... If you remember correctly, I left my cane behind me and Angelo had to bring it back!" John let out a small chuckle that bordered on a nervous wheeze. "Sherlock, limps don't just disappear for no good reason - psychosomatic or not. And the adventures have only gone on from there. I mean, it's a wonder I've survived this long, but I've always put my life in your hands in the end. I trust you, Sherlock, but I have to know. Do you trust me?" He reached across the table and took one of Sherlock's long hands into his own.
"Well, if you recall that thing with the cane was intentional. You didn't believe me when I said it was psychosomatic and I took that as a challenge to prove you wrong." He watched John's hand creep across the table to link into his own, one eyebrow arched slightly, but he quickly flicked those bright silver eyes back to John's face. His tongue darted out to wet his lips again, just a peek of glistening pink. "John, if I didn't trust you I wouldn't have gotten myself into this. And you were the one to help me get back to my old self after..." He trailed off, his jaw tightening a bit. "So yes, I trust you fully and whole-heartedly. Now, are you going to spit out what you're trying to say or are you going to continue to make me think you're about to ask me to marry you?"
"Right, yes, the thing I was-" John was cut off then, staring across the table at Sherlock. God, he's good. His heart was racing at this point and his mouth opened a few times like a fish. Finally pulling himself somewhat together, John took a breath and moved forward. "...Yes. Sherlock, that is what I was going to say... Though I had planned asking you a bit differently."
John took the bun sitting in front of Sherlock and broke it in half. Inside was the silver ring that he'd had Billy bake into the bun specifically for tonight. Holding it out, John swallowed and closed his eyes. "You said you were married to your work and that's why I was hesitant. I love you, Sherlock and if you don't want to marry me I completely understand so... there's the ring." John placed the half of the bun with the ring still in it on the table and went to stand by the wall of greenery for a breather. What he just said had taken a lot out of him and he was practically hyperventilating.
Even Sherlock seemed completely taken off guard. Rather than letting his mouth gape like a fish, he closed it with an audible click. He had meant it as a joke, really he had, something to lighten up the atmosphere. Now that John had turned out to really be proposing, after just over three months together, the detective was completely at a loss. Mummy and Mycroft would be as pleased as punch to find out that he was getting married. Lestrade and the Yard would be stunned, but they'd get over it and it didn't really matter what they thought in the end anyway. And John... John would be crushed if he said no. His dear doctor, the man that had put up with him through several violent cases, one kidnapping, and a month away from home. The one that had put him back together after what Moriarty had done to him. The one that put up with the lab set on the kitchen table, the body parts in the icebox, and the skull on the mantlepiece. The one that greeted him every morning with a kiss and a fresh cup of Darjeeling tea. His John...
Sherlock stared down at the half bun on the table, his heart fluttering like a trapped bird in his chest. Slowly he reached out and pulled the band out of the pastry, brushing bits of crumbs off it with the tips of his fingers. After staring at it for another long moment he slipped it onto his left ring finger, turning it 'round a few times. It fit almost perfectly, though it was a little loose. His chair creaked a little as he stood up, padding up silently behind John and slipping his arms around his waist. "Sorry for figuring it out. I should have let it be a surprise," he murmured against John's ear.
After expecting a rejection and another "John, I'm flattered by your interest but I consider myself married to my work," John was totally stunned when he felt Sherlock hugging him from behind as he usually did. It took a moment for the fact Sherlock had accepted his sort-of proposal to set in and when it did, John spun around in the detective's arms. Sherlock's face was illuminated a faint pink from the lantern on the wall over John's shoulder. "Oh my... Let me do this the proper way, at least." John took Sherlock's hand, admiring how perfect the ring looked gracing it, and stroked his thumb over the detective's elegant fingers. "Sherlock Holmes- I suppose I should get down on one knee," and he did, never taking his eyes off Sherlock's face, "Sherlock Holmes, will you marry me?" As he said that, a large, love-struck grin appeared on his face.
"Don't be daft, John," he said softly, pulling his lover back to his feet and brushing his fingers through John's hair lightly. "After all that was the question entirely necessary? I'm already wearing the ring." With that, he seized John by the ears and pulled him down to kiss him soundly, licking into his mouth and pressing flush against him. John would have protested with something about tradition and making it special. Not only was he cut off by Sherlock's mouth, he also realized that it was special - to him anyway. He kissed Sherlock back with the same amount of passion, backing them up until they reached a wall. After a few more breathless kisses, John stopped and pulled his head back.
"Thank you." Smiling, his hands found their way to the back of Sherlock's neck, holding him so that his thumbs could trace his jaw. "I love you, so much."
Sherlock's hands settled on John's hips and held lightly onto his shirt as the shorter male pulled back. The detective heaved a long, soft sigh and smiled softly down at his lover. "I love you too, John. Now, can we go home? It's threatening to rain and I wouldn't like to be out here when the weather breaks."
"Of course." John poked his boyfriends, no, fiancé's chest playfully. It felt so odd to think that he was engaged and the word felt so foreign in his brain. Smiling, John took Sherlock's hands and began to walk down into the main restaurant. As he did so, Angelo and Billy applauded them with grins and shouts of 'wahey'. The rest of the regular diners joined in on the applause.
Sherlock ducked his head a little and actually coloured a bit, but he did present the ring for inspection when asked. Everyone seemed very impressed, and any presentations of the ring were greeted with murmurs of 'tasteful' and 'suits you, Sherlock'. They thankfully made it out of the restaurant in one piece, without being too much waylaid by Angelo's employees and other regulars of the restaurant. Once they had reached the cool air of the street outside, Sherlock tipped his head back and exhaled quietly.
"I suppose I must thank Angelo properly for doing that." John's hand tightened around Sherlock's then and he stopped to look at him. "I wonder what people will say." Shrugging, he gave Sherlock's hand another quick squeeze and tugged him on. Sherlock was right - it had been threatening to rain. No sooner than the thought entered John's brain did a single wet drop fall from the sky.
Sherlock glanced up as the first drops pattered on the pavement, then glanced back down at John. Before the rain really started to fall in earnest Sherlock swept his coat up and and around like a cape, draping part of it over John and pulling the collar up over the back of his own neck. It wasn't a long walk to get back to the flat, and thanks to the detective's oversized coat they made it into the foyer of 221 without getting too wet.
"Thanks. I knew I should have brought a jacket." John said, though it would be a lie to say he didn't prefer Sherlock's solution. John shook some droplets from his hair, wiping the moisture away on his trousers. "How about we take a shower? We can warm up and settle down then." Still buzzing from what just happened, John wrapped an arm around Sherlock's waist and brought him up to their living room where a fire was blazing in the old wooden fireplace, complementary of Mrs. Hudson.
The rain had made Sherlock's temporarily straightened hair fluff back up into its usual unruly curls, and he ran his fingers through them with a soft sigh. "Not a bad idea, that. As long as you promise to forgo the shower gel you used yesterday, it's quite strong." He wrinkled his nose a bit, almost playfully, and pressed a kiss into the soft skin just under John's ear. Only then did he break away to pull off his dampened coat and hang it off the peg behind the door to dry.
John chuckled and raised his head in vanity. "I think I smell rather delicious thank you very much." Sniffing playfully, he turned and warmed his hands by the fire, removing his waistcoat as he did so. He unbuttoned most of the his shirt until he reached his bellybutton and stood warming up by the fire. Not realizing he was doing it, John released a sort of drawn out, comfortable groan.
Sherlock turned around from hanging up his coat only to find John silhouetted against the firelight. Giving him a covetous once-over, the detective toed his shoes off at the door and crossed the carpet silently, sliding one hand onto John's hip and the other into the open front of his shirt. Nuzzling lightly against his neck, he let out a slow sigh. "Do we really have to have a shower? I'm quite content with warming up here by the fire, and I'm sure I can still work out a way to get you naked."
"Mm, so am I. I think we can go without." John pulled Sherlock close and his hands found their way to Sherlock's shirt, tugging it out of his trousers and settling on the smooth skin beneath. "You always find a way, Sherlock." John smirked and started to kiss his lover's long, pale neck. John noticed the rug beneath them and snickered a little at the thought of fireside sex. It was an approving snicker, of course.
He tipped his head back a bit to oblige John's attention on his neck, one hand still slipped into the open front of his lover's shirt. That hand slowly worked around to his back, his nails raking bluntly over the small of his back. Taking about a half-step back, he ran a hand up John's chest, over his neck, and lifted his chin with a finger. "You know what I'm thinking of, I trust..."
John's eyes closed just while Sherlock's fingers traced his body. When his chin was tilted, his eyes re-opened and he smirked down at his lover's face. Taking Sherlock's shoulders, John pushed the younger man down on the rug below, pinning him in place and straddling his thighs. "This answers your question, I trust..." He leaned down and started to suck gently on Sherlock's jawline while his hand moved to work on his shirt buttons.
"That answers my question very well. But John..." He arched softly off the rug, fumbling a bit with the last couple buttons on John's shirt. His hands slipped under the fabric and pushed it off, his long fingers running over the pale scar on his lover's shoulder. "I have a silly little request of you, and since it's technically our anniversary I hope you might indulge it." Sherlock's eyes closed and he arched his neck back a little more, making himself completely vulnerable.
John stroked Sherlock's face as he sat back, just a little. Tilting his head, his tongue darted out to wet his lips, "Oh? What's is it?" He took off the rest of Sherlock's shirt, tugging it off and discarding it. His pale skin was illuminated by the orange flickering of the fire. John couldn't help but trace the pale, marble-like chest all the way from hip to collarbone.
The lanky detective arched gracefully into that tracing finger, his back just slightly leaving the carpet. "Every time we do this, it's in almost the same position. I'd like to try something... Different this time, if I might." Once John's finger had stopped at his collarbone, he pushed up slightly on his elbows. "I heard, or read, or something, that it feels different when the bottom is facedown or on all fours." He coloured slightly; even now that they were engaged, he was still slightly uncomfortable talking about this sort of thing.
John paused for a split second and then broke into a smile - a mixture of amusement and intrigue. "Yeah, so I've heard." John had been wanting to bring that up for some time but every time they got hot it just... started and ended that way. The doctor made a mental note to try out quite a few positions seeing as they had stepped up their relationship. "Right, I'll start us off." John said softly. After removing both their clothes, John brought Sherlock up to his knees and whispered into his ear, "On your knees then, love."
Sherlock was honestly surprised at how quickly John stripped them both; he barely had time to help before they were both down to their skins. Shifting a bit, he turned over and leaned forward, his fingers curling into the plush fibres of the rug under him. He suspected that he'd have a nice little bit of rugburn on each of his knees by the time this was over, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make for something like this. He nervously wet his lips, suddenly recalling that they didn't keep anything downstairs for moments like this. At least, there wouldn't be anything there since they'd been away for over a month.
John was about to prepare himself when he realised what they needed was probably stuffed away in one of the boxes [ if there was any left. ] "Um, Sherlock I don't have anything to make this easier..." John bit his lip, shifting forward on his knees until he was pressed against his lover. Putting his hands around the thin stomach, John leaned forward and kissed Sherlock's shoulder. "Will you be alright, love?"
Sherlock made a small noise and tipped his head up. "Normally I'd say I'd be fine, but since this is a night for new things... There is always the thought of just... J-justusingyourtongue." He swallowed nervously and turned his head to the side, not quite meeting John's eye. "I completely understand if you'd rather not, but the option's there." The detective bowed his head again, his curls flopping forward over his face.
John's breathing changed to just a little quicker. He was blushing, but so was Sherlock. The way Sherlock said that so quickly and sheepishly was rather... cute. Finally breaking into a smile, John's hands rubbed up the length of Sherlock's stomach, catching his chin and tilting it so he could catch his lips. "I'm willing to try anything with you." Pulling back, John caught Sherlock's hips and caressed them slowly.
The detective kissed back quickly before bowing his head again, his eyes drifting shut. Even just these little touches already had him past half-hard, and he shifted lightly into John's hands. Heaving a long sigh he let his fingers tighten on the soft rug under his hands and tried to steady his breathing. That was much harder than he expected; John seemed much too good at stealing his breath away and refusing to give it back.
John took a long breath, studying Sherlock's behind before finally spreading his cheeks apart. Blinking a few times, John continued to caress a few seconds longer. Bringing his face closer, he used his tongue instead of his hands on Sherlock's cheeks, kissing his way until he reached the opening. He tested the puckering hole with a quick flick of his tongue. John liked it, finding himself wanting to please Sherlock more. He moved his tongue in slow circles then in the area just around the entrance.
Sherlock sucked in a quick breath and arched his back, his hands clenching tighter on the carpet until his knuckles started to turn white with the grip he held. It was a completely foreign sensation for him, but not an unpleasant one, and not entirely unlike when John's fingers were slicked with lube and pressing against him with his usual quiet-self possession. After a moment he moaned quietly and almost hesitantly, hips very gently pressing back against his lover's mouth.
John continued to rim Sherlock, making little kisses every few licks. His tongue pressed up against Sherlock for a lingering moment, finally moving again and darting in. The doctor actually found it arousing and he began to make soft little noises against Sherlock, the sound vibrating through him. John was good at multi-tasking [ well, as good as any man could get ] and his hands slid down to Sherlock's length, curling around it.
Sherlock muttered something that was probably a curse as his elbows gave out, pitching him facefirst into the carpet. The sudden slump forward was, of course, shortly followed by another low, rumbling moan as he bucked forward again. That was partly for the clever hand curled around his length, of course, but more for the wicked tongue slowly working him into a quivering mess on the rug. He was silently praising himself for thinking of this and was really quite smug about doing so.
John had to keep up with Sherlock's movement. The mere fact he was able to make Sherlock like this using his tongue was fascinating, to say the least. He continued to dart in and out of Sherlock with his tongue, working his way as deep as he could go. By now John was fully aroused and having his detective under him just as aroused was just contributing. After a few more glorious moments of tasting Sherlock in this completely new way, John pulled back, his lips now moist. "Are you ready?" He asked softly, giving Sherlock's length a swift upwards stroke.
"Oh good god yes," he said after a long moment of panting for breath. That swift, long stroke made him moan and cry out softly, pushing back up on his elbows to change the arch of his back somewhat. Not that it helped, really; he'd pushed his hips sp far up that his chest was almost touching the floor and his knees were almost off it. "P-please, John... Oh, god in heaven..."
John's breathing got somewhat heavier from the moan-filled pleads beneath him. Gulping, his hands took hold of Sherlock's hips once more, positioning himself and pushing forward. It was easy, slick and a wanton noise rumbled deep from the doctor's throat. He pulled out and thrust back in again, taking his time until he developed a rhythm. Sherlock was nearly balancing on his arms and chest at this point.
"H-hahn!" Sherlock made an utterly shameless sound at that first slick push, his eyes flying wide and his back arching. The sound shocked even him, and he'd been the one that made the bloody thing... Ignoring the feeling of rugburn forming on his forearms and his knees, he pushed back against John's thrusts with a continuous stream of desperate little moans and cries. Well, little in the sense that they were short. They were probably quite loud enough to carry through the floor and downstairs.
Pulling Sherlock's behind impossibly closer, John made his thrusts longer; pushing right in until he couldn't go anymore and just rolling his hips a few times before pulling out again and repeating the process. "Ngh, Sherlock...!" John gasped, letting his head fall forward until they were both ready. Soon, John was panting and gasping with the occasional drawn out and quite loud groan.
The detective have a needy sort of cry, falling forward again until his forehead practically rested against the carpet. Every slow grind and roll pushed him further and further toward that edge, leaving him teetering on the brink of his orgasm. Something stopped him, though, something that left him clenched and shuddering with the desperation of it all. His hips pressed back harder against his lover, rolling slightly and blindly seeking something to send him over.
John decided to do something new - yet again - which would give him better access to Sherlock's length /and/ support him at the same time. Placing one arm gently around Sherlock's stomach and the other on his hip, John lifted Sherlock and rolled himself onto his back. He was now as deep as he could be in Sherlock. The hand around his lover's stomach moved to curl around his member. Knowing this usually did the trick to send Sherlock finally there, he pumped his hand up and down while whispering for Sherlock to "move around."
He let out a keening moan and bucked sharply, his head tossing back against John's shoulder. Sherlock's hips rolled only a few times, thrusting between the hand around him and the warm flesh inside him before he was shuddering and crying out, one hand clutching at John's thigh. His fingernails left little red crescents in the taut skin there as he spilled himself, warm and wet and sticky, over his lover's sturdy fingers.
John couldn't hold back any longer and hearing Sherlock moan like that, feel him move like that and the feel of him coming into his hand sent John finally over the edge. He let out a loud, shuddered moan, releasing himself inside Sherlock and holding onto him for support. "Aangh! Ah..." Finally he stopped and just panted, resting his chin on Sherlock's shoulder. He stayed like that for a moment so they could both catch their breaths before pulling himself out of his lover with a sharp intake. "Oh, god..."
Sherlock didn't move for a few long moments; he just stayed quite still, revelling in the slow warmth seeping through his body and his limbs. When John pulled out that roused him a bit, making him give out a low groan and roll his head to one side. The rest of him followed and he flopped facedown onto the rug, limbs limply splayed out and his cheek pressed into the softness of the rug's fibres. "You have to try that sometime," he whispered hoarsely, face still pressed into the rug.
John snorted and erupted into sudden laughter - obviously giddy from having sex. The fire blazed beside them, casting heat and a warm glow onto their naked bodies. "Well, we'll just have to find someone willing to try it won't we?" Still chuckling, John lay down beside Sherlock and gently lifted his head up. "Happy anniversary." He smiled and gave Sherlock a slow, soft, lingering kiss, before resting his cheek on the vintage rug. He began to stroke Sherlock's curls, eyes slowly closing as he did so.
"Happy aniversary," he muttered sleepily, already most of the way into dreamland. In what seemed like seconds he was the rest of the way asleep, his breathing deep and even and a few curls that had tumbled into his face moving with his breaths. He was going to wake up with the print of the rug smashed into his cheek and chest, and with the rest of him sticky and a true mess, but that night had been so bloody wonderful... Even in his sleep Sherlock smiled.
John shook his head at Sherlock with a smile. Sighing, he got up, put the safety screen in front of the fire and picked up their clothes only to dump them in a bigger pile on the sofa. Stooping down, John lifted Sherlock up bridal style and went into his bedroom for once; seeing as he was tired and there was stairs to get to his own room. In all honesty, it was the first time John had been in Sherlock's bedroom since they got together. It was foreign, it wasn't "their" room like upstairs was, but it had a bed. Easing Sherlock under the covers, John slipped in beside him and snuggled up.
Sherlock's room was shockingly tidy compared to the rest of the flat; his books were arranged neatly on the shelves, his clothes were neatly hung up in the closet, and the desk and bed were set and perfect right angles to the walls.
Sherlock half-woke when he was lifted and moved, enough to turn his head and nuzzle a kiss against John's scarred shoulder, but other than that he showed no signs of coming 'round. In fact, he didn't even cuddle back up to John. He just sprawled out, made a sleepy mutter, and sank back into deep slumber. He did eventually migrate toward the other male's body heat, but he didn't wake up to do it.
Sherlock Post-Note: Okay. Sex is verbatim (sans a few typos I managed to catch amidst the smut) from the RP which will be resuming in September with further developments. Suffice to say I got lazy and I got tired and I always thought we did really good with that scene.
Unless Watson and I getreallycreative between now and the beginning of the month there might only be a couple more chapters until we churn out enough content for more. Thanks for being such a faithful audience.
ALSO. We have toned down the amount of sex that these two have for the sake of the plot. Really. I don't know that that matters but I just felt like including it.
^Author's note: Like Sherlock, I would like to thank every one of you for reviewing, story-alerting, favourite story-ing, and just being great, wonderful readers and Sherlock fans.