Wants and needs

As soon as our feet had padded past the threshold of 221B, Sherlock began pacing, throwing off his coat, scarf and even shoes at mid-pace. The shoes were hurled in my direction, causing me to rapidly duck, feeling the air rush past my head as one shoe flew past. I looked at him indignantly, for christ sake, did Moriarty bother him that much?

Wait no. That was stupid. Of course he did. He loathed him. He tried smearing his name, killing the people he cared about and now he was up to something. I felt a sudden shock of guilt trickle through my body, Sherlock had opened up to me finally about his feelings and he had probably made deductions of the behaviour made in the London Dungeons. It was only a little flirting, to merely gain insight into Moriarty. Who still baffled me. I mean, what psychopath flirts and buys people presents with an innocent look upon them? That was stupid again of course he would, that's exactly the sort of thing he'd do. Oh and another bloody stupid thing, I had forgotten Mycroft had taken the bag, so I couldn't even see what he had purchased or let Sherlock inspect it. I need to work on my observational skills, for definite.

In this few seconds of thought, Sherlock had fallen into his designated chair in a huff. I snapped myself out of my head and into the room with the madman, I slumped down in my chair too. My leg aching. Sherlock was leant back, eyes closed, his arms on either armrest and legs far apart.. he was tired, very tired. The dark circles had appeared underneath his eyes. I vowed to get him to sleep tonight, to forget about the constant action that seemed to have bombarded us. But before I addressed the important matters, I decided to beat around the bush as it were. As a different topic certainly had grabbed my attention.

"Sherlock?"

It took a couple of seconds before he answered a sleepy "mm?" His eyes still firmly pressed shut. A montonous look upon his face.

"Did you see the way Lestrade was acting towards Mycroft?" I could feel my lips jerking upwards a little in a smile, the idea of that couple was a little peculiar but sweet all the same. I saw the same emotion dance upon Sherlock's face briefly.

"Well they have been seeing each other for God knows how many months."

I stirred a little, feeling confused. Why had they not told me? I had grown close to both of them and both knew I was trustworthy. Mycroft wouldn't tell Sherlock about his private life other than to compete and Lestrade never seemed to interest Sherlock in any such sense. Lestrade must have said something to him. But that would mean that Lestrade had known months ago about Sherlock?

And as per usual, this extra-ordinary man read my thoughts.

"I observed it John, they've been secretive about the whole thing. Finally they've actually made it official. And Lestrade didn't know about me. I promise you."

I felt myself relax a little, feeling thoroughly relieved. But I knew I had to talk about Moriarty and the Dungeons to Sherlock. Sherlock stood up and slumped his way into the kitchen, I followed him, making sure his fatigue would not cause him any damage. He didn't retrieve anything from the kitchen, he just leant on the counter. I decided, that this moment of stillness was opportune to address the topic I felt I needed to discuss.

"Sherlock, in the Dungeons, Moriarty was a little.. flirty, shall we say. And I decided it might be a good course of action to throw him off guard by responding, I thought it might get him to talk.. Because he seemed so genuine and yet so danger-"

Sherlock had somehow leapt forward and managed to push me up against the world, looking down on me with a tired face and excited eyes. One hand was on my chest, keeping me again the wall. The other, was pressed firmly agains the wall, maintaining his stance.

"I hated him flirting with you. It made me feel.. jealous. And you responding, though admirable, makes me need to tell you something. So trust me when I say this John.." He was whispering a few inches away from my face. The way he was talking, with such dominance and precision was incredibly, insanely sexy. I was suddenly aware of the effect this was having on my body and I bit my lip, closing my eyes quickly.

"You.. are mine." he growled.

Oh good lord.

His lips crashed against mine, in a ragged and exciting kiss. He kept me pushed against the wall. He lowered the hand from my chest onto my side, sliding down further until he had reached my arse, squeezing it slightly. I had my arms crossed over at the top of his back, forcing him against me. I stole the hot kisses greedily, not allowing him to come up for air. His hands then moved from my arse and the wall to explore the rest of my physique, while my own arms stayed firmly at his back, I did not trust myself in such.. heated circumstances.

We began kissing and moving in the dark slowly, towards Sherlock's bedroom. He kicked the door open, pulling me roughly in. He ripped off my shirt and I did the same. His hands hovered momentarily over my trousers, teasing me. The blinds were drawn so the room was very dark, but the slight light that spilled on his carved phsyique was breath-taking. Soon enough we were both in our boxers and he pushed me onto the bed. And despite what I knew I wanted as well as he, I knew what I needed to do and what he needed me to do. As Sherlock fell on top of me, allowing me those brilliant, beautiful lips to meet my own again, I rolled him over a little, so he was suddenly under the covers, but before he could entice me under with his grip, I pulled away. Smiling. He looked at me confused, one might say a little hurt. That look single-handedly tugged at my heart strings. I got up off of the bed.

I walked towards the door, Sherlock looked frightened and I felt a pang at my heart yet again. I paused momentarily. I looked out of the room. This was were I had always desired to be and I had never felt so happy to be able to close a door. I closed Sherlock's door and returned to him. He looked suprised at my return, but his face was strained with tiredness so the look dispersed instantly. He scooted further up the bed and I climbed in. He cuddled close to me, his head laid against my bare chest and my arm draped protectively and warmly across his shoulder. After a few peaceful moments, Sherlock looked up at me, eyes wide and face a little weary.

"I thought you were going to leave, John. I thought that the thrill and lust I was trying to give you didn't match what Moriarty described. I thought that he had stolen you..." his tired voice trailed off, his eyes looked slightly watery. I put a hand on his cheek and smiled at the beautiful man.

"You're the only person I will ever desire. I am yours and you are mine. And I will never, ever leave you." I was serious and I watched as the light returned to his eyes and a smile spread across his face. He clutched me tightly and I squeezed him comfortingly.

"You don't know how much I need you, John Watson."

I laughed.

"Yes I do.. and you will always have me. So I'm making sure you get the other thing you need."

"What?"

"A good nights sleep."

I cuddled him closer to me, the pleasant warmth between us was consuming and lovely. The feeling that was existing between us was better than any feeling I'd ever felt before. Even the Meth hadn't reached a high such as this. Because Sherlock was my drug, my flatmate, my friend... mine. And knowing he was getting the sleep he needed was more satisfying than the event that could have occured instead. Because that was how much he meant to me, he went beyond the bindings of the sexual and the physical and exposed me to this strength of emotion and care that I'd never felt before. I would ensure he got what he needed, not just what he wanted.

"I love you." he said finally.

"I love you too."

And with that, we drifted off into bliss.