Should I continue? or should I just end it here? on the sweet, pink, swollen lips of the only consulting detective?
"Lincolnshire!" John exclaimed extremely disturbed.
"He wants to." Replied Mycroft curtly.
"Mycroft , among the Holmes brothers I expected you to have the sanity at least." John said sternly.
"And I have fulfilled your expectation. It is my brother who is above all expectations." He replied sarcastically.
"And you are complying with it."
"What choice do I have? You know him!" Mycroft said with a look of mock despair.
John took a deep breath and calmed himself. Arguing was not going to get him anywhere. He tried logic.
"Mycroft, it hasn't been merely three days since your brother has been under the knife. He is weak, he needs rest, he needs full medical attention. As his doctor, as his friend" and his lover "I can't allow him such a long journey right now."
"He will have a full facility ambulance always at his disposal, the farm house would be duly refurnished with medical equipment and you would be there." Mycroft said as if it was the most obvious and practical thing in the world and John was an utter git not understanding this.
"Mycroft, please understand that this…"
"He's your patient doctor, you know how to handle him, all I am proposing is that if you end up complying with your very stubborn patient's wishes, you'll find everything ready." With that and a nod he was gone.
John let out a half angry half dreadful breath and went to see his above mentioned stubborn, petulant, adorable patient.
"I won't eat. I won't sleep and I won't take medicines."
Stubbornness personified. John thought as he looked at the full grown man before him sitting on his bed covering his head with a pillow. He won't remove it even after much coaxing. He hadn't taken the medicine. This was not good.
"Sherlock we can both feed you and administer medicine through the pipes you know?" John said angrily. Sherlock didn't remove the pillow.
"You'll be in pain." John said looking at the pillow "and so will I."
That worked. Sherlock removed the pillow reluctantly and looked up at an unyielding, scornful John. He blinked and looked away.
John fed him, gave him medicine, tucked him into bed and sat beside him stroking his hair. Sherlock was pouting again. John smiled. Does he even know he does that?
"I have to go to Lincolnshire." Said a very petulant baritone.
"Why?" John's voice was soft.
"I left something unfinished there." He said looking longingly at John.
John understood. But still he didn't comply.
"We can do it later."
"Nope. I don't think you'd be so generous with my whims when I'm better. I don't want to miss this chance." Sherlock said shaking his head.
John laughed. Oh you bloody git. "When do I not yield to your whims Sherlock? Even the last time it was your whim. "
Sherlock's face fell. He looked pained. Eyes imploring John. "It's not just a whim this time John. I want to start from there again. Make it what it should have been."
John's smile vanished at Sherlock's demeanor. He took his hands in his and held them tightly, warmly, lovingly. He looked reassuringly at Sherlock. "It's okay."
"Please John, I'll do anything you say." Sherlock swallowed, expression still pained.
"Not today." John said lovingly and sighed, who could deny anything this full grown child? Mycroft was right.
Sherlock was grinning like the Cheshire cat. He took John's hands and put his curly haired head in it firmly and purred. He was elated.
John in turn pulled the head closer and putting his nose in the thick curly bush he breathed. He inhaled Sherlock's scent, his warmth, his very own flavor, his blood rushing through the veins and even his thoughts. Sherlock very gently pulled out of John's hands and looked up to meet the warm, loving gaze of the man he loved. And suddenly his breathing was ragged, pulse erratic, heart pounding. He felt his hands which were holding John's shake lightly. John was so close, so very close. Yet he feared to do what his heart was telling him to do. He couldn't move, couldn't touch John any further as if John was only a vision in front of him which would dissolve into oblivion if touched. He revelled in the sight and the touch he had already allowed himself. John felt the time stop again. He felt there was no other soul on this earth, no other movement, no other sound. Just he and Sherlock breathing. For the first time he saw a golden glow in those steely blue eyes, was the reflection of his own irises? As if to look closer he leaned a bit more. Sherlock felt John's breath on his face, his nose and lips. He Shivered, John's breath sweeping on his lips were as much savoury as his lips would be. Had he ever been so close to Sherlock? John thought. No, he had never been. He could actually see Sherlock's pupils dilating. He could see Sherlock's nose flaring up a bit with every intake of breath. He could study all the fine lines on Sherlock's beautiful full lips. The cupid brow, the place where it twists downwards when he gives a sarcastic smile, the pink insides of the lower lip and the giveaway hollow between the two lips which told John that Sherlock was breathing through his mouth, that he was excited. The moment was so intense, so delicate that any sound, even the sound of a pin dropping could break it. But nothing like that happened. There was no sound. John closed the gap between them by taking Sherlock's lower lip between his lips. Sherlock sighed but didn't move a muscle. He closed his eyes in full surrender. John did the same thing with his upper lip too. He withdrew himself a little to see Sherlock's expression, who he felt was not breathing. He thought he could die for this sight. Sherlock's eyes were closed, his lips were quivering, breathing shallow and he was flushed pink. There were goose bumps on his neck. John's hands were on the sides of his face and he was holding them in place with his hands over them, head bent a little low, lips still parted, total surrender in his demeanour.
John couldn't help but put both of his lips on those inviting plush lips again. This time fully covering the mouth. Sherlock kissed him back. It was a small chaste kiss. John withdrew to look back again. This time Sherlock's eyes were open. They were intense, they were pleading, they were full of tears. John shook his head looking into them as if telling the tears not to fall and he held Sherlock's face firmly and put his mouth on his again. His tongue invaded Sherlock's mouth without obstruction. After a while Sherlock's hesitant tongue tip met John's and they both shivered. Something passed through them, some wave, some energy, some emotion or just passion, whatever it was it couldn't be described. It was impossible and it was theirs. They felt like they were a heart, pumping life into some body. One undivided vital organ.
After what seemed like ages John came back to his senses. He held Sherlock's hands and took them down. He withdrew his lips with some final chaste kisses from a very reluctant Sherlock. But they were in a hospital, in the middle of the day and Sherlock was hurt. Period.
"I love you." Those three words from a pink slightly swollen mouth of an extremely lovable consulting detective and John lost all self-control again. He held Sherlock's face firmly by both hands and placed numerous kisses all over. At last he was contented and so was his patient. They both smiled and laughed.
"Tomorrow then?" Asked a 'very much under the influence of the kiss' Sherlock.
"Yes." Breathed his doctor.