"Hooo-ooo- Sherlo-oh! Boys!"
Sherlock jumped at the sound of Mrs. Hudson's voice, almost knocking his head against John's jaw. His heart pounded in his chest. He'd been... dreaming. Something unpleasant. He was slightly sweaty and uncomfortably aware that his cheek was wet. Sherlock stared, slightly horrified, down at the large wet patch on John's vest. John started to get up, but caught sight of Sherlock's face and began laughing almost helplessly instead.
As Sherlock brought his hand up to his hair he could feel that it was standing on end from John's fingers. John's lovely, lovely fingers. He glared down at John, noticing the way he nose scrunched up in a smile, the laugh lines on his face. He was again experiencing an arrhythmia; the adrenaline morphing into something quite a bit different as he stared into John's laughing face. Even with waking up in such an unexpected way, Sherlock could not possibly miss the way John instinctively curved his pelvis away from Sherlock to hide the heat and hardness of his morning erection. It made Sherlock's whole body clench with want, then cringe in confusion. If John wasn't mentioning it (and Hudders' timing could not have been more abysmal) did that mean that Sherlock was not to acknowledge it either?
Mrs. Hudson clucked something about breakfast and made herself scarce, but Sherlock was too focused on John to pay her much notice.
" . I... I did lock... the door to the flat," John wheezed, bringing up his leg slightly. Sherlock felt adrift with sudden awkwardness and cast about, ignoring his hair as it bounced fluffily without the product he normally used to tame the wayward curls. He grabbed John's phone to check the time.
Sherlock felt all this was all a bit much to handle first thing in - three in the afternoon?! They had slept for... twenty hours.
He wanted tea. He wanted to go back to sleeping on John's chest, to hearing his steady heartbeat chase him into slumber. He wanted to continue to watch John's helpless laughter and pretend to be offended.
Sherlock allowed himself one extremely dignified sniff as he stood and went to use the loo. John actually sputtered with laughter behind him and Sherlock could not have kept the shy grin off his face if he had been paid to do so. John couldn't see how absolutely delighted he felt to be the cause of John's amusement- even with something as ridiculous as-
Holy Christ.
The smile drained off his face as Sherlock caught a glimpse of his reflection. He looked absolutely horrifying. There was a small speck of white on his face from where his drool had dried, his eyes were gummy with too much sleep, and there was a red crease on his cheek that fairly shouted to anyone who cared to look that Sherlock had not even twitched away from John in the night. His hair was worse than he had thought. He looked like Molly's cat after a bath. It stuck up on one side of his head in several different directions, as though the curls couldn't choose which way to fall, single-handed lay defying the laws of physics.
Ugh.
Sherlock jumped into the shower, reaching immediately for-. Oh. He blinked stupidly at the small bottles on the windowsill. Sherlock had not lived here in several months, yet John had brand new bottles of Sherlock's favorite grooming products- his shampoo, his conditioner and even Sherlock's preferred brand of body wash. Had it been purchased it recently? Or had it been here since before his... fall?
Sherlock's mind felt strangely hollow as he showered. His body was not as sore as he expected, although he certainly felt it when he turned too quickly. He took the bandages off a little guiltily. John likely wouldn't want him to get them wet, but mostly Sherlock wanted to see the damage he'd done to himself. The wound in his shoulder hurt quite a bit, but not nearly as bad as it had done. The healing skin was dreadfully itchy, and the muscles throbbed dully from where they healed. His ribs were not fractured, and the contusions that were there were healing, although they hurt when pressed.
The water felt heavenly, but Sherlock found to his surprise that he was hungry. He finished quickly, absolutely did not spend ten minutes on his hair so that it looked properly tousled, then found clean pyjamas and an ancient shirt of John's in which to dress.
Sherlock found John on his phone at the kitchen table, having served himself a huge portion of the late lunch Mrs. Hudson had no doubt brought them, frozen in place as he read through whatever was on his phone.
Sherlock remembered his reaction to receiving John's test results and winced.
"Ah. Mycroft texted you then. Excellent. Questions? Is that coffee?" Sherlock sat down, carefully not making eye contact as John flailed a little in his haste to put his phone down with seeming nonchalance. Sherlock poured himself of coffee and helped himself to some of the casserole. It was a very simple shepherd's pie that Sherlock would normally not hesitate to turn up his nose at, yet he found himself eating ravenously.
John was quiet in the way he was when he had quite a lot to ask, but did not want to forget anything. Sherlock chanced a glance at him over the rim of his coffee cup. While he showered, John had changed into jeans and a ratty looking RAMC t-shirt. It stretched delightfully across John's chest and biceps and Sherlock found himself quite forgetting that he had a sip of coffee in his mouth until he tried to take another and it dribbled a little down his chin. He was being utterly ridiculous this morning. Afternoon. Whatever.
"I said some things to you. Horrible things."
Oh, how tedious. Sherlock froze mid-chew. Deliberately he finished his bite and spoke. "Deserved. You found out I was a drug-addicted sexual deviant. Reacted accordingly." Sherlock paused. "No harm done." He forced a smile, trying to laugh off John's reaction. Whatever expression Sherlock had attempted did not have the expected result when John's face crumpled a little, like a soggy handkerchief.
"Oh, no. No, Sherlock. I was angry and-"
Sherlock held up his hand. He didn't particularly want to have this conversation. "I understand that you cannot trust me to the level that you had previously before I... did. What I did. I can assure you that I have not taken anything illicit since Mycroft steered me towards Irene, who made sure I detoxed. It was an unpleasant experience. I have no desire to repeat it. As for the-"
John shut him up by grabbing his hands, carefully guiding them so that Sherlock set the hot coffee down without tipping it over.
Sherlock found himself speaking more quickly, as though he could stave off John's inevitable words if he just spoke quickly enough. "- the other incident with me...watching, I assure you it too will not be repeated. I understand that I crossed several unacceptable lines and-"
"Sherlock. Stop. It's fine. A bit naughty, but I..." John looked heavenward, as though attempting to find the strength to continue. Sherlock was certain that most relationships... if that's what they were doing here- not his forté- didn't start off with an absolution of kinky sins, but as he had never before been in a relationship it wasn't as though he knew. "I like that you wanted to watch me."
Sherlock blinked. "I watch you all the time." He did. He watched John at rest. At play. At work. When running, when being particularly and delightfully dangerous. When making tea. When yelling at Sherlock. When yelling at people who were yelling at Sherlock. Sherlock was the foremost expert on John Watson. Any idiot knew that.
John sat back, keeping his fingers tangled with Sherlock's. "I know." His lips twitched in a slightly smug smile.
Sherlock looked back down at his plate, pushing some of his peas into the mashed potatoes, knowing his cheeks were flaming and uncomfortable with the intimacy. It wasn't his area. Not that he couldn't learn, and learning would be quite... lovely, but right now it was a bit much. John seemed to understand and let go of Sherlock's hand, eating his own portion of food calmly, as though he had not said something utterly earth-shattering.
Sherlock cast about for a more suitable meal topic. "I am quite surprised at how well you're taking knowing Irene is alive."
Sherlock would have slapped himself if it would not have made him look more like an idiot. What was he thinking? Sherlock immediately took a rather large bite of food and chewed, almost choking in his haste so that he would not blurt out anything else utterly moronic. Besides, John liked it when he ate.
"Oh. Well, you're not the only one she was in contact with."
Sherlock blinked. Blinked again. Imagined Irene's blood red nails tracing the familiar lines of John's face. Imagined her and John texting. He opened his mouth to demand more data on this subject immediately, but before he could speak John rolled his eyes.
"Anthea, moron. I had asked Mycroft if you had detoxed in a facility, and she filled me in. She made it very clear that this was one more thing that you Holmeses couldn't trust me with, and that I was lucky to be privy to this level of classified information."
John's false smile made Sherlock- someone who was blissfully unaware and equally uninterested in social cues- decidedly nervous. Another tasty meal suddenly tasted like dirt in his mouth. Sherlock felt himself freeze again, unsure and out of his depth.
"But I am glad that between the two of you you managed to come out healthy. It's just too bad that you were so caught up in all these secret squirrel plans that you couldn't let me know what was going on."
Sherlock was baffled at the rodent reference and made a mental note to look it up at his earliest opportunity, half imagining referring to Mycroft this way were it as applicable as he hoped. It certainly sounded derisive enough.
John leaned back in his chair, staring hard at Sherlock. Sherlock allowed his shoulders to drop slightly, looking up at John through his fringe. It wasn't even maliciously manipulative; Sherlock felt absolutely awful about having had to keep so many secrets from John. Add to that the things he did because of John, or the things he was responsible for having been done to John...
Well. It was a miracle that John was even willing to share a meal with him, let alone consent to live as Sherlock's flatmate again.
This was intolerable. Sherlock loathed feeling as though he were in the wrong. "I don't like this." Again, he was speaking before he had thought. Sherlock drank a large gulp of coffee, disgusted with himself.
"Like what, Sherlock?" John's voice was mild as he spoke, carefully thumbing through his phone. Sherlock was quite curious as to what John was reading, but equally certain that this was not the time to help himself to the knowledge.
"This!" Sherlock waved his hand around. "I keep saying the wrong thing! It's horrible." Sherlock got up from the table, remembering just in time that throwing himself down on the couch would not be in the best interests of his healing body.
"Hm." John stood and cleared the table, putting away the leftovers.
Sherlock had to catch his breath at the familiar sounds, long taken for granted but dearly, painfully missed. Even with his eyes closed, Sherlock could easily picture John as he moved comfortably around the kitchen. It was baffling how something so innocuous could be so calming, but Sherlock could actually feel the tension leech out of his body as he lay there.
"You know, there are a couple of things I don't understand. I guessed a few things, and put a few things together by myself..."
Sherlock opened his eyes lazily, hearing John's voice much closer than it normally was.
"Budge up, genius."
Sherlock blinked rapidly for a moment, stymied, until he realized that John meant to share the couch with him, with Sherlock's head on John's lap, so that the detective could remain stretched out on his back. He made an inquiring sound, completely unsure how he had gone from blurting out things almost guaranteed to infuriate his John to levels that usually involved a stringent application of John's fist to someone's face, to sharing a couch in a way that was actually most pleasing. Sherlock found himself butting his head against John's hand. The doctor got the hint most satisfactorily, immediately rubbing Sherlock's curls and scalp as he had the night previous.
Sherlock stretched, pointing his toes, feeling utterly blissful. He didn't even care that his ribs twinged.
"How did your brother not see this?"
Sherlock frowned for a moment before remembering that John had had a question before commencing the lovely head petting.
"I believe that he did."
John tensed at Sherlock's words. He could feel the muscles of John's thighs bunch up under his neck and sighed inwardly. Best to get this infernal talking done with as soon as possible. Sherlock was uncomfortably aware that he owed John much more than mere answers.
"My brother has always had the upper hand. Even when we were children, he made certain that whatever conspired at home did not adversely affect my parents' relaxed lifestyle. He was recruited for the government, groomed to work for the Home Office from before he went away to school. He is very, very good at his job." Sherlock tilted his head back slightly so that he could look up at John. It caused John's fingers to tug pleasantly at his hair and Sherlock caught his breath slightly, faltering for a moment. "He pulled you into his plan, John. He knew what I had done, and why I had done it, and still was willing to use you to further his own ends."
John's lips dipped down in a frown. "I wanted to be useful."
"Yes. Mycroft no doubted counted on that. He knew that you would stop at nothing to protect me, should the need arise, and given that he had orchestrated the events leading up to my meeting with Moriarty on the rooftop, he knew that I would do the exact same for you."
John leaned down and kissed him on the lips. Sherlock froze. Before he could react, John moved back and resumed petting Sherlock's hair, letting the damp strands curl slightly around his fingers. "Sorry," he said, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. "Go on."
Sherlock cleared his throat and began again. "Given that, I find it impossible, and you know I do not use that word lightly, to believe that Mycroft was not fully aware that Moran had replaced his agents at the pool. Everything that happened there was collateral damage. You almost being killed on the scaffolding, my falling into the pool, the agents' deaths, Anthea's face... all of it. Moriarty was a spider whose web was a cancer across an international crime network. Dismantling different webs worked for awhile. I have no doubt that Mycroft's people engineered things so that their own people were in place when one of the webs could not be completely eradicated. Moran was a known variable that had to be removed. He fancied himself as brilliant as Moriarty, and was certainly devious..." Sherlock trailed off with a disgusted sound. "But my brother is more devious and brilliant than anyone, John. Moran wanted to get Mycroft, and to do that he had to go through us. You and myself? Collateral damage. To Mycroft's agenda, the end justified the means."
John's hand paused mid-movement. "I think you're forgetting something, though, Sherlock."
Sherlock went quickly back over what he had said in his head, turning a little so that his legs curled into the back of the couch. He could rest the side of his head on John's knee and look up at his face, trying desperately not to stare at (but painfully aware of) the thick bulge of John's penis trapped behind his denims.
John's other hand came down to rest on Sherlock's bony hip and Sherlock flinched at the feel of the heat of John's hand through the material of his pyjamas. Part of Sherlock could not quite believe that John was somehow comfortable with this level of... intimacy between the two of them, and feared that it would disappear if he said the wrong thing. The rest of him was agonizingly greedy for all of John's attention: the hair petting, the little brushing touches, the feel of John's lips against his.
"Your brother is a prick."
"Well, no. I do not believe I've ever forgotten that, John. Do keep up."
The hand on Sherlock's hip moved abruptly to slap the curve of Sherlock's arse cheek. It was sharp enough to surprise Sherlock, but not enough to actually hurt.
"Watch it, you." John's fingers in his hair tugged slightly in admonishment, and Sherlock could no longer deny the way arousal pooled low in his belly. He was very, very aware of the timbre of John's low voice. "I just meant that your brother is an arse, but he still wants the best for you. Somehow, he seems to think that is me. It's kind of off-putting to realize that we agree on that. I think that him sending us our testing results is his way of matchmaking... which is both utterly horrifying and bizarrely endearing." John made a slight face at the mental image of Mycroft being in any way endearing. Sherlock could empathize. "He might have pushed the both of us to action, manipulated our natures to react in a way that he found useful, but ultimately we decided to react, Sherlock."
Sherlock made his own face. What John said made perfect sense, but it irked him nonetheless to attribute any amount of altruism to Mycroft's actions.
John sighed, tilting his head back on the couch and staring up at the ceiling, flexing his fingers slightly on the curve of Sherlock's rear end as though he'd forgotten his fingers were there. Sherlock wanted to shift his legs restlessly to hide his burgeoning erection (with sudden clarity he completely understood John's awkwardness from earlier that morning), but he also wanted John's hand to slide around and touch him. He wanted it desperately, but was too unsure of himself to ask. What was the expectation in these sort of situations? Sherlock had felt a low-grade arousal since he woke up with John. Was he allowed to just... act? What would John do if he arched into his touch? Surely he wouldn't be disgusted given where his hands were.
Feeling nervous, Sherlock moved his neck so that his cheek pressed against the vee of John's thighs, rubbing slightly. He was immediately overwhelmed with data; the clench of John's hands, one in his hair and one on his arse, the smell of John's skin, even behind the denim, the heat of his body through the material, the feel of John's cock thickening under his cheek, the utterly delicious choked-off sound John made in his throat. Sherlock moved again, rubbing so that his chin pressed against John's testicles, ignoring the uncomfortable feel of the zip against his nose and top lip.
"Sherlock."
Sherlock immediately decided that his new goal for the rest of the day was to make John say his name in exactly that covetous, helpless way at least three more times. Five. Seven. Sherlock wiggled so that he could get to the button and zip of John's jeans and paused for a moment. Should he ask...? No, John was clearly on board with it by the way his fingers began tugging at the waistband, lifting slightly so that he could get them off his bum. Sherlock had to balance himself so that John's abrupt movement didn't send him tumbling off the couch. Still, Sherlock was uncertain as to whether it was permissible to switch from serious topics to sexual exploration so quickly. He was tentative when he pressed his cheek against John again, this time separated only by the thin material of John's pants. Sherlock must have made some sound of pain from his ribs, because John stopped him by sliding his hand from Sherlock's hair to cup his cheek.
"You'll hurt yourself."
Sod that. Sherlock opened his mouth slightly, sucking John's thumb into his mouth. He could feel John's cock jump against his neck and flicked his tongue against the pad of the trapped digit, almost believing that he could taste John's fingerprints. Sherlock knew that he was not particularly experienced in this manner of sexual intimacy, but millions of idiots managed it every day. It couldn't possibly be that difficult. Sherlock knew that he would be able to go no further if John even suspected that he would be harming himself, and moved somewhat stiffly to his knees in front of John.
"I won't." Sherlock felt it necessary to protest, bending and nuzzling at John's clothed penis. He could smell John's arousal, and it was absolutely intoxicating. Granted, some of that was just reaction to stimulus, but some had to be from the picture he must present like this. "Do you want my mouth?"
John groaned in response, spreading his knees as best he could, trapped as they were in his jeans. John's hands fluttered around Sherlock's hair for a moment before deciding on resting on the couch cushion, on the outside of his legs. Sherlock opened his mouth and pressed a wet kiss against the heat of him, moving slightly up to the wet material and sucking the it into his mouth. Oh. Oh, that was... John. His very DNA merging with Sherlock's own saliva. Just the idea of it was gloriously stimulating. Sherlock felt his own body respond, his sleep trousers tenting so quickly that he was lightheaded from the loss of blood flow.
Sherlock could feel the shape of John's penis under the cloth and wasted no time in mapping out each thick inch with his tongue, fiercely triumphant at hearing John's strangled groan above him. Sherlock rocked up on his knees and pulled the elastic of John's pants out and down, gasping when John's cock sprung out, brushing against Sherlock's cheek. It was quite thick, not as long as his own but... quite. Hmm. Sherlock bent down to lick at the very tip and smiled smugly at the sound John made at his efforts. John arched up and Sherlock yanked John's clothes down and off of his limbs, moaning a little when John shamelessly spread his legs for Sherlock's attentions. It was exactly what Sherlock had wanted from before, when John wouldn't let him touch. Sherlock took a deep breath and licked at the tip again before sucking tentatively on just the shiny head.
"Christ." John's groan made Sherlock feel absurdly confident and he slowly worked more of John's cock into his mouth. John's girth was an issue and there was a bit of a trick with his tongue and teeth, but the sounds John couldn't keep trapped in his throat were their own encouragement as Sherlock attempted to bob down further.
John's hips bucked at the exact same moment, and Sherlock choked when John went slightly too far, pulling off of him and coughing helplessly.
"Shit! Shit, sorry. God, come here." John bent slightly, pulling Sherlock up by the simple expedient of cupping his cheeks in his capable hands and directing him up so that John could kiss him. Sherlock ignored his streaming eyes as John's lips closed over his, licking into his mouth with a desperation that Sherlock did not quite understand. It caused him to shiver slightly at the realization that John was tasting himself in Sherlock's mouth and did not seem to mind. Perhaps... perhaps John would not mind performing fellatio on him sometime in the future? Sherlock very much wished to try this.
John pulled away to scramble at his t-shirt, and Sherlock found himself touching the bare expanse of John's skin almost before he had given himself permission. John was very warm. Sherlock wanted to step back and simply stare at John, to memorize each and every mark on his skin, but was equally afraid that doing so would be too... much. John would come to his senses and stop and no. Best to just let John lead him, so that Sherlock did not make him uncomfortable.
"What's the matter?" John pulled back slightly, his chest heaving. He seemed to be utterly unbothered by the fact that he was completely naked in their sitting room, weak afternoon sun shining in through the curtains, as though the rain from yesterday was not ready to commit to making an appearance. "Sherlock?"
Sherlock blinked, leaning forward and kissing the gunshot wound on John's shoulder. He wanted very much to drop to his knees again, but was not sure if John had forgiven him his blunder from before. Him choking could not possibly have been very attractive. Apparently the millions of idiots had more of a clue as to this sex business than himself.
John sighed as though Sherlock had done something unexpected. He did not sound upset though. Quite the opposite. "Come to bed?"
Sherlock had to try twice before he could speak.
"Yes, John." His voice was slightly lower than his normal register, and he could see John's eyes dilate at the sound when he did. Sherlock bent to kiss John, feeling slightly less ridiculous when John immediately gripped his hips, rubbing their groins together. Oh. Oh, that felt... god. No wonder so many people did this. Still, as delightful as it was, Sherlock could not imagine doing all of this with anyone else other than John. He was essential in all ways.
John's fingers dipped under Sherlock's waistband, sliding over and down to grip his arse, so that Sherlock's clothed length rubbed against John's stomach. He could feel John's heat notched between his upper thighs, playing at his testicles and immediately turned, pulling John into his bedroom after him. Sherlock kicked and locked the door, grinning slightly at John's breathless laugh.
Sherlock drew himself up to his full height, determined to say this once so that they need never mention it again. "I.. I have not." He tried again. "I am not experienced in these matters, John, as I am sure you are aware. I wish to be penetrated, but I also very much wish to penetrate you. I wish it very much, and no doubt my damnable brother already had one of his minions procure the necessary supplies. I understand that you must not trust me, and will wear a condom."
"No."
Sherlock's heart jumped to his throat and he started to shift away, horrified, mind blanking in utter humiliation at John's abrupt rejection. John's hand whipped out to keep Sherlock in place, tightening around his wrist and stepping forward so that Sherlock's back bumped against the solid wood frame of the door. Sherlock blinked rapidly, muscles tense but unwilling to hurt John, desperate to escape before John saw the stupid sheen of tears in his eyes. This is exactly why he did not do this. Tedious cues Sherlock never seemed to quite understand, and even with John he was a fool, a stupid, greedy fool and it was all completely rui-
John stepped even closer, using his other hand to tip Sherlock's head back so that he had to meet John's gaze. "No. Bloody hell, I didn't mean that, not how it sounded, Sherlock. Stop." The word "stop" trembled slightly as John's voice shook. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Sherlock. I just meant that you don't have to." John kissed his chin, then his nose, of all ridiculous things. "You don't have to use a condom. I do trust you, you idiot."
Oh.
The relief was palpable and Sherlock couldn't help but stand against the door calmly for just a moment, attempted to get his ridiculous emotions under control.
Sherlock bent his neck to kiss John's downturned mouth, then gently pushed against him so that John backed up towards Sherlock's bed, tumbling back with a surprised laugh. Sherlock found that he was smiling as he followed John down onto the bed. His heart was thudding crazily in his chest, and he felt an influx of chemicals flood his system for completely different reasons. Sherlock found that the change of emotion kept him breathless as he became lost in John's kisses a little desperately, John who was more than willing to overlook his gauche awkwardness and Sherlock was eager for John to show him what should happen next.
It surprised him when John wrapped one ankle around Sherlock's leg and flipped the both of them. Sherlock bounced onto his back with a surprised 'oof' and froze for a second, waiting to see if his body would protest the movement.
But no. Careful John; clever John managed to avoid every area on Sherlock that was tender or sore, straddling Sherlock thighs with a funny little smirk on his face, uncaring that he was naked.
"Hmmm. I believe you said that you wanted to penetrate me- or for me… What was it? Oh yes. To penetrate you."
Sherlock found that his excessive vocabulary had utterly deserted him. He understood with perfect clarity that he did not want to forget this moment; John looking down at him his eyes soft and affectionate, a faint blush on his cheeks, lips twisted into a gentle, amused quirk. "Part of me can't believe I'm here, but the rest of me is so fucking happy right now that I'm not entirely sure this is real, and not another fantasy."
Sherlock licked his lips. "Fantasy?" He settled his large hands on John's hips, attempting to memorize the feel of John's weight on top of his own. Another?!
"God, yes. You, underneath me? The stuff of many, many filthy fantasies, Sherlock."
Sherlock's throat went dry. He was not entirely sure how John could simply just say things like that, as though he knew the effect that it would have on Sherlock's body. On his breathing. Christ, on his heart.
John bent down to lick his way into Sherlock's mouth, lips pressing tightly against the seam of Sherlock's mouth. Part of Sherlock was still reeling, and part of him was undeniably curious. Before he could ask though, he lost himself again in John's kisses.
Still though, breathing was not nearly as boring when he was using breath to return John's kiss. It was hardly what Sherlock would ever call boring. The opposite of boring, in fact.
"Fantasies, John?"
John's laugh was rueful as he carefully shifted his weight back onto Sherlock, rubbing his naked bum against Sherlock's erection, which seemed to be doing its best to break away from the prison of his sleep pyjamas. It sent electronic signals to his brain that made Sherlock's breath stutter in his lungs. The heat was indescribable. John pulled away from his mouth and Sherlock could see that John's move had been deliberate, and Christ, this might actually kill him.
"Yeah. A fair few of them, actually."
Sherlock licked his lips, moving his hands from John's hips to his chest, carefully brushing his hands against muscle and sinew. Sherlock had seen John without a shirt of course, but now, in this particular moment he felt as though he would not be able to breathe for the want that surged through him, especially when John huffed a startled breath as Sherlock's fingernails skirted over John's nipples, causing them to pebble into hardness.
"Like what?" His own voice's deep timbre caused John to shiver slightly, his eyes darkening even more in the dim light of the bedroom.
"Oh god. I've thought of so many different things. You in a strop and bending me over the couch. Your face when you slide into me for the first time. Taking you apart with my tongue. Us in the shower with you on your knees. The feel of your hands on me like this. Stupid things too, like waking up with you tangled around me. Kissing you goodnight. Kissing you good morning. I've thought of everything, Sherlock."
Sherlock could only moan, bucking his body up and biting his lip to attempt to stifle the sound. John moved, standing besides Sherlock on the bed and no, that wasn't right. That wasn't what was meant to happen! Sherlock sat up, opened his mouth but before he could manage to speak, John had crossed over to the loo, and Sherlock heard him curse and the slam of a drawer. With a surreal grin, Sherlock turned over in bed and opened his bedside drawer, pulling out the rather large tube and waiting for John (whose slams and curses were growing increasingly louder) to return back to bed.
"I cannot believe there's no sodding lube! Again! Are we curs-oh, you git." Sherlock laughed at John's mock glare and shook the tube with his own smirk. The idea of laughing during sexual intimacy was new to him as much as anything else. John climbed into the bed and Sherlock wiggled a little as he kicked off his pyjamas and pants and oh, that was much, much better. The heat of John's body was both soothing and stimulating.
"How. Uh. How should we do this?" Sherlock kissed John's shoulder, hiding his face a little at the blunt question.
"Hmm. Trust me?"
Sherlock jerked his head up and rolled his eyes at the asinine question, knowing the action would make John's sharp laugh echo around the room, and when it did he couldn't help the small, pleased smile that twisted his lips.
"Okay then. Lay back down and let me look at you."
Sherlock did so, eagerly, pushing the lubrication to his side with his elbow. He wanted John's gaze on him. He stretched carefully, babying his elbow and his ribs, attempting to assume a pose that John would find provocative. It made him feel both uncomfortably brazen and powerful at John's very obvious reaction. John had been in the process of climbing onto the bed, and at Sherlock's movements, John froze except for the way his penis thickened and filled back to its prior length and girth, bobbing in front of him.
"Christ." John's mutter was quiet, but the way he reached out with one hand, stroking his callused palm down Sherlock's good shoulder, ghosting over his bound ribs and down over his hip to his thigh was reverent. Goosebumps caused Sherlock to shiver. John's hand gently pushed at Sherlock's thighs and he quickly spread them, biting his lip at the way John's gaze sharpened as he looked down at him, moving so that he was lying between Sherlock's spread knees.
Sherlock rather thought that he had made it quite clear that he was not overly experienced at this, but he was pathetically afraid that if John did what he thought he was going to do, then this would be over much too quickly and none of this would matter as Sherlock would have died from embarrassment. Yet, even with this John understood, and as he leaned over to taste Sherlock, John's other hand curled around the base of Sherlock's penis, grip tight enough that the stimulus was distracting enough that Sherlock didn't shoot off at the first wet swipe of John's tongue against him.
That was... oh. Oh, god. John worked his tongue over the pink head of his glans, licking up the precome that had trickled down to the base of his cock.
"Perhaps I should wear a cock ring. Next time of course." Sherlock couldn't have said where the words came from, but the strangled sound John made was worth it. It must have been a very good thing indeed, based on the way that John started working his mouth over him, sucking little kisses onto the flesh, finding every single sensitive spot with his tongue and lips.
John was very clever, and kept Sherlock trembling with just enough stimulation that it felt... it felt... Damn, but he could not think of the proper term. Sherlock wasn't entirely sure there was a proper term for what John was making him feel. John carefully controlled it so that the stimulation was not enough to send Sherlock crashing over the precipice to orgasm. He only knew that he was begging by the way his mouth was dry, yet had no inkling of the words he had used. John was bobbing down on him as though he had forgotten himself, as though sucking Sherlock to completion was his only goal.
Sherlock flailed around, pulling at his sheets with fisted hands, knocking the lubrication with his elbow so that it slid across the smooth sheets. John pulled off of him with a lewd-sounding pop, and Sherlock curled up slightly in on himself, attempting to remember how to breathe normally.
"All right?"
Sherlock nodded, pushing himself at John's mouth and kissing him sloppily, frantically. His hands curled around John's arse.
"Please, John. Please I want you." Sherlock pulled John to him, pulling apart the cheeks of his arse slightly and brushing his thumbs against John's testicles. Sherlock froze at the wet slickness he found there. Lube. It was... god. John had started to prepare himself while he was fellating Sherlock's cock. The image of John moving forward onto Sherlock's penis and back onto his own fingers was intoxicating. Letting go of John's arse and still kissing, Sherlock found the bottle and squirted some onto his own fingers, sliding them back and into John's heat without any warning. John collapsed against him, yanking his mouth away from Sherlock's to moan, gasping in oxygen as Sherlock tentatively, then not so tentatively began sliding the two fingers in and out of John's arsehole. John pulled away from Sherlock abruptly, bending over and pushing one of their pillows out of the way, so that John was on all fours against the headboard, legs spread invitingly. Sherlock knelt behind him, blinking a little at the quickness of John's movement.
"Please, Sherlock. This is what I want. Like this, fuck-k-k," The 'k' sound stuttered as Sherlock slid his fingers back inside of John, moving behind him. "Please."
Yes. This was... yes. Sherlock's attention was caught by a tiny bead of sweat as it slid from John's hairline, down his spine, stopping at John's tailbone, as though trying to draw attention to the slick, sweaty globes of John's rather delightful arse. Sherlock bit his lip, debating on whether or not he should ask, still unsure of the niceties even with two fingers sliding lazily in and out of John's arse.
Fuck it. John would certainly tell him if he were doing something incorrectly.
Sherlock had to contort his body a little, sliding his fingers out and bending to lick at the bead of sweat. John gasped and Sherlock grinned a bit wickedly, leaning forward and biting at John's arsecheek. John's cry was loud in the room. Sherlock gently pulled him apart, fascinated by the way John's hole was slightly reddened and open from both of their fingers, shining slickly with lubrication.
"Sherlock." John's gasp was both shocked and heartily turned on. He moved so his arse was closer to Sherlock's face.
Sherlock's grin turned smug. That was two. He bent forward, tracing the stretched hole with just the tip of his tongue. The lube was flavorless, but the consistency less than pleasant. Still, the gasping moan that John made sounded like it was being pulled from his throat, encouraging Sherlock to flick his tongue faster around the rim. As with before, the scent of John was strong here, and just as intoxicating. Sherlock quite lost himself, using his tongue, his fingers, and his mouth until John was trembling underneath him, begging with a throat gone hoarse from his own moaning for Sherlock to fuck him, already.
Sherlock jolted back to himself with his own moan, jaw tight and achy. He rested his forehead against the back of John's thigh for a moment, sucking in his own steadying breath. His own arousal was letting him know in no uncertain terms that it had been more than patient, thanks, and enough was bloody well enough.
"John. John..." Sherlock couldn't even get his brain to focus enough for actual coherency, pulling himself up and lining up with single-minded intensity. God, even his legs were unsteady. When the head of his cock brushed against John's hole they both cried out.
"C'mon, Sherlock. Inside me. I want... ughhh!"
Sherlock started to slide inside of John, freezing when John groaned, the head popping through the tight ring of muscle sending every nerve ending in his body lighting up at once. John reached back with one hand, and Sherlock grasped it on autopilot, half-terrified to move before John indicated that he was ready.
He almost couldn't even process the slick heat and remained there, trembling, with one hand clutching John's and the other white-knuckled on the headboard, desperate not to come.
"Okay. I'm okay. Just... slowly."
Sherlock gasped, kissing helplessly at the back of John's shoulder. The ridge of scar tissue allowed him to focus more clearly on John's needs, rather than his own. He had no wish to be a selfish lover. John was worth so much more than that. Sherlock moved his hips forward at a glacial pace, slowly burying himself in John's arse. He could feel the muscles tighten around his cock and grit his teeth against the need to just plunge inside, to mindlessly fuck his way to orgasm.
"Touch yourself." Sherlock's voice was a rumbling demand and John obeyed instantly. John rocked forward, then back and they both moaned in unison. Sherlock rotated his hips experimentally, fiercely glad that they were not doing this face to face, as the expression on his face was likely utterly ridiculous. He began slowly sliding in and out of John, overwhelmed with sensation. Sherlock tipped his head down to watch himself disappear inside of John and had to look away quickly. John caught his rhythm, and they begin in earnest, the sounds of grunts and the slapping of naked skin against naked sweaty skin growing louder and louder amongst the creaking of the bed and the bump of the headboard against the wall.
"Sherlock...! I'm. Oh, Oh, fuck."
Sherlock heard John's words, but had no basis of comparison for the feeling of John's arse clamping down onto him as he came. Sherlock's head tipped back so that he was staring blindly at the ceiling, mouth open in a silent scream as his orgasm rushed through him and spilling into John. He dimly felt his shoulder twinge unpleasantly, but could ignore it with the rush of chemicals in his bloodstream, more potent than any high he'd ever chased.
John slid down onto the mattress with a groan, his arms and legs giving out completely.
Sherlock had to concentrate on separating his fingers from the headboard before he could move, feeling fleetingly proud of the fact that he didn't collapse directly on top of John. He felt as though his body belonged to someone else. Sherlock pulled out of John with a wince, staring with wide eyes at the amount of semen that dribbled out of John's now-stretched hole. Sherlock reached out and pushed it back inside with his thumb, checking to make sure he had not damaged his John in any way.
John gave a feeble sort of huff, and mumbled something into the mattress that Sherlock could not catch. John was puffy, and pink, but there was no damage. Curious but lethargic, Sherlock idly wondered whether cleaning John with his tongue would be a bit much for their first time.
He grinned to himself and heaved himself up to go to the loo for a towel to clean John up in a way less likely to cause heart failure. John was not the only one to have fantasies, and Sherlock simply made a note in John's half of his mind palace to research that for later. He cleaned himself off, noting idly that he was grinning like a fool at himself in the mirror before making his way back to John and their ruined bed. Sherlock made a quick detour to take his pain medication... right now he was high on endorphins, but knew that the exercise would make his muscles scream with agony if he slept without taking them. Sherlock bent to have John turn over onto his back, sliding the warm cloth over his still-flushed skin, enjoying this new intimacy as much as all the others.
"You're cleaning me up? God, I love you."
Sherlock felt his knees collapse and he fell onto the bed ungracefully, staring at John with wide eyes. His mind was simply cut off to white static, like a telly without a a station.
John winced and flopped a little as he attempted to sit up, winced again, then forced himself upward, his fingers clamping around Sherlock's wrist.
"Yes, you heard that right. No, it's not leftover endorphins from the spectacular shagging. Yes, I mean it. I am." John leaned over and brushed his lips over Sherlock's. "Utterly mad over you. No, you do not need to say it back. And yes, I am playing to your ego by calling it spectacular, but fucking Christ, Sherlock. If that was your first time I can't even begin to fathom what sex will be like once you exercise that ridiculously brilliant learning curve of yours. I. Love. You... you mad git." John flopped back down onto the mattress like today was just a regular day, as though Sherlock's entire world had not been completely shattered and rebuilt again in almost the same heartbeat.
Sherlock blinked rapidly, aware that the foolish grin from before was stretching to something absolutely asinine but not caring one whit. He followed John back to the bed, flexing his wrist in John's grasp and curling up behind him, kicking at the blankets until John could grab them so that they were covered.
This was... nice. Perfect, really. Listening to John's calming heartbeat, feeling the way John's fingertips ghosted over the arm Sherlock had wrapped around his chest... he could quite easily get used to this. Sherlock was never one to speak of sentiment, often not understanding its nuances or particularites. Now though, he could whisper the words into John's sleeping ear, feeling his own heartbeat thud faster in his chest as he did so. "I love you too, John."
There were a few more beats of silence before Sherlock was shocked utterly (for what seemed like the hundredth time that night) when John spoke. "I know, Sherlock. I heard you the first time you said it." John twisted so that they were face to face and kissed Sherlock's gaping mouth with a quick little tease of a kiss.
Sherlock felt absurdly as though he would cry and that he could fly simultaneously. John had heard him the first time he'd said it? Way back before...? "John-" Sherlock started, but John hushed him with another quick kiss. "Don't worry about a thing. We need to sleep. I want to wake up with you curled around me. Then I want a fry-up, which you will have to make as I am suspecting my arse will make things a bit uncomfortable for a few days. But before that... sleep, Sherlock, love. Everything will wait. We're in no rush"
Sherlock nodded, still feeling horribly vulnerable, but willing to let John lead him in this as in all other things relating to the heart. He knew that things were far from over. There were loose ends to tie up with Mycroft, and John would likely have terrifying nightmares once his brain fully realized he was safe back in 221B. Not to mention the process of being declared alive, and coming back to his place in London would be tedious beyond description, but John was correct. Sherlock was happy, blissful wrapped around his John, sharing breath and sleep, lazy almost kisses.
It would all wait.
Right now, he had John, and that was everything that Sherlock wanted.
THE END.
/me falls over.
Sorry for the long author's note, but HOLY CRAP (!111!) This fic was started last February, and finished in October. I wanted to try to do another non-linear fic- they always seem awesome when I read them and plan them out, but going back and covering all the plot points is a bitch.
Anyway, I hope that I got them all. A reader mentioned that keeping the point of views separate at the beginning was a bit weird, but I was going for an obvious separation of Sherlock's story and Johns... until they met up and had the same story. *shrug* That was the intention, anyway. Much much much love to Jen for being amazing and to FoxyK for the ninja beta. Love you guys! As always, thanks so much for the comments and kudos.,. and feel free to friend me on tumblr!
-lost