Sherlock P.O.V.
How can I describe all the weird things that are happening inside of me while John closes his eyes, leans toward me and pulls me to him at the same time? I can't believe it is finally happening.
John stops leaning when we are less than an inch away from each other, and just brushes his lips lightly on mine as if he's trying to tease me and make me close the little gap between us. But he's the one who's finally closing this gap and he kisses me gently. The combination of soft lips and the fact that this is John I'm kissing starts to easily overwhelm me and make me able to focus only on the delicate taste of coffee, toothpaste and something that can only described as John.
As John tries to break the kiss, I put my hand on his neck and pull him back to me. I can feel him smile under my lips and the odd feeling in my stomach appears again. I deepen the kiss and let myself just feel how amazingly our tongues touch and how his hands hold me close to him. As the time passes, the kiss deepens and becomes more passionate. I move my lips to his neck and suck lightly until I hear the sweet moans come out of John's mouth.
"Sherlock," he moans quietly, "please, stop." I freeze at my spot and lift my head to look at John, afraid that I did something wrong that would make him run away after just one kiss. One very long and passionate kiss, but still just a kiss.
When I look him in the eyes, all the worries I might have had vanish; John's eyes are full of lust, not to mention his ridiculously huge pupils. Other than that, he breathes quickly, and the pulse on his neck is unmistakably around the 180's. But only when I notice the bulge in his pants he tries so desperately to hide do I let myself smile smugly. Nothing that I did wrong, then.
"I'm sorry, Sherlock, hmm... but can we just... take it slow?" I sigh in relief and my smile goes wider as he continues. "I just... I've never done it with a man before, and it's all very new to me. Don't take it the wrong way, please, Sherlock, you know how strong my feelings for you are, and if I know you, you've already noticed how much I'm attracted to you. But at least for a while... can we just...? do you mind...?" He takes a deep breath and smiles at me, embarrassed.
"To take it slow?" I suggest, and he nods in relief and chuckles joyfully.
I kiss him lightly and get up from the bed; can't stop smiling, and feel even more happy as I give Rachel a swift glance and see that she's still sleeping peacefully.
All of a sudden I feel John's hand grip my wrist. I look at him and he quickly releases my wrist, blushing with embarrassment. I quirk an eyebrow and give him a questioning look.
"I just... hmm... It doesn't mean that you have to go," he shrugs.
"Are you having nightmares again?" I ask him, trying to understand what is going on.
"I always have nightmares. Close the lights and come to bed, you annoying git." I don't bother to argue, probably a more complex sentiment than I am able to understand properly.
I close the lights and join John at the other side of the bed.
Only after I hear the steady breathing of the man beside me, do I let myself relax and give him a quick glance before I close my eyes, allowing myself to fall asleep, more satisfied and happy than I've been, at least in the last few years.
What more can a person ask for?
The next morning John and I wake up to the sound of loud knocking on the bedroom door. It is weird enough that someone got into our flat, but at least we know that there are only three options who it might be.
I get up and open the door, and see the person I feared the most who might appear suddenly on the other side of John's bedroom door at 5:14 in the morning.
"Can't you answer your goddamn phone?!" Lestrade storms into the bedroom and sits on the edge of the bed, in which John still lies. John looks confused and sits quickly on the bed. We both look at Lestrade, worried about what might have brought him to our bedroom in five in the morning. Greg, however, looks more desperate than I have ever seen him. John seems to agree with me as he finally gets up and gives me a swift glance full of questions.
"Greg, are you okay?" John asks him and moves toward Rachel's crib, to see if she's all right. He smiles in relief to see that she's still sound asleep (she has to be, after waking up three times tonight) and turns to Lestrade.
"No, I'm not okay at all. Moriarty's man almost killed your brother, and you don't even answer your phone!" Lestrade gets to his feet and stares at me closely.
"Greg, calm down. What happened?" John asks him quietly, before he could either strike me or wake Rachel up, or both. Lestrade is still looking at me but answers John's question.
"He was just leaving the office when a sniper shot him in the chest. He almost died! At the hospital they said he was lucky not to die right away. You need to find that son of a bitch, and find him now!" Lestrade yells in desperation as I try to think clearly about what he just said. Mycroft was shot. Not very surprising when I come to think about it. He was the one who eventually killed Moriarty, but no one knows that except for John, Mycroft and me.
Lestrade covers his eyes with his hands and takes a few deep breaths in order to calm himself.
"Help me find him," he says after a long minute, "help me find the person who did this to Mycroft."
"Is Mycroft all right?" John asks before I'm given the chance to consider doing something right now.
"He is in much pain, but nothing the morphine can't handle. The doctor said he'll be out of the hospital by the end of the week," Lestrade sighs and look somewhat relieved, yet still full of mental pain, and you can see how badly he wants to come up with a good plan to capture Moran.
"That's good news," John reassures him, and turns his gaze to look at me. "You should go, Sherlock, he is your brother, and then there'll be one less thing to worry about." He smiles but still looks unsatisfied that I'll be going after Moran by myself. Lestrade can't come, of course, he's too driven by sentiment and revenge; I can't allow it to interrupt the work.
"Or maybe..."he continues,"Greg, would you mind keeping an eye on Rachel for a bit?"
Before Lestrade can get the chance to answer, I am already walking toward John, as he might say I've "invaded his personal space," giving him the most serious stare of which I'm capable.
"No. You are not coming with me, John. Do you have any idea of how dangerous it might be? This man... this man is not an amateur, he's one of the deadliest snipers out there. And if he was so close to Jim, he must have other, very deadly traits, that made Jim choose him as his replacement." John narrows his eyes and takes yet another step forward, which makes us close enough to each other to actually feel the other man's breath.
"And let you go on a suicide mission like that? No. Won't happen. It's either the two of us, or no one." Behind us we hear Lestrade clearing his throat; looks entirely uncomfortable. "Should I leave you two alone?"
"Yes." I say bluntly.
"There's no need, Greg," John says and gives me another annoyed look. "Decide, Sherlock, right now. Either we can do this together, or we just let things get worse while he continues hurting the people we care about. Your call." I roll my eyes at his stubbornness and take hold of his shoulders to get his absolute attention.
"John, I can't let you do this. Don't you get it? You actually might get hurt. I can't let this happen. If something..." I move my hands from his shoulders to cup his face and look at him, my heart on my sleeve. Not even bothering to try and hide my emotions from John, I shut my eyes and continue: "If anything should happen to you... I can't live without you, John. I thought you knew that already. Besides, you're a father now, you can't risk your life like that anymore. Who would-" I can't finish the sentence because John closes the gap between us and kisses me desperately. I kiss him back and try to beg him, through that kiss, not to come along.
After all, actions speak louder than words. Only a short minute later, when we hear Lestrade mumble "seriously, guys," we open our eyes and take a step back from each other.
"Sorry, Greg. Look, Sherlock, I love you, and I love Rachel, and this is the only thing I can do in order to make sure you'll be safe for a while. I have to do it, for the both of you. And Sherlock, if something happens to me, I know you'll be a great father to Rachel, as you have been in the last 3 months." I keep looking at him, speechless. John's remark about me being a good father-figure to Rachel really astonishes me, and I can honestly say that it moves me deeply. John notices (he's the only one who can), and strokes my cheek fondly. He picks up Rachel from her crib and smiles.
"Come on, little one, let's get you something to eat. Sherlock, call Molly, will you? Ask her if she can babysit Rachel for a few hours." He leaves the room and I leave after him, Lestrade behind me.
An hour later we are already in the cab on our way to where Mycroft was shot, having already dropped Rachel at Molly's, who had been as eager as always to keep an eye on the little one. Lestrade returned to the hospital to be with Mycroft, after both John and I promised him that we'd do our best to find Moran and that there's no need for him (or his overly emotional status) to be anywhere near the crime scene or the man in question.
John and I silently hold each other's hand through the entire cab ride, and we both take deep breaths before we walk out of the car as we arrive at the crime scene.
I see the bloodstains on the sidewalk and try not to think about the fact that this blood is from my own, amazingly annoying, brother.
John and I search on the floor for anything of importance, and the only thing that captures my attention is a single bullet from what seems like a HTR 2000 rifle; an American rifle, very popular worldwide, very expensive. But then again, I didn't expect anything but the best from one of Moriarty's.
"Sherlock, found something?" John asks after about five minutes.
I look at the bullet I found on the floor and try to calculate from where Moran fired. I look around me and get to the only possible conclusion. Northwest of us there's a primary school; he must have taken the shot from the roof. It's a short building, about 3 floors, and soon it will be filled with children. We must act quickly, then.
"You brought your gun, right?" I look at him after I realize there's no other way but to get up on that roof, where who knows what might be waiting for us. He nods and stares at me silently. I take his hand in mine, squeeze tightly and start leading the way toward the school.
John walks quietly next to me, and holds my hand even more tightly as we walk through the unlocked doors of "St. Edwards Primary School."
Why does the psychopath have to be so overly dramatic? Leading someone into a Catholic school in order to kill him... You can easily tell he has been trained by Moriarty.
Before we open the door to the roof, John releases my hand and turns to look at me. He strokes my face gently and lets his eyes wander all over me.
"Thank you, Sherlock, for everything you've ever done for me. For all the love and faith you put in me. For helping me raise my child. For the last 5 years, which were, by no doubt, the best and the worst of my life. For letting me in, for understanding me, for knowing and accepting who I am better than anyone else could ever know. You make my life worth living, Sherlock. If something happens to me this morning-"
"Don't say it," I stop him and feel my heart beat faster because of everything he has just said.
"If something happens to me, I want you to know that I love you, I've always loved you, and I will always love you. You are my best friend and the best man I've ever known, and I have no regrets, whatsoever, about anything that ever happened to me, because all of those things led me to you, and for that I'm grateful. Thank you, Sherlock Holmes." And with that he kisses me with more love and passion I've ever been kissed before; the warm lips and tongue are absolutely my new addiction. And I intend to explore it as much as possible the minute we get out of here.
I stop the kiss because I know that if we don't stop now, we won't stop even if the walls should fall apart around us. So I just hug him instead and close my eyes. I give myself five seconds before letting him go.
But life isn't always fair: as I count to three I hear a gunshot, and the man I'm holding looses his ability to stand on the ground.
At that moment, all my trains of thoughts are cut, and there's only one thing in the world that's still important — John.