Author's Note:
First real fight between John and Sherlock this chapter. It was bound to happen eventually, wasn't it? Thanks so much for all the lovely reviews!
Once Jackson was gone, Sherlock figured it was safe to let John go so he didn't restrain his fiancé further when he pulled away. He watched the army doctor go into the kitchen and he hesitated before following after the other man. He itched absently at the scratches, which only resulted in irritating the skin further rather than making it feel better. He wasn't sure what to say, so he said nothing at all.
"Stop scratching at those," John muttered as he winced, running some soap across newly discovered wounds. "I'll take care of them in a moment." He took his eyes off of his hands for a moment to glance at Sherlock in warning. He wanted to say so many things but managed to bite his tongue as he turned the tap off, grabbing a small towel and drying his hands off. "He was good looking," he stated in a low tone as he took one of Sherlock's hands and pulled him closer to inspect his forearms. He had done quite a number on his fiancé without knowing it. He grabbed a clean towel and wet it down, putting some soap on it before running it across Sherlock's arms.
Sherlock let his hands fall to his side. "Was he? I guess. I hadn't really noticed to be honest," he muttered with a shrug. He wasn't one for aesthetic beauty and it wasn't something that registered when looking at another person. The towel hurt but he didn't pull away and managed not to wince. He did bite down on his lip though, his body tensing slightly.
"Sorry," John commented as he dropped Sherlock's arm and gently grabbed the other. "Almost done. I'll wrap these, some of them are a bit deep. Need to keep them as clean as possible." He stood on his toes and placed a soft kiss on Sherlock's cheek before he rummaged through the cabinets in search of his first-aid kit. It was a bit frustrating because Sherlock had rearranged but he managed to find it with a weak smile. He didn't bother to speak as he placed gauze on the deepest scratch marks and tapped it down with ease. After that he brushed by Sherlock, not bothering to clean up his small mess, and plopped back down on the floor to continue making the crib. The emotions inside of him were uncontrollable, difficult to understand, and he wanted to keep his mouth shut before he ruined their day. Not talking was the only way he knew how to deal with the situation.
Sherlock watched John work in silence. He watched his fiancé with worried eyes and frowned when the other man simply went back to work on the crib. He sighed and cleaned up the mess John had left. Hamish came into the kitchen and with practiced eased, jumped onto Sherlock's shoulder and meowed at him. He gave the cat a pat on the head, moved to the fridge and then opened it. He got out a container of ham and fed the cat. It gobbled the pieces greedily and when it finished eating, it head butted him in the neck. A weak smile formed on his lips but it didn't reach his eyes. He pet Hamish and the cat began to purr loudly.
It didn't take too long for John to stand with a small smile, plopping the mattress down into the finished crib. He had watched Sherlock from the corner of his eyes, studying the consulting detective and the cat. He moved into the kitchen slowly, awkwardly, and wrapped his arms around Sherlock as he pressed his chest against his fiancé's back. "I'm jealous," he whispered softly against the back of Sherlock's neck, ignoring Hamish. "And I hate him for it. Hate him for touching you and for giving you what I couldn't while I was gone." The embrace around Sherlock's waist tightened. "I... just couldn't stop myself."
The cat growled but jumped off Sherlock's shoulder and went to another room. Jealousy. That was something he could relate to. Before he realized what he was doing, he pushed away from John. "Well, maybe now you know how I feel every time I see Sarah. Unlike Jackson, she simply can't go away. She'll always be there…"
John almost objected to Sherlock pulling away until he realized what the other man had said. His entire body tensed. Oh. Of course it made sense, why wouldn't it? But it hurt to actually hear that from his fiancé, the fact that even though he put on a front about Amy coming into the world that, really, this little girl was nothing more than a reminder. "What do you want me to do then?" He was speaking before thinking it over, his body shaking as he took a threatening step toward Sherlock. "Just not be in my daughter's life? 'Oh, sorry, my fiancé only sees you as some mistake from a night we got in a fight and doesn't want me to be around you.' That what you want me to tell her in the future?" His voice was steadily rising. "Or do you just want me to leave? That it? You want me to walk away from our engagement so you can go back to your experiments and your cases and I can go slinking back to my little bloody mistake?" Before he even had a chance to stop himself he lifted a hand and gently shoved Sherlock's shoulder.
So careful, Sherlock had been so careful not to start a fight with John since finding out he would be in Afghanistan. He suddenly didn't care anymore. His eyes narrowed as he watched his fiancé come toward him. "It's all your fault!" He shouted the words. "If you hadn't…" he trailed off, unable to bring himself to say it. "…just couldn't help yourself, could you? Because of what? 'Stress' was it? Fucking stress? What the hell kind of excuse is that?" When he felt the light shove, he shoved back but not nearly as gently.
This wasn't supposed to be happening. They were supposed to be happy, not fighting. Not being physically aggressive with each other. "Fuck you, Sherlock!" His body moved back slightly from the push. "You been keeping in contact with your little fuck buddy from the hospital? That why he showed up here? Couldn't stop yourself, could you?" Both of his hands lifted, pressing roughly on Sherlock's chest. "Because stress was your only excuse for nearly dry fucking me in the desert a few months ago, you bastard!" Another shove as he took a step forward.
"What? No! Today is the first time I saw him since…I would never…" Sherlock trailed off, shaking his head violently at the thought. That John thought that, even in anger, hurt and whatever fight he had in him was gone suddenly. He stumbled backward from the shoves, running into the counter by the sink. Out. He needed to get the hell out the flat. He couldn't breathe here. He glanced to John briefly, the pain evident in his eyes. He attempted to get around his fiancé, to flee this place.
John's first thought was that Sherlock couldn't leave. He effectively trapped Sherlock against the counter with another shove to his chest. "Sure, and that's how he knew our address," he growled, ignoring the pain he clearly saw from Sherlock's gaze. One hand curled into a fist as he attempted to steady his breathing. "Fuck off," he growled as he turned away from his fiancé and stormed out of the flat.
Sherlock wanted to chase after John and fix everything, but instead he collapsed to his knees in defeat. Stupid. So stupid. Why had he started this stupid argument with John to begin with? He took out his cell phone and sent a text to Mycroft.
John and I got in a bad row. He left the flat angry. Please watch over him to make sure he stays safe. –SH
An easy enough task for his older brother, since Mycroft pretty much had access to every camera in London. He sat down on the floor, leaning his head against the cabinet door. Once more Hamish came to comfort him, jumping up into the available lap and rubbing its head all over Sherlock's stomach.
Mycroft shifted as his phone went off, reading the text with a frown. That didn't take long.
Are you alright? -MH
Despite the bit of anger at his younger brother's fiancé, he contacted who he needed to so John could be tracked.
Downtown London. Just walking the streets. Been crying. -MH
He watched the videos with narrowed eyes as John stopped and looked around, realization dawning on the soldier's face. Apparently he hadn't been paying much attention to where he was going.
Sherlock read the messages from Mycroft but didn't feel like replying. Damn it, he should be the one going after John. Not have to rely on his older brother to do it for him. He sighed, picked up Hamish and placed the cat on his shoulder as he stood. He left the flat in a hurry, not even bothering to put on his usual coat and scarf. With a map of the city clear in his head, he navigated the streets with ease and speed. He began searching the downtown area, hoping to find John soon. Hamish apparently got bored because the cat curled up and went to sleep.
John would recognize that body anywhere, lithe and graceful. It was surprising, though. He had shoved Sherlock, physically assaulted his fiancé, and here he was in downtown London hunting him down. He pushed his way through the crowd and stopped several feet in front of Sherlock, swaying uneasily on his feet. "Hey," he stated softly, taking a few hesitant steps toward him. His lips pursed and he tilted his head slightly to the right.
With no trace of hesitation, he wrapped John into a hug. "I'm sorry." Sherlock murmured into the top of his fiancé's head. He clung on to the army doctor desperately, as if letting him go would mean John would walk out of his life completely and that was something that Sherlock just couldn't let happen.
John instantly returned the tight embrace, closing his eyes and burying his face into Sherlock's chest with a soft sigh. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Are you alright? Did I hurt you?" He pulled away slightly to study Sherlock's face. He had pushed Sherlock, shoved him angrily, cornered him. "God I'm so sorry. Sherlock, I'm sorry." The only words in his vocabulary escaped his lips and he pressed his wet face back into Sherlock's chest.
Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Shh, I'm fine my dear doctor." When John leaned back into his chest, his arms once more wrapped around his fiancé. He kissed the top of his head lightly, ignoring the stares and the people walking around them to avoid bumping into the couple. "Perhaps we should go back to the flat and have a cup of tea?" He suggested, stilling hugging the army doctor closely.
"Right, yeah." John sniffed as he pulled away slightly from Sherlock. "Sounds good." He instantly reached for Sherlock's hand and gave it a squeeze, tugging his fiancé in the direction of their flat. Perhaps they could work everything out over a cuppa and spend the rest of their week not fighting.
Sherlock gave John a small smile and returned the squeezing hand. He trailed after his fiancé, mentally yelling at himself for starting the argument. No more. He wouldn't do it again. The rest of the time would be pleasant.
The trip back to the flat was pleasant, John slowed the pace more than once to just take the city in with a large smile. He entered the flat slowly and gave a long glance to Sherlock as he moved into the kitchen to put the kettle on. For a moment he stayed leaning against the counter, his eyes locked on his fiancé, before moving forward and confidently capturing Sherlock's lips in a kiss. He just needed to be close to him, to let him know that he really loves him.
In silence, Sherlock followed John. The pace was slow, considering how long his legs were but he matched it without complaint. Once inside the flat, Hamish jumped off his shoulder and took up napping in Sherlock's chair. He entered the kitchen, watching John as he started the tea. As their lips met, he once more wrapped his arms around his fiancé in a fierce hug. "Please don't leave me," his voice was a barely audible whisper.
Sherlock's voice restricted his chest and he furiously shook his head. "Of course not," he stated with a raspy voice. "Never, Sherlock." He met his lips again, ignoring the high-pitched whistle of the tea kettle as he pinned Sherlock against the archway leading into the kitchen. "Please forgive me," he stated suddenly as his lips moved to run along Sherlock's jaw.
"I do. We both said things...I'm sorry." Sherlock said as he stumbled into the wall. He tilted his neck immediately, fingers fumbling a bit as they worked their way under John's tucked shirt and he began to scratch the skin lightly. He moved his head, so their lips could meet once more. Sherlock's tongue exploring John's mouth anxiously.
"Are we neglecting our tea?" John asked into Sherlock's mouth, dueling with his fiancé's tongue aggressively. Honestly, he wouldn't mind too much. His hand had been abused in the past few months. Sherlock's touch under his shirt caused his stomach to tense and he moaned breathlessly. John's hand yanked Sherlock's shirt up with a growl, his thumb ran across Sherlock's nipple roughly.
"Don't care bout tea," Sherlock muttered behind the kiss. He wondered if John would want control this time and hope he wouldn't because he wasn't feeling particularly submissive at the moment. To help assert his dominance early, he tried to maneuver his fiancé over to the kitchen table so the other man's back was against the wooden surface.
John let Sherlock push him back with a small growl, giving a gentle push to Sherlock's chest to assert a bit of his own dominance. While he knew he would let Sherlock take control he figured he could put up a bit of a fight. "The kitchen?" He asked breathlessly against Sherlock's lips, moaning softly before lowering his head and nipping at Sherlock's exposed nipple.
Sherlock smirked because he knew he had won this time around. He broke the kiss long enough to reply. "Unless you want to go to my room so Mrs. Hudson can hear us." He decided to begin kissing John's neck roughly next, his finger nails digging in a bit more into the skin. He pressed his body tight against John's, his lower torso bucking impatiently.
"Kitchen's good," John replied through a moan, looking down slightly. "N-Need to get my boots off," he gasped and responsed to Sherlock's hips with slow and steady thrusts. "Need stuff to prepare me," he raised his chin to expose more of his neck with a needy moan. Christ, he sounded like a whore but this was Sherlock and he couldn't help himself.
"C'mon then." Sherlock said as he grabbed John's shirt and pulled the army doctor with him to his room. "Get your boots off while I get the Vaseline." He placed his fiancé in the vicinity of the bed and then rooted through his nightstand for a moment.
John followed, tripping over his boots and falling on to the bed with a small grunt. "Right. Yeah." He didn't hesitate in yanking at the shoelaces, toeing off one boot and kicking it toward the wall. The ridiculous framed photo of the Periodic Table rattled as the second boot hit a few inches below it. His gaze fell on Sherlock as he slowly undid his belt, the clicking of the metal echoing in the small room. In an instant he didn't give a damn if Mrs. Hudson heard them because at this rate John didn't know if he could make it back toward the kitchen.
Sherlock finally found what he was looking for and threw it onto the bed. He stripped naked quickly and the pounced John on the bed, the mattress groaning a bit from the sudden weight. He straddled his fiancé immediately and began nibbling on his ears, fingers scratching his chest. His lower torso squirmed upon the man below him.
John fell back on to the mattress and struggled to glance between them, trying to work open the zipper and button of his uniform pants. Sherlock had almost always been eager to shag but, honestly, this was more than he was used to. He figured his fiancé was excited given that they hadn't really slept together in months. A small sound of success came from John's mouth as he finally managed to get his pants undone, attempting to slightly pull them down from his hips.
Between the several months of not being with John and the recent fight, Sherlock was crazy hormonal. His hands slid down to the army doctor's pants to help push them down further. His kissing moved to his fiancé's neck, sucking excitedly and roughly. He blindly reached one hand around on the bed in search of the Vaseline; the other went back to scratching harshly against John's chest. Sherlock's body grinded into the man below him eagerly, but without any real pace. His breathing became thready but instead of breaking for breath, he exhaled loudly through his nose.
John shouted at all of the sensations his body felt. The scratches on his chest and the sucking on his neck had him arching off the bed with loud moans. "Sherlock, yes." He tangled both of his hands into his fiancé's hair and wiggled beneath Sherlock to finish kicking off his pants. It was almost too rough but John had the feeling that the man above him needed this release, needed to be rough. He was willing to take it if it meant keeping Sherlock happy. When he noticed Sherlock's free hand groping around the bed he reached out to help, knocking the Vaseline container into Sherlock's hand with another moan.
Once his hand came in contact with the container, Sherlock snatched it up. The scratching stopped briefly as he spun the cap off and flicked it somewhere onto the floor carelessly. He continued to kiss John's neck, shifting to the other side to make sure it wasn't neglected and unmarked. Using only his sense of touch, he took off the army doctor's boxers, applied the Vaseline to his fingers and prepped them both. It was a bit messy and smeared everywhere, but the important areas were covered and that was all that really mattered. He dropped the bottle back onto the bed. His fingers scratched along the sides of John's chest and stomach. Sherlock entered with a hard thrust and he repeated with the same pressure and pace as he went in and out. He had to stop scratching, to brace himself and not fall over. One hand gripped the head of the bed and the other tangled into the sheets. He growled loudly and began nibbling on John's ear.
By the time Sherlock had everything prepared John was practically whimpering and the moment Sherlock entered him and didn't let up, he shouted. Loud and clear and all he could manage was Sherlock's name. "Christ, Sherlock." His hips thrust back as rough as he could manage, his legs wrapped around Sherlock's waist as he slammed his eyes shut. Rough and fast and shit it was perfect. He lifted his hands and clawed at Sherlock's shoulder blades, tensing around Sherlock as he moaned again. He could hear himself in the room but didn't care, let all of Baker Street hear if they wanted. "Don't stop," he moaned. "Feels so good, fuck."
To his surprise, Sherlock managed to last awhile. Longer than he usually did anyway, which was interesting given how rough and fast everything was right now. Eventually he came, his body tensing and once more growling loudly. He collapsed onto John, panting heavily as he finally stopped his incessant kissing and biting. He took a moment to catch his breath and then maneuvered his way down to his fiancé's lower torso. Instead of finishing the army doctor off with a hand job, he opted for a blow job. He sucked on John's cock and then began bopping at a steady pace.
All of the previous activities had heightened John's arousal to the point of near exhaustion. The mouth on his cock made him moan lazily and he thrust into Sherlock's mouth twice before coming. "Sorry, sorry." His eyes slammed shut and he bit his bottom lip. "Didn't mean to abuse your mouth." The grin on his face was tired as he tugged Sherlock's hair for him to come up and snuggle against his side. His free arm fell to the side so Sherlock could use it as a pillow before his eyes closed and his breathing slowly evened out. John had been shagged to the point of needing quite the nap.
Sherlock almost gagged from John's thrusting but he managed not to and even was able to swallow. He pulled away, wiping his mouth with his forearm. He crawled back up to John and snuggled into his fiancé immediately. Instead of using the arm as a pillow, he rest his head on the army doctor's chest. He wasn't really tired, but he couldn't think of being anywhere else right now. Hamish jumped up on the bed and curled up against Sherlock's back, purring loudly before going to sleep.