Sorry about the delay - life after half term has sucked! Plus, as a trainee English teacher I was told today that my science lesson was better than my English lessons this week! Which yay- i did a good lesson but also huff, i hate science! Clearly the attitude of f* it, why not just try and muddle through works for me!

Anyhoo, Warnings for smut. And first attempt at proper smut - hence the rating change. You have been warned!

Ps - Paved with Love is coming. There are internet issues...but it is written/being written and is pretty close to being completed. Just pray for the internet being nice for once!

December 5th

It started the next morning with John's first tea of the day.

"Why not?"

John jumped and banged his cup on the side. "I'm not playing this game, Sherlock."

"I can make it into a game if you prefer," Sherlock offered. "But I thought you'd prefer the more direct approach."

John poured the kettle, as if it were the most important action in the world.

"You are married to your work." John answered after a moment's pause.

"No longer true." Sherlock countered. "Try to have a better reason next time I ask."

December 6th

"Why not?"

They were standing in Mrs Hudson's kitchen as she scurried round to show them the strange letter she'd received the day before.

Sherlock was already certain it was an innocent mix-up but it was the first time in years that John had willingly agreed to go on anything resembling a case with Sherlock.

"Because this is your greatest love," John replied, staring straight ahead with a steely gaze, "I'm not fighting a losing battle with your love of puzzles."

"I abandoned the puzzles for three years to keep you safe." Sherlock replied quietly as Mrs Hudson rummaged through her own pile of paperwork, and the woman had the gall to say he was untidy.

The look that John shot him was like hell itself, "You were working to dismantle Moriarty's crime syndicate. According to Mycroft ,you managed to put an effective dent in it. Do you honestly expect me to believe that wasn't you working out a puzzle."

"It was tedious." Sherlock hissed. "The first few months, even the first year was interesting. After that, no. It was dull." Taking the chance, Sherlock shifted so he could see John's reaction. "And lonely."

John moved his head in a sharp move, acknowledging the words but keeping utterly stiff, unwilling to process what had been said.

"Here it is," Mrs Hudson appeared with the letter that had been addressed to her late husband. "What do you think," she asked, sounding worried.

Moriarty would not be so subtle and Mycroft would have alerted him to any other threats. The handwriting was slanted, female and the words seemed to flow badly, as if someone had been unsure or hesitant but hadn't dared to proof read. The letter had been a catharsis of some kind.

"Genuine," He handed it back to her, "It's too poorly expressed to be a fake."

"Should I write back?" Mrs Hudson asked John.

"Why did she ask you and not me?" Sherlock asked later as they climbed the stairs.

"Reason three." John said behind him, "Sentiment isn't your thing."

Sherlock rounded on the stairs, glaring down at John who stopped himself with an annoyed sigh.

"Did you want flowers and chocolate?"

"No."

"Well then." Sherlock turned back to ascend the stairs, "I fail to see how that is relevant."

"You dislike emotions," John's argument echoed up. "You think they're messy and distracting."

"They are." Sherlock agreed, walking through the doorway.

"Then why do you want a relationship?" asked John as he followed behind.

"I believe the benefit will outweigh the cost." Sherlock sat at the table, pulling out his phone.

Mr Hudson had an illegitimate child. Background?

"Romantic," John muttered sarcastically.

"Honest," Sherlock said as his phone beeped.

Manners, Sherlock.

"I believe it means more to you," Sherlock continued as he typed out a reply.

Just send it to me.

"Honest?" John stood on the other side of the table as if it were their battlefield. "That's hardly your thing either. You more concerned with looking all mysterious and swishing that damned coat of yours."

"Have you ever asked?" Sherlock slid his phone away as it beeped in response again, unwilling to share his attention.

John drew back a little. "When we went to Baskerville, in the lab, with the sugar. Did you feel guilty at all?"

"It wasn't the sugar."

"Would you have felt guilty?" John echoed fiercely.

"No." It had been laboratory conditions and he'd been watching John the entire time. Nothing would have happened.

Sherlock would never have allowed anything to happen.

"Would you do it again now?"

"With more reluctance." Sherlock admitted, "If there was no other option available, yes."

John looked unsettled, "And Irene Adler?"

"You'll need to be more specific."

"You were fascinated." John said slowly, "I know you. I saw it in your eyes."

"She was a worthy opponent." Sherlock admitted, "And a safer option than Jim Moriarty."

"You wanted her," John leaned his hands upon the table, eye blazing. "You were tempted from the moment she walked in-"

Frustrated, Sherlock yanked at Johns hands, dragging the man's upper body across the table so their faces were almost touching.

"I am not lying." He let the words flicker out on his tongue with crystal clear precision. "And I am not some shrinking violet. If I had wanted to fuck her I would have. It probably would have made things less complicated had I done so." He let John's hands go and started in surprise when John dug his fingers into Sherlock's arm and tugged him forward as well.

The intent was clear. There was anger in those blue eyes and lust and frustration and nothing that would last past the burning fury John was feeling at being yanked down by Sherlock.

"Out of unimaginative reasons already?"

John pulled back from where he'd been about to capture and bruise Sherlock's lips, dropping his hand from Sherlock's arm as if he'd been electrocuted.

"You're just trying to screw with my head," John snarled, backing away.

"I am trying to win your trust." Sherlock was glad for the table when John slumped against the wall and started to laugh weakly.

He waited it out.

"This is never going to work." John said after a moment. "You, me, this…we'll end up killing each other by the end of the day."

"Is that another reason?" Sherlock asked after a pause.

There was a moment when he thought that John was going to tell him the real issue that he had, the real and only reason that he was putting up such a fight.

"Yeah," John sighed, "It's another reason."

"We'd be bored with it any other way," Sherlock dug his phone out of his pocket again. If John wasn't going to put effort into this then he certainly wasn't.

December 8th

"Why not?"

"Ava," John spread the butter on the bread without even flinching or reacting this time, as if he'd been expecting the question. "She shouldn't be viewed as an add-on."

"I cannot snap my fingers and miraculously create a relationship with her-" Sherlock muttered.

"But you can fall off a building and walk away the next day," John quipped.

"-but I see no reason why one shouldn't form." Sherlock continued staring at the scarring on the table and making a note from the width that his knife blade needed to be sharpened. "She's a lot like you."

When he looked back up John seemed softer, almost willing to listen.

"Are you going to tell me the real reason?"

John stabbed the butter and continued to spread it onto the next slice.

December 11th

For three days it continued, until Sherlock was amazed that John didn't scream from sheer frustration at being asked the question every time they saw each other. It was rare that Sherlock got to witness the stubborn side of John Watson.

If it hadn't been so exasperating he would have been captivated with this new facet.

"Why not?" he asked late one night.

"Why should we?" John asked, glaring at the television.

"We both want to," Wasn't that reason enough?

"We both want to throw ourselves head first into danger." John turned to look at him, "It doesn't mean it's the healthy thing to do."

Sherlock drummed his fingers on the "I" key of his laptop without pressing it. "We spent two years together and five apart. Two of my best years and five of my worst." He studied the screen, unwilling to look at John. "Despite the fact that I did everything I could to forget you, you remained. You and only you." Sherlock clicked on the link to study the surrounding area of the house in his penultimate back-log of cases. "I will not accept being without you again."

It was so silent. For an age it was silent.

"No," John stood up suddenly from his thoughts, "You're not doing this."

Sherlock raised his hands from the keyboard in surrender, "Doing what?"

"This." John snarled and paced like a hungry wolf. "I will not do it again."

Curious, Sherlock put the laptop on the table, "I was unaware there had been a first time."

"Don't," John shouted, despite the fact that Ava was upstairs. "Would you just leave it alone?"

"You're scared."

John's hands clawed with fury. "I am not living through it again."

There.

Those expressive eyes were catching the light, bright and almost wet as John closed his eyes and looked anywhere but at Sherlock.

"I have no intention of dying."

"You stepped off a building because he had a gun to my head." John folded his arms and stared unblinkingly at the carpet.

"Not acting on it won't make it any less true." Sherlock said shifting forward in his seat carefully.

"You wanted to win," John begun, "The most important thing to you that day-"

"Do not presume to know what went on in my head that day," Sherlock hissed.

But John didn't look mollified by that and cracked his jaw to the side, "You won't be…"John cut himself off as Sherlock stood. "You and Moriarty will play that game until you're either old and grey or both dead from it."

For a moment Sherlock could see Jim Moriarty playing that blasted song.

Staying alive.

"I doubt it," Sherlock said, and watched John jump from his proximity.

"He destroyed you," John said, still looking down. "In so many ways."

Sherlock stepped close, his mouth by John's ear and heart starting to thump quicker in anticipation. It almost made up for the hiss in his head at what he was about to say, the wince that if anyone else heard these words he'd hunt them down and ensure they deleted them from their mind.

But the moment he'd seen the reason that John wouldn't allow this to start he'd known he'd have to swallow his pride and say something that would make him feel a little unsteady.

"Keep me safe then."

As if they'd been the words John had been waiting to hear, he twisted and pulled at Sherlock's neck until their lips met.
.
John's hands had gripped the nape of his neck and were fisting his hair. It felt as if John was attempting to pour himself into Sherlock, and Sherlock was more than willing to accommodate that.

More.

"Mrs Price says you have to be married to do that," Ava chirped from the doorway.

"Jesus," Sherlock heard John mutter before the lips yanked away. In fact,the entire warm body that Sherlock had been grabbing onto vanished as John almost threw himself across the room and away from Sherlock.

A slight overreaction perhaps.

Once Ava had been sent back off to bed John let out a long breath and seemed to collapse against the wall, staring wide-eyed at Sherlock.

"You're going to be hell aren't you?" John asked suddenly, sounding out of breath.

Curious, Sherlock tilted his head.

"I mean," John drew in a ragged breath, "You'll still insult everyone I introduce you to, leave things in the fridge that shouldn't be there, god knows what's on the window sill of your room at the moment. I'm never going to get a meal out of you or into you that isn't a takeaway, you'll smoke when we fight, probably forget I exist if the case is interesting enough and use sex to make me write for you."

"Would it work?" Sherlock asked after a moment.

John burst out laughing and Sherlock felt his own mouth twitch in response.

Carefully, as if waiting for him to suddenly vanish, John approached Sherlock again, his eyes darting as if to soak up every part of him.

"If we do this," John said slowly, hands fluttering as if he wanted to touch Sherlock, "It's a full partnership. No half-truths, no white lies, no leaving me in the dark for days and weeks on end-" he held up a hand when Sherlock opened his mouth, "I don't expect you to tell me every single thing as it happens but an update on the important things every so often might be good. You know, "I'm off to meet Moriarty and might not be coming back", that sort of thing."

"You wouldn't have left." Sherlock replied, watching the way the shadows danced on John's face as he stood so close.

"And that would have been my choice to make." John's lips firmed but he leaned in closer, "A full partnership. In every sense of the word." A smile breathed across his features, "It's the only compromise I'll demand."

"The experiments?"

"I missed watching you do them." John replied evenly.

A burst of warmth flooded Sherlock's chest. "The violin?"

"I'll give it back to you." John was close again now.

"The cases?"

A gleam of anticipation soared in John's eyes. "When I can."

The idea of dashing through London with John once again made Sherlock's blood pound in his ears. But the answer brought up another, more serious thought.

"Ava? I would have thought she was the other compromise."

John didn't lose the predatory glint on his eyes, bit his face softened in amusement, "You're an idiot," he said fondly.

Sherlock pulled back. "Why?"

John just shook his head and pulled Sherlock back down for another fierce kiss. Sherlock made to pull away, disliking the idea that John saw something he couldn't.

But then John's hands were tugging at his shirt and his lips were demanding and that warm silken tongue battled his own and the need to discover what had tickled John faded into want.

Those rough hands made fast work of the buttons, which was unfair because to get John's jumper off Sherlock would have to break the kiss. As it was, Sherlock ended up standing half naked without John removing so much as his watch.

Disliking that turn of events – one of the more brilliant reasons for doing this was the opportunity to observe John, not be…mauled in return– Sherlock backed John up against the back of the sofa, talking advantage when the doctor pulled back to see Sherlock. The jumper was pushed up and off, with barely a pause in between

that and Sherlock's own attack on John's buttons.

Steady hands swept over his back and shoulders, fingers tracing the skin and muscles beneath before trailing down the spine in a way that made Sherlock gasp into John's mouth.

The more he touched the hotter the burn became.

Frantic for more he abandoned the shirt, leaving it half open and attacked the jeans instead. A quick flick of his fingers popped the top and he didn't pause in moving his fingers down to grasp the zip.

"Not here. Ava." Brat. Damned brat.

It would be quicker to let go and drag John into his room, but the lips and teeth and tongue were as essential as air now and he couldn't bear to part from them.

Instead he managed to manoeuvre them through the kitchen, avoiding the fridge and into the hall. John followed with surprising ease – practice?- until Sherlock managed to find his bedroom door.

Against his back.

Those lips were on his neck now, talented nips and deadly laps that made his heart pound. The hands were on Sherlock's trousers, pulling the belt free with precise movements.

John was just as calm in his movements now as he was on a dangerous case.

The thought made Sherlock ache to grab John and just watch how long it took for him to shake again.

And then one of those damned hands was inside his trousers, winding through cloth until it wrapped around Sherlock and tugged.

With a gasp Sherlock slammed his head back against the door as his thoughts stuttered for a second, desperate to refocus. He wanted to see John, he wanted…

"Shush," John hissed into his neck.

"You started this here," Sherlock gasped back

John smiled against his skin; Sherlock could feel the lips move and the breathe of a chuckle against his collarbone as John shifted a little, still with his hand wrapped around Sherlock's cock as the other hand fumbled for the door handle.

The door would open; their positions would have to shift…

And the second that John moved as of to prevent Sherlock from falling (as if he wasn't aware of what was happening) Sherlock twisted them.

Only to have John twist them again as they stumbled backwards onto the bed.

"You're being insufferable," Sherlock muttered as John knelt above him.

"And I've waited for this a hell of a lot longer than you have." John said in between kisses as he worked down Sherlock's chest. "Suck it up and stop whining."

"I intended to."

Sherlock watched with unabashed joy as John paused and stared up at him, clearly thrown by the innuendo coming from Sherlock.

Sherlock rolled them.

As he brushed his mouth to John's, hands working once again on the jeans, John started to giggle.

Wary that it was another trick in John's repertoire, Sherlock laid himself almost entirely on John's body, hands underneath his chin and resting lightly upon John's chest as he quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Something amusing."

"Why have you stopped?" John asked, panting and glaring at him.

"You laughed. People do not laugh while engaged in this."

John's brown furrowed, though the laughter didn't leave his eyes. "You have done this before, right?"

Unimpressed, Sherlock glared and then moved his hands, shifting slightly and attacked one of the hard nubs on the chest on front of him with expert skills.

"F…Jesus, fine." John bucked a little and squirmed when Sherlock allowed his teeth to trace the skin.

Abruptly ,Sherlock lifted his head and resumed his previous position, enjoying that frustration that made John wriggle and try to switch their positions again.

"Git," John whined. "Stop…stopping."

Sherlock moved up again, keeping a lot of his body weight on John to prevent him from rolling them over. He nuzzled John's chin up and started to trace the veins and bones there, savouring the taste that made John. The laundry detergent, tea, aftershave, sweat, that bubble bath, soap and under it all the unique taste that was just John.

It was possible to feel John's pulse with his tongue and enjoy that way that it pounded at just this act. Just above him he could hear the aborted gasps as John tried to keep quiet.

Maybe they could send Ava to a friend's house every week.

Sneaking a hand down, Sherlock continued his attack at the jeans, until finally he could push them down and touch.

John hissed as Sherlock squeezed. Next time he would study all that he could but at the moment that only thing that Sherlock wanted to look at was John's face.
It was delicious to curl his tongue up the path of John's throat to his ear. John turned his head, nipping at the join of Sherlock's neck and shoulders.

"Why did you laugh?" he whispered, noting as John's heaved in a gasp at that.

Interesting.

"B...because we're both damn stubborn." John arched up into Sherlock as much as he could manage. "I want to touch you. Watch you." He said, gripping Sherlock's back and head and pressing a kiss into the skin he'd been nibbling at.

"Next time." Sherlock offered, licking at the shell of the ear and feeling the heart beat stutter for a moment.

"Liar." John gasped.

"Well try harder next time." Sherlock amended and grinned as John laughed again. But this was a shaken laugh, as if John were starting to fall apart.

Not wanting to miss that, Sherlock pulled back a little, leaning up to stare down at John.

And found himself flat on his back.

John was chuckling again as he dipped his head down, hands wrapping around Sherlock's wrists and holding them over his head to pin him. Then there was another battle of wills as both of them fought for dominance.

And John's hand fumbled with something that wasn't Sherlock.

Hissing as Sherlock turned his head to the side, "I at least allowed your hands to roam."

"Your fault," John mumbled, "You're too crafty."

Sherlock chuckled and John stared down at him, eyes delighted and shifted again. One hand was still holding Sherlock's hands tight while the other wrapped around them both.

Gasping Sherlock stared up at John who looked ridiculously triumphant.

"John-"Sherlock started to…ask. Not beg.

He didn't beg.

"Do you have any idea how long I've wanted this?" John asked, hand speeding up perhaps a little too quick for Sherlock's liking but it could be refined later. "You, in my bed-"
"We're in my bed."

John twisted his hand and Sherlock almost saw stars for a moment.

"You under me, looking like this." The hand holding Sherlock's wrist was loosening. "I'd sit for hours with you downstairs, imagining this."

God, that image. Sherlock felt himself hurtle close to the edge.

"Pretending you were in there with me, watching me, talking to me, touching me." John leant down and all Sherlock could focus on was those eyes. "Fucking me."

Too much. And Sherlock hurtled over with John close behind.

They both lay side by side in a bed that looked like it had been used in a battle. The pillows were everywhere, the mattress sheet tangled, having come off from their movements and the duvet was half on and half off the bed.

And John was unbearably smug.

"So that was good," John managed to say after a few minutes, turning his head to Sherlock's shoulder.

"Indeed," Sherlock opened his eyes and stared at his ceiling. "At least sex will never give us any problems."

John smoothed a hand over his chest. "Should eat," he said sleepily.

"It's two in the morning." Sherlock traced the fingers on his chest, paying attention to the old scars and burns from years ago. He needed to start analysing the body in front of him, needed to know it better than anyone ever had.

Or ever would.

As soon as he could move.

"mmm." John agreed and then groaned. "I need to get up."

"She won't notice for one night." Sherlock tucked a stray pillow under his head and stared at the pad of the index finger, noting that the swirls of lines on the pad had been erased by hot metal. It was a strip, as if John had touched the end of a rifle, catching the rim.

John was too careful and too precise to make a mistake like that. Had it been an early error in his first few weeks of service or a necessary action in the heat of battle?

"It's Saturday. Can sleep in." John explained, sounding half-asleep already. "Can't sleep in here."

"I'll wake you." Sherlock offered, his hand moving until John lifted his head slightly and Sherlock's arm rested in-between the crook of his shoulder and the bed.
John sighed.

Then moved.

Irritated, Sherlock watched John roll himself into sitting position but then found his eyes drawn to the shoulder wound.

So much to explore.

John turned his head to smile at Sherlock sleepily and then frowned and shifted uncomfortably.

"God, you're going to stare at everything, aren't you?" John asked warily.

"If I have to keep body parts out of the fridge you can put up with me exploring every inch of you." Sherlock replied reasonably and watched John's eyes dilate at that.

There was a strange burning glee at the idea John was his. That he could spend days trying to see what would make John's breath hitch at the mere mention of it.
John smiled, almost shyly, which was an expression Sherlock had never really seen before. Then John spotted something and that expression disappeared.

Standing, John padded over to the corner of the room, naked, and stared at the window sill folding his arms.

"Eyes?" he asked, sounding unimpressed.

"They aren't in the kitchen." Sherlock reminded him, turning to watch John. The man still needed to gain some weight and he really needed to be under Sherlock, submitting to his gaze…

"They were watching us?" John tapped the glass and winced as one of the eyeball floated up to the surface.

"They aren't sentient." Sherlock eyed him up, wondering if he would start with the head or the feet…

"Put a pillow case over them next time or something." John muttered, reaching for his boxers and keeping an eye on the eyeballs as if they would suddenly eat him.

"Stay and I will."

John paused, "I…I want to. I do. I…" John came close to the bed again and knelt beside it, head by Sherlock's. "We'll figure it out tomorrow." He offered. "But I can't have Ava waking to us kissing and then be in here the next morning." John stroked Sherlock's hair gently, almost reverently, "I won't have a leg to stand on when she starts dating otherwise," he joked.

"She's five, she won't start dating for years." Sherlock snapped, stopping the idea in his thought before he could examine it further.

John sighed, "It's not as far off as you might think," John winced and stood, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Forbid it," Sherlock said, twisting so that he was curled around John, stroking a lazy finger on the thigh in front of him. Scars from shrapnel littered the skin in tiny shapes. By the end of the week he would be able to draw them perfectly from memory.

"Yeah, that will work." John's shoulders dropped as he started to relax again, "Christ, being raised by us two I can imagine that would be like a red rag to a bull."

Raised by us two.

Sherlock didn't let his finger halt in its movements and John was too tired to notice anything else.

"You're doing a terrible job of going upstairs."

Nodding, John stood and started to get dressed. Sherlock sat up and started to do the same.

"Where are you going"? John asked, pausing as he buttoned up his shirt.

"Out," Sherlock said, putting on his shoes, "I have to track down a wooden flute,"

John's eyes shifted to the clock and he stared disbelievingly at Sherlock.

"Seriously?"

Sherlock peered up at him, "Why would I joke about it?"

The swollen mouth gaped at him slightly and then John just nodded, "Ok," he said, sounding a little unsure.

Pressing a kiss to the corner of John's lips Sherlock was, this time, able to detect some of his own scent on John and smiled against the skin. "Tomorrow." Sherlock offered.

Dazed ,John nodded and Sherlock grabbed his coat as he walked out.

It was only when he managed to get three streets away that he paused and leaned against the wall, wishing for a cigarette.

Raised by us two.

Why hadn't he seen that one coming?

Next Chapter: Sherlock gets his first case and battles through his first encounter with a crying child.