Author's Note:
For those wanting to know more about Sherlock's past, you won't be disappointed this chapter.
John took another bite of his dinner before setting the plate down. Sherlock was behaving himself. That was a pleasant change. "Right above you?" He moved to lay on the small bench as well, the top of his head pressing against Sherlock's as he pointed up. "Big Dipper," he whispered, tracing the shape with his finger the best he could.
Sherlock snuggled into John immediately, leaning his head into his husband's. He looked where John's finger pointed to. "The Big Dipper points to the North Star, yeah?" It was the only thing he really knew about the solar system. But that was useful information; it could orient someone when they needed directions at night.
John grinned and nodded. "Yeah. See, right off there." He followed the hook with his finger. "Right there." He reached to grab one of Sherlock's hands, lifting his husband's arm and pointing at a different part of the sky. "Little Dipper," he whispered with a smile. Sure, Sherlock didn't care, but this was... romantic. Romantic in their sense, at least.
Sherlock followed their pointing fingers with his eyes. Well, he never thought he would be willing learning the solar system but John was next to him. Really, that was all that mattered. He tilted his head slightly and kissed the top of his husband's head, snuggling a little closer. Partly because he was beginning to get cold but mostly because he just like having his body pressed in as tightly as possible against John's.
"Oi, stop distracting me," John whispered, glancing at Sherlock with a lop-sided smile. "I am trying to teach you things and be romantic about it." He laced their fingers together and gave his husband's hand a small squeeze. Shit. He only knew those two. The simple ones. Would Sherlock know if he started making them up? "Right there." He cleared his throat and draw a random line between stars. "That's... Leo. Supposed to look like a lion."
"Sorry." Sherlock smirked at John a bit. He followed his husband's hand and arched a brow. "Leo?" His brows furrowed together in thought. "Isn't there something about a belt or something?" He was trying to remember his days of school when he was supposed to be learning about astronomy.
"That's Orion," John corrected softly. He knew that much. Except he had no idea where Orion actually was. "Leo, he is a lion. You know, astrology and signs and all that. Depending on when you are born," he paused. "Don't get into it. Rubbish. Just like that crap telly I got you into." He laughed softly and closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a content sigh. "This is nice," he whispered. All he could hear was the water lapping up against the side of the yacht and Sherlock's constant breathing.
"Yeah, that one." Sherlock gave John a slight smirk. "Believe it or not I know quite a bit about astrology. Learned about it while working a case for Lestrade. Someone claiming to be a psychic offered to help. Turned out they were the killer." He gave a slight shrug and glanced back up at the sky.
"Did you delete all the information after that?" John raised an eyebrow. Sherlock couldn't possibly know about constellations without knowing that the Earth went around he sun. He would have corrected John the moment he realized he hadn't pointed out Leo. "I love you," he whispered as he turned his gaze back to the sky.
"I only needed it for that one case, so yeah. No point in retaining drivel like that." Sherlock shrugged a bit. He refrained from mentioning it was one of the first cases he had worked with Lestrade on and at the time he was still highly addicted to heroin. It was amazing he remembered anything about it all. Distracted by his thoughts, it took a moment for John's words to register. "Love you too," he finally replied and gave his husband a slight sideways hug, a little tighter than intended.
If Sherlock didn't stop pulling him closer he was going to... sod it. John turned and met his husband's lips sloppily, exhaling into Sherlock's mouth. Stars could wait. That was why Sherlock's hug had been so wonderfully tight, wasn't it? Because he was just as eager as John? He had enjoyed the teasing earlier and John knew it was going to help. It had to. He couldn't wait much longer.
Sherlock was surprised by the kiss but it was a welcome distraction from his current thoughts. He returned the kiss aggressively, growling slightly as he bit John's bottom lip. He wasn't sure if he was eager because of the sexual frustration from earlier or because he was trying desperately to banish his thoughts. Did it matter? He was kissing his husband, fingers began scratching at John's back through the shirt's fabric.
John moaned into Sherlock's mouth at the sensation of his husband scratching him. Rough. Sherlock was being deliciously rough. Was it from the stuff he had done earlier? He found it hard to care and pressed into his husband eagerly. He pulled away from the kiss with a soft gasp, keeping his lips against his husband's as he took several deep breaths.
Sherlock rocked up into John roughly. He wanted, needed, his husband now. Everything was below deck though. He wiggled out from under John, grabbed his husband by the wrist and drug his partner with him in his wildly needy lust. Once they were down below, he let go of John and fumbled to get off his pants in his driving haste.
John followed Sherlock without a word, yanking his jeans down. God, he needed Sherlock to shag him. He grabbed the bag hastily, ripping it open and tossing a purple tube toward Sherlock. Grape. Why did he grab the flavored lube? Sod it, too busy now. He grabbed the box of condoms and ripped it open, grabbing one and ripping the foil open with his teeth. "Want you." He moved in front of his husband and yanked his underwear down, pulling the condom out and slowly rolling it on to Sherlock's penis.
Sherlock was feeling far too impatient to want to wait for John to put the condom on. He was already hard and throbbing. The condom felt a bit confining but he didn't care about that right now. All he could think about right was fucking John as hard as possible. Would lube need to go on the condom? He would figure that out later. He advanced on his husband and forced the other man against the wall. Instead of kissing John, he bit down on his husband's shoulder, his body pressing tightly to the other man.
John let out a soft shout, his shoulder lifting slightly against Sherlock's mouth. His body was so wonderfully close. "God, yes." He reached between them the best he could, stroking his husband through the condom slowly. The feeling of the ribs on the outside of the condom against his fingers made him moan loudly and he turned his head to breathe heavily against Sherlock's ear. What was he waiting for? John lifted one leg and wrapped it around Sherlock's hips, pressing against the wall and lifting the other one. His hand stayed between them, the strokes still slow and soft on his husband's cock.
Sherlock's mind was hazy with lust, and he continued to bite into the shoulder with loud growls. He was exhaling nosily through his nose, refusing to take a breath through his mouth. Lube. Right. He went to remove the cap but his hands were shaking. No. Not right now. The memories had triggered his desire for drugs and without them his body didn't seem to know how to function. He hadn't had any since coming back to London, he shouldn't be going through withdrawal. He screamed his rage and then slumped into John in defeat, suddenly very quiet and still except for his heavy breathing.
Something wasn't right. Deep breaths. Get calm. "Shh, Sherlock, it is alright." John let his legs drop, landing lightly on the floor and lifting his husband's head. Shit, his shoulder hurt. He could feel some blood. Something was definitely not right. "C'mere, lay on the bed." He gently moved his husband, laying him on the bed and slowly pulling the condom off. He had others, it wasn't a real loss. Taking care of his husband was more important. He studied Sherlock for a long moment. Shaking. A bit pale. There was some sweat on his brow. "Okay, I am going to make you some tea. Lay here." He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on his husband's forehead, grabbing his boxers and slipping them on as he moved toward the small kitchen on the opposite wall of their bed.
Sherlock laid down without a word. He wanted to tell John he was fine but he knew his husband would know better. He wasn't entirely sure what was wrong. He shouldn't be having this problem. It didn't make sense really but it was the only thing he could think of.
John made a small cup of tea, dropping honey into it. No milk, that could upset Sherlock's stomach. He turned toward the bed, both of his hands wrapped around the cup, and smiled softly at his husband. "Here." He moved on to the bed, passing the mug off before pushing Sherlock up to sit and sliding behind him. "Relax." His arms wrapped gently around Sherlock's lower stomach and he placed a soft kiss against his husband's temple, stretching to do it. What in the world was wrong? Being shagged was the least of his worries now.
Sherlock took the cup of tea, maintaining his silence for now. If John wasn't going to ask then he was more than happy not to share. Would he anyway if his husband did inquire? He felt stupid, foolish even. He had finally calmed down, although he was mad at himself now. He had psyched himself out. He sighed and took a sip of the tea finally, thinking too furiously to notice the change in taste of the hot beverage.
John closed his eyes for a long moment. His husband was still tense. "Keep drinking. I am not trying to demand anything of you, it will just help you feel better." He moved his hands, lifting them to rub circles into the muscles around his husband's shoulder blades. He leaned forward to place a soft kiss at the nape of Sherlock's neck. "If you want to talk, I'm here. I am not going to force it out of you,"
Sherlock gave a faint smile and small nod of his head in response to John's words. He took another drink of the tea, this time noticing the taste. It didn't taste bad really but he still preferred it with milk. "Honey?" He asked, just to say something finally even though he already knew the answer.
John laughed softly, kissing between Sherlock's shoulder blades. "Yes, honey. It is going to calm you down a bit," he whispered into his husband's skin as his fingers continued to massage the muscles he could find. Something had happened, obviously. Sherlock had been more rough with him than he had in a while. The bite mark on his shoulder had stopped bleeding, though it hadn't bled much in the first place. He was just curious now, wanted to know... but he couldn't push Sherlock. "I love you."
"Love you too." Sherlock fell quiet after that for awhile but eventually he turned so he was facing John. A frown crossed his features when he saw his husband's shoulder. "Sorry, I…" He trailed off with a slight shrug of his shoulders. He wasn't sure how to try and explain what had happened a few moments ago. He dropped his gaze into the tea, eyes furrowed in thought.
John looked confused for a long moment before following his husband's gaze. "Oh, no, it is fine." He shook his head, smiling softly. "It's fine." Because...it was. He shouldn't have been used to it but he was. Scratches, bites. It was nothing new to him now. "Don't worry about it. Are you alright? That is what matters right now, Sherlock." He reached out to gently push the mug up. "Drink. You will feel better. I am a Doctor." He winked.
Was he alright? Would he ever really be okay? Or would the past constantly torment him for the rest of his life? It hadn't been a problem before really, but opening himself back up to emotions made it difficult to ignore. "For now," Sherlock replied vaguely. He kept his gaze transfixed on the contents of the mug.
John frowned a bit and nodded, licking his lips nervously. All he wanted to do was please his husband, take care of him. Something had happened, obviously. He didn't know what. One moment they were about to shag and the next Sherlock was limp against him. He didn't want to push it, didn't want to upset Sherlock. "Okay. Do you want anything else?"
Sherlock shook his head at the question asked. He was quiet a long moment. Wasn't he supposed to be working on communication? "Do you…" He trailed off, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. When his eyes opened again, he lifted his head to look at John. "Do you want to know why I started taking drugs?" Well, he supposed it was just an excuse really. It wasn't like anyone had forced him into it. He had done it readily, all for the chance to escape reality.
It felt like somebody had dumped ice water on John. His head shot up and he met Sherlock's gaze. "Y-Yeah," he whispered, swallowing hard. He had always wanted to know what fueled his husband's decisions in the past. "If you are comfortable, that is," he added as quickly as he could. He scooted forward on the bed and rested a hand on Sherlock's knee, rubbing at his knee cap with his thumb. Comfort. If Sherlock was going to tell him John was going to be there, comfort him and let him know that he was wonderful no matter what.
Sherlock was quiet for a thoughtful moment. "You remember the first time you met my father? When he slapped me and I told you that he had done worse? Well, I never did what dad expected of me or wanted. He would beat me. I don't mean normal discipline either. I mean bruises, blood, broken bones. I guess he thought he could beat me into submission, I don't know." He shrugged slightly. "So, when I got older I turned to drugs. To escape reality. Probably not the best decision in hindsight but…" Another shrug and he fell silent.
John looked at his husband and dropped his head. That is not what he wanted to hear, to ever hear. He wanted to bring Sherlock's dad back from the dead and make him pay for everything he had done to Sherlock. He wished he could say he understood why Sherlock had turned to drugs but he didn't. Nobody ever would. He had run off to the Army to leave his life behind, Sherlock just took a more destructive past. What did he say to that? He squeezed his husband's knee and cleared his throat. It was the least he could do.
"Everyone knew but nobody did anything to help. No one wanted to upset father, except for me apparently." Sherlock gave the faintest of smirks but his eyes were distant and sad. "Anyway, when I was telling you about that case that I worked with Lestrade with the 'psychic,' it was when I was still on drugs. Pretty bad too, it was one of the first cases the Detective Inspector and I worked together. I guess talking about it triggered some kind of psychosomatic drug withdrawal. I don't know. It is stupid really," he muttered and looked away from John.
"Sherlock, it isn't stupid," John said finally, looking up at his husband. "My Dad...he was an alcoholic and I remember learning that people could stop drinking but they would always be an alcoholic. You have kicked your habit, you don't use drugs all the time anymore...but Sherlock, you will always be a drug addict." He took a deep breath, licking his lips and shrugged. "We all have stages where we rebel and you chose to rebel to the extreme. You were young. You got caught up. I can't blame you or hate you for any of it." He tugged his bottom lip between his teeth. That was all he could say, really. What else? "I can certainly tell you that you don't need braces, though." He wiggled his shoulder with a small laugh. "Perfect bite mark, that is."
Sherlock managed a small smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. He didn't want to talk about this anymore. Distraction. Usually sex would be the first thing he thought of but he certainly wasn't in the mood for it by any means. He stood up off the bed. "I am going to go fishing." He grabbed one of the rods hanging along the wall and walked back up to the deck, shivering in the night air because he hadn't bothered to put clothes on. He didn't care though and moved over to the cushions and lifted them up, the tackle box was underneath. He opened it and purposefully took his time while choosing bait.
John laughed softly and grabbed a pair of pajama pants. "Oi, c'mere." He came behind Sherlock, lifting one leg and slipping the pajama pants up before lifting the other and yanking the pants up to his husband's hips. "There." He placed a kiss on Sherlock's back and pulled away, looking out the water with a smile. Fishing. That would calm Sherlock down, get his mind off of everything. He moved below deck, grabbed a fishing pole of his own, and returned. "I am going to join you," he stated softly, moving to stand beside his husband. He picked his hook and bait before moving and casting out.
Sherlock wiggled into the pants with John's help. He finally picked out a Mepps 5, even though he should probably use a six at this depth. He did an overhead cast and flicked the line out into the still water. He didn't like just waiting for bites, he preferred to try and lure fish with a moving bait. "I haven't been fishing…well, probably about as long as I have been sailing. Just a boy, then." He didn't usually make conversation for the sake of it but he needed something else to think about.
John looked up at Sherlock and smiled for a moment. "Haven't been fishing since I was, I don't know...young. Dad was still alive," he muttered with a small snort. "And we didn't even catch anything. I remember because I cried." He looked up at his husband, grinning at the slight admission. "I wouldn't mind taking Amy out here when she is older, go fishing with her." He shrugged and watched the end of his fishing pole patiently. Nothing yet. Fishing was something he had never been good at because it meant waiting. He wasn't very good at waiting.
Sherlock had reeled the line in about half way when he got a hit. He jerked the pole to hook the fish and began reeling faster, despite the resistance on the other end. He almost had the fish out of the water, but the line snapped. "Of course." It was his own fault though, he had made the line too taut, too soon. He looked over to John. "We can do summer vacations here with little Sandi. Isn't that something families do?"
John watched the fish swim away, smiling warmly at his husband. "Yeah. When she is older, of course," he stated sternly, a small twitch at the end of his fishing pole catching his attention. "I mean, I don't want her to come out on a boat while she's young. Maybe when she is... ten, or something." He nodded a bit and cleared his throat. Another jerk at the end of his pole and he picked it up, reeling slowly.
Sherlock nodded. "You will need to teach her how to swim first." He smirked at his husband before moving back over to the tackle box. He needed to put a new leader and of course bait on the fishing line. He re-threaded the line through the hoops, snipping off the frayed end before he began tying the line to the leader. He paused what he was doing to see if John had caught what was jerking on the line.
John grinned and stood up, starting to reel faster. "Yes." He smiled eagerly before the fish was brought up. "Oh." He sighed and brought the small golden fish on to the deck. "Well, that was anti-climatic." He pulled the hook from the fish's mouth and dropped it back in the water. Now he remembered why he didn't like fishing.
Sherlock shivered again and once he got the leader on, he decided he was tired of fishing already. "You can keep fishing if you want, but I think I am going to go back below deck. Maybe take a nap." He wasn't tired really but there wasn't a lot else to do on a yacht and he would rather not try to navigate at night in water he wasn't familiar with.
John tensed and watched his husband. Had he done something wrong? He tugged his bottom lip between his teeth and stood slowly. "I will come with you," he stated softly, moving to set his fishing pole on the cushioned bench and grabbed his husband's hand. "C'mon." He stood on his toes and placed a soft kiss on Sherlock's cheek, tugging at his hand as they both went below the deck.
"Got bored of fishing already, sorry." Sherlock gave a small smirk as he followed after John. He crawled into the bed after his husband and snuggled in next to the other man immediately. He pulled the blankets up over them, to help warm them up faster. His head came to rest on John's shoulder, turning so his stomach and chest pressed into his partner's side. One hand still held onto his husband's and the other draped across John's stomach.
John shifted under the blankets and smiled. Perfect. Sherlock pressed against his side, willing to be close and snuggle. "Don't hate me if I fall asleep," he said with a soft smile, looking down at his husband. The slight rocking motion of the yacht was the most wonderful thing he could imagine falling asleep to. "And know that I love you." He placed a small kiss in his husband's hair.
Sherlock smiled. "I won't. I was planning on taking nap anyway." He gave John a sideways hug. "I love you too my dear doctor." He snuggled closer to his husband still. It was impossible to be too close John. He let his eyes close, even though he wasn't sure if would actually sleep. He had napped earlier in the day, so it seemed unlikely.
John just hummed in response, his fingers tracing shapes lightly on his husband's hand. Sleep. After everything that had happened he was exhausted. Sure, they had napped before they got on the boat, but the emotional roller coaster his husband had put them on had run him down. He took one deep breath and his finger stilled as he finally fell asleep.
It didn't come as a surprise when sleep didn't find Sherlock. He was thinking about everything he had talked to John about. He sighed quietly. He had ruined his husband's night and even this morning. He was determined to make it up to John and he knew just how to do that. He smirked to himself in satisfaction.