Author's note: Sorry, so sorry for being incredibly late with the update. I shamelessly blame real life. :-p
To make up for the long waiting, there is sex in this one.
It is funny. It was me who needed to hear about the raping, but it is John who is brought completely back to life by talking about it.
The next day, he suggests we all go out for breakfast. It is the first time he actively takes part in our daily plans. Mummy is pleased. Daddy claps his shoulder when he thinks I cannot see it.
And from that day on,we suddenly have things to do. John starts chatting with the locals, we start getting invited over for drinks at the most famous pub, the "Blue Mouse", we have dinner in restaurants, visit exhibitions, and before we know it Emmi's birthday comes and goes and my birthday comes and goes and suddenly it is March already.
John loves us, without holding back, I talk and deduce, and we have (great) sex. The only thing I am still unable to do is to let John be the penetrating one. I try and make up for it with extraordinary manual and oral skills and succeed. And yet, it is bothering me. I want to get rid of it, want to take that final triumph away from Mary.
There is also one thing that John is still unable to do but I cannot deduce what it is. It drives me insane sometimes. When he suddenly gets cranky and I do not understand why. When he suddenly snaps at me and goes for a solitary walk before coming back into my arms, telling me it was nothing.
Then, one day, the problem finds a way up onto the surface. It is an unusually sunny day, early spring is in the air. We decided to take Emmi for a walk along the southern tip of Amrum.
We take the lower walkway because it brings us closer to the sands where the birds are resting. There are sea birds coming back from their winter quarters already, and now that Emmi's eyes are able to follow flying birds, she loves nothing more than to watch them all day.
There had been rain the day before, and at one place the walkway is blocked by a landslide and a "Do not pass" sign. John stares at it as if insulted personally.
"Let's carry the pushchair over it. We are alone here anyway," he says and freezes when I do not start moving.
Carrying Emmi's pushchair over it would be an extreme waste of energy, so I suggest we take the upper walkway instead.
At that, John explodes. "It's … no, we won't … you can't ..." he stutters and turn to run away.
Only that the sandy earth is blocking his way on the one side of the walkway, and Emmi and I are blocking the other side. He is caught. He turns right and left like a caged tiger, angry energy emanating from every pore of his body. For a second, he is seriously tempted to push us away.
Emmi watches him in confusion, and frankly, so do I.
He takes a step towards us – and then suddenly stumbles and sinks down to his knees. There are tears running down his face, and I really do not understand why this little inconvenience bothers him so much.
I try to embrace him, and he lets me, ragged sobs shaking his body. Luckily, Emmi is so fascinated by his outbreak that she watches us quietly from her pushing chair without demanding any attention at all.
John is unable to talk for a long time. When he calmed down a bit, he sniffs into my shoulder.
"Sorry, I … I'm sorry."
Apparently. But though forgiveness is not the topic here, it is granted anyway. What I really need to know is what just happened inside his head.
"I don't understand you," I admit, feeling defeated.
He nods. "I know," he says, not offering more. (Not able to. Not now.)
Without further comment I manoeuvre the pushchair over the sand and we proceed in silence. Emmi quickly forgets the incident, watches the birds, and happily exclaims every time some of them fly above us.
John puts up a smile for her, a little forced smile that most likely mirrors mine. After sixty-four minutes we return her to my parents and John goes into our garden, pulling me along.
He walks up and down for a while. Then he sighs. Then he shakes his head.
"I don't want to talk about it," he says, while his body expresses the need to do just so. He takes a deep breath and starts again, "It is unfair. I don't want to hurt you, that's why I don't want to bring it up. It is my problem, not yours, and ..."
"There are no such things as 'your problems', John," I tell him (gently). "Everything that hurts you hurts me as well." (Damn, I sound a bit like Mummy. Hope John will tell no-one afterwards.)
He just looks at me for a moment, indecisively.
"Tell me," I simply say, and John finally obeys.
"On the walkway, you just … you gave up." He has to take a few breaths. His face is working all the time. "And I … you also gave up … then. And I asked you not to. And you … you promised." He is finally able to look at me again.
"You promised not to give up, but you did, didn't you? In the end, you gave up." He is nearly crying now, and so am I. Because I know what he is talking about, and I know that he is right.
"You didn't understand that I needed you to create a diversion for Mary." (The first time he says her name. That is a good sign, right?) "I tried to tell myself that you did, but you didn't. You thought ..." He is shaking, still keeping a distance between us.
"You thought I allowed you to die. You … It is not fair, Sherlock. I'm not fair, I know, but you … You gave up and you were willing to die right in front of me. Again. I can't ..." He is choking on his words.
All my instincts tell me to embrace him, to tell him everything is fine but I do not move. Because he is right. And as unfair as it might be, as understandable my giving up might have been, he is right.
"I am sorry," I offer, and he shakes his head.
"God, you shouldn't need to be sorry, Sherlock. She pushed you so far .. I am not being fair."
That does it. I have had enough of his nonsense. With two wide strides I close the space between us and (rather roughly) pull him into my arms. He makes a choking sound once more but presses himself against me.
"I am sorry, John," I repeat. He nods. Wants to say more but doesn't. Nods again.
I pull him even closer, press my cheek against his hair and refuse to let him go for thirty-eight minutes. After some time, he stops trembling, and in the end, his body relaxes against mine.
When he steps back to look at me, there are so many things to say crossing his mind. I can deduce most of them. It does not matter at all that none of them make it out of his mouth.
Because his eyes tell me that he loves me, and that somehow, an enormous weight is pulled off his shoulders.
"You boys need some time on your own," Mummy says one day, a pro pros of nothing. Daddy nods, and before John or I can protest, they book us a hotel in Flensburg.
"They sent us on a sex weekend, didn't they?" John asks when we are sitting on the ferry to Dagebüll.
"Yes," I say, trying not to look too pleased. I fail.
John smirks.
"I am not so easy to get," he quips. "I demand dinner and dancing before giving away my body."
Well, no problem there.
When we arrive in Flensburg and get out of the cab in the city, I am overwhelmed by the sheer mass of people. Not that much, really, but after spending so many months on an island with only 2,200 regular inhabitants, it feels like I am walking through a metropolis.
My mind starts racing, deducing five people per minute. I am only half aware of John guiding me towards our hotel (smiling). I think I am sharing some of my deductions with him but I am not sure. No time to listen to myself. My mind is working at full speed again, finally, and I love every second of it.
When we reach our room, I am exhausted and happy.
John just shakes his head in (faked) annoyance. "How can I compete with hundreds of strangers?" he asks jokingly.
Instantly, my mind focuses on him. He is a bit tired from the journey and didn't like the coffee we had on the ferry. He hates the over-exaggerated maritime pictures on the walls and would like to take a shower. He is watching me, admiring my fast deductions and aroused by the way I am looking at him now.
I probably should not have said that one out loud.
"Yes, I am," he admits good-heartedly, "but I still insist on dinner and dancing."
Suddenly, my heart skips a beat, for this man standing in front of me is really, really John. The John I missed for so many months. The John I was scared I would never see again.
"I love you," I blurt out.
His face softens immediately. (No sign of fear. No hesitation.) He comes closer, cups my face, and I close my eyes. I feel his thumb stroking my cheek. Then he pulls my head a little closer. His breath on my cheek makes my heart beat wildly. His lips are soft, so soft when they touch mine.
It is a slow kiss, with some passion, yes, but also with tenderness and so slow that you can get lost within it. My hands are finding the way to his back on their own, my body seeking John's. It feels a bit like melting underneath his fingers.
With a fluid motion I sink into his arms when he breaks the kiss. Someone sighs, probably me.
"I l ove you, too," he whispers. Then he holds me tight and the world is perfect for a while.
During dinner, John is completely focused on me. No flirting with the waitress, no glance spared for the other people around us. He only takes one look around the brewery and then stares into my eyes again. It feels heavenly.
We talk about light stuff. Emmi, mostly. Some island gossip. I deduce a few of the more interesting people around us. John listens in awe but does not bother to look at them.
We avoid talking about the future, content in our little bubble. I make him smile ten times before dessert.
The meal is good, so is the beer. We are both a bit tipsy when we leave for the little club I researched on the Internet. Going to a club is not what we usually do, but John insisted on dancing and I do not see him in a ballroom.
The small dance floor is filled with a few people, not too much to cause a crowd but not too little to make dancing awkward. The music (some contemporary piece John recognizes) is loud. I can feel it in my solar plexus.
Maybe it is the beer we already had, maybe it is the mood between us since the kiss earlier that day. Whatever it is, it makes us drift along with the music for a while. (Watching John "dance" is the funniest thing I have ever witnessed. He misses the beats and lacks any grace but he is happy with it. I could watch him being happy for hours. Even when he is jumping about like this.)
It only takes a few songs before we attract people's attention. Soon there is a woman trying to dance up on me. Dressed up in alarming colours, with a hair-do that only underlines a certain parrot-ness. When I subtly dance away, she follows. I am not really used to that kind of problem (and not entirely sober). When I try to scare her away I realise that the music is too loud for her to hear my (rather mean) deduction on her feeble sex life. She just sees my mouth move and smiles (while checking out my lips). (She approves of what she sees.)
Just when I am ready to flee to the bath-room, John appears. He is not completely sober either, and in a possessive mood. For a second I think he is going to start a quarrel but then he simply turns towards me and dances closer.
Well, so close that there is little doubt left about the sexual nature of our relationship. I would like to watch the parrot woman disappear but John's body is pressed against mine and his hips are moving (more or less) in time with the music and he is bumping against me again and again and it only takes a few seconds before I am completely aroused.
The music is hammering on and it leaves me in some kind of trance-like state of mind. John's hands start working up and down my spine, having somehow sneaked underneath my shirt. They leave goose flesh even though it is hot in here.
And again and again he bumps against my hips, teasingly, until I cannot (and do not want to) hold back. I pull him closer, our hips pressed against each other now, and force him into rhythm. He is as hard as I am. I find my hands on his arse, forbidding him to move away.
I briefly wonder if someone is going to throw us out any time soon for indecent behaviour.
Then John stretches his neck and kisses me. Powerful, demanding. Owning. His tongue is slipping into my mouth without any hesitation, without consideration. He wants, and he translates all that desire into that kiss.
And I want too.
And I realise that now, exactly now is the time for him to fuck me, for if I cannot allow him now I will never be able to.
Fear mixes with want and only makes me want harder. The rhythm of the music is getting faster and so are we. I try to withdraw my mouth to tell him that we need to get back to the hotel very very fast but he won't let me go. So instead I steer us towards the hall that leads outside. I lead and John follows and we are still kissing deeply. Here in the relative quietness of the hall I can hear us moan and the sound of us makes me even harder.
I am sure that my bollocks will explode if we don't make it back to that damn hotel room soon.
There is no time to pick up our jackets. A reasonable loss. I steer him outside where he finally draws back a little.
"God, Sherlock, I really think .."
"Fuck me," I interrupt breathlessly, and he laughs.
"Gladly."
The hotel is nearby. We try to walk fast but cannot stop kissing every other second, one of us always holding tight to the other. It must look like some obscure drunken dance where we are orbiting each other like desperate binary stars.
When we reach the hotel our kissing gets so intense again that a shocked business man lets us have the lift for ourselves.
Inside it, I can see us in the mirror. Two men, greedily clinging together, both aroused so badly that it hurts. When the door open we stumble towards the door of our room. I fight with finding the swipe card inside my pockets and then I fight with using it to open the door.
John's hands have found their way into my pants which is not helpful. He is massaging me inside the cramped narrowness of my trousers and I am going half insane with need. My legs start to give in when I finally open that fucking door.
We almost fall inside and John somehow kicks the door closed.
He starts to open my trousers instantly.
"Don't you dare come already," he presses out and I start sucking his throat in response. He makes the most wonderful sound, low and wanting and willing.
We both know that we won't last long tonight.
Our shoes are brutally slipped off our feet, and both our shirts do not survive being taken off in a rush.
Then we are both naked. I cannot help but stare at John's body for a second. He is fit again, lean but strong, and apparently very willing to proceed. And he is staring at me the same way I am staring at him.
For a moment, something in his expression changes. "Are you really sure ..." he starts but never manages to finish that thought because my hands find his bollocks. He almost buckles with pleasure.
"I am sure, John," I hiss into his ear, pressing him close, not willing to let him go ever again. "I am sure, I am sure."
He starts to stroke me with a little more force, knowing it always turned me on before … but it doesn't matter what has been. It turns me on again and I want it exactly like that.
John moans. "God I want you so much," he says, "I want you right now."
And he does. I can see it in his eyes and feel it in his cock. It makes me leak.
Then he takes over, shifts our positions a little while his tongue is inside my mouth again, and suddenly we are lying on the bed and he is above me.
"I want you to see me," he says, blindly reaching for the lube we brought along with good sense. He fails to reach it, so I get it myself and hand it over. That creates a little break, a moment to realise what we are doing. Our eyes meet and suddenly it is not only my body that needs him to be inside me. It is my soul that reaches out for him, that needs him to be as close as can be, that needs him to heal my final wound.
I think that he sees the gravity of it all in my eyes. His breath hitches a little. He swallows, and then starts stroking my entire body again, softer now, slower. I allow my head to fall back and close my eyes. The ultimate proof of my trust in him.
I feel his lips moving over my body, moving south, feel him shift his weight so his hands can start to open me. He must be kneeling in front of my open legs now, judging from the tilt in the mattress. The heat of passion has subsided a bit. We are highly aware of what we are doing. His right hand is trailing over my belly while the first finger of the other is sliding into me.
I have to open my eyes for a second, concentrate on not panicking. I am sure he sees it, for he starts talking to me instantly. "God, you are so beautiful," he murmurs, and goes on babbling so I can focus on his voice.
That way it does not take him long before I am ready for him.
Our eyes meet once more, and all the heat and passion and want rushes back. His wonderful face is open, his eyes clouded with lust. He is shivering in anticipation, and so am I.
I long to touch him but he is still out of my reach. So instead, I touch myself. We both get incredibly aroused by that.
"I'll do it now" he announces (needlessly) but takes a second to search my face. I nod, unable to speak right now. No idea how he manages to remain coherent right now.
I start to stroke myself, and John moans again before he finally penetrates me. The first thrust is unpleasant. I feel like he is too big and like I am too full and like I cannot go through it.
But then his hand cups mine, presses my fingers hard against my own cock, and starts moving my hand in time with his thrusts. God it feels good.
And then there is no time to think about the past any longer. Pressure is building up inside of me, and fast. John's hand on mine is anchoring my mind, and his cock is hitting my prostate every time, and his face suddenly twists, and there is want and need and lust written all over his face and I have to gasp and I am sure that he is moaning even louder than me and something is building up inside me, hot and red.
I am sweating, and breathless, and unable to tell how much time has passed since we entered the room, and my hand is pressed around my cock so hard that it almost hurts, and John is moaning again, deeper now and louder, and I think I am saying something but don't know what, and my head falls back, and I hear my own scream, and John still pushes and pushes, and I don't want him to stop, and I feel him tensing, and I still don't want it to stop but then my body arches and I feel him come inside me and suddenly I am pushed over the top as well and I feel myself pulsating again and again and again, and when I finally stop John collapses onto me.
Strange chemical things happen to a human body in those post-orgasmic seconds. So I have to giggle while pulling him closer so he can cry into my shoulder.
We are lying like that for a lifetime, him sobbing, me softly laughing, and at some point I reach for the blanket to cover us both.
It takes John a long time to calm down again. "Sorry," he sniffs after a while, "I don't know what ..."
"Hush," I interrupt him (softly). I can feel his body relaxing against mine. He will fall asleep soon. I start stroking his face, knowing it will relax him even more.
"I missed you," he mumbles drowsily.
He is sound asleep before I can tell him that he means the world to me. But it is quite all right. I have the rest of our life to tell him.
Author's note: You have probably realized that there is only one more chapter to come, some Kind of fluffy epilogue.
Big thanks to very patient betas who didn't even mind me losing their files and hence having to correct the chapter once more.