AN: it's been a while since I last wrote an author's note! So here it is! I want to thank you all my lovely follower (old and new) who are enjoying this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it down! Your support is highly regarded and invaluable at most! To all who have left a comment, I thank you all from the deepest depth of my heart, because your comment were all encouraging and lovely! I'd wish I could thank you all personally and give you a hug, but distances prevent me from doing that...so...a virtual hug to you all!
A further note: there are still three chapters to go, then this story will see its end. As always, I'm quite sad that it's coming to an end, it feels like losing a part of me and a part of you readers too! Anyway I can't say I haven't enjoyed the trip so far ;) Thank you again!
John arrived at 221B twenty minutes later and now was ringing the doorbell harshly. Seconds later Mrs. Hudson appeared at the door with a concerned face.
"John! Luckily you're here!", she said.
"What has happened?", asked John, more than worried in that moment.
"I don't know. It's the fourth time I hear him scream!"
"Oh, god.", replied John, already climbing upstairs.
As always, the door was open. Sherlock never locked it up. He said that it was unnecessary since the front door was locked. John opened it with a bang and a puff of white clouds coming from the kitchen welcomed him. It was surely a strange sight to look at. Small particles of white travelled across the room, lit by the light that was coming through the windows. They danced in the sunlight like small diamonds for a while before falling on the furniture and on the floor. John had to shook his head to understand he was not in a fairy-tale but inside Sherlock's flat.
"Sherlock!", he shouted "What the hell is happening?"
"John!", came the cry from the kitchen.
John ran to Sherlock, only to find him with protective goggles on and completely covered in the white substance that was already floating in the air. For a second John wondered if it were cocaine or some other drug, but it totally didn't look like it. It looked like…flour.
"John!", Sherlock repeated as John appeared on the kitchen's threshold "The flour hates me!"
And Sherlock pointed at three packets of flour completely ripped open and melancholically lying on kitchen shelves. Flour was actually everywhere in the small room. There was flour on the hob, flour on the fridge, flour on the floor, flour on the table, flour in the basin. Especially, there was flour on Sherlock. His blue dressing gown was spotted with white, his hands, already pale, where white as marble, his black hair was of an interesting silvery colour. It took John five seconds to understand that there was no emergency and two more seconds to find the whole sight incredibly funny. He began to laugh uncontrollably.
"What are you laughing at?", asked Sherlock more than seriously "It's a disaster, John!"
John tried to conceive a slightly coherent answer amid the giggles and the chuckles.
"Sherlock, what…", he stopped to take breath "…the hell are you doing with this?"
And he started to laugh again as soon as Sherlock gave him a perplexed look.
"I'm serious, John. This is a tragedy. The flour misbehaves."
"Sherlock, the flour doesn't misbehave. It's an unanimated object. It can't misbehave!"
"I'm telling you it does!"
John tried desperately to not laugh harder and louder. He had to breathe three or four times to regain his composure. When he finally managed to stop sniggering, he spoke to Sherlock.
"Seriously, Sherlock, what are you doing with all this flour?"
"It's a…well, was a thing.", he replied.
"A 'thing' isn't a very helpful word.", John grinned, still trying to hold back a giggle.
"It's a thing that has gone wrong.", remarked Sherlock.
"An experiment?"
It wasn't the first time in the last month that John had come to Sherlock's flat to help him with the exercises for his arm and had found him leaning on a microscope doing every sort of experiments. Once he had even been afraid to ask what Sherlock was doing, since it had totally looked like he was dissecting a human liver. He hadn't really wanted to know.
"Sort of.", answered Sherlock.
"What kind of experiment involves flour?"
"John, your mind is rather vacant sometimes.", the young man furrowed.
"Oh, insults. I came here to be insulted. Nice.", he tried to maintain a serious face, but found himself smirking.
"What day is it today?", Sherlock questioned.
"It's 22th April. Friday.", John replied, quite puzzled.
"And…?"
"And what?"
Sherlock huffed in annoyance.
"It's one month we've been together, John!"
John gawked, mouth fallen open. He hadn't really, really expected Sherlock remembering that. He had thought that he didn't care that much.
"I thought…", he tried to mutter, mouth cotton dry "…I thought you didn't remember it…"
"Of course I do!"
John could do nothing else but close the space between them and kiss him on the lips. They tasted of flour and of Sherlock. It was odd, but it was incredibly good.
"You taste of flour.", he grinned, whispering into Sherlock's ear "Happy one month together!"
Sherlock softly smiled under the layer of flour that was covering his face.
"So,", continued John "would you tell me what you are doing here?"
The young man's cheeks turned soft pink.
"I was trying to prepare…homemade pasta.", he eventually said.
"Pasta?", John looked at him in astonishment.
"Yes, pasta. I wanted to invite you for dinner…", he explained "and I wanted to cook it by myself, but the flour hates me and doesn't cooperate…"
"Wait. Have you just said that you were cooking for me?"
"Exactly what I've said. Try to catch up with me sometimes, John."
"I just…need to regain consciousness."
"Why? Have I done something wrong? Isn't this what people in love do for their other halves?"
John stared at Sherlock with the most astonished, amazed, bewildered gaze ever. For one second he had to process the sentence the young man had just pronounced, then all John could do again was kissing him one more time, harder and passionately. Sherlock didn't quite expected it and stood still for some seconds, before abandoning himself into the kiss. Lips and tongues clashed, sucked, twisted with each other. A pleasure's moan escaped Sherlock's throat and John moved to Sherlock's neck, kissing it slowly and languidly. It still tasted of flour, but John thought it tasted of love. Sherlock dropped his head back and leaned on the kitchen table, gripping its side to keep himself upright. John buried his hands into Sherlock curls and kissed him on the lips one more time, before breaking it.
"You idiot.", he said to Sherlock.
"Idiot? Why?", Sherlock asked, dazed.
"You haven't done anything wrong, you daft. This is…I don't even have the words for it."
"Really?"
John placed another swift kiss on Sherlock's lips.
"I love you. And what you were planning to do is…marvellous."
"I love you too, John."
Then his eyes turned concerned.
"But it didn't come out as I had planned. It looks like we won't have pasta tonight…", he stated, lowering his eyes.
John felt his heart breaking. The young man had tried his best and had failed. And John knew how much failing in something saddened him to no end.
"Sherlock?", John cupped the young man's face in his hands, gently stroking his cheeks "Look at me, please."
Sherlock looked up, aquamarine eyes meeting John's.
"Do you know what I think?"
Sherlock shook his head.
"I think that to make good pasta two people are needed. I think that now you need a shower. I think that I will clean the kitchen in the meanwhile. And then we will make pasta together. Ok, love? You don't need to worry this much. I'm here."
Sherlock's mouth shaped an astonished 'O'.
"Oh."
John gave him another kiss.
"Go have that shower, it looks like it has snowed on you!", he commanded, teasingly.
Sherlock said nothing, turned his back and rushed to the bathroom. John, alone in the kitchen, looked discouraged at the chaos in the kitchen, but smiled. He loved Sherlock so much. He started to clean the mess around. Fifteen minutes later the place had regained some of its previous splendour. There were still traces of white here and there, but John was abundantly satisfied with his job. Sherlock appeared three seconds later, white t-shirt and grey joggers, black curls still damp with drops of water falling down his neck. John's mouth watered at the sight.
"Something wrong?", questioned Sherlock.
"No, no. You are…", he cleared his throat "…breath-taking. You're going to be the death of me."
Sherlock furrowed in perplexity.
"I'm not wearing anything sexy.", he remarked "Quite the contrary, actually."
"Am I allowed to say that you look gorgeous in that?", smirked John.
"If you say so…"
"For once, Sherlock, will you just believe me? God, you're…I have no words to express how beautiful you are…"
Sherlock smiled and approached to John, wrapping him in his arms, lips near John's lobe.
"You're quite sexy too.", he purred in his deep, baritone voice "You know?"
John's body thrilled and shivered, Sherlock licked his earlobe.
"Very, very sexy.", he purred again against John's neck, tongue darting out to lick it.
John's blood started to pump in his veins and went down straight to his groin, which immediately responded. All the air around was sucked in and John was suddenly aware that he was going to die by lack of oxygen.
"T-the pasta…", he uttered, not sure why he had said that.
Sherlock lifted his head up from John's neck.
"Pasta? Oh, yes.", replied Sherlock with a wicked grin "We still need to make it."
"Yes, yes.", promptly answered John, red as a tomato.
"Have you ever done it?"
"Done what?"
John wasn't sure he had a brain anymore, all he could see was Sherlock a hairbreadth away from him, his tongue as he spoke, his parted lips, drops of water on his neck, down to his white shirt, making it almost transparent.
"Homemade pasta, John. Try to keep up.", snapped Sherlock moving away.
John exhaled, blood slowing down.
"No, never.", he replied.
"Good to know. Now there's two of us who don't have the faintest idea about how to do it."
"I guess you have a recipe, right?"
Sherlock picked up a piece of paper and put it in John's hands.
"Here.", he said in a huff "But it's pointless. The flour hates me."
"The flour doesn't hate you, Sherlock.", John snorted "Let me see the recipe. Two hundred grams of flour and two egg yolks. Olive oil if needed. Good. Do we have everything ready?"
"Yes.", said Sherlock, handing flour, two eggs and oil to John.
"How many packs of flour have you bought?", John gawked "Three were destroyed. This is the fourth. Any other?"
"There are other two.", Sherlock smirked wryly "I wasn't sure about my cooking skills."
John started by putting the flour in a bowl, then put the eggs in it and started to knead the mixture with his hands. Sherlock watched.
"I still don't know why it didn't work with me.", he said "And I still think that the flour hates me."
In the meanwhile, Sherlock's hand travelled to John's neck and started to trail it with his fingers. Soft touches, slow soft touches just below John's hair. John soon started it difficult to focus on the mix below. Yet he didn't want Sherlock to stop, so he said nothing. Sherlock began to trace circles and John let out a soft moan.
Abruptly Sherlock removed his hand from John's neck and John groaned in disappointment.
"Can I taste it?", the young man said.
"Sure."
And John tried to take a fork to give Sherlock a sample of it. But before he could even move, Sherlock had taken his hand and had lifted it up to his mouth, and now was sucking his fingers, eyes fixed on John. Not the usual aquamarine eyes. Pupils were dilated that much that they seemed black, lust blazing into them. A filthy moan escaped John's mouth as every finger was wrapped in the hot wetness of Sherlock's mouth. He licked each one clean, humming with pleasure and John's blood went straight to his groin once again.
"Your hands, John, your hands…", Sherlock purred and pulled John closer, chests touching "I could suck your fingers until the end of time…"
"Oh, god…", answered John, not really aware of himself.
He hadn't even had the time to understand what was happening that Sherlock had placed his hand on his groin and was tracing slow circular movements on his erection. He moaned and arched his back, hitting the shelf behind. Sherlock pinned him harder on it with his body and John whimpered in pleasure when he felt Sherlock's own erection aligning with his one.
"Sherlock…oh, god."
"Just Sherlock…", the young man purred in a grin, while biting John's neck.
Sherlock started to move, slight strokes up and down. John's cock throbbed inside his trousers and he moaned louder. Then the movement stopped. He heard a noise that he couldn't quite trace, since his head wasn't following logic thoughts at all in that precise moment. Then Sherlock wasn't before him anymore. He looked down to see that the young man was kneeling in front of him, hands on his trousers. With a swift movement he pulled them and the pants down. John gasped at the contact of his naked skin with the cool air of the flat. As he finished his operation, Sherlock looked up at John. When their eyes met, Sherlock slowly licked his swollen lips with his tongue. John swallowed and moaned at the same time. It was torture. Then he didn't feel anything else except Sherlock's mouth engulfing his erection. He grabbed the shelf behind to not fall on his shaking knees. The young man's tongue circled the tip of his cock, slowly, languidly, passionately. Every circle was concluded with a moan and a hum coming from Sherlock's throat which directly went into John's prick, making him even harder. He arched his back more, slightly spreading his legs, finally removing his hands from the shelf to pull Sherlock's hair. Sherlock hummed loud at the gesture, John pulled harder.
"Oh, god, god, god…fuck, Sherlock…", were the only intelligible words among millions of different moans coming out from John's mouth.
Sherlock took it deeper down his throat and John was completely certain he was going to pass out at the sensation. Or die. Or come only at the idea of Sherlock's mouth around his cock. The latter was the most likely to happen. But then Sherlock abruptly stopped and John felt empty. He looked down, but Sherlock was already standing up in front of him, lips swollen, eyes darting with more than lust.
"You said you would have taken me.", he said, breathing on John's mouth.
Warm, damp breath.
"W-what?", asked John incoherently.
Panting, warm breath against Sherlock's lips.
"One week ago.", Sherlock lowered his voice "You said you would have taken me."
"Y-yes.", John swallowed.
"Would you take me, now?"
"Y…es", he exhaled.
"Bed, now.", commanded Sherlock.
And he kissed John deeply, passionately, devouring the inside of John's mouth with his tongue. John managed to pull his shoes off with his feet and jump out from his pants and trousers. He gripped Sherlock's t-shirt and pulled it above the young man's head, tying Sherlock's wrists with his hands, licking Sherlock's neck with his tongue.
"I've said bed.", panted Sherlock in a moan.
As they impelled to the bedroom, clothes fell on the floor and, before even reaching the room, they were completely naked.
The sun was setting and a warm red light seeped through the curtains. Sherlock threw himself on the bed, already spreading his legs. John took some time to admire the body of his lover. The scar on his left shoulder was well visible and he leaned on Sherlock to kiss it softly. The young man answered with a soft moan. Except that, Sherlock's skin was flawless. He looked like a statue, or a god. John started to lick every single centimetre of his chest, traced the nipples with his tongue, gaining another loud moan from the young man.
"John…please…stop teasing…just…take me…please…", he panted.
"Impatient!", John answered, biting Sherlock's lower lip.
John's brain kicked in all of a sudden.
"Sherlock…ahem…have you ever…?"
The answer came immediately.
"Yes, John.", Sherlock said in a huff "Don't want to explain when, how and why at the moment though. Just…go on, please…"
Sherlock hadn't quite ended the sentence that John had already taken his erection in his own hand and had started to stroke it gently.
"This way?", he purred into Sherlock's ear.
"Stop teasing…fuck!"
Sherlock's cock twitched in John's hand.
"You like it…", John teased a little more.
"I'm going to kill you…", Sherlock moaned at a harder stroke.
"Lube? Condoms?"
"Finally!", grinned Sherlock, John speeding up his hand around Sherlock's erection "The drawer…ah…they're in the…fuck…drawer…fucking god!"
John licked Sherlock's earlobe.
"I think I found a way to shut you up…"
And he quickly moved his left hand to skim through the nightstand's drawer. He quickly put a condom on and spilt lube on his hands. He was a bit nervous. He actually knew how it worked, but theory was one thing, practice was another. He slowly pushed a finger inside Sherlock. Sherlock hissed in pleasure. He started to move it and was greeted by a twitch of Sherlock's cock.
"Fuck, John! More…"
John inserted a second finger, continuing his work, stretching him wider.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…John…oh, John…", was all John could hear coming from Sherlock.
He inserted a third finger.
"I'm fucking ready!", yelled Sherlock opening his eyes.
John placed his cock at Sherlock's entrance and very slowly pushed in.
"Gooooooood, damn good god…fuck…you're so tight, Sherlock…god…"
"John…"
After that John could only hear the sound of his thrusts inside Sherlock, his moans of pleasure, Sherlock's moans. And the world outside ceased to exist. He thrust slowly at first, then harder, then almost frantically. His orgasm built up in seconds, the sensation and the idea of what he was doing sufficient enough to bring him to the limit.
"Oh god…I think I'm…"
"Come for me, John!", answered Sherlock in a cracked voice.
John had barely the time to take Sherlock's cock in his hand once more and to stroke it simultaneously with his last thrusts. They came together, hard. John vision went blank, every sound ceased to exist and his head floated metres above his body. He collapsed on Sherlock, happy. No, happy wasn't the right word. He was above happiness. He was completely filled by love, devotion and passion. He was ecstatically happy.
He moved from Sherlock and crawled by his side. The young man was still panting, hair completely ruffled and messy on the pillow, eyes half-open under the eyelids, his whole body slightly shaking. John placed a kiss on his shoulder.
"Are you ok, love?"
Sherlock smiled the smile that was only reserved for John.
"Of course, John."
And their lips met one more time, in a soft, deep, meaningful kiss that said everything without saying a word. I love you more than everything else, that was it.
When they separated, John started to giggle.
"What's that? What's so funny?"
"Had you planned this?", he smiled "You know…condoms and lube in the drawer make me rather suspicious."
"Not quite.", Sherlock said "I actually meant to cook for you, then to take you to bed. But the flour misbehaved."
"The flour doesn't misbehave."
"You've repeated it at least three times, you're becoming monotonous."
"I'm still the boring professor.", John smirked.
Sherlock leaned forward and kissed John.
"And I love you.", he said.
"I love you too.", John replied.
They stayed in silence for a while, Sherlock resting his head on John's chest.
"Your heartbeat is a calming sound.", he whispered.
John hummed in response, eyes closed, savouring Sherlock's scent and warmth on him.
"John?"
"Yes?"
"What do you want from this relationship?"
John furrowed, then opened in a soft smile. He caressed Sherlock's curls.
"I want to be beside you every day of my life. I want to see you laugh, I want to make you laugh. I want to be the one you look at and think 'I feel safe'. I want to be the one who wakes you up in the morning and whispers sweet nothingness to you, I want to be the one beside you if you feel sad and I want to be the one able to drive that sadness away. I want to be the one that listens to you when you play the violin, and I want to be the one who praises your ability with a kiss. I want to be the one who takes you out on a date and see the envious faces of the other people, because I have you and they don't. I want to be the one who says 'I love you' every day of your life. All I want from this relationship is you."
John saw Sherlock's eyes veiled with tears.
"John…that was…amazingly beautiful…", he sobbed.
John placed a kiss on the young man's forehead.
"I didn't mean to make you cry."
"I'm crying of happiness, John…it feels good…", he whispered "Yours, John. I'll always be yours."
"And I will always be yours, too."
Sherlock dried his tears and made a terrorised face.
"John! The pasta!"
John laughed.
"The pasta is well gone. The mixture has probably become a piece of marble."
"But I wanted to eat that with you this evening…"
"Are you saying that you're regretting this?"
"Not in the slightest! Just…I wanted to eat that."
"And I wanted to invite you to Clos Maggiore to have the most romantic dinner ever. But it's too late to book. Guess that both our plans have gone to hell."
"Oh."
"Do you know what we're going to do now?"
Sherlock shook his head, tickling John's chest with his hair.
"We're going to have a shower. Together or separately, as you wish..."
"Together!", quickly answered Sherlock.
John smiled.
"Then we're going to get dressed and then we're going out to eat. How does it sound to you?"
"Angelo's?", asked Sherlock.
"Does it exist another place?", giggled John.
And they showered, got dressed and went to Angelo's.
One hour later John was eating his last piece of a delicious chocolate cake when noticed that Sherlock was staring at him, chin resting on his hands, evidently pondering. Their eyes met.
"John?"
"Yes, Sherlock? Is anything wrong?"
"Will you marry me?"
Later in his life John couldn't deny that he had dropped his teaspoon on the table and had almost choked on his bite of chocolate cake, not counting that he had almost had the umpteenth symptom of a heart failure.
"What?", he goggled, swallowing hard.
"I've asked…"
"I heard that, Sherlock! Last time I've checked I wasn't deaf.", he said "Marriage? Are you serious?"
"I've never been more serious in my life, John."
"Oh."
"Your…words. What you have said earlier…they were meaningful, passionate, soulful…nobody has ever said something like that to me, and I'm pretty sure nobody will ever do. Except you."
John melted on the divan.
"And I've stated I'm yours. And forever will be. So…will you marry me?"
John stayed pensive for a while, thoughts spinning in his head, head so dizzy he could barely recognise where he was and what he was doing.
"Sherlock…", he exhaled.
Sherlock stiffened.
"I will marry you.", he said "But…"
"But…? But what?", panicked the young man.
"But there are other things that come first. First I need to resign, and we've already discussed that I'll do it after this academic year has concluded, as you wished. Then I'll need to look for a job and find a new flat."
"You can come to live with me, John."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm asking you to marry me and you think I'm not sure about you moving in?", Sherlock smiled.
"Ok, then. I'll move in with you. But there's one more thing. And this is my condition, Sherlock."
Sherlock furrowed, puzzled.
"I'll marry you only after your graduation. This is my only condition. We'll marry after that."
"But…"
"No 'buts'. I love you and yes, I want to marry you and spend the rest of my life with you. But I also want you to complete your studies. It's important for me. Let's say your graduation will be your nuptial gift for me, ok?"
Sherlock furrowed more and John could almost see his brain cells moving.
"So…will you marry me if I graduate?", Sherlock asked seconds later.
"Definitely yes."
Sherlock grinned.
"Well, I think it's time to pass some exams then."
John smiled.
"Sherlock Holmes, you're the most impossible, absurd person I've ever known. And, god help me, I'm madly in love with you. Will you marry me?"
"What?", Sherlock goggled, astonished.
"I'm giving you the chance to decide one condition for me.", John grinned "Whatever the condition is. Except the 'I want to marry you before the graduation'."
"A condition? You want a condition?"
"I've given you one, so you might give one to me."
"My condition is…love me, John. Please. Love me until death do us apart. That's my condition. I'll marry you if this condition is respected."
"I will. I will always love you."
"And I will gladly marry you."
They smiled, lost in each other's eyes and hearts, forever.