Exploring Sexuality

A/N: This chapter is pretty long too, so maybe the other ones were just short..? Thank you for all the positive feedback, you guys are wonderful. Also, this is my longest fic to date! Yay! :)

Ch. 5

The cab ride back to Baker Street was almost silent, as silent as a cab ride could be, anyway. Sherlock got out and John paid the cabby again before following after him. Sherlock was already in their flat, on the couch with his hands steepled under his chin, elbows on his knees. John sighed internally and gingerly untied the makeshift bandage on his arm. Then he pulled off his coat and hung it up, heading to the bathroom to get the first-aid kit. He felt Sherlock's eyes on him the whole way. "I was talking to Brett; how bad is your head?" he called, scowling at his now ruined sweater and pulling that off too, leaving him in just his undershirt as he walked back into the living room.

"I'm fine."

"That wasn't what I asked," John chided, sitting in his armchair across from Sherlock. His arm wasn't that bad, and would take a week at most to heal completely. He bandaged it properly after applying a bit of antiseptic, then huffed and sat next to Sherlock on the couch, setting the kit in his lap. "What did they say?" John asked truly not knowing how bad it was, if it was okay for him to remove the bandage at all.

Sherlock huffed in return to John's doctoring. "It's fine, but you can do it again if you feel the need to. Take this off," he said, gesturing to the length of cloth around his head.

John smiled a little and nodded, carefully taking the bandaging off and turning Sherlock's head this way and that so he could see how much damage there actually was. He found himself acutely aware of how close Sherlock was, how his hair ruffled when he removed the bandage, how his breath hitched just a tiny bit if John touched too close to where the cut was. His wound was worse than John's, but didn't really require the bandaging around his head too. It occurred to John that they might have done that just for show, and he smiled some more. "I can't leave it open, for sure, but I don't have to put the cloth over it either," he explained, subconsciously slipping into his "doctor voice."

"You don't have to baby me," Sherlock said a bit grumpily, though he was glad it would just need a regular bandage. He hated people fussing over him, but he might grow used to it if it was John doing the fussing.

"Habit," John replied, not sounding in the least bit apologetic as he applied some antiseptic to Sherlock's temple as well before covering the cut with a large Band-Aid. "There," he said, pulling back, suddenly distinctly aware that Sherlock's face was literally mere centimeters from his own.

"I still want to talk," Sherlock said quietly, which was unusual for him, and he pulled away from John a bit, putting more space between them.

"I'm still going to listen," John replied when he found his voice again. "Let me put this away, first," he added, replacing the things to their proper place in the first-aid kit, then getting up to return it to the bathroom cabinet. When he came back, he sat in his armchair again, facing Sherlock. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Go ahead," he said with a nod.

"You have questions," Sherlock stated plainly, like he had in the cab on the way to the lady in pink's crime scene.

"Yes, but that would be me talking."

"Not while I'm answering them."

John met Sherlock's gaze, which was unwavering, worse than it had been at Angelo's. He didn't even know where to begin, he has so many questions. He tried to sort through them all, to pick one to ask first, but his thoughts wouldn't organize into comprehendible sentences.

"What did Mycroft say?" Sherlock asked when John didn't come up with anything.

John had almost forgotten that Mycroft had called, what, with all that had happened since. Almost. "He told me he knew you told me how you felt. About me," John replied, his voice a bit unsteady, remembering he said he wouldn't change it to "appear normal." He would let Sherlock know. "He said you didn't love easily, but when you did, you did so completely."

"Do you believe him?"

John hesitated. "Yes."

"Twice," Sherlock said, as if asked a question. "When I was in high school, the first time. He was my lab partner. Very bright, but straight," he continued, and John understood. "Then when I was in Uni. She was a year above me, but wanted more than I could give her."

John let that sink in, his head spinning as Sherlock continued to stare at him. "That was… romantically then, yeah?" he asked, trying to imagine, with little success, Sherlock going on dates.

"Yes."

"And…?" John pressed, not sure if he really wanted to know the answer to the question he was asking. He still didn't know which answer he would prefer to hear.

"Once. It was his first time was well. It was very awkward and not at all precise, and I've only felt it fleetingly, more off than on, since."

John stared. He had been almost certain Sherlock was a virgin, would have bet money on it. Apparently he would have lost money, too. It was weird to hear Sherlock talk about sex, as if it were supposed to be perfect right off from the beginning. So. Sherlock wasn't a virgin, had only been in love twice, and felt little to no desire to shag anyone almost ever. John knew he was going to ask, knew he wanted to know, but didn't know why it was so important, or how to ask.

It must have shown on his face, however, because Sherlock nodded. "Yes," he said again, looking John up and down once, not slowly, but not quickly either. "Yes, I am sexually attracted to you."

John's breath caught in his throat as he stared at Sherlock, trying to process the words he had just heard come out of his mouth. "I… You… Okay," John stammered, unable to keep his voice even if he wanted to. "Yeah, okay." Sherlock Holmes was attracted to him. Sexually. And romantically. Oh god.

"Too fast?" Sherlock asked, suddenly looking startled, like he was worried he might scare John off. "Too much?"

John shook his head, trying to reassure the other man. He had wanted to know, anyway. And now he did. "I... No, just… Stop a minute." Sherlock nodded readily and watched John carefully as he tried to un-jumble his thoughts again. He had to close his eyes; it was almost too much, too much to take in and process all at once. But Sherlock patiently let him sit there in the silence and figure it all out. John couldn't take the silence though, not knowing Sherlock was staring at him, waiting for him to say something else. "Can you explain the whole grey ace thing?" he asked, though he had mostly figured that part out already. It was just a little different, that was all. But either Sherlock understood, or he genuinely thought John needed to hear him explain it, because he explained it as if he were reading it out of a text book before going on to tell what it was like for him personally. John thought as he listened to Sherlock's deep voice fill the silence, letting him concentrate. But bloody hell, that voice. "Right, okay, sorry. On the other hand, stop talking." Sherlock did so immediately, though John didn't think he completely understood why he wanted him to stop. "Thank you," he said quietly, his eyes still closed.

"John?" Sherlock asked hesitantly after a minute or so, and it was such an odd expression to hear in his voice. "Would you open your eyes?" He sounded so tentative, almost worried, and John sighed softly and nodded before complying. "What else?" he asked. "Think out loud; it helps."

John looked at Sherlock and actually laughed. "It helps, my arse," he chuckled, smiling at the man before him. "You just can't stand not knowing, Mr. I Don't Talk For Days."

Sherlock stared at him as if he had gone crazy for a minute, and maybe he had, but then Sherlock smiled back. "So tell me, then," he said, not pointing out that it did help for some people.

"Why did you tense like that when I kissed your forehead?" John asked quietly instead, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. It was easier.

"Why did you kiss me?"

"I asked you first."

"You aren't a child anymore," Sherlock scolded, as if he were a child, then he sighed when John made no reply. "I wasn't expecting it," he responded honestly. "You caught me off guard."

"Because I wanted to."

"That isn't an answer, and don't you dare try to tell me it is, like a five year old."

John raised an eyebrow at the ceiling, still not looking at Sherlock. "And your answer was very enlightening." But even John had to admit it was better than his. Sherlock sighed frustratedly, as if he already regretted having started this conversation.

"It was honest," he said after a short pause.

"So was mine," John countered quietly, suddenly struck by how true of a statement it actually was.

Sherlock didn't reply for a long time. Eventually, John had to look at him again and found him staring curiously still, but he also looked torn. "I didn't want you to kiss me until you had thought about it, made up your mind. I didn't want a pity kiss, or a promise you might still decide to walk out on."

John couldn't bring himself to say anything for a minute or so, could only stare at Sherlock. He had never seen this part of Sherlock before, without any barriers. He was baring his soul to John, and Mycroft's last words to him rand through his head again. 'Do try not to hurt him.'John let out a slow, not altogether steady breath and nodded, closing his eyes momentarily to rearrange his thoughts. "I think my mind was made up long before you even told me," he whispered, opening his eyes again to look at the man sitting across from him. His partner? His boyfriend? His lover? Certainly someone who didn't look as happy as John had expected he would.

"John, you have to understand what you are agreeing to," he said slowly, looking at John evenly.

John rolled his eyes in spite of himself. "I've dated people before, Sherlock," he pointed out, but Sherlock shook his head.

"Not like me."

"No, not like you," John agreed softly, starting to grow nervous at Sherlock's tone of voice. "I wasn't aware there were other people like you." It had been meant to diffuse the tension, and John said it with a small smile, but Sherlock still looked very serious, if anything a little nervous himself.

"Exactly," he said, not taking his eyes off of John. "You know how I am. I will want to know everything, do everything. I will ask you seemingly random questions, completely serious, out of nowhere because they pop into my head and I will need to know. Sometimes I won't let go of you, and other times I won't touch you all day. I will push you, and you might not always feel comfortable because of it, so you have to tell me. Do you understand?"

Sherlock looked the closest to scared John had ever seen him, except for maybe at Baskerville, and to think that he was afraid John would change his mind, that he was scared John would leave him, made John want to kiss him again. He just nodded though, smiling a little to reassure Sherlock and letting out a deep breath. "I understand," he replied seriously, and Sherlock looked surprised. "I've always known you were a handful, Sherlock. Really, I get it. It's just going to be… different now."

"That's a yes," he said slowly, questioningly, as if trying to comprehend that John actually understood, let alone agreed.

John nodded again. "Yes." He watched as all of that connected in Sherlock's head. He looked at John with and expression of astonished joy and stood, walking the three or so steps over to John and leaning down to kiss him soundly. John's eyes widened fractionally in surprise before he relaxed, closing his eyes and surrendering into the kiss. It was gentle, as if Sherlock didn't want to push him just yet, but so desperate, so needy at the same time, and when Sherlock pulled back, John's head was spinning. "Wow," he breathed, unable to string words into proper sentences as he blinked up at Sherlock, who was looking at him with self-satisfaction, but also as if he were unsure of himself.

"You need to tell me," Sherlock said again, and for a second John didn't know what he meant.

But then it clicked, and John stood too and pressed a brief kiss to Sherlock's lips, standing on his tip toes to do so. "Eight," he said, smiling.

Sherlock just looked confused. "No, John, that was two," he corrected hesitantly, looking at John funny.

"Out of ten. I'd give that an eight," John explained, smiling still, watching Sherlock's expression change, and then he looked almost offended.

"Well then, please, do tell me how I can improve my technique," he replied, his voice low. "Do tell me, John," he murmured before pressing their lips together again. By the fourth kiss, they were both at a ten.