Exploring Sexuality

A/N: I finished Huck Finn for school and wrote a rough draft of my essay yesterday, so I'm feeling very accomplished- sorry this is a little later than usual because of it.

Ch. 6

They fell asleep in Sherlock's bed that night, but they hadn't had sex. John said he couldn't go that fast. They both slept in their briefs though, and Sherlock's chest was a surprisingly pleasant warmth against his back in the morning. Sherlock was tapping Morse Code against his hip:

…no cases, because you yourself are a case, one I don't think I will ever truly solve. He hesitated. You're awake now. Turn around, John. Tell me it's real.

"But I'm so comfortable," John mumbled sleepily before his eyes snapped open. "Sherlock!" he exclaimed, feeling the man tense beside him as he tried to disentangle their legs and get out of bed. "I have to work!" He obviously didn't have an alarm in Sherlock's room.

Reluctantly, Sherlock let him go, getting up after him and grabbing John's hips, turning him so they were face to face. "You didn't tell me," he said, and he looked genuinely worried in a way that broke John's heart.

He placed a gentle kiss to Sherlock's cheek, reassuring. "It's real," he promised, smiling a little. "But so is time, and I'm going to be late," he added, carefully pulling out of Sherlock's arms and moving to get ready.

Sherlock nodded and took his bathrobe off the back of a chair, pulling it on for warmth, seeing as he was no longer sharing John's. "I'll make breakfast; you shower," he offered, heading into the kitchen as John bustled about and got a change of clothes. He suspected their whole situation hadn't quite settled into John's head yet this morning.

"If you cook, you have to eat, too," John called before closing the bathroom door to take a quick shower. He had a feeling Sherlock would cook more often if he hadn't made that a general rule; he was actually quite good.

He was thinking that over when it hit him. He was dating Sherlock Holmes. He had kissed him. John was in a relationship with another bloke. He wasn't straight.

John's breath got short as everything he and Sherlock had done, everything they had said to each other in the past month or so, since the teenage boy was murdered, ran through his head. And then he felt terrible, because he and Sherlock were together because some poor kid had been killed. "Oh god," John gasped, trying to calm himself down and take deep, slow breaths. He curled into a ball on the floor of the shower, soap still in his hair, clutching his chest.

Then he heard a knock on the door and inhaled sharply as it startled him. "John?" Sherlock called tentatively from outside in the hall. "John, deep breaths," he said when John didn't respond, and his voice sounded so soft, so reassuring. Just like it was supposed to when someone was having a panic attack. Or an existential life crisis. "John, it's okay. It will pass. Deep breaths, in and out."

John listened to Sherlock, told himself that he was right, that it wasn't his fault the kid had been killed. They saved Brett, and Khyle, and the hate group was in Lestrade's hands. It would be stopped. People like Harry would be safe. People like him. Like Sherlock. Like he and Sherlock were to each other. "Oh god," he repeated, taking in a deep breath and holding it a couple of seconds before letting it out again, slowly calming down. He pulled himself up and out of his little protective ball, rinsing the rest of the soap out of his hair with water that was now cold. Sherlock's reassuring voice stopped as John turned the water off, wrapping a towel around his waist. He heard ruffling outside the door and a quiet sigh, and he assumed Sherlock had let him be again. John dried and dressed himself quickly, combing his hair to make it look presentable as he remembered he was already late and had to get to work still. Sherlock had an omelet and a cup of tea ready for him when he walked into the kitchen, which made him smile a little. "Thank you," he said sincerely, looking at Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded wordlessly, eating a piece of toast himself and watching John carefully as he ate quickly. "Are you okay?" he asked after a while.

John let out a sigh but nodded. "I think so," he said, looking up at Sherlock with a small, reassuring smile. "Breakfast is good," he added. "Thank you." Sherlock nodded again, though he looked rather tense. John let out another sigh as he finished eating, hastily dumping his plate and mug in the sink. "I didn't change my mind or anything. It just all caught up with me," he assured, touching the bandage by Sherlock's temple lightly. "Don't take that off; it has to heal. I'll be back around five, alright?"

"What would you do if I said no?" Sherlock asked, curiosity mixing with sincerity in his voice.

"Probably sigh and tell you to clean the kitchen while I'm gone."

"Wrong," Sherlock said, setting his toast on the plate beside him and pulling John close to him in a long kiss. "I'll see you at five," he said, releasing John and gently pushing him towards the door. "Don't be late."

John's head was spinning again from the kiss as he left the flat, pulling on his ruined jacket as he hailed a cab. He didn't know if Sherlock meant don't be late for work, or coming home, and he let it go as a lost cause, because he was late for work anyway. He would have to remember to buy a new coat.

After around two thirty, things started to slow down, and by five, John was ready to go home, everything still weighing a bit heavily on him. He had done the shopping yesterday, so he didn't need to stop anywhere. A new coat could wait. At exactly 5:01 his mobile buzzed.

You're late. SH

I'm in a cab. JW

You're still late. SH

I did say around five. JW

John didn't get a reply after that, and when he got back to Baker Street a few minutes later, he found Sherlock actually cleaning the kitchen, and he smiled a little. He hung his jacket up and felt slim arms wrap around his waist, making him jump, but holding him close. "I might accidently punch you if you make a habit of sneaking up on me like that," John warned, turning himself around in Sherlock's arms to find the taller man shaking his head.

"It was a test," Sherlock explained, his hands roaming over John's back, crumpling in his sweater. "If you were going to punch me reflexively you would have done it just now. You will only get used to it."

"I am glad you're so sure, but if you startle me and I punch you, I can henceforth not be blamed, because I warned you," John replied, resting his hands on Sherlock's hips, placing a small kiss to Sherlock's collarbone before looking up at him curiously. "Are you alright?" he asked. "I was only at work."

"But I can finally do this," Sherlock protested, pressing a lengthy kiss to John's lips, his hands still running over any part of John he could reach, before pulling back. "And you were gone all day."

"Finally?" John asked when he got his breath back, wondering how Sherlock could manage to take it away without fail every time they kissed. He only protested a tiny bit as Sherlock pulled his jumper over his head.

"Finally," Sherlock agreed, carefully leading John backwards until his knees hit the couch. He had to apply just the smallest bit of pressure to John's shoulders to get him to sit down, then he straddled John's lap and kidded him again, his hands cupping John's cheeks.

John laughed a little breathlessly when he pulled back, putting his hands on Sherlock's still bare chest to keep him there a minute. He hadn't bothered to get dressed, so he was still in his briefs and bathrobe, which had fallen open at some point in the day. "For how long?" he asked quietly, looking up at Sherlock.

"Too long," Sherlock mumbled against his jaw, where he was placing a trail of kisses, as if he could literally kiss every inch of John's skin.

"Seriously," John murmured. "Tell me; I want to know."

Sherlock huffed a half-hearted sigh against John's neck and saved the little giggle that escaped his lips in response for a future time. "Sexually, almost since we met," he replied, looking down at John. "Romantically, since the pool. Maybe a bit beforehand." Lithe fingers traced along John's cheekbones, his jaw, the curve of his nose and lips, turned up in a smile.

"You're memorizing me," John accused softly, his own fingers interlocked at the small of Sherlock's back.

Sherlock nodded, keeping his eyes locked with John's as his fingers cataloged everything. "I want to memorize all of you," he murmured quietly, his fingers finding the chain of John's dog tags. He followed the chain to where it went under John's undershirt, looking at him with the question in his eyes. John nodded, if a bit hesitantly, watching Sherlock curiously as he pulled the dog tags out and read the basic information printed on them before letting them drop back below the hem of John's undershirt again.

"Do you have something against clothes?" John asked curiously, looking Sherlock up and down with a smile, running his hands up and down Sherlock's sides. His smile grew as Sherlock squirmed and laughed, but it quickly went away as Sherlock grabbed his wrists, holding his hands in place just over his ribs.

"Don't," he warned, and his voice was completely serious, even a little hostile, so at odds with the laugh he had let out seconds ago.

John's nodded, letting his hands relax submissively in Sherlock's grip. "Don't like being tickled; sensitive sides. Okay," he stated plainly so Sherlock would know he understood. "I won't."

Sherlock stared at him, not letting go of his wrists, but also not holding them as tightly anymore. Then he shook his head, letting go and pressing a tender kiss to John's forehead. "I don't deserve you," he mumbled against John's skin, hands resting on his shoulders.

John's brow furrowed in confusion, then his eyes widened in understanding a second later. He gently pushed Sherlock back, taking his face in is hands and kissing him thoroughly. His fingers curled in Sherlock's hair, and he kissed him in a way that he had yet to instigate a kiss, feeling Sherlock relax into him. Both of their breathing was a bit labored when they broke the kiss, and John took his dog tags off for the first time in years, putting them over Sherlock's head instead.

"John…" Sherlock protested confusedly, moving to take them off, but John shook his head, cutting him off.

"You keep them for now," he insisted quietly. "For the war you're raging inside yourself."

Sherlock continued to stare at him in disbelief, eventually composing himself enough to speak again. "And the war inside you?" he asked.

"I won this morning," John assured him, kissing his lips briefly. "Keep them, and know that I think you are quite worthy of me."

Sherlock was still looking at him in an awed sort of wonder, and he closed his hand in a fist over the dog tags now around his neck. "This is what I meant," he said, shaking his head slightly. "But thank you."

John smiled a warm smile, knowing a sincere thank you like that from Sherlock Holmes was no small thing. "You're welcome."

Sherlock smiled a little, kissing John gratefully. He traced light lines over John's chest, down his arms, mapping out muscles and the general shape of him, even outlining the bandage still on his arm. They didn't say anything else for a long while, and John sat there and watched Sherlock as he memorized him, letting his mind wander.

Sherlock truly believed he didn't deserve someone as plain as John, John could see it in his face when he had said it. All those taunts from Anderson and Sally must have caught up with him at some point. Or maybe it was before that? While he was at Uni? "We all hated him." He remembered Sebastian saying that, remembered thinking how he had thought it was a rather rude thing to say. Especially so because he seemed to mean it.

But John truly believed that, while he was quite the handful most, if not all of the time, Sherlock really was a great man. And John hoped he could get him to see that he was a good one, too.