Exploring Sexuality

A/N: This is a super short chapter…. And unfortunately the last one for a week. I come back Sunday the 25th, but might not post until Monday. Thank you all kindly for the reviews and favorites and follows and whatnot; you're all so awesome! :)

Ch. 10

John woke the next morning to his alarm, which Sherlock had had no problem putting in his room since they had started spending the night there together.

Sherlock groaned behind him, pulling John closer. "Call in sick," he mumbled sleepily, which surprised John a little, and he repressed a small chuckle.

"I can't do that," John murmured, leaning into Sherlock's touch. This was nice. They could use a lazy morning sometime. "Were you still asleep?" he asked, the sleepiness in Sherlock's voice actually registering a bit late.

"Mhmn," Sherlock hummed, nuzzling his cold nose against the back of John's neck.

John jumped a little, carefully turning around in the other's arms to press a small kiss to Sherlock's lips. His arse was sore. "Go back to sleep, then," he instructed softly. This was a first; Sherlock was always awake before John.

Sherlock shook his head, opening his eyes slowly to meet John's. "Not unless you stay," he said, voice still rough with sleep in a way John very rarely heard it. He curled his fingers possessively around the back of John's neck, a gesture the detective seemed rather fond of.

John sighed and kissed Sherlock again briefly. "I have to go to work," he repeated, gently disentangling himself from Sherlock's embrace. He winced slightly as all the movements worsened the sting in his arse, but it truly wasn't that bad. Not as bad as he had thought it would be, anyway.

"Tell me," Sherlock said, trailing a lazy hand down John's back as he got up. Sherlock, too, got out of bed, pulling on his bathrobe and tying it loosely as John picked out clothes for work.

They usually fell asleep in briefs, and John was acutely aware of Sherlock staring at him as he got a shirt and trousers from the closet. "It doesn't hurt too bad, but I can definitely feel it," he replied, only mildly surprised when he felt Sherlock wrap his arms around his waist. He had been right; John had gotten used to it and hadn't punched him once.

"That's good," Sherlock breathed into his ear, delighting in the little shiver that went down John's spine. "I want you to feel it. To know that you're mine."

John suppressed the second shiver and again turned in Sherlock's arms, reaching up on his toes to press a kiss to the other's lips. "As if I could forget."

Sherlock smiled, one of his real, now less rare smiles, apparently very pleased to hear that answer. "I'll make you breakfast," he said, reluctantly pushing John gently in the direction of the bathroom. "Hurry up, or you'll be late again."

"Make yourself breakfast too," John replied, grabbing a pair of underpants before heading to the bathroom. "And that was your fault!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes as John shut the bathroom door behind him, padding into the kitchen on bare feet. "It was my fault you had an identity crisis?" he called from the fridge.

"Yes!" John called back, a small smile on his face as he started the water and put it on hot, stepping in a moment later.

Sherlock smiled to himself and made pancakes from scratch because they actually had everything that was needed. He put tea on for the both of them as well, and by the time John was showered, shaved, and dressed, there was a small stack of pancakes waiting for him as Sherlock cooked two small ones for himself.

When John walked into the kitchen and saw the small mess Sherlock had made on the counter and he raised an eyebrow, though he was smiling. "Did you make these from scratch?" he asked incredulously, watching Sherlock's back as he gingerly sat down.

"No, I just thought you would appreciate it if I made a mess in the kitchen," Sherlock replied with almost an audible roll of his eyes. "You usually do." He hated when John asked stupid questions.

"Thank you," John said sincerely. "For the pancakes, not the mess," he clarified quickly. They didn't have any syrup, so he put jam on his pancakes. "They're delicious," he added when Sherlock joined him a couple minutes later.

"They always taste better from scratch," Sherlock replied with a small shrug, though he was smiling under the praise.

"I like it when you cook," John said when he finished, getting up to put his plate and empty mug in the dishwasher. "You actually eating then too aside." This was the second actual meal that the other had eaten in less than 24 hours.

Sherlock smiled a little, watching John contently as he cleaned up. "I know you do." Of course he knew.

John smiled in return and kissed Sherlock's cheek. "I'll see you when I get home," he said, pulling on his jacket. Both his arm and Sherlock's temple had healed by now, but Sherlock had a very faint scar. "Remember work means no texting," he added at the door, hearing Sherlock scoff unappreciatively as he left.

Work was slow today, and he felt a small burn in his arse the whole day. When he got out, he checked his mobile. Four texts from Sherlock.

I'm on a case. SH

Then there were three different addresses. His way of telling John where he was and that he was okay. The last one was sent a little over an hour ago, so he gave the cabby that address. The man gave him an odd look, but nodded, pulling back out into the traffic to take John to the mystery place.

Around ten minutes later, his mobile pinged, and he looked at it quickly in case he had to change the address. The text was comprised of only one work, and it wasn't signed.

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