Rated M: for swearing and adult themes, near-sex experience (i.e. cock-block).

Please note- this fic is AU and the characters are OOC. None of these characters are real. Nor are they meant to reflect real people (whether actors, celebrities or actual government officials of any nationality.) In other words, this is all make-believe

All mistakes are my own. Even the stupid ones.

Reminder, please read this fanfic responsibly. Do not drink and read fanfic at the same time.

Chapter 55

John shivered as the cold wind grazed his skin, leaving goose bumps in its wake, tingling all along his arms and the back of his neck.

Looking up, he saw the sky ablaze with stars, precariously balanced atop the frigid snow-covered peaks of the Hindu Kush.

He turned back into the warmth of Captain Holmes's embrace, nuzzling into the firm pectoral muscle of the taller man. The captain's long-fingered hands stroked John's bare arms and fanning the embers of lust and desire. John no longer cared what the other soldiers would say if they saw Captain Sherlock Homes ravishing his junior officer under the flaming night sky of Afghanistan. After all, people will talk, that's what they do. John raised his face, lips parted, silently begging for a kiss from his devastatingly handsome Captain. He was not disappointed.

John heard the wind moaning…or maybe it was him… moaning into Sherlock's mouth, as their tongues fought for control. He surrendered briefly, letting Sherlock pass his lips, exploring the dark cavern of his mouth. Then John began sucking on the firm, slick muscle, drawing it in. Sherlock rumbled his approval; his groan reverberated deep inside John, setting his blood afire. John tried

"John," said the Captain, panting softly and drawing back. "John, we have to stop…John, we can't …"

The lieutenant pulled his Captain back for another kiss, tasting tea, and biscuits and tobacco. He kissed Sherlock Holmes hard, stealing his breath so that he couldn't talk, so that nothing would stop John from consummating his love for this perfect man.

"John, you know I reciprocate your desires…" John tried to kiss him silent. "I reciprocate them ten-fold in fact," said the Captain kissing John once chastely, before pulling away from his junior officer. John was bereft, as the stars fell like tears at the loss. "Nevertheless," continued his Captain, "I do not feel that you are in any condition to engage in coitus at this time." Warm hands smoothed over his face, wiping away a burning single tear. Warm lips tenderly touched his forehead. "John," whispered his Captain, his love, his life. "John. John, wake up."

Oddly, a car honked loudly and some cursed as his mates laughed coarsely. John chose to ignore the rude anomalies; they were probably Taliban tricks. Instead he reached up to caress the lips, hidden in the dark. It felt as if those full lips smiled. Maybe the Captain had reconsidered?

"No…no, I'm good," muttered John. He blinked trying to figure out how dawn got here so quickly. He missed the stars, even the falling ones. He still shivered in the cool breeze. "I'm fine…you can take me here…now."

"Not just now, soldier," said Sherlock, his voice low and seductive.

John looked up into the blue-grey eyes of his boyfriend, who smiled tolerantly at him. It was definitely his tolerant smile. John set his jaw, knowing that he'd just said or done something stupid, at least in Captain Sherlock's eyes. It was troubling.

"John, you were dreaming," said Sherlock.

"No…" denied John pursing his lips. He blinked his heavy lids and looked around; in fact he observed. The hilltop was gone too. He was with Sherlock in a darkened room, but daylight snuck through a crack between the heavy drapes, painting a yellow stripe on the floor and the bed. The bed was covered with a dark, tousled duvet. The heavy chest of drawers lurked against the wall near the closet.

Oh.

Oh, shite. He'd just come on to his capt…to Sherlock, and Sherlock said no. Shite. Shite. Shite.

They were in Sherlock's room, and in Sherlock's bed. Christ, John had invited himself in to Sherlock's bed, and then come on to him...John had been sleeping, but still, what if Sherlock didn't want him anymore? John was pretty much in Sherlock's lap, one hand still wrapped around the back of the uninterested detective's alabaster neck. This was embarrassing.

"You were dreaming, John," said Sherlock again, with red and somewhat swollen lips. He looked happy, that was good, right?

"You're repeating yourself," grumbled John, feeling his entire body blush like a bloody bonfire.

"Yes, and as a rule, repetition is annoying. I will make an exception in your case though…"

"We were kissing."

"Obviously."

"We were kissing for real, not just in…my dream. And you were kissing back," said John accusingly. Captain Sherlock had seemed pretty damned interested actually. Maybe he did want him.

"Indeed, I could hardly resist when you attacked my mouth so vigorously."

"You were vigorous too."

"Yes…"

"More vigorous than me," said John still stupid with sleep and longing. He really wanted to go back to the hilltop with Captain Holmes, so that his posh senior officer could ravish him; perhaps it wasn't too late?

"Hmmm," agreed Sherlock, nuzzling the top of John's head.

"Why'd we stop," asked the blond petulantly.

"Because you're injured…"

"No, I'm not," lied John, badly as usual. "Well, m'not injured much," claimed John, figuring a half-truth was better than a lie. But it didn't have much success.

"Your ribs are bruised and possibly cracked."

"It's not that bad."

"You can't take a deep breath without moaning."

"I was moaning because you were fucking my mouth with your tongue," muttered John, careful to take shallow breaths, while leaning in closer, just case Sherlock chose to continue the oral exercise.

The brunet raised an eyebrow. "You also have a head wound…"

John raised a hand to his head, memory began trickling back in. But the cut was stitched, so... "Which it is all fixed. I stitched it up m'self."

"And I cannot take advantage of you when I am uncertain as to your mental status."

"My mental status?" grumbled John, his eyes dark, "My mental status is pissed off." He rolled onto his back and then bit his lips so that he wouldn't moan in pain. His back burned astonishingly, probably why he was half-sitting up against the lanky detective, in the first place. He hated that Sherlock Holmes was almost always right.

And now John's ribs and the right side of his chest were suddenly vying with his head to win the rights to kill John Watson with pounding pain. His leg ached in sympathy with his head, and his groin ached even more because it knew that nothing satisfying was going to happen anytime soon.

Sherlock's self-satisfied I'm-right-as-usual smirk faded into a moue of concern. "John, tell me what hurts and what we need to do."

John shut his eyes and sighed, trying to bring back the stars and the tingling kisses from his dream. All he got was the chill draught through the open bedroom door, which at least explained his goose-flesh and his cold nose. "Not a damn thing to do, Sherlock," said John answering the second question first. "A hot shower and some ibuprofen will dull the…the minor discomfort. Time will take care of the rest," said John soft-pedaling. After all, if he pretended it didn't hurt, maybe it would go away. No matter what, he seemed to be cock-blocked. It was disappointing.

Sherlock harrumphed, in disbelief. "There are more important things than sex right now," said the detective, reading John like an open Web page. "Tell me, John who am I? Where are we? What happened last night, and what is the sixth element of the periodic table?"

Too many questions, John tried to deflect them. "Umm, are you having trouble with your memory, Sherlock? 'Cause if you are…"

"I am fine. I am trying to ascertain, in a logical, scientific manner if you are experiencing memory deficits. Answer the questions."

"We're at Baker Street, 221b actually. You're World's Most Annoying Cock-Block of a Consulting Detective, and I saved your arse last night at that damned death-trap of a pool, even though you thought I should sit on the sidelines with your brother, the evil emperor of the known galaxy…And, ummm, Carbon. I think. Yeah, carbon." John nodded his head and squinted in the dim light, trying to read the periodic table on the wall to see if he got that right.

"You responded out of order, but the answers were factually correct, if emotionally colored," said Sherlock, rubbing his hand across his own cheek. "I can't believe that you had to stop and think about your last answer, though. Carbon has to be the third easiest element for you to remember, considering all the organic chemistry you had to take in Uni. Nonetheless, you got that right too."

"Okay. Since I passed the test, can we have sex now?" A feeble hope, in John's mind, soon dashed.

"No, I believe that the extent of your injuries will preclude copulation for at least the next day or two," said the detective, running a critical eye over his somewhat battered boyfriend. "I know what happened the rest of you, but honestly, I cannot deduce what happened to your right leg and to your back."

"My back?" said John trying to twist to look behind him, which earned him protesting ribs and another spectacular Sherlockian eye-roll of derision. "Oh, right, my back. Well, I had to jump from this plane…"

"An American C-130?"

'Yes! But how did you? I mean…How could you possibly deduce that?"

Sherlock sighed, raising his bandaged arm up to steeple his fingers in front of his face. John locked on the bandages.

"Oh God, I forgot…your arm," exclaimed John in dismay and preventing Sherlock from giving his impressive verbose explanation. "Let me see your poor arm? Did they give you antibiotics? Does it hurt much? And how many stitches…"

"My arm was adequately treated at the A and E, where I experienced the bare minimum of medical competence. I must decry the deplorable bedside manner of the doctors and nurses. Amongst other failings, they locked me in a room and allowed ruffians to mistreat me. Most unprofessional. I must insist that you treat any future indispositions that I suffer.

"You must have provoked them," said John unsympathetically. He could easily imagine how Sherlock might provoke unsuspecting medical professionals. Honestly, Sherlock was provoking him right now with his big words, persistent questions and by withholding his big cock from his deserving boyfriend.

Sherlock frowned his displeasure at the interruption and the accusation, even though he was slightly impressed that his John had so quickly ascertained the truth. At least John's mental status seemed to have returned to it's usual, non-genius baseline. John was still a bit of an idiot, but smarter than 98.5% of the rest of London. Make that 99.5%. John was so much better than almost anyone else, really.

"Allow me to summarize for you limited and now somewhat battered brain, John," said the arrogantly affectionate detective. "I was sutured, given fluids and antibiotics and a prescription for pain meds which I promptly tore up. I shall rely on ibuprofen for the pain," said Sherlock. "Now I require a more detailed explanation of your disembarkation from the plane and indeed an explanation as to how you got from the pool to the plane and thence to here."

"Thence? Thence? Who says thence? Next you'll be thee'ing and thou'ing me."

"John. I asked for an explanation."

"Can I see thine arm…"

"Later. Explanation first."

"Well, after I jumped thence into the pool…"

"You fell."

"I fell on purpose!" snapped John, sitting up and shoving himself back against the headboard with a poorly hidden grimace of discomfort. "And that's…well that's when it gets sort of fuzzy," said John, wrinkling his brow. "I was trying to swim…"

"You were trying to drown."

John gave his partner a dark look and wished he was back in his dream with a tall, dark sexy man who wanted to ravish him, and not correct his every word. Right. Maybe later. His head did hurt after all, probably from dehydration. "Right. I was having trouble trying to swim and you helped me…you saved me. Thank you by the way, for coming in after me…"

"Don't be an idiot, John. Of course I came in after you. I will always come in after you. Anyway, I already know what happened at the pool; I was there! I want to know what happened after you charged into that trap, chasing after Moriarty."

"Trap?" said John, as if tasting the word. "Well, I suppose it could have been a trap. That's the tricky part. I…I sort of remember that I had to find…was it Jim?" Sherlock had turned to sit cross-legged on the bed, absently cradling his arm. He nodded at the blond. "The rest doesn't make much sense Sherlock. I'm sorry. I guess I remember freeing a couple of POWs from the Taliban insurgents, who were being held in a…in a damp basement-thingy."

"The basement-thingy was the sports complex, and the hostages that you recall were likely Clancy and the ox."

"Um, I suppose so, because I guess I rode with Oscar and Chris and Clancy to the airport. I sort-of remember that," John reached past the sitting detective to take up his mug. The cold unappetizing dregs repelled John, but he was suddenly very thirsty. He drank the nasty sweetened concoction with great displeasure.

"You know I thought Oscar had a severe injury," John reminisced. "And I thought we were on our way to the field hospital to take care of him. And you know what, it turned out that Oscar wasn't hurt that bad at all," said John, his blue eyes wide with outrage. "In fact…I think…I think he was faking his dizziness to make me help him walk, the wanker…Umm, the other thing I remember from the basement…sports complex…thingy was that I think maybe I shot and killed this bloke, who was shooting at the POW's. I can't remember for sure… I remember the stuff from earlier just fine. I remember that I had to interrupt your flirty-game-thing with Jim, because Moran was getting ready to shoot you. And I remember shooting the Colonel, clear as a bell. I also remember the other two snipers shooting at me, but they weren't very good, even though the woman wasn't a novice. Then I shot them too, 'cause sooner or later they'd try an' shoot you. But I can't remember for sure who I shot down in the basement or where ever. At the time, I thought he was a Taliban leader. And he was shooting at the prisoners, and in fact Oscar had a nasty flesh wound on his arm…which I thought was worse...but maybe…I think maybe that the man I shot was…Jim. I think I shot Jim Moriarty. And I'm sorry, Sherlock, I know you admired him and... felt something for him…"

"Imbecile!" shouted Sherlock angrily.

The marksman hung his head. This is what he'd feared all along. Sherlock would hate John for shooting Sherlock's new love interest. It was surely a love interest; Sherlock had been flirting with Jim Moriarty for God's sake. It was all to understandable; Jim was sexy. Jim was…had been rich, handsome, challenging, elegant, two inches taller than John, and most importantly he was a genius, who could keep up with Sherlock, unlike plain ordinary John.

John had no regrets about shooting Moriarty, if he did shoot him, which he was certain that he did. Even though John would have to be a fugitive for the rest of his life. And John didn't do it because he was jealous. He did it, because the world was a better place, without that kind of evil flourishing in dark basements and public swimming pools. Most importantly, Jim couldn't threaten Sherlock anymore. Regardless of Sherlock's infatuation with Jim; the madman would have destroyed Sherlock, sooner rather than later. It was too bad that Sherlock wouldn't see it that way, of course. But John did what he had to do to save Sherlock, even if it meant losing Sherlock in the end.

John looked down at his knotted hands. He knew in his heart that Sherlock would never forgive him for killing Moriarty. Sherlock wouldn't even want to look at John now. It was time to leave. Well, they'd always have London…which really wasn't going to be enough for John. But John would have to tough it out, 'cause the world really didn't give a hill of beans about the problems of a foolish ex-army doctor and his pathetic broken heart.

Sherlock grabbed the blond's chin to drag his face up. Pale icy eyes locked on deep ocean blue. John grit his teeth, ready to accept his fate like a man.

"John Watson, do you honestly think that I cared for the man who was destroying you? The man who wanted to kill you?" Sherlock's deep voice sounded angry and disbelieving.

"You do," Sherlock answered himself, his pale eyes wide.

"Well... I understand Sherlock, honestly I do. He was a genius and interesting…"

"I never do relationships right," muttered Sherlock. "I always cock them up."

"Mmmm, what?" asked John, unsure where this was leading.

Sherlock put a tentative hand on John's arm. "I did everything that I could think of to keep you safe and make you mine, but I went wrong somewhere, John. I let you think that I cared more for a worm like Moriarty than for you. No wonder you came here to say good bye."

John blinked, "How could you possibly know that! And that wasn't even the reason why..."

Sherlock ignored the opportunity to impress John with his superior knowledge. "Give me another chance, John. Please. There, I said it, I said please."

"Yes, of course," John leaned forward, but was held back by the brunet's good arm.

"Don't interrupt me, John. It's annoying."

Lines of annoyance formed between the ex-doctor's brows.

"John Watson, please give me another chance to show you that I care about you…that I have a deep sentimental attachment to you. I wish you to remain at my side in perpetuity."

"God, Sherlock. You make it sound like a marriage proposal," said John with a breathless little laugh.

"Yes. Fine. If that's what you wish, John, we will marry."

"What? No. You can't marry someone just to keep them handy, Sherlock. You have to love them…be in love with them and want to share everything…"

"Well that's it exactly then, isn't it? I love you and…" John was staring at Sherlock with wide, owlish eyes. "Oh, Ohhh. Wait, you don't want to marry me because you don't love me?" His pale skin turned ashen. Sherlock's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed painfully. "I see. I've only made things worse…"

"No. No, no, no…you…just wait," said John pursing his lips. "Of course I love you. I think I started falling for you the day I met you," John began to grin, his face creasing in smile-lines. "I'll always love you. And I'll be by your side as long as you want…"

Sherlock grabbed the shorter man, pulling him forward into a tight embrace. The brunet's arm screamed in painful protest. John tried to hug him back, but was gasping in pain as Sherlock leaned into his chest.

Sherlock smiled ruefully, "And this one reason, why we can't have sex right now, John."

John reached out to claim his lover's good hand, intertwining their fingers together. His smile broadened into a shining grin. "I still think I could manage it, if we were careful," he said waggling his eyebrows. Then his smile faded a bit, "What're the other reasons we can't have sex?"

"Just one, John." said Sherlock, "Mycroft."

* 'Stars falling like tears' was paraphrased from the song Always by Killswitch Engaged (Actual lyrics..."and the stars have fallen like tears")

Thank you to everyone who was kind enough to follow this fic. Thank you to all of you who favorited this fic. I mean it. Thank you so very, very much.

Thank you for all the support, advice and con-crit that many of you have sent via PM's and reviews. Thank you so much for the recent reviews from…You have all been the best and have kept my otherwise stressful life full of magic and Johnlock. Thank you for the recent reviews from: 107602, JC Black, Chrwythyn1971, SloulAlchemist9310, Quiet Time, Kitsune Spyk, and NaomiCharlotte.

Disclaimers I do not own the rights to Sherlock in this universe. I still hold out a faint hope that an alternate me owns the rights to Sherlock in an alternate universe, which I will visit someday visit. I tried the boiling pot method today. It took forever which implies the creation of a localized time-warp. I did not, however, enter an alternate universe. At least I don't think I entered an alternate universe…unless my mind was altered simultaneously with the transfer… :D