~~~John~~~
As I was walking up the stairs I heard the cupboard being opened the tell-tale signs of getting a dustpan and broom. I smiled to myself because that meant that I wouldn't have a wound on the bottom of my foot tomorrow morning. It humbles me to know I was the one to domesticate Sherlock.
I flop onto my bed and find I can't actually fall asleep now. I think that the nap had stimulated me enough for another hour or so. 'Well I guess then I'll just laze around up here,' I thought to myself. If I went back downstairs Sherlock would question me, and despite my wakefulness right now, I'm not up for that.
I stare at the ceiling, my hand searching for my pillow that seems to have recently captured Sherlock's fascination. I wrap my hand around the white casing and pull it to my side to cuddle while day dreaming.
I have always thought that day dreaming helped cure my anxiety and stress. It gave me a distraction from my regular life and allowed me to relax my shoulder. Cases usually help with the need for a rush, and they did fix my limp after all. But lately they're lacking something that I can't quite make out. 'Making out,' I think to myself. 'There's a couple of girls I wouldn't mind making out with, but I think that there is a certain man I wouldn't mind at all. A certain consulting detective.'
I turn to my side to slide up to the pillow and stuff my face in it. Sherlock. That complete wanker. I fancy him, sure, not quite love yet. It hasn't been long enough for that. certainly not. I hadn't loved Sarah, either. I think she realized how strong the connection Sherlock and I have. I mean, I was the only one to be able to stand him for more than a few hours at a time without exploding. Hell, I've lived with him for about 6 months now.
On the anniversary - Sherlock's doing, not mine - he looked at his watch and to me and back about two times, I bet wondering whether to inform me or not, eventually he did. "John," he looked up for the third time. I flicked the paper down to look at his face gorgeous face mind you, above mine. He stared at me for a few seconds, took a deep breath with his eyes closed, and quickly muttered, "sixth month anniversary, plus a few seconds, but close enough for you." He then turned on his heel and went back to his room.
It was always odd how he comes in, looks around, finally look at me, tells me what he thought I'd want to know, then leave back to where he came from. It's frustrating, but sometimes I can get a glance of his ass when he stalks off. It always gets me fired up and then I have to strategically hide it with the paper. Terribly inconvenient but worth the wank later.
Speaking of wanking, my erection just twitched against the pillow, the memories are too clear. I sat up, still straddling the pillow and took off my shirt. It wasn't that uncomfortable taking it off because it's spring so it isn't terribly cold, as it was in the winter.
My trousers then came off, I decided to keep my pants on for the convenience of things. I reached for the tissues that were off to the side, putting them at the head of the bed. My clothes were crumpled along the floor, I'll have to move them later or else I'll trip and hurt myself, being the clumsy being I am.
Reaching down I lightly stroked along the outline of my erect cock, groaning softly at the friction, but I needed more. I reached my hand in and gripped my leaking erection, hard. Moaning louder I had to bite my lip so Sherlock didn't hear me downstairs.
I plunged my hand inside, I was eager to get to catch a few hours of actual sleep so I needed this to end quickly. Even though I am now a full grown man, I still get erections at the most inopportune times. I pressed the nail of my thumb lightly into the slit in the head, a bead of precum sliding down my length. I groaned and threw my head back in ecstasy.
I thought of shoving Sherlock against a wall, pushing inside roughly with no preparation what-so-ever and thrusting like a mad man into his tight heat. I just barely hear Sherlock moaning and thrashing around in his purple shirt, trying to get purchase against the wall. I can feel him giving up and grabbing my neck roughly to bring his lips to mine and he finally releases. I can feel him tightening around me and I'm through, I cum all over my hand and my pillow.
I sigh as I come down from my high. I reach over to grab a few tissues to clean up after myself. I wiped down the pillow and my hand. After, I threw them away and collapsed onto my mattress. I lay staring at the ceiling.
I sat thinking about our relationship. Sherlock and I had quite an interesting relationship. True, we both had our fair share of experimentation in college, but I had dismissed it and stayed true to my previous label, straight. That was until I had met Sherlock.
His name meaning fair-haired, his high cheekbones, and those legs -oh god those legs. My favorite part of him is his legs. They seem like twigs but then he runs, you can tell, even beneath those dress trousers, there are muscles there. I can almost feel them, tensing and relaxing in my grip as - honestly John, what is wrong with you, you just jacked off, calm down.
I can honestly say, ever since the war, I have absolutely no self control at all. Especially when it comes to Sherlock. He didn't help with my self control either. He'd annoy me to no end and he would always invade my personal space. He legitimately didn't understand but it'd still get on my nerves. Now I just accept it, but try to hide my reactions, such as an erection - John, for fucks sake, sto- "p thinking about that before you have to go to bed."
I quickly swivel around, snatching up my trousers on the way. "Oh my god, Sherlock! When did you get in here?! Haven't you heard of knocking, you twat?!"
"I was here when you started to clean up after yourself. Oh, and John?"
"Yes?"
"I cleaned up the glass in the kitchen and it's in the rubbish bin."
~~~Sherlock~~~
I turned to leave, seeing that John's face is getting progressively redder. I know it's because I walked in on a particularly intimate moment, between him and his hand.
"Sherlock, wait." I turn to see him studying me intensely.
"Why did you come in? Why did you bother tell me that? I heard the glass break and the door to the cabinet with the dust pan and brush."
"I just wanted to personally let you know." I uncharacteristically scratched the back of my head, seemingly embarrassed.
"Sherlock." That was his warning voice.
My own face felt a bit warm, meaning my face was also turning red. "Yes, John?" I look to the ground to get out of looking him in the eyes, my hand resting on the back of my neck.
"Sherlock. Why did you come in here?" He sounded angry now.
"I told you just a few seconds ago, John." I looked to the wall.
He hummed, "And that blush? Why can't you look me in the eye?" He was playing coy.
"When did you take up deduction, John?" I looked out the window above John's bed and studied the gray sky, overhead.
"When I feel like I'm being lied to." He stated with his arms crossed.
I nod and look at his legs. They're a bit stubby, but that just seems to add to his attractiveness. I huffed, "John, I'm not lying to you, I have no reason to."
"But there's something you're not telling me. Why else would you come up here while you obviously knew what I was doing?"
I stuttered. I do not stutter. "But John -"
"Come here you clot, I know." He knows what? His arms are beckoning me over to his place on the bed.
"I am not moving any closer unless I know for a fact that your bed is clean and you put on your trousers." Just because I like John, doesn't mean I am willing to go that far, yet. And I don't like sticky things. I might be convinced to like his sticky fluids. Maybe.
"You saw me clean up, and I washed the sheets earlier today. Come here"
I motion to his legs, "But no trousers yet, I see."
"Turn around and I can fix that." He said with a little turning motion. I didn't want to let John change his mind, so I complied and waited.
"There we go, trousers on. Now come here before I change my mind." I hesitantly walk over and stand by his place on the bed.
With a sigh John reached over and took hold of my wrist, and pulled me into his lap. I sat there, awkwardly shifting my legs around to find a comfortable position, until he pulled me down and spooned me. I stiffened, preferring to be the big spoon, mostly because I was taller, so I turned over. John didn't seem to mind, but he did sigh a little. I tightened my arms around him to pull his body closer, so I could kiss his nose. But he moved and oh my god, is he kissing me?!
~~~John~~~
I pushed my lips to Sherlock's and he immediately froze up. I kept my lips to his because it could either be from disgust or shock. I was desperately hoping for shock. But then he started kissing back with an intensity that I didn't know he had.
I pushed him so he was flat on his back. I had my eyes closed, so I couldn't tell what his face was like, but I could imagine him kissing back with his eyes wide open. The gears behind them turning, trying to figure out why we were kissing. I moved my hands to his hips and pulled my head back an inch or two.
The gears were turning and it was a sight to see. His face was as stoic as ever, but I could tell he had enjoyed that brief moment we shared. His eyes lit up in understanding.
"I'm attracted to you," he made it seem like a revelation.
"That's not new information, Sherlock," I murmured.
"It is to me, John."
"How new? A day? Week? I've known for about," I thought for a second. "Since a month after I moved in."
"An hour maybe, I'm not as in-touch with my emotions as most people,"
"Well, that's fairly new isn't it." I let my lips caress his neck.
He hums and circles his arms around my neck and brings his lips to my ear.
"Omelette du fromage."
"What the fuck, Sherlock." I say, I have studied the french language enough to know what ordering breakfast sounds like.
"I thought you'd enjoy to hear me say something in French," he leans his head back against the pillow.
"Well, now that you mention it, I am in the mood for a bit of breakfast."
"Don't be silly John, it's too late to get breakfast."
"You were taught to cook, weren't you. By your mother?"
"John. I'm a terrible cook. Besides you just ate."
"I'd like some brunch. Please, Sherlock, I know you've cooked for yourself. And wanking makes me hungry. And you disturbed my nap"
"Fine." He huffs as he sits up to go cook.
I kiss his nose and jump off the bed to let him get up.
~~~Sherlock~~~
I watch John bound down the stairs in a hurry. Apparently wanking takes all the nutrition right out of your system.
I sigh as I slowly stand and stretch out. I've been told I look like a cat, but our bone structures are completely different, so I don't know how people come to that conclusion.
I dismiss it as I descend down the stairs into the kitchen where I see John making tea for two.