Sherlock rang Lestrade to inform him of the unfortunately deceased Professor and the subsequent escape of the Golem. Lestrade wanted John and Sherlock to make their way down to the Yard, but after some argument, Sherlock eventually convinced the detective that both himself and John were far too tired to deal with all of the "irritating and dim witted officers" employed by NSY. After solemnly swearing that he and John would be at the Yard first thing in the morning, Sherlock hung up the phone and cuddled close to John on their way home to their flat.
When they were walking up the stairs, John felt his legs were remarkably heavy and he felt himself sway. Sherlock reached out and placed a steadying hand around the doctor's shoulders to keep him from tumbling down. At the top of the stairs, Sherlock unlocked the door and the two men went eagerly inside. John immediately made toward the stairs that led up to his room, but Sherlock grabbed his wrist and pulled him instead toward his own room. John was too tired to be surprised.
Of course John had been inside Sherlock's bedroom before, but he still glanced around and took in the sight of it. There were books, notebooks, and papers strewn around the floor and on most of the flat surfaces throughout the room. On the dresser sat a framed collection of pinned insects, a glass dome over a skeleton of some small mammal, and a recently sanitized set of medical scalpels. On the wall was a large poster of the periodic table of elements, which John often wondered why Sherlock needed, because he was absolutely sure that Sherlock had the entire table memorized.
John and Sherlock both shed their coats onto a chair in the corner of the room. Then John sat on the edge of the newly made bed, evidence that Mrs. Hudson had recently been in to clean. The bed was a large queen sized mattress wrapped in clean white sheets and covered in a dark tan comforter. 4 large pillows in dark brown pillowcases, sat up against the headboard.
John and Sherlock took off their shoes and socks, leaving them on the floor beside the bed. John stood up heading for the door.
"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, sleep and worry thickly laced in his voice.
"I need to get some sleep clothes from my room. I'll be right back."
"Can't you just borrow something of mine?" Sherlock looked hopefully at John through heavily lidded eyes.
John rolled his eyes and nodded. Sherlock gave a smile and opened up a drawer to find something for them both to sleep in. Sherlock selected a pair of light blue plaid sleep bottoms for John and a pair of dark forest green bottoms for himself. John stripped himself out of his trousers and pulled on the ones Sherlock had handed him. The sleep pants were slightly tight in the middle but far too long for his short, muscular legs. John pulled off his jumper, leaving on the white t-shirt underneath, and then crawled onto the large soft bed.
Sherlock pulled his own trousers down, and swiftly pulled the sleep bottoms on. He then unbuttoned his jacket and dress shirt. He pulled on a thin grey shirt and made his way into the bed next to John.
Sherlock rolled over onto his side to face John, who followed suit. John extended his arm as an invitation for Sherlock to snuggle close, and of course that's exactly what Sherlock did.
John had been cold out in the streets of London, but now with Sherlock pressing close to him and the large comforter wrapped around them, he was fast being covered in a sheen of sweat. But with Sherlock breathing deeply and clinging to John like an octopus, John didn't want to move and disrupt their cuddle session. I managed to sleep in the unrelenting heat of Afghanistan, surely I can manage Sherlock's body heat. Though John wasn't sure he remembered the dessert being this hot.
Sleep took them both quickly, and they rested in dark dreamless sleep.
When the morning light first began peeking through the curtains, John found himself stirring. He could feel Sherlock still pressed against his side, arms wrapped tightly around John's torso, and his breath hot on John's neck.
John tried to stay asleep, but years of military training had taught him to be fully awake rather quickly, so he let his eyes flutter open and look over at the sleeping form of Sherlock. John's eyes scanned slowly over the sleeping detective, taking in every square inch. He wished he had a photographic memory like Sherlock, but since he didn't, he decided he was just going to have to intensely study his new lover instead.
While he was looking, he began slowly tracing circles on Sherlock's back. The pleasant pressure pulled Sherlock out of his own sleep. Sherlock's eyelids fluttered open, and John's breath was taken away. A thin beam of sunlight struck Sherlock's eyes and just that instant, and John had never seen eyes with such a wide range of colors. In that moment Sherlock's eyes were blue and green and yellow with small slivers of brown and even grey mixed in. They shone more gloriously than any jewel John had ever seen. Those big eyes were framed by Sherlock's long dark lashes, and heavy lids from a good night's rest.
In that one small moment, John couldn't resist. He pressed forward and captured Sherlock's lower lip between his own. His arms pulled the detective firmly against him, and they kissed for a few long moments, only pulling up when absolutely necessary for air.
Sherlock's hands wound their way down until he was groping John's firm arse. He used the grip to press John's pelvis harder into his own. When he was satisfied with the amount of pressure, he began slowly rocking his hips to create friction.
Their kissing was fast growing frantic and John was letting out low moans into Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock could feel his heart racing, and he ached for more contact between his skin and John's.
John decided to take control, after all Sherlock had kind of called the shots last time. He firmly pushed Sherlock until he was on his back, and then John straddled the skinny man. Sherlock looked desperate at the lack of kissing, but lost that look as soon as John began working his shirt off. Sherlock tried to pull his own shirt off, but John caught his arms and pressed them back down into the mattress.
John shimmied his hips and worked his way down along Sherlock's never-ending legs. When he was satisfied with his new location, John pressed his hands under Sherlock's bum and pressed his fingers into the waistband of both sleep bottoms and pants.
Sherlock was so wound up and eager, that he thrust his hips high off the bed to allow John the ability to pull down the obtrusive fabric. But John, seeing Sherlock's desperation decided to take his time working the trousers down. Achingly slow and amazingly sexy were John's movements. And as the trousers moved down the pale skin, John placed kissed that made Sherlock shiver, along those gorgeous legs.
Finally, Sherlock thought when he was free of his pants and trousers, but he wanted to see more of John, wanted to feel more of John. He reached a hand up and ran his fingers along John's chest, letting one finger gently graze over John's right nipple. John's breath hitched, and Sherlock wondered if he could last very long when John was making there ridiculously sexy noises.
John eased himself up so he could remove his own trousers and then straddled Sherlock once again. Sherlock reached an eager hand out and gave John's length a slow stroke, John responded by mimicking the movement on Sherlock's cock. John grinned wickedly down at the panting Sherlock who's hand had stilled around John's shaft.
"Jo...John," Sherlock panted, wanting John to move his hand some more.
"What is it love?" John asked innocently, leaning down to place a kiss in the middle of Sherlock's chest.
"Touch...move...please." Oh how John loved this, seeing Sherlock falling apart. The normally so eloquent detective wasn't able to string a single sentence together right now, and it was all because of John.
"I think I've come up with a clever little game. You have to touch me the way you want to be touched. I'll mimic you. Like a game of Sherlock Says." John watched Sherlock's pupils dilate even further, almost all of the blue was gone now, taken over by the yawning blackness of pupil.
Sherlock gripped harder on John's shaft, and when John did the same, he felt his breath hitch. He began slowly pumping John, easy and tentative at first, experimenting with the way John responded. But Sherlock's own desire was fast winning out.
Their two hands were moving faster now, and against Sherlock's will his eyes kept closing. He could hear ragged breath and little moans, but he wasn't sure if they were coming from his mouth or from John's. Sherlock began thrusting his hips lightly, and John did the same. Both men were definitely moaning now, John's more guttural grunts and Sherlock's more deep moans.
Sherlock felt himself on a precipice, it felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to jump off. The heart races, the pupil dilate, the muscles clench, and the body...explodes.
Everything was shaking. Sherlock's eyes were shut tight, but he could still hear John's heavy breathing and groaning. He could make out that John was still going. He realized that in his climax, he had stopped moving his hand, and so John had grabbed his wrist and was using Sherlock's still tight fist. Sherlock willed his eyes to open, wanting to watch as John experienced the glorious fall like he had.
And John did. Just the same, John sped up frantically then shook as he erupted in Sherlock's hand. He called out Sherlock's name, and then collapsed in a sweaty heap on top of the heavily breathing genius.
They lay this way for several moments, not wanting to disrupt the peace of the situation. But just as John felt himself being pulled back into sleep, Sherlock's phone began ringing, and reminded them both that there was a crime to solve.