Hey guys,
Happy New Year to you all. Hope you are all safe and healthy.
Also, let's have a group hug and squeal is delight because JOHNLOCK IS CANON, finally! I'm ecstatic!
Anyway, here is the next chapter. Some information about the case, Natalie aaaaaaand SMUT, at last! Also, this is my very first attempt writing smut, so be considerate. Hope it won't be too silly.
I've noticed that this story is getting less and less reviews. Why so? Are my boys doing something wrong? If so, then I'm sorry for disappointing. LBut if you are still reading, drop me a word. Your reviews do matter, a lot. As a writer that is the only way I get to know how my stories are being received, or should I change something about them. Anyway, I do hope people are still with us.
Koala hugs, cookies and a John plushie for- Raven and Nauss for your very insightful and lovely reviews. And all those who favourite/followed this story or me! Thank you so much! Love you.
Another IMPORTANT NOTE: I have a Johnlock one-shot, "Had A Little Domestic" which is a text only fic. Initially, I planned to make it a single chaptered story, but now I want to add some more chapters and I am open to plot suggestions. As it is a text-only fic, the other chapters will follow the same format, too, and will be one-shots. So, if you have a promt or an idea, you can PM me, or leave it in the review column. Thank you.
Phew!
Now, enjoy the read!
Rolling In Deep
"We've been circling for time baby
We're coming down to land tonight
The wait is over and now it's easy
Everything is fine.
The closer you get the better I feel
The closer you are the more I see
Why everyone says that I look happier
When you're around the better I feel..."
- 'Closer' by Dido
"Sherlock, is that you? Hello? What's wrong? What happened? And how do you know my full name? I don't go by that anymore! Where're you? Are you in trouble?"
Sherlock closed his eyes and told himself not to snap. He could feel John squirming with barely concealed curiosity beside him. But it wasn't the time for him to get distracted. They had a killer to catch.
"Where're you?"
"Me? Um, at the clinic, why? Sherlock, are you on drugs again? 'Cause I swear to God if you're-"
"Stay there until I come. And I mean it, Natalie, do not leave the rehab."
"O-okay, but Sherlock, are you-"
"I'm safe. John's with me. Stay where you are, don't leave."
Before Natalie could respond Sherlock ended the call.
"Was that your nurse Natalie? The rehab Natalie, who never took any shit from you?"
"Really, John?" Because only John could ask such an inane question, in every stupid way possible, at a time like this, and could get away with it too.
Apparently, those two words had their intended effect on John, as he looked chastised.
"No, it's- oh God! It's Natalie!"
But Sherlock was already texting someone, and John realized that it was up to him to summon a cab this time. Well, he would show Sherlock how to call a cab like a sane person.
Fifteen minutes later they were sitting in a cab, summoned by Sherlock.
Sherlock gave John a sidelong glance, who was bubbling with questions but chose not to ask in case he disrupted Sherlock.
Considerate idiot. "You have questions."
"Erm...yeah."
"Well, ask then."
"Isn't Natalie's last name Lewis?"
"Yes, or, at least her social profile says so."
"Is she married, then?"
"As far my deduction goes, no."
"So, you don't know for sure?"
"I fail to see how that particular knowledge should have been important to me."
"You've spent months with her!"
"Yes, in a rehabilitation facility, where she was my appointed nurse and I, her patient."
"Well, it's not as if you didn't communicate at all."
"Well, forgive me for not being able to sit around for an idle chit chat with my nurse while I was busy detoxing the remaining drugs from my system."
"I thought you guys were friends."
"Obviously you thought wrong, because I don't have friends."
John's finger stopped abruptly where it was tracing patterns on the dusty glass of the cab window.
As soon as those words left his mouth, Sherlock wanted to take them back. But the damage was done, and the only response he got from his companion was a subdued, "Of course, you don't."
~0~0~0~
John was still reeling from the conversation when they arrived at the clinic. He was almost certain that Sherlock didn't mean it. The detective was agitated and, therefore, did the only thing he knew to cope up with a stressful situation: he decided to be hurtful.
But that didn't make it alright; didn't make the lump in John's throat go away. And now he stood in front of the place where he first met Sherlock; where Sherlock wished he stayed dead.
Just bloody wonderful.
"Sherlock!"
The shriek came from Natalie as she saw them entering the hall.
"What happened? What's wrong? You didn't tell me anything over the phone! Are you using again? How the hell did you know my name?"
John had no idea that anyone else, other than Sherlock, could ask that many questions in a single breath. He just stared at her in astonishment. But soon his staring morphed into a frown as he watched Natalie checking Sherlock's pupils.
Nobody should touch Sherlock, especially when John couldn't. And why the hell the brat was acting so pliant?
As if reading John's mind, Sherlock swatted Natalie's hands with more force than necessary. "Will you stop your fussing? I said I was all right, didn't I? Now, you need to answer some-"
"It's Dr. Watson, right? Hi, how're you? Sorry, I didn't notice you before, though Sherlock said you were with him." Natalie ignored Sherlock completely and turned to John.
Yeah, yeah, as if it's possible to notice anybody, let alone me, when Sherlock is in the vicinity. John mentally grumbled, but answered with a dazzling smile, "That's alright. I'm not really very noticeable. And please, call me John."
"Trying to go unnoticed with that smile? Not a possibility, John. In fact, I would say that-"
"What you'd say about John's smile, I think, can wait until we confirm whether you're going to be a homicide victim in the next few days. So, shall we proceed to talk, then?"
Natalie's eyes went saucer sized and she gawked openly. "Homicide what?"
"Um, Ms. Lewis, can we go somewhere a little more private?"
Natalie turned to John hearing him address her, and stammered in a very confused way, "Huh? Oh, yeah, there's- there's a room- homicide victim?!"
~0~0~0~
It was the same room where John first met Sherlock. Fuck.
Both of them stood at the doorstep, none willing to enter. Natalie was muttering something under her breath, but now noticed that only she had entered the room.
"Is something wrong? We won't be disturbed here. It was Sherlock's, remember?"
"Yes, yes, we remember, yeah." John interjected quickly because beside him Sherlock was completely still. And just when John was about to reach to him, Sherlock blinked and entered finally. John bit down a sigh.
Natalie watched them with uncertainty and confusion.
"Now, I have some questions to ask and I expect you to answer me truthfully. Not that you can get away with lying to me, but that will only waste our time. So, shall we begin?"
Despite looking utterly baffled, she nodded anyway.
"Your actual name is Anna Natalia Shaw, but you have officially registered yourself as Natalie Lewis. You are not married. Widowed?... Nope. So, that leaves us with adoption. You were adopted."
Two pairs of eyes were zeroed on the detective. Sherlock narrowed his eyes in return.
"Um, was there any question for me?" She asked Sherlock, then looked at John in case she had missed the question part.
John bit the inside of his cheek. Sherlock looked smug.
"Well, I take that as affirmative. Now, the question is why? Why Olivia Shaw gave her two children up for adoption? Or was it only you?"
"H-how that fuck do you know so much about me?! What's going on? You know my mother?! What am I missing, Sherlock? Doc- John?"
John had this sudden urge to smack the git on the head for bombarding Natalie with such personal questions without any preamble. But apparently they were not talking, so instead of executing his plan to hit Sherlock with a frying pan, he chose to answer Natalie.
"Please calm down, Ms. Lewis. There's nothing to be panicked about..er..yet. We, uh, Sherlock is investing a case and for some reasons your family has come up in the investigation. If you please answer the things he has asked you, they will help him to solve the case."
She looked like she was struggling to wrap her mind around the whole thing. She shook her head, open and closed her mouth several times before saying, "Look, I haven't the slightest clue what's going on. What investigation? What about my family? I just- Fuck, it's crazy! Okay, alright. Uh, I- we, me and my brother, we're twins actually...so, um, we both are adopted. Christ! Is my family in trouble? Please, Sherlock, I need to know if they are!" Natalie blurted out, looking thoroughly ruffled.
"You and your brother, yes. Your whole family? Mm, I don't think so. There's only one way to ensure their safety, which is answering my questions. Do continue." After stealing a look at John, which he was caught stealing, Sherlock added, "Please."
Natalie wet her lips and swallowed before starting again. "I and my brother, Freddie, were six when our mother passed away. She was suffering from cancer. We were living at my Mum's sister's at that time. After Mum, my Aunt and Uncle adopted us. Lewis is my Uncle's last name."
"What about your father?"
"Mum never really talked about him. Told us that he left her when she was pregnant. She never met him again. It was a forbidden topic in our household."
"You or your brother never tried to find out more?"
"Well, I did. Tried, I mean. But my only source was my Aunt, and she told me that Mum never said anything about my father. And honestly, I wasn't overly eager to waste my energy and time over someone who never gave a fuck about us."
Sherlock stroked his steepled fingers under his chin and regarded Natalie thoughtfully.
"Where's your brother now?" The question came from John.
"Um, in Scotland, with my Aunt."
"We need to go to Scotland, now." Sherlock got up abruptly.
The resulting "what?!" was exclaimed in shocked unison.
~0~0~0~
"Why do we need to go to Scotland?"
Natalie couldn't decide if she should scream or just break into tears.
"Because I need to speak to your aunt." Sherlock spoke in a way as if she had the logical capacity of an earthworm.
"Why?"
"Information about your parentage is needed."
Both glared at each other. John was enjoying the show from the sideline. Well, 'enjoying' was a bit of an overstatement, but still...
"Look here, either you're gonna tell me what the fuck is going on, or I'm going to complete my shift and go home."
Sherlock frowned at her, "You can't go home. It's not safe."
"Urgh." Natalie snapped her mouth shut before it could turn into a full blown screaming. Instead she exhaled loudly and said, "Tell me already, Sherlock."
Shooting another sidelong gaze at John (seriously, what's with all these pouty stealthy looks? You're not really five, Sherlock, John mentally huffed) Sherlock said, "You are targeted to be assassinated. Or at least all the clues indicate that you and your brother are the actual targets."
"WHAT?! Assassinated? You mean like killed? How? OHMYGOD! I- I- I have to go; I have to reach Freddie. Oh God! Why didn't you tell me sooner? Why aren't you doing something? Catch the killer! You- you're the detective. I've to go. Freddie. Sherlock, do something!"
Sensing this probably would be the last straw for Sherlock's patience, John butted in.
"Hey, it's okay, it's alright, Ms. Lewis, calm down, it's okay. Everything is in under control. Nothing will happen to you or your brother. Sherlock is doing everything that's needed to be done. NSY is with us in this too. It's not a good time to lose your head, so I need you to calm down, yeah? For you to stay alone or telling your brother anything isn't a good idea right now. I assure you, if Sherlock thinks you are not in immediate danger, then you can relax a bit. We'll be off to Scotland the first thing tomorrow."
That seemed to have a somewhat calming effect on the nurse, but she still looked frantic.
"But John, you don't understand. Freddie, he can't defend himself. He's not capable of doing so."
Before John could utter another word, Sherlock interjected, "We need to go to Scotland now. Oh no, no need to look so alarmed. Nothing will happen for a few days now that the fourth body has been discovered. But there is no point in waiting. So, John, let's go."
"It's almost 9:30, Sherlock! At night!" Exasperation, exhaustion were oozing out of John.
"Your observational skill is top notch, as usual."
John bristled. "And how are we going to go there? Because I'm not taking a bloody train at this hour."
"Don't be daft. We won't be going by train. Call Mycroft to send a car." Sherlock said so casually as if John asked Mycroft to bring their groceries on a daily basis.
"I won't be calling Mycroft for anything. He's your brother; going to Scotland is your idea, so you'd be the one to ask him for this favour." John made sure to emphasize on 'favour', knowing well how that word would grate on Sherlock's nerve.
He hit the bull's eye.
"Asking for a car which usually is always parked in front of our home is hardly a favour." Sherlock sniffed disdainfully.
"Still sounds like a favour to me."
Sherlock glared at John but said nothing.
~0~0~0~
"What's going on, John? I know I sound like a broken record but I don't understand anything. Can't you tell me a bit more?"
It was strange to see the usually daring girl so scared and subdued. Her fear was more for her family than for her own life. John could sympathize with her. Ever since he had known Sherlock, he was constantly worried about Sherlock's life. Despite the detective's reluctance to disclose more than he did already, John decided to let her know a bit more about the case.
"Someone is killing twins on purpose. Twins who share the same birth date and year. Scotland Yard had contacted Sherlock for solving it. And while gathering the data, we came across, Mrs. Newby. We got your number from her. Oh, that reminded me that I promised her to let her know you were okay, but it would be better if you called her yourself. I know it's easier said than done, but please try to stay calm, Ms. Lewis. We'll try everything keep you safe." John gave her a tight smile.
"Please call me Natalie. And it's my brother I'm more worried about." Natalie now turned to look at Sherlock, who was a few paces away from them, busy talking over the phone, and asked, "Do you think he'll be able to solve it before...before it's too late?"
John was also looking at Sherlock. He paused before answering Natalie's question. Did he think Sherlock would solve the mess in time? "I'm sure of it." Was his brief answer, and he meant it with all his heart.
"I've asked Lestrade to contact the St. Andrews Police Department. They will appoint guards to your house. Now, we should go." Sherlock looked at John then. "Have you called Mycroft yet?"
"No."
"And why not?"
"He's your brother, you call him."
"John."
"Alright, I'll call him once we're home. I can't go on anymore, I'm knackered."
Their eyes met and for a brief second and John thought he saw a guilty fondness in Sherlock's eyes.
"And you will stay with us tonight." The detective said it firmly to his ex-nurse.
"What? No, I can't! Just drop me at my flat. I'll be fine for another night."
"There is a 'kill me' sign painted on your forehead. Forgive me if I wrongly presumed that you'd be more willing to save your life than indulging yourself with the hopelessly stupid sentimentality that within the comfort of your own flat nothing could touch you."
Sherlock was agitated, almost angry. Alarm bell started to ring within John's head. And before Natalie could protest again, John interrupted.
"Sherlock is right, Natalie."
"Of course, I am."
John rolled his eyes but continued on, "You're not safe at all. It's just a matter of one night. So, please?"
Natalie huffed in annoyance but gave in.
~0~0~0~
They offered her John's bedroom, upstairs.
"Are you sure? I mean I can totally take the couch." She was clearly hesitating, but after receiving kind reassurance and a smile from John and a dismissive hand gesture from Sherlock, she bid them goodnight and retired upstairs.
John dropped his smile and sprawled over the couch immediately. Boy, was he tired!
Sherlock, who was perched on his own chair, was shooting him surreptitious glances. John chose to ignore them, knowing that the question would come flying anytime now.
"Have you called Mycroft?"
Damnit. "Must I?"
"I already said-"
"Yeah, okay, I know what you said. I haven't forgotten anything you said to me today. I'm calling him alright? Jesus." John's snapped without really intending to.
"John I-" Sherlock sounded mildly guilty.
But John wasn't ready, so he made a show of calling the Elder Git. The Younger Git got the point.
"Dr. Watson, what a surprise." The bland drawl sounded anything but surprised.
"Really Mycroft? 11 at night and you're still a ponce? Don't you ever rest?"
"Well, I'm always at your service, John." Came the snark but then a sigh followed. "So, what has my dear brother done this time?"
"We need a ride to Scotland tomorrow morning."
"Oh? Is this related to the case Sherlock is currently investigating?"
"Yeah."
"And pray tell what brings Scotland into the picture?"
John bristled at the tone and considered cutting the call. But on a second thought, he thought it might not be a bad idea letting Mycroft know a bit. At least, he would feel better knowing that Mycroft would keep Sherlock safe if anything happened.
"Natalie is one of the targets. Her family is in Scotland."
"You mean Sherlock's personal nurse at the rehab?"
"Yeah."
"And why you two need to visit her family?"
Yeah, this was a bad idea, because there was so much a man could bear. "You know what, badger your brother with your questions. I'm sure he'll be ecstatic. My job was to ask for a car. I've done that. Have a goodnight."
John cut the call with all his might. He rubbed his temple in an effort to soothe his throbbing head. God, he needed a soak and some pain killers.
"Why did you inform Mycroft about the case?"
Of course, there was still Sherlock and his accusation to face. And he did face it the only way he could think of at the moment. He lashed out.
"I'm not your PA or your butler! You don't get to boss me around, Sherlock. Don't like the way I handle things? Next time do it yourself. I'm not bound to answer you." He turned towards the bathroom, then threw over his shoulder, "I'm not even your friend," and walked away.
He strained to hear whether Sherlock was calling him. When nothing came, he slammed the bathroom door shut.
~0~0~0~
John knew he was acting like a prat, but he was hurting too. Mentally as well as physically. He head was aching like fuck; limbs were refusing to move. There was a dull niggling pain in his shoulder wound, and he couldn't make himself feel guilty even though he knew he should.
After revelling in the warmth of the hot shower and towel drying his still aching body, he realized he had forgotten to bring his change of clothes with him, which was still on the couch. Groaning, he wrapped the towel around his waist and opened the door.
Sherlock was standing there, just outside the door, clutching John's clothes and fidgeting.
John melted at the sight.
"You forgot these." Sherlock thrust the grey track pants and the black holey-and-comfy t-shirt at John.
"Sherlock-"
But Sherlock was already walking towards the couch and talking, "You take the bed, in my bedroom that is, and I'll take the couch."
John hobbled after him while putting on his clothes.
"Sherlock-"
"Sleep is out of question tonight. I don't sleep during cases, but you know that already."
He was babbling and pacing and avoiding John's eyes.
"I'll just lie down a bit. What time Mycroft will send the car? Hmm, maybe I will arrange some data-"
"Sherlock!"
Sherlock stopped abruptly, holding a newspaper which he was moving from the couch to...somewhere.
"Sherlock?" John stepped closer. Sherlock didn't answer, didn't turn back. John closed the gap between them and hugged his boyfriend from behind.
"I'm sorry that I yelled at you."
"I don't understand."
"What you don't understand?" Voice muffled as John buried his face in between Sherlock's shoulder blades, inhaling him deeply.
"I merely stated a fact. Why did you become so upset?"
The question cut through the fluffy could that had begun to surround John.
"You meant what you said?"
"Of course, I did."
Feeling John retracting his hands Sherlock captured the one that was resting above his heart and squeezed it.
"I don't have friends, John. I only have one. I have you."
There was a long silence in which both of them stood still, wrapped around each other, soaking in the confession and commitment. Then John moved towards the bedroom, tugging Sherlock along with him.
"Come on, you need to lie down."
"What? No, I don't need to. And I told you to take the bed."
"Can't we both have the bed?"
~0~0~0~
When John asked his boyfriend to share the bed he had other ideas. Not this. And 'this' being Sherlock lying rigidly on the left side of the bed, facing the wall, away from John. An awkward silence hung between them.
John bit his lower lip and started chewing, as if he could squeeze some ideas out of it.
"So, um, Scotland, huh?"
"Yes, yes, it is."
"Uh, have I told you how brilliant you look when you do your deduction thing. You look beautiful. And when you start-"
"John?"
Sherlock had turned and was lying on his back now. There was something in his voice that made John stammer out a "Y-yes?"
"Can I kiss you?"
"Oh God, yes."
This was the first time Sherlock initiated a kiss. He was shamelessly demanding of them but never initiated any physical intimacy before. John was ecstatic, to say the least.
The kiss was tentative, hesitant, shy. So unlike Sherlock.
It was a mere brush of lips. It was mind-numbingly intense.
Sherlock propped himself up on his elbows and pressed his lips on John's. Before John could kiss back, could deepen it, Sherlock pulled away, looking at John with his huge silvery eyes.
John cupped his jaw, thumb tracing that sharp, chiselled cheekbone. An errant curl was hanging over that smooth pale forehead. John tucked it with the fondness of a lover. Sherlock pressed his face on John's palm.
"Why did you fight for me?" Like his kiss Sherlock's voice was also uncertain.
John couldn't guess as to what fight Sherlock was referring to but he felt that that didn't matter.
"I'll always fight for you, whether you want me or not."
Sherlock leaned in and bit John's nose playfully. "I want you to. But that was completely unnecessary. Those words don't affect me…..anymore."
Ah, so that fight. And the added 'anymore' wasn't lost on John, too.
"So, you consider yourself a 'freak' by choice, then?"
"I deduced and came to that conclusion."
"Based on what data?"
Sherlock just blinked at him without answering, dipped his head to steal another kiss. John let him but stuck on the topic.
"What data, Sherlock?" He asked again, lifting his hand to card his fingers through that curly mess. When Sherlock made an irritated sound for failing to distract, John answered it for his boyfriend. "Based on her words. Their words."
Sherlock just scowled but didn't deny, and John continued, fingers trailing down that jaw-line.
"I'm not sorry for what I said to that foul woman. Yeah, sure, I wasn't going to get physically aggressive or anything, unless she aimed a gun at you, mind. But nobody- and I mean it- nobody is allowed to call my boyfriend anything other than," John paused to guide Sherlock's lips over his own for a brief kiss- "brilliant"- kiss- "amazing"- kiss- "clever"-kiss- "extraordinary"-kiss- "sexy"-kiss- "prat"-kiss- "git"- a bite on the tip of the nose- "and Sherlock bloody Holmes. And if anyone has a problem with the way I defend the love of my life,"- kiss again- "they can happily fuck off."
"Very eloquent."
Sherlock almost dived in to kiss John this time.
Nothing was tender about this kiss. It was like a battle for dominance. Lips met lips with a bruising force; teeth clanked with the contact. Entwined tongues pushed and fought for conquering each others' burning mouth.
John fisted his hands on the back of Sherlock's pajama top, pressing the long lithe body to himself more tightly, wanting to touch more, feel more, taste more.
Sherlock whimpered and moaned and John swallowed every sound greedily. Then he pulled away from the kiss and began to leave wet trail along that delicate porcelain jaw. He bit and sucked on a soft earlobe, making Sherlock moan more loudly.
Sherlock was going limper with every kiss, suck and bite, John could feel it. He was also aware of the hardness that was poking his inner thigh through Sherlock's flimsy pajama bottoms. John gave it a rub with his thigh and grinned when Sherlock rasped out a breathy "John!"
"You like that, love? You want that? Let's have some more, then." With that he turned them around, so that he was now on top of Sherlock, and promptly captured that plump bottom lip in between his teeth and sucked on it while positioning them, pelvis to pelvis; their raging erections touched each other through the clothes. The friction it caused was delicious. John groaned in arousal and gave a playful grind. Sherlock cried out.
"John-"
"Sh, sh, sh, it's okay, I've got you baby. We have a guest tonight, remember? We don't want to freak her out now, do we?" Another grind followed it.
"Nnng-no."
"No, no we don't."
John renewed the kiss more fervently. Sherlock snaked his arms around the body above his, thus trapping John. And he squeaked in surprise when subtle fingers tweaked his nipples over the shirt. John smiled at the reaction and repeated the move. Sherlock squeaked again.
John, then, abandoned his assault on the nipples only to move on to the buttons of Sherlock's pajama top. His boyfriend was overdressed for the occasion and John couldn't have that. It took all of his self control not to yank the clothing out of his way. Every opened button exposed a bit more skin which John laved quite eagerly. He latched on a rosy nipple the moment it came into view, sucking and prodding it with his tongue to hardness. Sherlock arched his back, nails digging deeper into John's back. On a particular suck and bite, Sherlock jerked upwards, thrusting his cock to John's.
That was the final straw for John.
He pulled away and stared at the writhing body under him. His Sherlock. His gorgeous, whining, very aroused boyfriend. His lover.
Fuck slow and sensual. Time to speed things up.
"May I?" John's finger rested on Sherlock's waistband.
It took awfully long for Sherlock to open his eyes and respond, "But I- I...never be-before..."
"It's okay, it's alright, love. I'm here, I've got you. We won't do anything you're not comfortable with, alright? And we can- we can stop anytime, right now, if you want to. Though I'd like to carry on very much, so, don't get me wrong, but you can totally, you know, shove me off or- or-"
"John?"
"Yeah?"
"You talk too much."
"Cheeky."
John sat up and took his t-shirt off in record time before he did the same with Sherlock's pajama bottoms.
Sherlock's cock looked delicious, just like the rest of him. It wasn't anything out of a porn advert or hung like a horse or something equally ridiculous, but it was Sherlock's, so for John it was the best cock he had ever laid his eyes on.
John's heart soared with ecstatic joy. This was it. Months of pining, longing, wanting would end here. This was his Sherlock with all his inexperience, vulnerability, want, arousal and his addictive presence. And he was letting John be the first person ever to see him like this. All for John's to have, to love, to cherish, to protect.
John's Sherlock. Sherlock's John.
"So beautiful."
Sherlock's face was flushed. He bit his lip and reached for John who caught the hand immediately and linked their fingers together, kissing his knuckles.
"You are my world, Sherlock, my home."
"John."
John smiled at him. It seemed his name was the only thing Sherlock was being capable of uttering.
"Please let me love you."
Sherlock just tugged their linked hands as his answer.
John started his kissing trail from Sherlock's forehead. Then two eyelids...tip of the nose...both cheeks...lips...chin...the smooth long throat...collarbone...two pink nipples...chest...stomach...that deep naval...the trail of dark coarse hair that ended on that thick patch of pubes...the base of that delectable cock...the expanse of the shaft...and finally his lips stopped at the glistening tip where a bead of pre-come was gleaming.
Above him Sherlock thrashed, arching his back and neck, mumbling incoherent words. Sensing the loss of contact he opened his eyes and tried to prop himself up on his elbows to see why the hell John's lips were not on his cock.
"May I?" John licked that drop of pre-come, mainly to see Sherlock's reaction who flopped down again immediately, thrusting his hip upwards. The message was clear. John enveloped the head with his warm mouth.
~0~0~0~
Sherlock was floating around on an astral plane because that could never be Earthly. The moment John swallowed his cock his mind went completely blank. John always managed to have that kind of effect on Sherlock, but this sensation was unparalleled.
This was the first time he had let anybody see him like this. But John wasn't just seeing him. He was unravelling him. Shedding him off his layers with which he had protected himself so far. And honestly, if he had any idea that the act of fellating could feel like this then he would have demanded one from John as soon as he came to that rehab.
"Ah, ahh, ohhh...John.." Sherlock moaned as John gave a particularly hard and mind numbing suck, lapping his glans with that supple and wicked tongue and stroking the base of his cock with his hand. Sherlock let his fingers through John's soft golden strands and gripped them tightly when John hummed. That seemed to encourage John as his eagerness doubled (as if that was even possible), and he felt a wet tongue circling his urethra.
Sherlock's whole body began to tremble. He was close. Very close.
"John- John, please, John- I'm- I think I'm gonna.."
John pulled away looking up. His eyes were wild, lust filled and glazed over. Lips glistening with saliva and pre-come. Sherlock shivered at the sight.
"Then come for me, love."
Sherlock would have done exactly that, then and there, if not for the more pressing need he felt at that moment.
"N-not like this. Together. With you. Want to touch you. T-together, John."
It was very difficult for him to produce something coherent at this point, but he managed somehow, panting and stammering.
John hesitated and Sherlock feared that he wasn't going to agree. He took the cock once again, swallowing more than the half of it, gave it a long and languid suck, pulled away with a wet pop and said, "Okay."
~0~0~0~
John got up to undress. Finally. His erection was dripping and aching painfully from the lack of any attention. He didn't mind, though. This was about Sherlock. It was his first time and John would do anything to make it perfect for him. He looked at Sherlock and gave his own cock a long slow pull from base to head, without averting his eyes from Sherlock whose widened eyes were glued to his cock.
"Come here, please. I want to touch you." Sherlock pleaded.
John grabbed his outstretched hand and pulled him forward, making him sit up, and almost straddling John's lap.
"Here, touch it, yeah, like that.. ahh, yes!"
Sherlock's long slender fingers wrapped around John's cock hesitatingly, and John groaned in pleasure. "Oh God, yes." The cock twitched in Sherlock's hold and he began to stroke it slowly. John leaned back, palms flat on the bed, pushing his cock in Sherlock's grip; eyes screwed shut, moaning.
It went for a couple of minutes until John croaked out, "Wait wait wait, no more, love, please stop."
Sherlock stilled immediately. "Did I do something...wrong?"
"No no no, not at all! You've done it so good that a moment more and I'm gonna spill all over your hand."
"But don't you want to?"
"Yes, I do, but with you."
He pulled Sherlock more to himself so that they could wrap their legs around each other. John cupped Sherlock's face with both hands and brought their foreheads together.
"We will do this together, Sherlock. Just the way you want. We both want."
John lined their cocks together and wrapped his hand around them and began to wank. Sherlock bit his lip viciously and watched with hooded eyes. The heat and the skin on skin friction were too intense to bear.
There wasn't any lube as this wasn't exactly planned. But the copious amount of pre-come both of them dripping was enough to smoothen the pushing and pulling.
Base to head, long and slow; a thumb swipe over both of the soaking slits, then head to base back again, with a slight twist of the wrist to keep the moaning going.
Sherlock clutched John with all his might, chest to chest, face buried in the crook of John's neck, biting the soft skin for stopping himself from screaming out.
John, on the other hand, littered Sherlock's pale neck with love bites, sucking and soothing that sensitive spot behind the ears. Murmuring 'I love you's. His left hand was working with a frantic speed now.
With one upward twist, Sherlock came undone, convulsing and chanting John's name. John followed right after, Sherlock's spilled come triggering his own release.
Neither of them could utter anything for a long time. They panted and tried to calm their erratic heartbeats. John was the first one to pull away, but not entirely. Just enough to look at Sherlock, whose eyes were still closed.
"Are you alright?"
Sherlock squeezed shut his eyes more tightly but didn't answer.
"Hey love, look at me, what is it? Is- is something wrong?" John's senses were shutting down, lulling him to sleep, but he needed to make sure that his boyfriend was alright.
"I... John, I-" Sherlock looked pained, almost afraid. John wanted to hold him and soothe his every worry. And more particularly he wanted to assure him that he understood his unspoken words.
"It's okay, Sherlock. I know, I know you do. And I love you too. I love you more."
"Thank you." Sherlock looked at him at last and said it in a whisper after a long pause.
John smoothed out the damp curls which were sticking to his forehead and chuckled, "for what? For being the luckiest bastard in the world to have you? Then, I should thank you." And when Sherlock opened his mouth, John promptly latched his own mouth on it and stole a passionate kiss before getting up to bring a wash cloth.
They slumped back on the bed. Sweaty, tangled, boneless, sated and very, very much in love.
~0~0~0~
Mycroft sent the car at six bloody AM. That bastard.
Sherlock was a cuddler and John had one hell of a time managing to spoon that bony clingy koala. When the furious banging started on their door, Sherlock whined and snuggled closer to John's chest, tightening his grip around his boyfriend. John chose to ignore the crazy thumping and nuzzled back. This went until they heard-
"Boys!" -bang bang bang- "Sherlock! Come out right now. I won't stand this anymore. I'm old, I have a hip problem and need my rest. John! Get here this instant, young man!"
John sprang up from the bed and frantically started searching for his clothes, while Sherlock kept whining for the loss of warmth.
"Mrs. Hudson? What is it?" John spoke urgently after opening the door, blinking his bleary eyes, wrapping Sherlock's blue dressing gown around himself.
"What is it? There is a damn car waiting- ooh, isn't that Sherlock's?" She eyed the dressing gown with open mirth and winked at John before continuing, "A car is waiting for you downstairs. That giant of a driver was trying to knock down the main door! And I had to get up at six am! Six, John, to answer it! Whatever happened to your bell?"
John gaped at their yelling landlady, trying to understand what the fuck was actually happening. Car? Did Mycroft send the car at this hour?! The hell- Wait, bell? His mind halted at the mention of the bell.
"Bell? Oh! Oh, yes, Sherlock had put it in the fridge. But don't worry, I've scolded him already. He'll put.. it.. baaack…." He trailed off as Mrs. Hudson looked on the verge of exploding.
"Young man, you two need to sort out which things should go in the fridge, which not. I won't stand it. I am your landlady, not your housekeeper!"
"Sorry Mrs. Hudson." John tried to look sheepish and chastised to please her. "Um, you said the driver was at the door, where is he now?"
"Oh, I have invited him for a cuppa."
~0~0~0~
Natalie was already up when John went to knock on her door, right after Mrs. Hudson left. And finally when the three of them got in the car it was almost 7:30.
Natalie looked chipper than last night. She had a phone conversation with her cousin, aunt's son, last night, and while she didn't disclose the situation, the conversation seemed to satisfy her for now, uplifting her mood.
"Sooo, guys, how was last night? Had fun?" She wiggled her brows at them who were sitting opposite her.
John felt his face flame immediately. But Sherlock sounded bored when he drawled, "no need to look so flustered, John. She is trying to trick us. She did not hear anything."
"Oh yeah? And how do you know that?" Natalie chuckled.
"Because I can't hear John when he masturbates if the doors are closed."
Natalie burst out laughing. John looked as if someone had told him he was pregnant.
"Thanks a bunch, Sherlock!"
"Oh, don't mention it."
~0~0~0~