It was snowing hard when Sherlock rang the doorbell of the flat. When John peered down from the living room window, he was met with a ghostly-pale, cheery face, and a quick wave from a large gloved hand. The detective's hair was sprinkled with an adorable frosting of snowflakes, as were the shoulders of his damp greatcoat.
John was about to move downstairs to let the man in when Sherlock's attention was drawn to the front door, and it seemed that Mrs Hudson had beaten him to it.
Instead he stepped back into the living room, feeling his heart fluttering at the thought of seeing Sherlock face-to-face again. It was ridiculous, but he couldn't shake it. He moved to the kitchen, flicking on the kettle as the heavy footsteps thudded closer to the flat.
"Tea?" he called, hearing Sherlock entering the flat in a no doubt flamboyant swirl of his coat.
"John!" came the ecstatic-sounding response. John hadn't heard him sound so genuinely excited since the case where it turned out that the murderer was in fact a circus chimp. "Tea and kisses, please," Sherlock announced as he arrived breathless in the flat, glancing around for his doctor.
John felt his smile threatening to tear his face, clearing his throat before he ducked his head through the archway, the sugar bowl in one hand. He barely managed a hello before he was suddenly engulfed in the mass of muscle and limbs.
"Hi," he mumbled, his voice muffled by the front of Sherlock's snow-flecked coat.
John's body didn't know whether to shiver or not when clods of icy, wet snow dropped from Sherlock's coat and hair onto him, not when the toasty, firm body holding him was so delightfully exothermic.
He managed to pull back enough from Sherlock's iron grip to look the man in the face. He was caught by the life blazing in those eyes and he gave the man another lopsided grin.
"C'mere," he said gently, putting one hand on the back of the detective's neck and pulling him down to brush his lips against Sherlock's in a tentative gesture.
Sherlock's lips parted first in an affectionate grin, and then in a firmer, deeper kiss, emitting a deep, rumbling groan into his doctor's mouth.
"Oh!" Mrs. Hudson abruptly squeaked from the doorway, clapping frantically. "I knew it. I told you!"
John and Sherlock parted as if they'd been caught with their hands in the sugar bowl. John lowered his eyes, wearing a stupid grin, but Sherlock was far from fazed. He always loved having an audience, and with the lingering excitement still thrumming about the man, he turned and faced their landlady with a bright smile.
"Hudders!"
She approached the tall detective, hitting him fondly on the arm and tutting. "I knew it. I knew you were lying. Honestly, as if there was anyone but John."
John raised his head and gave the woman an unimpressed look, raising an eyebrow. "Well it was a pretty convincing show."
"You and your games, Sherlock, I don't know," their landlady fussed. "Playing with us both like that. Is there anything you boys need before I head out?"
John's eyes widened and he jumped in before Sherlock could start listing off everything and anything they would need, with no hesitation or thought for privacy.
"I think we're okay, Mrs Hudson, thank you."
She appeared hesitant, and then beckoned Sherlock closer. He leaned down from his lofty height advantage, and the grin on his face only widened as she whispered to him. When she was finished, Sherlock was on the verge of giggles, and Mrs. Hudson was blushing as she vacated the flat.
John frowned a little, his eyes looking between both of them.
"What was that?"
"Our landlady informs me that the little Boots down the road currently has some really good deals on contraception."
John made some kind of noise from the back of his throat, battling a fit of giggles.
"From what I saw in that drawer, I think we're well stocked."
"I hope you didn't look too hard. I still want to be able to surprise you. Memorise your 'Fuck, what is that,' face," Sherlock chuckled, kicking off his shoes and easing off his coat and jacket. "I look forward to continuing your education."
John felt a slightly nervous giggle rise in the back of his throat and he looked down, realising he was still holding the bloody sugar bowl.
"Well I need sustenance," he said after a moment, moving back into the kitchen to continue with the tea. John scratched the back of his neck, pouring the water into the mugs steadily.
"Before we, ah, start, can we just talk a little bit? Everything's just... its moving quick and I think we should talk. About us."
Sherlock paused in undoing the top button of a mint-green shirt John had never seen before. It was a ridiculously good match to his icy eyes, which now started at him curiously.
"Whatever for? Are we not...okay? Me and you?"
"No," John said quickly, turning from the counter and facing Sherlock. "No, I didn't mean that. We're fine. Well, I feel like we still have to get over a bit of jealousy and whatnot, but no. I don't mean like that. I just..." John looked away from those eyes, trying to find the words. "I'm still coming to terms with... everything. You know that I've done... things... with a man. But not - I haven't…god sake," he muttered, wondering why this was so bloody hard.
"Are you frightened that I'm going to penetrate you? You know I won't do that, if it's not what you want."
"No, it's not that," he said gently, looking up into Sherlock's face. How did he tell the man that he might not be good enough? Sherlock was used to bringing himself to pleasure, he knew exactly what he liked inside him and how. He'd made it clear that he'd mastered his own pleasure, so how would John compare? He had no experience being inside another man, he had no idea how it was different or how to please him.
"I just want to... maybe just take it a bit slower? Like, mess around first." God, he sounded like a terrified fucking teenager.
"Of course. I'm entirely amenable to 'messing around.' But, you do still want to be my first, don't you?" Sherlock's face clouded faintly with anxiety.
John felt his lips tug nervously, and he stepped forward, wrapping his strong arms around the detective's waist firmly.
"Course I do."
"That's fine, then. I'm not prepared to wait much longer," Sherlock laughed gently, hooking his arms around John's shoulders and kissing the top of his head. "After the phone sex business, well...let's just say that if I wasn't a patient man before, then that really cemented the fact."
John laughed again, sighing in relief. He didn't think he could have fumbled for words much longer.
"I feel like I've created a monster," he teased, placing a chaste kiss to Sherlock's visible collarbone.
"Yes. And it's therefore your duty to tame me. Bring me under control," Sherlock huffed in amusement, nuzzling John's hair briefly.
John took a long breath, the images that those words called to his mind stealing any semblance of a reply. Instead he tilted his head to put his lips to that long, elegant neck, ghosting his lips over the lovely pale flesh. Sherlock's answering breath made him smile, and John was spurred on to add a little more pressure from his lips.
"You do like marking me, don't you," Sherlock observed, still grinning. "I have a call to make. Then, I promise, we can begin the festivities," he promised.
John hummed his slight annoyance before pulling back, smiling gently and returning to the tea that was cooling quickly.
"You make it sound like an event," he mumbled absently, adding a few spoonfuls of sugar into Sherlock's mug and setting it aside, one ear listening out for the phone call Sherlock had to make. Was there a case? Sherlock hadn't mentioned a case, but then again, they had been a little bit... distracted as of late.
Sherlock snaked a hand into his view, plucking up the mug, before the detective wandered off into his bedroom, nudging the door nearly-shut behind him. Seconds later, John heard him speaking, purposely low and muffled.
It took a great deal of willpower not to press his face against Sherlock's bedroom door, instead just hovering in the hall. Finally he scoffed at himself, turning back to the kitchen and rooting through the drawer to find the takeaway menu he knew he put there. Now Sherlock had mentioned food again, he decided he was in need for a Chop Suey.
There was a sudden halt in Sherlock's speech that actually frightened John, more so when the detective flew from the bedroom, plucking the menu from his hands and throwing it over his shoulder carelessly. "Not tonight. Surprise."
John raised his eyebrows, watching the menu float to the floor.
"Oookay," he said slowly, turning to give the man a telling look. "I didn't think you did surprises."
"Not even after I hopped on stage and got an erection from a female lap-dancer? You never did ask about that," Sherlock said with a fiendish smile, eyes narrowing as he casually undid and pulled off his belt.
John opened his mouth, but stopped, because the detective had a point. He'd always assumed Sherlock was asexual, until those moans - but then he'd assumed he was gay. Perhaps there was more to the detective than John had guessed.
"Friction?" he asked, a little dumbly.
Sherlock burst out laughing. "Wrong answer. For that, you must pay a forfeit. Oh, and we have half an hour to kill before...the surprise. Want to snog?"
John pursed his lips, but found he really couldn't deny the man anything. With a heavy sigh, he reached forward and grabbed the Sherlock's collar, yanking him forward.
"Not going to tell me then?" he purred, leaning away slightly as Sherlock moved in for a kiss.
"When we get to the sofa. Try not to get me too aroused, I have to answer the door in thirty minutes. It wouldn't be fitting for such a refined gentleman as myself." Sherlock ducked in quickly for another attempted kiss, but mewled when John playfully avoided him again.
The doctor gave Sherlock a slow grin, putting a hand on his chest and guiding him backwards until Sherlock's legs collided with the couch. He gave him a small shove and Sherlock fell back with a small huff.
"So we're at the sofa," he teased, easily sinking down until he sat on Sherlock's lap. "And no promises about the aroused thing."
"Yes. I find it almost impossible to negate my reactions around you. It's been nightmarish for the longest time. Oh, and that's a hint to your previous question." He slid long, cold hands down John's back, across to his sides, then over his stomach, and finally upwards, till they chilled John's cheeks.
John hummed under the attention, only wincing slightly at the icy fingers cupping his face. God, how hadn't he seen it before? He couldn't remember a time when Sherlock's attraction towards him was obvious, but then again (as Sherlock liked to often point out) John could be quite oblivious sometimes.
"That's not a hint," he said absently, his fingers running over the curve between Sherlock's neck and his shoulder. "Tell me."
"Yes it is, John. It's you. It's always about you. If you need a more obvious hint, I'll give you one."
John frowned, shaking his head, still not quite understanding.
"I don't... what does that mean? How do I fit in with a lapdance?"
Sherlock inhaled deeply, and then let out a long breath that made his damp fringe dance up briefly in the cool air of the flat. "You asked for it, John. You really are so charmingly ignorant sometimes. How about if I told you that I would rather chew off my own arm than get up close and personal with female genitalia?"
John cocked his head a little, sitting back on Sherlock's lap and giving him a small look.
"Then she didn't turn you on?"
"I think it actually scarred me for life. What turned me on was the fact that you were watching, and you were jealous. And then I started imagining...things."
"Oh? Oh..."
John felt heat crawling up his neck and he shifted a little, smirking a little shyly.
"What were you imagining?"
"Now, now, John. I'm not to get aroused, remember. If you purposely give me a towering erection, then you are a very bad man."
"Well, I've never actually said I was a good man, did I?"
"True. For a bad man, John, you hide it very well. You are a master of disguise. More so than me." Sherlock pushed chilled hands into John's short hair, carding it through his fingers, before moving in for a kiss.
This time John didn't back away, instead meeting Sherlock's lips gladly. It was hard to believe, as the man sucked his lower lip, that he'd only been kissed a handful of times. In the last few days. With only John.
"Stop," Sherlock muttered between kisses, "thinking. It makes..." He smooched harder, faster. "...you taste funny."
John let out a long breath, smirking against Sherlock's lips. Instead of answering, John added more pressure to his lips, giving back as good as he got, letting his tongue run over Sherlock's lower lip.
The detective's deep, subsonic rumbles began, sounded like something like an organic engine. John could almost tell by the hitches of Sherlock's breath, and the tense twitches of his mouth and jaw, that he had things that he wanted to say, but couldn't quite break the kissing long enough to say them.
It was a heady feeling, having the eccentric genius speechless, and he let himself hold that power for a few moments before he released him. They let their breath mingle for a few moments, John moving his hand to tease the curls at the base of the detective's neck.
"I think I failed in the 'no arousing' request," he chuckled, rolling his hips to emphasise the slight bulge he could feel in Sherlock's trousers.
"Then you're opening the door. John, have you thought about...positions? For tonight?"
"Positions?" he almost squeaked, remembering all too well how Sherlock had looked during the phone sex. He had to bite back the image of Sherlock riding him.
"I think we're both a bit intrigued by the cowboy position. I'll be the receiver, but still have control. It's ideal."
John opened and closed his mouth, his mind sending him helpful views of Sherlock from all angles, his muscles flexing and writhing under that pale skin as he rode his-
"What about, uh, about the taking it slow?"
"I can make it slow. So slow you'll scream for me to speed up. But I won't. I'll drag out your orgasm until you barely know your own name," Sherlock purred, nuzzling John with a hungry little growl.
"Jesus," the doctor muttered, unable to gather enough saliva to coat his dry mouth. "Are you even listening to me?" he muttered, hands moving up to tangle in Sherlock's curls before he could stop himself.
"Your body is telling me much more than your mouth is," Sherlock laughed, smooching luxuriantly against John's neck, sucking and kissing alternately. "I think -" He was interrupted by the harsh doorbell ringing downstairs. "Ooh. They're early. Better make yourself presentable, John."
"They?" John choked, but Sherlock was already clamouring from underneath him. John got to his feet and shifted his now prominent erection into the lining of his jeans so that it wasn't so obvious, frowning as Sherlock raced down the stairs.