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A Bit Better	By : VulpineBeesKnees Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 3330 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
- 12
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- 14
John woke sometime in the middle of the morning to Sherlock playing his violin softly down stairs. It wasn’t all that odd for Sherlock to disappear during the night, but that fact didn’t stop John’s heart from dropping a little. Part of him wanted to chase downstairs and drag the man back to bed, just to have the reassuring comfort of his body next to him, but after the events of the previous night John wasn’t sure he should.
Closing his eyes and pulling the blankets tighter around himself John tried to relax, eventually drifting off to the sound of the Sherlock’s playing. Oddly enough the conflicted tones seemed to reflect how both men were feeling.
Finally around six in the morning Sherlock replaced his violin on it’s stand near the window and made his way back up the stairs silently, avoiding the squeaky spots. When he reached John’s room he saw that at some point during the night John had reached for him in his sleep. He pursed his lips before lifting the arm carefully and sliding into the embrace, his forehead pressing gently to the doctor’s. Long fingers softly caressed the wrinkles over John’s features, calculating when they had first started appearing on his face. Most had been in the last three years. Sighing he let his hand cup the man’s neck, evening out his breathing and waiting for him to wake up.
Johns eyes stayed closed, reveling in their embrace. He hadn't expected to find Sherlock in bed with him, not after their fight, after telling him he loved him, and then when John had woken during the night alone he had resigned to the fact that he'd ruined things. But here Sherlock was proving all of Johns assumptions wrong, and John couldn't have been happier for it.

"You're here?" The question was almost said as a statement, but left open for Sherlock to explain.
“Of course. I watched you fall asleep, it seemed only logical to watch you wake as well.” He pressed a gentle, reassuring kiss to John’s forehead. Despite his distress and confusion over John’s admission the night before, John needed him. The S scar was visible and he controlled the shudder that threatened to physically manifest. He was hit once again by the thought that the scar belonged on his own shoulder.
“How about some tea?” he asked with a small smile as his hand slid down his arm to squeeze just over the marred flesh, “And then I think I could go for a little toast as well.”
Happy to agree to something normal John nodded, returning the chaste kiss before following Sherlock downstairs. The day was almost painfully normal, both men avoiding talking about the night before as if their lives may have depended on it, that is until later on that evening when Johns phone began ringing.
He had been working at the laptop, updating the blog and answering emails, when he looked down to see his mothers name flashing across the screen. He hesitated a moment before answering.
Sherlock was in the kitchen bent over an experiment when the call came, but John could feel the green eyes focus on him the moment he started speaking.
"Hello mum..." There was a long pause, his mother was explaining something
"I'm glad she got to stay longer but that doesn't ch-.... No. No mum I'm not interested okay."
Sherlock's expression was sharp as he listened to John's conversation. John knew he was listening, so he wasn't about to hide it. If John wanted privacy he'd walk out of the room. Only Sherlock knew he'd never do it. Not after what happened last night.
Looking away from Sherlock John stared out the window, one hand rubbing the back of his neck nervously. His mothers tinny voice could be heard in the silence.
"I don't understand why you're being so difficult, I'm just trying to help you."
"That's nice, really, but I don't need your help,"
"I can't believe I'm never going to have grandchi-"
"Honestly mum? You can't just set me up with women so I’ll have children!" His voice was particularly incredulous. He knew this was her motive of course but he'd never heard her say it so plainly.
Sherlock's brows rose at that. Children. Did John want children? He almost got distracted thinking about it, but forced himself to file the thought away for further examination later. He needed to stay focused on the conversation at hand.
His experiment was at a slow point anyway, so he abandoned it to move behind John's chair, one hand running down his shoulder, then across his chest. He meant it to be comforting and supportive. John relaxed slightly at the touch.
"I'm not!" Both Watsons were growing defensive, it was becoming evident where Johns temper came from. "I just don't want you to end up alone."
"I'm not!"
The silence that followed John’s statement was deafening, his mother sitting on the line, obviously waiting for an explanation, the detective still as a statue.
"I-I'm not going to be alone, I'm fine. Really mum." Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed. Still denying that they were together. Typical. Nothing had changed, not really. Somehow he’d thought that after the night before things would be different. But they weren’t, and how could he really expect them to? He didn’t return John’s feelings, how could he expect John to keep abiding in the same way he had been? Then, Mrs. Watson’s voice broke through the detective’s thought process.
"Just come to dinner, it doesn't have to be anything. Give the woman a chance."
John had no feasible reason to give his mother, not without telling her the truth. Groaning John ran his hand over his face. He knew he should tell her, but the words caught in his throat.
Upset by the thoughts his mind had been turning to, Sherlock decided to take it out on the doctor. He pressed a light kiss behind his ear, but his frustrations at John's resistance to tell his mother what was going on, especially after last night, quickly rose to the surface. His lips gently drew the lobe of the doctor's free ear into his mouth, sucking lightly and letting his tongue flutter along the sensitive skin.
His fingers quickly unfastened the top two buttons of his shirt, slipping his cool hands inside to caress the solid planes of John's chest. He accidentally brushed against one perky nipple, then his fingers returned with purpose, pinching and rolling the sensitive nub between them.
If John insisted on keeping up this charade, who was he to make it easy for him?
John couldn't seem to move, Sherlocks motions filling the silence on their end and when the nimble fingers teased at his nipple he couldn't help the soft breathy moan that escaped his lips. It was barely audible, but it brought John to his senses.
"Shit Sherlock none of that." His voice was off, and he hadn't thought about the fact that his mum could hear everything. Not until she was practically screaming in his ear.
"JOHN HAMISH WATSON WHAT DO YOU MEAN MAKING A NOISE LIKE THAT WHILE TALKING TO YOUR MOTHER?!?" Her voice was shrill on the other side of the phone and Sherlock cringed, but kept his hands down John's shirt.
"What could that god awful flatmate of yours done that...." She went silent for a full thirty seconds before the explosion came the second time. John could practically hear the moment when the cogs lined up in his mother's mind. He didn’t even realize he was gripping Sherlock’s forearm, shaking slightly.
"DO YOU MEAN TO TELL ME YOU'RE A POOFTER?!?!? IT WAS BAD ENOUGH WHEN IT WAS JUST HARRY!! NO SON OF MINE TAKES IT UP THE ARSE!!!" In the background a man's voice was trying to calm her. Sherlock pulled his hands from John's shirt but left his arms wrapped around his chest. This had been his doing, he wasn't about to let the doctor face it alone, and the brunette almost seemed contrite.
John’s hand slipped to grip Sherlock’s. This had been exactly what he was trying to avoid, and now with the thoughtless words echoing through his mind John’s anger peaked. He could hear his pulse pounding in his ears as his entire body tensed.
“HOW DO YOU KNOW I DON’T GIVE IT MUM!?” The words left his mouth before John could even think, and immediately he regretted them. This wasn’t how he was supposed to tell her, but there was no going back now. Taking a shaky breath he tried to calm down. “I’m not a bloody poofter!” His voice was still harsh and bitter, but he continued to clutch Sherlock’s hand almost instinctually.
“So you’re shagging your flatmate. Do you even know if he’s clean? Are you two partners now?” It was obvious from her tone that she was starting to tear up, and the mild cooing from her husband was doing nothing to calm her down.
“Because all I can think of is Harry and Clara, and I don’t want you to bring more unhappiness to this house. I swear to you if you bring him around here...” she trailed off as an overdramatic sob broke up across the phone line.
Behind John, Sherlock was doing his very best not to let his muscles tense. He tried to stand, he tried to get away subtly to give John an out to say whatever he needed, but the death grip on his arm wouldn’t let him go. He looked at John pleadingly. He didn’t want to hear the answer, but the doctor wasn’t looking at him he was glaring straight ahead, seemingly unaware of the detective.
“Oh God mum, of course he’s clean.” His hand left Sherlock’s to tear through his hair painfully. As soon as he was granted the freedom Sherlock pulled his arms away as fast as he would allow himself. “I’m not Harry okay? It’s...” He had no idea what he was supposed to tell her. They were together and monogamous, but didn’t have any sort of label. John groaned outwardly before continuing, “No it’s not like that.. It’s complicated..”
Trying not to disturb John, Sherlock slunk across the sitting room to give John the privacy he needed to end his phone call. He had just pushed the door to his room open and stepped inside when he’d heard the ‘no it’s not like that’. He stopped, frozen by the sea of unbidden emotions that crashed over him. He wasn’t supposed to feel these... he’d deleted them a long time ago. He didn’t feel hurt or betrayed, or sad. Something about John had brought those back, something in the relationship had caused Sherlock to become vulnerable.
The anger had begun to leave John's voice, only to be replaced by the horrible confusion about their relationship. “You’re just making things worse.” And then, a bit more bitter he spat. “And don’t worry, I wouldn’t want to bring him to meet you anyways!”
A pain began pounding in the detective's right temple as those words sliced through him. John didn’t want him to meet his family. He was... was he ashamed of Sherlock? As he quietly closed the door and locked it, sliding down to sit with his knees propped up, hands in his thinking position against his lower lip, he tried to drown himself in logic to make himself feel better.
Of course John was ashamed of him. There was insurmountable evidence everywhere Sherlock looked in John’s wing of his mind palace. At every turn the detective had been a complete arse, even when things started getting better. And then, the memories of the night before came flooding back and Sherlock yanked at his curls in frustration. This was not making things better. He was breathing hard and each ragged gulp of air was hurting his lungs. He just wanted this pain to stop. He had asked for all of this, and it would be his undoing.
Still in the sitting room, John had barely noticed when Sherlock left the room. His father quickly took the phone from his sobbing mother, insisting that he’d talk sense into his wife. John thanked him, and said his goodbyes. His father had always been the more understanding of his parents. Closing the phone and resisting the urge to throw it across the room, John folded his arms over the desk, collapsing into the pocket his arms created.
It had actually gone worse than John expected, and he hadn’t thought that was possible. After a few moments, when John was sure he had control over himself he sat up, wiping one hand down his face roughly.
“Sherlock?” He looked around the room absently, trying to remember when Sherlock had left the room. Slowly pushing himself to his feet John started for the bedroom, hoping whatever Sherlock had heard, that they were okay. He was only mildly surprised when he found the door locked.
“Sherlock.” He repeated softly, knocking on the door. “Let me in.”
Sherlock had stretched out across the floor by that time, laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. He hadn't even bothered to get up, just collapsed in his spot by the door. He didn't answer for a long moment. He didn't want to face the other man now, not with the raw feeling still eating at his gut. When John did not walk away after a bit of silence, Sherlock took a deep breath and let his voice sound annoyed.
"I am performing an experiment that requires total silence, your breathing is so loud I can hear it through the door. Do us all a favor and go pick up some milk? I should be done with my experiment then. I hope you know I'm having to start all over now...." He threw in the last bit, trying to sound normal.
John sunk to the ground, leaning against the door jamb. He couldn't leave, not after all of this. Quieting his breathing John listened carefully. There was no experiment, no John knew better than that, but he also knew that he had to give Sherlock some time. He had to let them both calm down, unless he wanted today to be a repeat of the previous day. Unable to walk away John leaned his head back against the wall and waited.
Standing, Sherlock touched the lock just to make sure it was indeed latched, and flopped face down onto his bed, wanting to shut out the world and his pounding headache. Pulling a pillow over his head, he pulled it tight around his ears and delved into his mind palace to start hunting down the nigglings of emotion. He'd burn them out if he had to. That was the only way this would work. John might have said he loved Sherlock, but the detective wondered if perhaps he had taken it the wrong way. He once been told love was the most complicated of all puzzles. It was the one mystery he was not eager to solve.
When he could no longer hear John, Sherlock began slowing his breathing and let the image of his mind palace flicker to life behind his lids. The detective had deleted emotion before when he was much younger, and it had been an easy process then. There was nothing to tie each sentimental reaction to, but now each time he found a piece that didn’t belong he would tug at it only to cause an extremely sharp pain somewhere else in his mind. He didn’t understand it at first but as he navigated the catacombs of information, he found each one tied to some memory of John that he’d placed barriers around to keep from accidentally deleting it. He growled in frustration when he found every piece unable to be removed.
…
Johns mind wandered, trying to figure out how they'd gotten to this point. Everything had been going brilliantly, but not everything lasts. It was almost infuriating, Sherlock was the one that had insisted on not solidifying their relationship, he was the reason John didn’t have an answer when people asked what they were. It may have been simple with Mycroft and Greg, but they knew Sherlock, they understood.
There was no way to do right here. Either he declared Sherlock as his, told everyone the truth, that he loved the man irrevocably, which would no doubt drive the brooding detective away. Or he did the thing he had just done with his mother, brushed off their relationship and his feelings for Sherlock. But seen as Sherlock had just locked himself in his room, that wasn’t the right move either.
It was inevitable, he was going to lose Sherlock, it was only a matter of time. For the first time John found himself desperately wishing they had never taken this leap. He’d rather have Sherlock as a friend, a colleague, anything really than lose him altogether.
John didn’t move for some time, carefully listening for any change behind the door, but after a period of painful silence, in which he could only assume the detective had drifted off to his mind palace, gone to the world, he gave up. Silently, John walked away from Sherlock’s door. He made himself a cup of tea, which did nothing to calm his fears, before grabbing a novel and falling into his arm chair.
He was at a complete impasse with Sherlock, anything he did seemed to push the man farther away, so for once he tried to follow the detectives example, disappearing inside his mind as he read.
…
Emotions were like parasites, they dug into his brain and found what he would never give up and nested there. He felt like kicking and screaming, but instead he set to the calming task of deleting unimportant information. When that was done, he threw the pillow off of his face and stared at the ceiling feeling hopeless. He couldn’t control these new feelings that were threatening to take over his carefully constructed world. Emotionless had kept him sane through all the teasing and cruelty of being a child genius. Emotionless would have kept him sane now in this situation where he knew that John deserved so much better. Instead he was settling for Sherlock. Why? Because of some notion that he was in love? Sherlock didn’t think love was possible, at least not for him. It was just chemicals in the brain flushing one’s body with nonsensical sensations. He had never experienced it, and didn’t intend to.
That in itself was why John needed someone else. He only thought he needed Sherlock because the detective had nurtured him to. He had taken him from nothing and shown him a new world of exciting and dangerous things. He’d shown him how to live again, and then had disappeared leaving him directionless. Returning after that had been what had sealed the deceit in John’s mind. When he had returned, so broken and needy, it had made John realize he didn’t want to live without him. The same could be said of a good friendship, but for some reason, Sherlock had found himself strangely attracted to John and in a moment of selfishness had steered that strong friendship into something strange and careless.
He was hurting John and he couldn’t stop himself. Because this would end badly. He knew it would. It was inevitable that the moment would come their one sided relationship wouldn’t be enough. When John would want Sherlock body, mind and soul, and that was not something that the detective could give him. John had so much power already in his hands with just the little bit of humanity he’d brought back to the younger man, Sherlock couldn’t imagine how painful it would be for him to have dominion over all of him.
Closing his eyes tight he rolled on his side and curled into a ball, pulling his knees to his chest and pressing his forehead against them. He would have to end things. They would never go back to how carefree they had been in the beginning. He hadn’t wanted to start a relationship. He hadn’t wanted anything but for John to get what he wanted, what he needed, and somewhere along the path, Sherlock had started taking more than he ever intended.
Now the thought of having a relationship didn’t seem so far fetched and it scared him. Sherlock belonged to no one. He was not his mother’s son. He was not Mycroft’s brother. He wasn’t Greg’s friend or Anderson’s enemy. He had always just been Sherlock Holmes. Other people had thrown out the word ‘my’ for him, but it was never whole hearted. For more than thirty years he had been the one no one really wanted. What right did he feel he possessed to now be John’s anything. Flatmate or Lover it was all terms so above him that he felt like it wasn’t even in reach.
Biting his lip, Sherlock refused to think on that any longer, and instead, recalled the conversation John had with his mother earlier. He had been ashamed of Sherlock. He had been ashamed of the nature of their relationship and-
His eyes snapped open. Had he really been so blind? Since the beginning of their fornication they had only copulated one way. John had been the only one to receive penetration. He had read somewhere in all his research that it was very emasculating to be a male and accept penetration. Perhaps that was why the doctor had been so ashamed to speak with his mother about them. Standing suddenly, he knew what he had to do.
He might be planning on ending it when the time seemed right, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t give John everything he would allow of himself before he did. He walked by the mirror and glanced in it as he passed. His hair was tousled from his flailing around on the bed, his skin was deathly pale, and his eyes were wide and almost frightened. He stopped and closed his eyes once more, letting his face slip into a familiar air of confidence. The one he wore every day.
With his mask in place, he opened the door and stepped out into the sitting room. He’d known John hadn’t left, but as long as he left Sherlock alone to think things through, he couldn’t have cared less if the man had left the flat. Seeing him in his armchair reading, Sherlock moved around to the front and pulled the book from his hands. Closing it, he set it down on the end table before sliding his knees into the seat on either side of his hips so that in John’s semi relaxed position Sherlock’s hips were suspended just above the smaller man’s.
He could see the question in John’s eyes, saw it start to form on his lips, but the detective only brushed his thumbs across the weathered cheekbones, his fingers wrapping around the back of his neck. He looked down into cerulean eyes, his own pale ones sharp and demanding. Then something in them changed, a small spark lit them and he leaned down, pressing their lips together in a very simple but passionate kiss.
After just a moment of hesitation John returned the kiss with just as much fever. His hands moved to grip the detectives thin hips, the emotional turmoil of the past few days racing through him as their lips greedily moved together. John didn’t understand what had changed, but in that moment he didn’t care. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s shoulders, lowering his hips and slowly grinding them down against the man beneath him. He rolled his arse back into the smaller man’s growing erection and gave a soft moan into the other’s mouth. It wasn’t until he’d worked his fingers under the hem of Sherlock’s shirt that John pulled away.
Breathing heavily he rested his forehead against Sherlock’s, eyes pressed closed as he tried to process what had changed.
“Sherlock..” He spoke softly, leaning back to look up at the detective, “We can’t keep doing this, we need to talk about all of this.”
They had been crossing lines and hurting each other constantly, no matter how the conversation ended they needed to talk. John licked his lips nervously, his fingers softly moving across the small of Sherlock’s back, willing Sherlock to say something.
“You’re ashamed of me.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement spoken with conviction, “Or you’re ashamed that you’re the only one taking the receiving role. My intent was never to make you feel that way. It’s easily fixed though.” He gripped John’s shoulders and gave another roll of his hips. Leaning forward he let his lips brush over the doctor’s ear. “I bet you’d like to be inside of me wouldn’t you?”
John wanted to argue, he wasn’t ashamed. No that wasn’t it at all, but his body was not listening. As Sherlock rocked against him he groaned softly, his cock twitching sympathetically at the words. Sherlock hands travelled across John’s chest, down his arms, sliding the doctor’s hands to his arse. “I don’t want to talk John, I just want to give this to you. It’s what you want am I correct?”
Groaning in frustration John dropped his head to Sherlock’s shoulder, his hands unconsciously pulling Sherlock back down against him. “I.. I don’t not want this Sherlock, but it’s not like that either...” his voice was breathy and short, his body betraying just how aroused he was by just the thought of burying himself inside of the man. “I’m not ashamed.. Dammit it’s complicated, so much more than it needs to be.” His voice trailed off as he maneuvered his head so he could place a soft kiss to Sherlock’s neck, just below his jaw.
John stayed silent for a moment, his hands still slowly exploring the other man’s back and clothed arse tentatively. “Is this what you want?” He spoke softly, his lips still brushing against the pale neck. Sherlock had already deduced that it was what John wanted, he hadn’t even fully realized it was something he wanted until it was so plainly being thrown at him, but he’d be damned if he somehow pressured Sherlock into this.
Sherlock felt a sigh of pleasure run up his spine as John’s hands gently explored his body. “If this is what you want, it’s what I want.” He twisted his fingers in John’s hair and pulled his head back so that he could look into the doctor’s eyes. “It would be untruthful to say I hadn’t thought of it before though.” A shiver ran through his body and he pushed closer to the smaller man.
He wasn’t sure whether he could trust what John was saying, and for the first time since he was a child he just wanted to stop thinking. “Please John, I think I need this as much as you do.” He let his eyes slip closed and imagined many of the positions they’d tried before with their roles reversed, and an involuntary moan ripped through his chest as he nipped at the doctor’s lips.
John’s lips sought out Sherlock’s fervently, his body language clearly answering every question. Yes. Yes he wanted anything Sherlock would give him. Their kiss quickly deepened, hands pulling and gripping at clothing as their hips rolled together on their own accord. John felt like his heart was beating out of his chest, their heated touches fueling his desire. Finally he pulled away again, his voice just as breathy, but this time thick with lust.
“Bedroom?” He didn’t want to take Sherlock on the living room floor, it didn’t feel right. They’d done just about everything, everywhere, but this was different. Sherlock was granting him something intimate. He wasn’t sure if it meant the same to Sherlock as it did to him, in fact he was sure it didn’t, but he would do everything in his power to show Sherlock how much he cared, how much he loved him.
The detective nodded and extricated himself from the chair. Holding a hand out to John, he helped the smaller man to his feet, and twined his fingers between each of the other’s calloused ones. He didn’t release the hand in his own, not even when he pushed the door closed behind them. Guiding John to sit down on the edge of the bed, his knees slightly splayed, Sherlock straddled his hips and resumed his earlier position from the sitting room.
Long hands stretched over John’s chest, popping buttons as he went. He was glad to see the two from earlier still undone. He could feel the slight tension in Johns shoulders, and suddenly there was something he needed John to understand before they continued. slipping his hands under the shirt’s material and running his hands down to massage over the doctor’s back, he leaned forward once more, his lips whispering against the underside of the blonde’s jaw.
“I trust you John.” He was surprised at how honest those words actually were. He did trust John. He’d effectively given more to him than any other person in his life, had given him the power to destroy the detective with only a few words. But, he knew that John would never hurt him purposefully, “I trust you.”
John’s stomach fluttered as Sherlock repeated the statement. It was the closest thing to an admission the man was probably capable of, and it was more than enough for the blonde. He nuzzled into Sherlock’s neck softly, their desperate throws slowed for the moment.
“I know.” He muttered softly, placing kisses along his neck as he repeated the words. His hands moved to Sherlock’s front, slowly working the buttons of his shirt open as he spoke, pressing his lips against the detectives chest periodically in between words. “It’s more than enough you know. To have your trust...” Pushing the shirt over Sherlock’s shoulders so it pooled at his elbows he looked back into the wide eyes. The words were on the tip of his tongue. He’d already said them, but there was still an innate fear in saying them.
Swallowing thickly he brought one hand up to brush the unruly curls from his forehead. “I love you.” His voice was more confident than he had expected, and he didn’t wait for the moment when Sherlock wouldn’t respond. Catching his mouth with his own as he urged Sherlock out of the button up shirt resting at his elbows before quickly chucking his own shirt to the floor.
Sherlock groaned softly into the kiss. John had known he wouldn’t want to respond. John knew and this was his way of saying things would be okay this way for a while. Once their shirts were removed, he wrapped his arms around John’s shoulders once more and pressed their bodies together tightly. God it felt wonderful just to touch him, but when the doctor’s hands were on him again, he felt like he was melting.
Tearing his lips away, he let his head tilt back, exposing his throat as he swallowed thickly. His breathing had picked up and his thoughts hadn’t made his jeans any looser. “John.” he groaned, his fingers threading through the shaggy hair. The doctor would be getting a haircut soon, and idly Sherlock wondered if he could convince him to keep it just a little long.
John had already been achingly hard, but with Sherlock’s head thrown back, his neck moving elegantly as he swallowed and breathed John’s name the doctor felt his member throb painfully. Dipping forward he nipped at the enticing pulse point before working the detectives belt buckle open with one hand. Pushing Sherlock back into the bed John slowly worked open his trousers, easing his hips up to pull the last of his clothing away, dropping them into the growing pile at the side of the bed.
Pressing an open hand to Sherlock’s abdomen he whispered, ‘stay,’ before slipping from the bed. He quickly divested himself of his own jeans and pants, and then was rummaging through the side table for lube. Once he had located the tube he set it on the edge of the nightstand, just within reach before making his way back to the bed.
He was determined to make this experience about Sherlock, not about himself as the detective had introduced it. Clambering onto the end of the bed John knelt between Sherlock’s spread feet. He paused there for a moment, his hands resting softly on either foot his fingers tracing patterns in the tops of them as he gazed at the detective with a mixture of desire and adoration.
Slowly he moved up Sherlock’s body, his fingers massaging their way up the lean muscles, willing the detective to relax into his touch.
When Sherlock opened his eyes again, they found John’s eyes to be full of adoration and he couldn’t look away. He was drowning in them, and he thought that just might be the best way to die. Unsure of what to do with his hands, they reached up, tracing John’s face and shoulders. Since he’d come back they’d helped each other through hard times, but through it all, the detective had always felt it was his duty to watch and protect John after putting him through hell. Now, as the blonde was massaging his legs, looking at him with such an intense expression, he could see why John liked Sherlock being a little possessive. It felt nice to be such a singular focus and Sherlock found himself bucking up into thin air in a silent plea to be touched. He knew this would just be more painful in the end, but for all it was worth, Sherlock wanted to pretend, even if it was just for a moment, that it wouldn’t end. Because he knew this memory, these feelings, he would lock away in his mind palace for the rest of his life.
Reaching Sherlock’s hips John leaned forward, kissing him languidly, his hand cupping his cheek for a moment before moving the tube from the nightstand to the bed, just to the side of Sherlock’s hips. He kissed him again before pulling away again, his hands now starting at his shoulders, working their way back down until he was back at Sherlock’s hips. He gently guided Sherlock’s knees up, before he finally gripped the throbbing member. He moved slowly, just enough contact to calm him as John readjust himself.
He was crouching in between Sherlock’s bent legs, cheek pressed to the inside of his thigh as he stroked Sherlock expertly. He grabbed the lube with his free hand, popping it open carefully before he stopped.
“You ready?” He asked softly, his lips brushing the inside of Sherlock’s thigh, the sparse hair moved gently against his breath. This was new for the both of them, he didn’t want to rush anything.
Sherlock only nodded, a little dazed from the hypnotic paths the doctor's fingers had taken over his skin. The slow expert stroking of John's hand was the only thing grounding him and he desperately wanted more.
"Yes please." For some reason he felt very contrite, and Sherlock wasn't sure if it was because he had finally resigned himself to what he'd known to be inevitable from the start or whether it was something his lust addled brain couldn't quite comprehend at the moment.
Pressing a kiss against Sherlock’s thigh John quickly coated two fingers in the lube before setting it aside and starting the slow stroking once again. He waited a few moments, watching Sherlock react to his touch, before he let one slicked finger circle the tight pucker. He didn’t do more than that for a few moments, carefully teasing the sensitive skin, the pad of his finger just pressing against the opening.
When he was sure Sherlock was beginning to relax he slipped his index finger past the tight ring of muscle, gasping softly as the silky heat wrapped around the digit. He moved slowly at first, until he could slip his finger in with ease. The next part was easy, he’d done it enough times that he knew exactly where his target was. With clinical accuracy he gently stroked Sherlock’s prostate with the pad of his finger before pulling out completely.
The detective had been content to let small pleasure noises fall from his lips, but as John found his prostate a soft cry burst from his chest. John's hand still stroked his member in languidly, trying not to work him up too much.
John ran the two slicked fingers back and forth, entranced by the muscles clenching and unclenching around his fingers, begging for more. Seeing Sherlock writhing beneath him had ignited something a bit more feral in John. He moaned as he pressed the two slicked fingers into Sherlock with ease, his mind quickly imagining the tight heat enveloping him.
He carefully worked to prepare Sherlock, opening and relaxing the tight muscles with the two fingers while stimulating his prostate gently. Each time his fingers would curl to brush the sensitive spot his opposite hand twist at the top of his stroke, simultaneously caressing the tip.
Sherlock was quickly becoming pliant and open, but to be sure John slipped a third finger in, twisting and spreading the fingers gently before resuming his gentle assault on the mans prostate. John’s own cock was achingly hard, and he found himself groaning as he watched his fingers disappear inside of Sherlock with ease. The hand on Sherlock’s member fell away, but was quickly replaced by John’s mouth, teasing him relentlessly. He never fully took him in his mouth, just sucked, licked and kissed his way up and down Sherlock’s cock and balls.
He was pure want beneath John’s ministrations now, nothing but a wound up ball of need. His hips bucked shallowly as the head of his member was enveloped in slick heat.
"John..." Sherlock's voice was breathless and he tugged at the soldier's sandy hair, "Stop teasing me." A faint whine filtered in with his voice belying how much he wanted this. "I need you." Came the softer statement. He felt like he was saying so much more than he intended, but at the moment he didn't care. He wanted all of John and he wanted it now.
“I know.” John cooed as he pulled his fingers away and sat up. He said I know and the words made his chest feel tight with emotion, because he knew in this moment Sherlock did need him, what he didn’t know was if he would still need him when it was over. Fetching the lube again to spread it along his own aching arousal. His breath hitched and he let out a breathy moan as he stroked himself twice, spreading the lube along himself quickly.
Scooting forward he lifted Sherlock’s legs, knees hanging over his shoulders with ease so he could line himself up. John kept his eyes on Sherlock’s, never straying from the intense gaze as he pressed into Sherlock. He couldn’t, however, control the moan that ripped from his chest as the muscles tightened around him.
He moved slowly, working his way in until their bodies were flush. John was panting from the effort it took to keep still, giving Sherlock that moment to adjust to the new sensation.
It burned like hell at first, and the detective grit his teeth against it, but as John stilled and their breaths became ragged, the pain melted away into a need for more. More of John, more of everything he would give. The first indication that Sherlock gave was a small roll of his hips against the stockier man, and a whisper soft moan was offered up as a graceful hand laced through sandy locks.
“Move.” He commanded breathlessly, his eyes never leaving John’s either. Their locked gazes made the entire experience more intense and he felt a blush creeping over his cheeks as a wonton groan was pulled from his lungs.
John quickly obliged, still moving carefully. He pulled almost all the way out before thrusting back into Sherlock slowly, a guttural moan ripping from his chest. His still slicked hand reached between them to stroke Sherlock in time with his thrusts which began to pick up, moving faster as he adjusted his angle searching for the bundle of nerves that would undoubtedly undo the detective.
With each thrust it felt like John was pushing the air out of him, and allowing him to breath once more as he pulled away. It felt so intimate being filled with John, and he could see why the other man couldn’t help moaning and writhing while in the same position. Sherlock groaned deeply and arched his back causing the head of John’s cock to press against his prostate. A jilted cry wrenched from his lips as he tossed his head on the pillows.
“John.” he said breathily, wriggling needily beneath him.
Hearing his name so desperately on the others lips enticed John to move faster, keeping the new angle as he moved. Breathy moans slipped out between ragged breaths as he leaned forward. One of Sherlock’s legs splayed out to the side, the other pressed into his chest as John brought them closer together. His free hand cupped the back of Sherlock’s neck, kissing him deeply as they moaned into each other’s mouths.
Pulling his lips away from the other he growled lustfully, the hand beneath them quickening as his own thrusts began to grown erratic. “Oh Sherlock, you’re gorgeous like this... Come on love, come for me.”
Sherlock did his best to return the kiss but the sensations washing over his body were too intense to warrant much reaction from him. However as John’s hips adopted a faster gait, his hand a blur over the detective’s weeping member, and his words searing through his mind, Sherlock’s body began to arch obscenely underneath the doctor. His breathing was audible, more a litany of groans than actual breathing, and the awe he heard in John’s compliment made him feel so at home and absolutely perfect that he threw an arm over his eyes to hide the wetness that had begun pricking at them.
Even in that moment of feeling like he finally belonged somewhere, Sherlock knew it wouldn’t last. It never did, and giving himself up to John like this felt like ripping a piece of himself out to leave with his blogger for the rest of their pathetic lives. He couldn’t look the blonde in the eyes like this, feeling so desperately hopeful and despondent in the same breath, he tossed his head to the side, long fingers stretching over the ‘S’ on John’s arm, gripping tight as if he were the only thing holding Sherlock in this realm.
“Yes... John! Ah... I’m....” he couldn’t make his mind form around any more words than that as he felt his body being launched over the precipice. He came, hard, with a hoarse cry filling the air. His nails bit into both John’s arm and his own shoulder, his teeth searching out the skin of his forearm as his body convulsed in a heady mixture of pleasure and pain.
With a few desperate snaps of his hips John was crying out as the pleasure coiled deep within him released. Incoherent moans fell from his lips as he shuddered against Sherlock. His face fell against the others collarbone, pressing hot open-mouthed kisses against the skin in between keening noises.
John felt detached and heady, the world slowly coming back into focus as the last waves of the orgasm washed over him until finally he pulled out and collapsed against the detectives chest. One hand carded through Sherlock’s hair as he nuzzled against his neck, trying to hold on to the post coital bliss before reality crashed back over them. He didn’t care that they were a sticky hot mess, he just wanted to close out the world and keep Sherlock as close to him as possible
“Thank you.” he breathed against his neck. He knew Sherlock would understand the simple statement. John wasn’t thanking him for asking him to top, no. It was the trust and connection he’d never given John before that he was thankful for.
Sherlock dried his eyes as he drew his arm across his face and wrapped both arms around the man. He hummed noncommittally and rubbed his cheek against Johns hair as he shifted their weight to the side so John was no longer on top of him.
As he lay there, he willed himself to come down from the post coital bliss as slowly as possible. He didn't want reality to come crashing back in and ruin this moment. Curling around John, he threaded his leg through the doctor's, hooking his knee and holding him close.
"So that's what I've been missing." He said a little hoarsely against John's hair.
"Everything you thou-" John started as he pulled back enough to look Sherlock in the eyes. His voice halted, seeing the unimaginably sad look on the normally stony features. Fear flooded John as he struggled from their entwined limbs to look Sherlock over.
"Sherlock? What's wrong?" Johns mind was already filling in the blanks. How he could have hurt him physically or emotionally. He hadn't even asked if Sherlock had ever been penetrated before, hadn't considered what this meant for Sherlock.
Shit. He slowly let his mask slip back into place so as not to seem forced, and even gave John a small smile. "You just fucked me into one of the best orgasms of my life, why would anything be wrong?" His long fingers came up to brush over John's face, memorizing, as they slid back to cup his jaw.
Pressing a reassuring kiss to his lips, Sherlock fought hard to close the door on his emotions for now, and finally slipped back into his easy comfort with the man in his arms. When he pulled back from the kiss, he looked into John's impossibly blue eyes and allowed himself one admittance to the blonde.
"I could lay here kissing you for days and wouldn't grow bored of it." His smile widened as he placed a light kiss on the furrowed forehead.
For a moment it felt as though they had redeemed some of the old comfort that John had feared was truly lost. His features relaxed and he smiled back at Sherlock as he considered taking him up on that offer, but the post coital haze was fading and they were in desperate need of a shower.
“I’ll have to take up up on that one day,” John teased as he leaned in for another languid kiss. He was sure that alone would not keep his madman’s mind contented for very long, but the simple fact that he’d said it was enough for John. The kiss was long and slow, no longer coursing with burning desire, until finally John pulled away. “Shower?”
"Agreed." Came the detectives reply. The shower was warm and comforting, but as Sherlock ran the flannel over John's back the sinking feeling in his stomach returned and when they were both clean and dressed, Sherlock quickly retreated to the kitchen to resume his experiment.
He found his abandonment earlier had given the acid too much time to eat the bacteria and cursed under his breath. He would have to start all over. He burrowed himself in the familiar flow of working over the reactions and hypothesis' in his mind and barely noticed when a cup of tea was set down beside him. He sipped at it even after it had gone cold, and heard the pages of a novel turning in the living room.
He found himself adding new variables to get different reactions that he hadn't initially set on just to allow himself more time to calm and pull his normal measured surly self back together. He hasn't even realize it had gone dark until the kitchen light was flipped on for him. He muttered a small thank you and drained his cup of the rest of his tea.
John spent the evening reading, or trying to read, as he watched Sherlock diligently working on an experiment he hadn’t yet explained. Of course he’d tried to open up conversation, but just as the detective could continue talking unaware that no one was listening, he could completely ignore that there was anyone around, simply engrossed in his own mind. There was something beautiful about it, even if Sherlock’s focus wasn’t directed at John he enjoyed watching him work.
When it became apparent that Sherlock wasn’t planning on going to bed John came up behind Sherlock, gently wrapping an arm around his waist and placing a chaste kiss to the detectives temple. They’d work things out, he told himself as he muttered a goodnight and left Sherlock to his work. He needed the work, that had never changed. It took John a while to drift off, the soft clinking of test tubes and petri dishes filling the empty space of the room.
…..
Sherlock had sighed softly when John’s arm slipped around him, the touch familiar and comforting. Mentally he cursed his pavlovian reactions to the doctors touch as the gentle kiss spurred a returned goodnight. He made no promises to come to bed later, offered no reassurance, merely made John aware he knew he was going to bed. John bumbled off to the bedroom, and Sherlock pulled away from his microscope, rubbing his hands over his eyes.
Now that he was alone, his mind was running rampant. What was he going to do? Things had become so incredibly complicated, and now he actually had something invested in John. However relationships had always been a mystery to him, one he’d never truly cared to solve, and what little he did know suggested that his eccentric personality made for an impossible lover. Perhaps he could slowly start to drift away, and John would just think he’d grown bored.
After investigating all other avenues he found that one to be best, the option with the least amount of hurt to all. It would end as gradually as it had started, and John would understand. He hoped. His selfishness played into his decision as well, because he wasn’t sure he could just give everything up that had become normal. John’s comfortable touches and possessive notions, he didn’t want to give it up at all, but after the past few days, it seemed like it was the only plausible option.
Putting away his tests, he turned the light off and retired to the bedroom. Standing beside the bed, he looked down at John, sleeping soundly and his brows knit with frustration. The smaller man looked so peaceful, and he was worried that putting an end to whatever was going on between them would bring back the nightmares. However, he reassured himself, things would turn out better this way. They wouldn’t lose each other completely. That was the important part.

Pulling the covers up, he slid beneath them and wrapped his arms around the sleeping soldier, feeling the smaller man relax into his embrace. Sherlock pressed his nose into John’s hair, squeezing his eyes tight against the painful pricking behind his eyes. For a long time he just held the man tightly, as if he might be yanked from him at any moment, but, as John continued to snuggle back against him, Sherlock gradually relaxed into sleep.
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