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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
- 18
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It didn’t take long for Greg and Mycroft to devise a plan, thankfully Sherlock’s own embarrassment kept him in his room for most of the day which allowed the two to formulate their plan without the detectives knowing eyes. They needed to call in a bit of help to finish the plan. A quick call to Harry told them that John was quickly moving on from his silent breakdown to angry brooding. Greg wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, but it didn’t slow their plan down at all.
Another call to Molly ensured the last bit of their plan. Situating themselves on the sofa in the sitting room with Greg’s kids they both pretended to be interested in the movie his youngest has picked out. Sure enough, about twenty minutes later they heard Sherlock’s door crash open, the detective almost jumping down the stairs, two at a time.
He popped his head into the room, curly hair a disheveled mess, dark circles under his red eyes.
"I'll be out for a bit, I wouldn't touch the Petri dishes I left in the bathroom. Don't wait up." He called as he skittered for the door.
When the front door closed behind the detective with a snap the pair exchanged a loaded look. If this didn’t work they probably wouldn’t have another chance to push them back together. Greg’s hand found Mycroft’s, squeezing it reassuringly. No matter how cold he could be towards Sherlock Greg knew he was worried for his brother.
"It will be fine." The DI said leaning towards his better half, "Sherlock is stubborn, but I don't think he's that stubborn."
"Papa Croft?" Kiley, Greg's youngest crawled up and planted herself very firmly on the elder Holmes' lap, "is unca' Sherly going to be okay?"
Greg blanched and tried not to laugh at the girls name for Sherlock. He had never told her to call him that, but his continuous presence at Mycroft's estate had cause the children to start calling him Uncle. The DI smiled softly and made a 'go on' gesture when the man looked at him a little helplessly.
Mycroft absolutely loved that Greg’s children were just as open and loving as their father. It was something him and Sherlock had never experienced as children, and every time one of the girls called him Papa Croft a ridiculous smile found its way to his features. The fact that they had adopted Sherlock as a part of their family just as easily invoked emotions Mycroft had barely been aware he had.
“Of course he will,” he smiled, dropping a kiss to the top of her head before ruffling her blonde hair. “He just misses someone special, but he’s going to see them now.” He offered her a soft smile before tugging the little girl to sit between him and Greg.
...
When John’s phone began ringing he had the overwhelming desire to throw the device across the room. It wasn’t Sherlock, so it was utterly useless. Out of curiosity he glanced down at the screen only to see Molly’s name flashing across the screen. He relaxed a bit letting out a defeated sigh. Molly hadn’t done anything wrong, so with a little less resentment than he’d originally felt he answered the phone.
“Hello Molly.” He desperately hoped someone had filled Molly in on the situation and she wasn’t calling him to collect Sherlock.
“Hi John.” her voice was a bit shaky, as if she was nervous but she kept talking quickly, all in one breath. “I was wondering if I could ask you a favor.”
John was a bit surprised, his and Molly’s friendship revolved around Sherlock, they’d never really associated on their own, but of course John’s chivalry wouldn’t let him deny her. “Yeah of course, everything alright?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine. I just.. My normal assistant called in and I have a few bodies here that I need to autopsy. I was wondering if you might be free to help me."
“Of course.” He wasn’t particularly excited about going and spending time in the morgue, the only time he’s spent there had been with Sherlock, but he couldn’t tell her no after everything she’d done for them. “Not exactly my field of medicine but I can lend you a hand.”
“Really? Great, thank you so much John.” She seemed to relax immediately. “Go ahead and head down to the morgue whenever you can.”
“I’ll be right over. Ta.”
He ended the call, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth before pushing himself to his feet and heading down stairs. He paused at the door as he slipped on his coat to call back to Harry, he wasn’t sure where she was, but he hadn’t heard her leave today.
“I’m heading out. I’ll see you later tonight.”
He was out the door and hailing a cab before Harry had a chance to respond. Her head popped around the wall leading to the kitchen, a wry smile on her face as she pulled out her phone to text Greg.
He just left. Fingers crossed.
...
Molly ran to the front of the building hoping the guard hadn’t let Sherlock through yet. She’d left John in the morgue under the pretense of going to get them both coffee before they started on the bodies, and instead she was collecting Sherlock.
The call from Greg had come as a surprise, she hadn’t even known the couple had split up, but when he explained the plan him and Mycroft had worked up she quickly agreed. The last time she’d seen them together they might as well have been newlyweds for how close they were, and it tugged at her heart that something had happened to tear them apart. She was determined to do anything in her power to bring them back together.
Seeing that the security guard hadn’t in fact let Sherlock in made her breathe a sigh of relief. She took a visitors pass and clipped it on the lapel of his belstaff before leading him towards the morgue.
“When I saw this man’s thumb, I knew I had to show it to you. I knew you’d be thrilled to see it too.” She smiled warmly, but inwardly she was worried. Sherlock looked sick, and he smelled horribly of cigarettes. He nodded solemnly but didn’t offer a word.
A few feet away from the door, she suddenly stopped, “Oh! I’ve forgotten.. something, go on in, he’s in slide number seven, I’ll be right back.” She smiled as he headed inside without question.
When Sherlock stepped inside he was watching the floor. However when the door clicked shut behind him and he looked up to see a familiar stocky figure leaning against Molly’s desk he froze. For one moment Sherlock’s mind was frighteningly blank, but it kicked into gear quickly and he turned on his heel, striding back the way he had come. When he reached the door, he saw Molly had just finished locking it. She offered an apology at his angry expression.
“I’m sorry. Talk to him, I can’t let you out until you do.”
“I will break this door down.” he growled softly, his emotions roiling in his stomach. Molly only replied by sliding a piece of steel through the door handles.
“Talk to him. You two need it.” Sherlock let out a growl of anger and stalked away, back into the main room. He’d get this over with by being as rude and horrible as possible, and John would be begging Molly to let them go. Then this would be over with for good.
John had realized what was happening the moment he saw Sherlock stride into the morgue without Molly. He watched Sherlock throw his fit at her before the detective turned his attention back to John. He was angry with Sherlock. The man had walked away from their relationship, moved out without any sort of closure, and couldn’t seem to understand why everyone around them knew this was wrong.
His jaw set tightly, but the anger quickly began ebbing away as he finally got a good look at Sherlock. It looked as if he hadn't slept in days. His hair was particularly unruly, and the dark circles around his eyes betrayed just how upset Sherlock was.
“This isn’t her fault Sherlock.” He spoke softly, not moving from his position against the desk. “She’s right, we need to talk.” Even John was surprised by how calm his voice was.
"Fine," the detective snapped irritably, "Talk."
“Why did you leave?” John had to focus to keep his calm demeanour.
The detective snorted, "You're wasting your time asking questions you already know the answer to."
John’s facade finally broke at that. “No. Sherlock. I really don’t. We’re both miserable. And don’t try and say you aren’t because you look like fucking hell. Dammit Sherlock!” His fist came down on the desk harshly as he pushed off of it, taking a step closer so there was only a foot of space between them. “Give me one good reason to walk away. Not that bull shit about giving me what I want. I want you and whatever you have to offer, that’s it. God. Just fucking talk to me!”
His fists were clenched tightly at his side. All of his emotions for Sherlock were being amplified by his own anger.
Sherlock's anger flared and he lost the brittle grip he'd maintained on his emotions. Grabbing the smaller man's left arm with a bruising force, he wrenched it forward and shoved the loose sleeve of his jumper all the way past the curve of his shoulder. He wrapped the fingers of his free hand around the scarred flesh that still bore a pale white stylized 'S'.
"This is why! You should have run screaming from me days after you met me, like everyone else in my god forsaken life. You didn't though, you were different, you stayed....” His voice had softened, as if that one fact was a blessing and a curse all at once. “But John this should have been the turning point. You almost died because of me. You were marked for the rest of your life, simply because I was in it! But you stayed! For what John?! FOR WHAT?!?"
He had grown more agitated the longer he spoke and now he thrust the doctor's arm away from him, turning and throwing the first thing he could reach, a cup of cotton swabs, against the wall. He stood there breathing hard, his back to the doctor as the metal container clanked to the floor and cotton swabs rolled away. It was not nearly as satisfying as he had wanted it to be.
John was frozen for a moment, Sherlock’s words echoing through his mind. His arm tingled slightly where Sherlock had gripped the healed scar. He’d seen Sherlock look at it before, with a mingled look of pain and self-loathing, but up until now John hadn’t fully understood how gravely it affected Sherlock.
Stepping forward, more slowly, John licked his lips nervously. He reached for the neckline of his jumper, letting the stretched sleeve fall back down his arm as he moved, he pulled the collar of his jumper away, revealing the smaller starburst where the bullet had ripped through his skin.
He stood there, silent, waiting for Sherlock turn around and look at him, and when he did and he saw the green eyes widen slightly he spoke.
“If I was given the choice, I would go through every terrible thing that has happened in my life if it meant I ended up with you. You can’t let the scars stop you from moving forward, then they win.”
"No, no! John.." He took the few steps forward, gripping John's warm skin with cold fingers, shaking him by the arms as if he could shake his reasoning into him, "Listen to what you're saying dammit! You weren't suppose to fall in love with me. I can't give any of that back. I can't love you, I can't feel the way you feel. And don't you dare tell me it's enough!"
He released John's arms and backed away. "You and I are so different, you should have someone who can tell you they love you, someone you can have a family with John. You've been on the battlefield for too long.. It's time for you to finally have some peace. That doesn't happen with me..."
John grabbed Sherlock’s wrist, forcing him to step closer. He could sense how tense Sherlock was, and saw how he refused to meet his gaze. “I can’t do the civilian life, you know that. If you walk out of here today and I never see you again you know I’ll have to find other ways.” His hand came up to cup the side of Sherlock’s face, catching him by surprise to stop him from arguing.
“You’re right, you can’t return my love, but I’m fine with that because you give me so much more. Normal people are able to love anyone they are close to.. but you.. You’re emotions are so precious. Having your trust, having you care more about my well being more than your own... You are so careful about who you bare your soul to, and it means more than you could know.”
His thumb traced along the detectives cheek bone softly, a small smile playing at his lips as he spoke. “I love you Sherlock, that has never changed.” John let his hand fall away, taking half a step back to let Sherlock process what he’d said.
It was obvious Sherlock was starting to break down, and when he finally spoke his voice was small and childish, "How can you love something that is so broken?" His voice wavered at the end and he turned away, his curls shadowing his eyes.
Shaking his head sadly John tentatively reached forward, just taking Sherlock’s fingers in his hand softly, trying to bring the detective back to the moment. He couldn’t have him pull away again.
“Oh love... You aren’t broken.” John softly squeezed Sherlock’s hand, “Neither of us are, just a bit bent. But we can figure this out, just as long as you don’t walk away. Walking away is what breaks us.”
Sherlock couldn't look up, but the warm hand on his fingers made him want to give in. He wanted so desperately to believe John, wanted to melt around him, embrace the small rock of strength John had become in his life, but something held him back.
His free hand lifted and curled over scar that had caused so much disdain in his heart over the past months, and finally he let the truth of it all fall from his lips.
"John... I can't... I look at you and every time I see this I hate myself more. I think of what happened and I feel so selfish for keeping you with me. I feel horrible for keeping you by my side for the simple reason that it feels good and right I-" his voice cracked and a small tremor of emotion rippled through his shoulders, fingers gripping hard enough to bruise, "I am so much like my father, how can you not see-?"
“No. Stop this.” John’s voice was sharp, cutting Sherlock short.
John stepped closer to Sherlock, resting his forehead against the taller man's shoulder.His breath was shaky and John was honestly scared. He couldn’t lose Sherlock, and they were so close to the edge.
“He isn’t your father Sherlock. He’s a bloody sperm donor, that’s all and you are nothing like him. You’re brilliant, and no matter what you say you are ultimately good. You could have been like him, but you aren’t. You are everything he wasn’t. And.. and I want to be by your side, so if you’re being selfish.. well at least we both are.”
His other hand pulled Sherlock closer, slipping inside his coat so he could grip his hip gently.
Somehow that simple gesture, that possessive hand on his hip made the reality of it all come crashing down. John wanted him, John wanted to stay by his side and he'd been a prat and mucked it all up. The praise and the words of encouragement were so foreign that he felt tears prick the back of his eyes. All the months of agonizing worry, all the secrets, poured out of him as his arms finally circled John's shoulders squeezing them tight as if he never wanted to let go.
Choking back a soft and pained noise, he pressed his nose into the doctor's hair, inhaling all the warmth and comfort that had been painfully absent from his life for the past few weeks. He attempted a chuckle to cover up his moment of vulnerability, "At least you had Hamish to keep you company. I had Mycroft and Lestrade's children.... Apparently I am now Uncle Sherly. I dare to imagine what creative name they will give to you..."
He squeezed the doctor tighter before moving back a little so that he could meet John's gaze. He knew his face flushed, he could feel the heat of it in his cheeks, and he was sure he looked horrid at the moment but he smiled slightly, his thumb coming up to caress John's cheek, "I- I shouldn’t have... I didn't...-" Sherlock didn't know what to say, so he said the first thing that always came to mind when he had missed the target on some social nicety or another.
"Not good?" It wasn't so much of a question as it was an apology, a plea for them to be alright, a need to know that John forgave him for being a complete and totally arse.
“A bit.” John said softly, leaning into the caress across his cheek. It was the response they’d grown used to over the years. John’s gentle way of reminding him to behave in a way that wasn’t judging. He accepted Sherlock and all his idiocracies and it didn’t bother him when he did things that were a bit not good. He was truly Sherlock’s other half in that respect, his voice of reason.
The words hung between them for barely a moment before John smiled widely, pressing up on his toes to bring his lips to Sherlock’s. His arms quickly wrapping round Sherlock’s shoulders, all of the emotion from the past few weeks spilling out in a passionate kiss.
John was so entranced by the man in his arms he didn’t notice when the door of the lab clicked open.
Sherlock's hands fell to the doctor's hips as their lips crashed together. He kissed the smaller man with as much fervor as he could, and he either didn't notice or didn't care when the door opened.
Suddenly a throat cleared, and Sherlock managed to pull himself away from John and look round to find Molly, her cheeks a bit flushed, standing there and grinning from ear to ear.
"I see you two have made up then. I suppose you have better places to be than here in the morgue with us stiffs." Her smile was warm as she looked on at them, truly happy they had made amends.
Sherlock turned back to look at John, one brow rising only to be lost among his curly locks, "I agree." He said, one arm slipping around John's waist, "and I know just the place."
John chuckled, a blush rising to his cheeks. Sherlock immediately began bustling him from the room but John managed to fall back, telling him to grab a cab and that he’d be right behind him. The detectives eyes narrowed for a moment, obviously impatient, but continued out the door all the same.
Turning his attention to Molly John smiled warmly before pulling her into a hug. He knew she hadn’t been the only person planning this set up, but she was the only one there at the moment that he could thank. The embrace lasted only for a moment, emotions welling up inside him, threatening to spill out.
“Thank you so much Molly. He won’t say it, but if you hadn’t done this... just thank you.”
He gave her hand a small squeeze before heading out after Sherlock.
John was a little surprised when Sherlock insisted that they head back to Baker Street. Considering only a few of John’s things were still there, and the rest of the flat was empty. Sherlock simply insisted that he knew his brother, and that they needed to return home. That, of course, John agreed to easily.
The short cab ride was tense, so many things still unsaid, and their desire to close the short distance between each other was almost overwhelming. They were practically tripping over each other when they finally pulled up to 221B. John froze in the doorway of their sitting room, much to Sherlock’s dismay.
Everything exactly where it should be, sans the normal comfortable clutter the room normally held. John leaned against the door jamb, overcome by emotions once again, and when Sherlock slowly walked back over to him, realizing he hadn’t been following him to the bedroom, he smiled at the detective.
“It’s good to have you home.” He murmured softly, lacing one hand through Sherlock’s as he stared up into the sharp green eyes.
"It's good to be home." He brought their joined hands to his lips and pressed soft kisses to each knuckle, then repeated the action to each fingertip. He realized in that moment that the two of them, although so different, were two parts of the same whole. Where John was the warmth and light, keeping him from falling too much into despair, he was the cool and dark, giving John solace from whatever hardship he was facing. They were two sides of the same coin, they simply belonged together.
"John... I." When he raised his eyes to the doctor's again, The words stalled in his throat. How could he say something that sounded so odd even to himself? Instead he just watched, his eyes flickering back and forth between John’s, begging him to understand. Words never failed him, but they did now as he tried desperately to convey how important John was to him, how much he utterly needed him.
“Shh. I know.” John spoke softly his hand slid back to cup the back of Sherlock’s neck and pull them together, resuming the passionate kiss they had started at the morgue. The only difference was now they were really alone. John pushed off the wall, and they clumsily made their way towards their bedroom, their lips only separating long enough to divest themselves of their clothing as they walked, leaving a haphazard trail in their wake.
Hands traced familiar paths as they entered the bedroom, stark naked gasping into each others mouths. They fell into the bed, Sherlock on top of John
When the John’s lips started moving down his throat, Sherlock gasped and thrust his hips against the man beneath him.
"Ah John!" He gasped, hands running down the doctor's sides. "I-I want you-ah!" He cried out as the doctor nipped at his collarbone. Pulling away slightly so that he could think straight, he moved his lips to John's ear.
"I think this is the perfect occasion for... Will you..." He asked softly as hands tickled up his rib cage, "John!"
John smiled coyly, running his hands up Sherlock’s back, raking his nails across his skin scratching it softly as he chuckled darkly.
“Tell me what you want Sherlock.” His voice was a thick growl, one hand slipped down the arch of his back to squeeze the man’s arse lightly. He was fairly certain he knew what Sherlock wanted, but he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to hear those words fall from the detectives lips. “I need to hear it.”
“I-John I want you to take me.” His cheeks flushed red and he mentally berated himself. He didn’t know why he was so bashful, but he was sure that his new found emotions were to blame, “John...” He growled softly at the squeeze on his rear and thrust his hips forward.
The words sent a wave of arousal to his already hardening cock. John brought his lips to Sherlock’s again, moaning into his mouth wantonly as his mind raced through all the possibilities. The hand on the swell of Sherlock’s arse slipped between his cheeks, one finger lightly circling the twitching ring of muscle.
“Thought you’d never ask.” he teased softly before moving his lips to brush against Sherlock’s ear lobe softly as he spoke, “I want you on your back so I can open you up, but after that...” He paused for a moment, gasping as Sherlock’s hips pressed his own throbbing member between them deliciously. “After that I want you to ride me Sherlock. I want to see you come completely undone fucking yourself on my cock.”
John knew exactly how dirty the words sounded coming from his mouth, but he also knew how much an especially provocative turn of phrase could leave Sherlock absolutely aching for it.
Sherlock moaned and felt his body shudder at the filthy words. With a moan, he slid off the doctor, rolling over on his back. He could already feel the tendrils of pleasure coursing up his spine at the memory of of John’s fingers inside of him.
John rested back on his heels, lips parted unconsciously as he gaped at Sherlock openly. “God you’re gorgeous.” The words barely fell from his lips before he was fumbling in the drawer of the bedside table, a little surprised when he found the lube still tucked away there. Mycroft’s mover’s were very good.
Slicking two fingers John positioned himself between Sherlock’s hips. His lips grazed the inside of the detectives thigh as his now slicked fingers ran from the tip of his throbbing member down to tease the his entrance. He pressed lightly, not enough to enter the slick heat, but enough to leave Sherlock squirming for more.
“I don’t know why you were acting shy before Sherlock. You’re obviously comfortable like this.”
He nipped at the inside of Sherlock’s thigh as his lips moved closer to his twitching member, slipping the one finger in at the same time. He sucked on the sensitive spot for a moment before letting his tongue jut out to soothe the bruising skin, pulling his finger out as he placed a chaste kiss to the reddening skin.
John had missed this almost as much as he’d missed his detective’s constant presence. It was intoxicating, teasing Sherlock slowly, watching his mind let go of everything else and lose himself in the pleasure.
He slipped his finger back inside of him and began thrusting, adding the second finger after just a few agonizingly slow movements. Breathing heavily along Sherlock’s twitching member John licked a cool stripe up his shaft, letting his tongue swirl over the tip, moaning as he tasted the precum collected there.
Sherlock didn’t think he’d ever heard the sounds that were coming out of his mouth before. It was somewhere between a breathy whimper and a cry of pleasure. His hips thrust up of their own accord looking for more pressure on his cock or against John’s fingers, anywhere he didn’t care. He just wanted more of John, enough to fill him up so he’d never have to be without him again.
“Ah.. John!” His voice had suddenly rose as the fingers expertly grazed his prostate. With a moan, his hands twisted in the doctor’s hair, attempting to pull him closer. Tugging harder, he managed to pull the man back up so he could bury his face against John’s neck as he spoke again, silently grateful he didn’t have to say this while looking into his knowing blue eyes.
“I want you inside of me. I want you to give it to me so that I feel it for days. I never want to know what it feels like to forget the feeling of your cock inside of me. Please John...” his voice was needy as he spoke, a heavy whine filtering through his words.
A throaty moan ripped from John’s chest as his hips canted against Sherlock’s, the fingers inside of him. Stretching him roughly before pulling them out completely. His body still over Sherlock’s, preventing him from moving just yet. He pulled away enough that he could look Sherlock in the eyes, his own blown wide with lust.
“Kiss me.” He brushed his nose along the detectives softly. His tone was playful and when Sherlock complied he drew him into a deep kiss before wrapping his limbs around Sherlock’s thin frame and rolling them over so Sherlock was now straddling his hips. Finally pulling his lips away John began nipping and kissing his way back down to the sharp collarbones. He was beginning to love how easily he could leave bruises on the taut skin there.
“I’ll give you whatever you want love,” he muttered softly against Sherlock’s neck before continuing along to the other side.
His hand found the tube that lay forgotten, pressing it into Sherlock’s palm without pulling his lips away, “You’ll want this.” His lips traveled down the pale chest, pausing to let his tongue circle Sherlock’s nipple, teeth grazing against the erect nub before he let himself gaze back up at Sherlock lustfully.
A moan ripped it’s way from Sherlock’s chest as eagerness and desperation made his hands shaky with haste. He opened the tube and squeezed a fair amount on his hand before reaching down and wrapping his long fingers around the shaft. The feeling of how hard John actually was made the detective’s breath shudder out of his lungs.
He gasped as his fingers took a few long strokes before holding him tight and positioning himself so that the head was pressing against his entrance.Taking a few deep breaths, he raised his eyes to John’s and slowly began sliding down the length.
A low moan hissed out of his mouth as he took each centimeter of the doctor’s cock agonizingly slow, wanting to memorize the feel of him inside. His eyes never left blue ones as he lowered himself until his hips were fitted against the smaller man’s. His breath was coming in harsh pants, and his hands splayed over a John’s chest possessively.
“God... it’s almost too much.” he said softly, his head falling back and eyes closing. The new angle was different from how it had been last time. His body was totally open and accepting, and he felt the pleasure settling low in his belly as he gave an experimental roll of his hips.
John met Sherlock’s movement with minute thrust of his hips. His eyes fell closed as he moaned deeply. “God Sherlock, it feels amazing.”
He gave Sherlock a moment more to acclimate before wrapping one hand around the neglected member between them. John stroked it experimentally as he thrust his hips again, pulling out a bit this time before sinking back into the silky heat.
“I won’t take long like this Sherlock,” He thrust his hips up again slowly, the resulting moan making his point abundantly clear. “When you’re ready,” he squeezed Sherlock’s cock a little tighter, still stroking it as he spoke, “Tell me.” He thrust his hips up sharply, loving the throaty moan it drew from the disheveled man.
The detective nodded. He let his hips rise and fall in gentle teasing thrusts, hands slipping back to John’s knees for leverage. The new angle caused the head of the doctor’s shaft to press right against his prostate, and his own weeping member jutted into the tight grip around it.
“Oh God.” he panted. The slow thrusts were enough to get him hot and bothered but not enough to give him the release he wanted, and he let his head fall back, arching his spine lustfully.
“Your hands... I want to feel them.” One hand took John’s free hand and pulled it to cradle his waist, urging him to squeeze harder and take what he knew they both needed.
As his hips continually rocked down against his prostate, he knew he wouldn’t last long either, “Now John... please I … need this.” He swallowed hard and gripped tightly at the smaller man’s knees.
The desperation in Sherlock’s voice was enough to push John to the edge, a guttural growl ripped through his chest as he grabbed Sherlock just above his hips, pulling him down as he thrust into him relentlessly. “God Sherlock.. ‘S amazing..” John was barely aware of the praise falling from his lips.
Keeping the same pace John brought one had back to Sherlock’s cock, stroking it fast, urging the detective over the edge, his own arousal coiling tightly within him. He was teetering on the edge of overwhelming pleasure. Keeping his half lidded eyes on the Sherlock he gasped desperately.
“Sherlock, I need you to come for me. Now. I want to feel it.” He bit back a whine as he staved off his own orgasm, his thrusts becoming increasingly erratic.
The detective’s hands were gripping at John’s knees tightly as the hard thrusts were driving him closer and closer to the edge. Then the hand sped up over his cock, and John’s needy voice filtered through the lusty haze into his ears and he came, his entire body clenching tightly as he gave himself, all of himself, to John.
His body shuddered in pleasure as wave after wave of his orgasm crashed over him. His mind was pleasantly white and blank as he came down from his orgasmic high.
Sherlock clenched around John’s cock over and over again as he rode out the orgasm. It only took a few deep thrusts for John to follow him. He stilled as pleasure rushed through his body, leaving him shaking and slick with sweat and cum. The last waves of Sherlock’s pleasure causing the tight muscles to flutter against his now very sensitive member.
His chest was heaving, as he pulled out of Sherlock gently, pulling the detective down into his chest. The rest of the world was still pleasantly fuzzy and warm, the post coital haze leaving him breathless and euphoric.
Sherlock felt sticky and dirty as John pulled him down so that their chests were pressed together. He was panting hard into John’s throat, nuzzling affectionately. Suddenly a thought hit him so hard that he sat up a little, his breath mixing with John’s between them.
“Three years.” he said simply, his eyes meeting John’s with a serious frown.
John’s brow furrowed deeply, attempting, for a fleeting moment, to follow Sherlock’s train of thought before cocking his head to the side. His hand idly tracing up the detectives rib cage as he spoke. “Three years? What are you on about now?” His tone was calm and contented, curious, but not particularly concerned about the statement.
“When I first came back, you said if anything ever happened to me, you’d be waiting forever, never knowing if I was truly gone. I told you then that you could never know. I want to change that.” He brushed his fingers over John’s tanned chest, feeling his cheeks heating in a blush, “So I’m setting the bar at three years. If I ever disappear, if I have to leave you for any reason, I promise you I will come back to you within three years. If I don’t then you’ll know, because the only thing that could keep me away from you now would be my death.”
He pressed his forehead to the doctor’s and smiled softly, “I promise you as long as it’s within my powers I will always come back to you.”
At some point during Sherlock’s short speech John’s eyes began prickling dangerously, his emotions threatening to wash over him again. His throat felt tight and his mouth was dry, so he didn’t voice his response. Instead he nodded minutely before pressing their lips together again softly, a stark difference from how they had entered the flat.
When they finally pulled apart their eyes met again, and John returned the soft smile. He desperately hoped that he would not have to hold Sherlock to his words, but John understood the meaning behind the promise. This was everything Sherlock could give him. John found it heady and exhilarating as he looked back into the open green eyes, for once not seeing a hint of the his regular barriers.
“Thank you.” John finally managed, knowing Sherlock would understand everything he was thanking him for. He always understood.
“No John. I should be thanking you.” He pulled himself off of the doctor and curled around him. He felt something soft tickling at his back and pulled a large stuffed hedgehog from where it had been wedged between the bed and the nightstand, neither of them seeing poor Hamish in their haste.
“Here,” he said dropping the stuffed animal on top of John’s chest playfully, “Wouldn’t want our family to be incomplete.”
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