Just to explain - I have panicked a little and changed the rating of this to an M, just to be on the safe side. I am not convinced that it warrants an M rating, but would rather be safe than sorry - I have avoided any explicit phrasing. The rest of my A/N is at the end, I really hope you all enjoy this. E x
"So, what now, doctor?"
What now. Unfortunately, not quite what Sherlock had in mind.
"Unlike some people," John said, pulling his head back slightly from the face of the consulting detective that was suddenly wrapped around him, "I have to eat at regular intervals, and I am absolutely starving. Had to work through lunch today."
Sherlock huffed and let go of John unceremoniously, causing the doctor to chuckle. "Look, you won't get much sense out of me until I've got some food in my stomach, so how about you take me out somewhere? Once I've got showered and changed, obviously. Don't much fancy carrying the lingering aroma of elderly and ill people around with me."
The taller man's eyes lit up at the mention of a shower, but John grinned and shook his head. "You are going to stay in here and wait for me, Sherlock. No distracting me in the bathroom, please, it'll just prolong... everything."
He raised an eyebrow. "Everything?"
John raised up onto his toes and kissed Sherlock lightly on the lips. "If you're lucky."
Angelo's was apparently an acceptable place for a dinner date, as John knew that the food was good there and Sherlock knew that, if he had a quick word with the man himself, the meals would be served as quickly as humanely possible. Sherlock Holmes didn't do patience with much at all, and it appeared that the knowledge that their evening was likely to end up with John Watson in his bed - or him in John's bed - was doing nothing to help his restlessness.
"Bloody good service tonight," John commented as their dinner was placed before them within ten minutes of being ordered. Sherlock nodded in agreement, picking up a fork and toying with his salad whilst John went to work on the ridiculously large bolognese. Trust John, who wasn't the fastest eater in the world, to pick one of the largest meals possible.
"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were tormenting me," Sherlock whined as John slowly twirled the long strands of pasta around with his fork, a slight grin adorning his face.
"Oh, come on Sherlock. Surely you can bear to wait another hour or so?" John leaned in slightly, his eyes wide and shining brightly. "I promise I'm worth it."
The detective growled, but couldn't help noticing the pleasing change in John's demeanour since he had cornered him in the flat earlier. He was struggling to believe that he had honestly thought for one minute that John might have changed his mind. Of course he had made the right decision. Not wanting to overly inflate his already rather large ego, Sherlock knew that John had been attracted to him long before the events of Reichenbach, even if John hadn't realised it himself. And Sherlock knew that he had reciprocated those feelings, although he hadn't allowed himself to dwell on them, depositing them safely in the back of his extensive Mind Palace, always to be looked at another day. A lump caught in his throat as he considered how wretched John must have felt after Sherlock had faked his death. Sherlock always knew that John was okay - he had contacts keeping him relatively well informed as to what he was up to. But John had thought Sherlock was dead, for two years. The thought of imagining John dead for one minute made Sherlock feel desperately ill and, without really realising he had done it, he reached out and grabbed John's hand.
John looked down at Sherlock's fingers gripping into his own hand tightly, then raised his head, a questioning look on his face.
"I made you watch me kill myself," he said quietly, and he didn't miss the flash of pain that shot across John's eyes. "I abandoned you for two years, while you thought I was dead. I caused you unimaginable suffering..." John snorted at that, ready to respond with a 'big-headed' remark, but Sherlock shook his head slightly, not wanting to be interrupted. "...And then I caused you to end your relationship for me. I think even I can wait another hour for you."
John swallowed, even though there was no food in his mouth, and nodded silently, as Sherlock's hand slipped away from his and he resumed eating.
After a few moments, he set his cutlery back down, and Sherlock, who had been glancing out of the window, allowing his mind a very rare chance to wander slightly, turned to look at him.
"Suddenly I find myself not very hungry," John said quietly, gazing across the table at Sherlock. "I think I'd quite like it if we went home, please. I think we've both waited long enough."
Sherlock struggled to contain the smirk, itched to reach across and grab John's hand again, but instead turned again and lifted his eyebrows to Angelo who was stood across the room, watching them carefully. He bustled over immediately.
The walk home was silent at first. Neither of them felt like rushing, savouring this quiet journey to where they belonged, finally. It felt almost symbolic in some odd way, and Sherlock, hands buried deep in his large pockets, contemplated reaching out and taking John's gloved hand, holding onto it tightly to try and convey the emotion he felt. But before he had time to consider whether this would be an acceptable mood, John moved suddenly closer to him and slipped an arm in the loop created by Sherlock's own, leaning against him slightly and resting his head into his shoulder. Struck by the sudden public intimacy, but not caring at all what anyone else might think, the taller man smiled to himself and relaxed into the walk, stooping ever so slightly to aid John. They continued their walk back to Baker Street in companionable, wonderful silence.
Sherlock marvelled to himself how there was no real urgency in their movements, how completely normal and relaxed it all felt. This lasted right up until they had stepped inside at 221B, having climbed the stairs and closed the door behind them. Now it was just them, in their flat, knowing that there was no one downstairs to disturb (god bless Mrs Hudson's bingo nights) and that this was going to be their first night together. It all felt suddenly very highly charged.
The cold had brought a slight flush to Sherlock's cheeks, which the warmth of the inside was only heightening, he noted as he glanced quickly at his reflection. John was watching him expectantly, having removed his gloves and coat and even his jumper, and now stood, leaning against the sofa, his arms folded, only heightening the shape of those muscular arms that Sherlock had always admired. He minutely licked his lips, and Sherlock realised that John was waiting for him to make the first move.
He drew his gaze down from John's mesmerising blue eyes, raking down his face, pausing at his mouth, then down further, across his chest, taking in his stance, his broadness, his legs slightly apart, then back up to his mouth, moving slightly closer to him. Reaching out, he placed one hand on John's bicep, feeling the firm muscle, and the other cupped his face lightly, pushing it up ever so slightly to lock eyes with him.
"I know that now probably isn't the time for ridiculous clichés," Sherlock said softly, lightly stroking John's chin with his thumb. "But I promise you, I will do whatever it takes to make you realise how much I adore you every day, John. I am so grateful that you picked me... that you gave me a chance to prove that I can love another human being."
There was a low mumble in John's throat, and he grabbed Sherlock's hand. "Shut up and kiss me," he muttered.
Sherlock didn't need telling twice.
Pulling John close to him again, his left hand still very much in John's clutches, Sherlock allowed himself the luxury of pressing his face so close to John's he could see the flickering of his pupils, the dilation and the widening of his eyes, feeling John breathing against his skin, before gently and somewhat hesitantly touching his lips against his. He could feel the rush of endorphins, could feel the voice in his head screaming at him to just go for it with everything he had, but he so desperately wanted this kiss to convey just how much he cared for John, how much he loved him and how much this wasn't just about winning some power play game for him. He didn't want to rush John in any way.
John, it seemed, had other ideas.
Sherlock had always had a feeling that he would be a rather good submissive, despite it going against everything else in his nature. He knew he had a kink about being dominated, being somewhat lacking in experience in the sexual area, and his hunch was confirmed as John took him to task, spinning around and taking control of the kiss, hands suddenly in Sherlock's hair, a very gentle but definite bite on his lower lip. He wasn't sure how, but Sherlock suddenly found himself on the couch, pressed into it as John appeared on top of him, hands on his shoulders as he kissed him hard, holding him down for effect. A hold that Sherlock could easily have broken out of if he wanted to, but he absolutely did not. He could feel John's fingers stroking slightly at his neck, and every now and then John paused, lifting up slightly and just staring at Sherlock as if he couldn't quite believe this was finally happening. It made something deep inside Sherlock tingle, and, when he received the stare for the third time, he reached up a hand and very gently stroked John's face, letting his fingers briefly touch against John's lips.
"I'm here," he whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."
Then John's hands were in Sherlock's hair again, and this time he had turned his attentions to his long neck, nibbling at the skin just below his jaw. Sherlock groaned as John bit gently but firmly, sucking lightly on the skin but enough to elicit another gasp from the younger man. Sherlock was barely aware of what his hands were doing until he felt himself gripping tightly into John's hips, moving them round to rest on his backside as John ground into him suddenly. The feeling was unlike any other Sherlock could remember; their bodies seemed so in sync with each other, moving together even though Sherlock felt like he had no control over any part of him whatsoever. He just seemed to instinctively know what to do, and forced himself to stop over-thinking what was going on, letting John take over completely, knowing he would follow.
John soon returned his lips to Sherlock's, only this time the kisses were a little gentler, but still just exquisite. Sherlock experimented in running his tongue along John's lips, which was obviously appreciated as John moaned and thrust against him again. Sherlock could feel that both of them were slowly growing harder, and John's movements only served to send shivers through his body. He was suddenly desperate to remove more clothing, to really feel John on top of him.
John must have felt a similar way, as he was suddenly up on his feet, grabbing Sherlock's hand and practically dragging him to his bedroom. Once there, John began to unbutton Sherlock's shirt, keeping his eyes fixed on him the whole time. Sherlock realised that he was checking that he wasn't moving things too fast for him and, in a show of willingness, Sherlock reached out and tugged at the bottom of John's t-shirt. John smiled and let go of Sherlock, allowing him to pull the top up and over his head.
He allowed himself a few seconds to gaze at John, before quickly finishing the unbuttoning of his own shirt whilst John watched silently. Once removed, John grabbed Sherlock's belt, pulling him closer with it, before deftly undoing both it and the button on his trousers. Hazily, Sherlock reciprocated for John, and before too long they were lying on the bed, Sherlock wrapped in John's arms and legs, lying side by side and gazing at each other, both very aware of the other's nudity but both suddenly seeming a little hesitant.
John inhaled sharply and rubbed his nose lightly against Sherlock's. "Are you sure you want this?" he asked quietly. "You want to... go further than kissing?"
He thought about it - he always considered a question before responding, even if it took approximately half a second to formulate a reply, as it was most of the time. This time it was, if anything, even quicker.
John ran his hand down Sherlock's arm, interlocking their fingers together, before leaning in and very gently kissing Sherlock on the mouth. As he did so, he moved even closer to Sherlock, if such a thing were possible when one was already completely wrapped up in the other's limbs. The movement caused their erections to rub together and Sherlock practically yelped against John's lips, feeling the grin on his lover's face.
"God, that feels good," John muttered, before using his tongue to suddenly and rather harshly part Sherlock's lips as he rolled him onto his back and straddled him. The proximity now was almost too much for Sherlock and he closed his eyes, concentrating on the feelings and emotions that John was enticing from him. When he felt John's hand move between them, encircling them, Sherlock realised that this was actually happening. They were together, as a couple, closer than Sherlock had ever been to anyone else. John was taking control, bringing them both to the brink, knowing that this was what they both needed. There would be other times to enjoy learning new things, exploring each other. For now, they needed to be together, to express the pent-up emotion and need they had both carried with them for so long. Waiting was no longer an option.
They moved against each other, lips against lips, tongues dancing together, fingers interlocked and hands gripping together, Sherlock's other arm flung across his face as John continued to help them both along. The sensation was bordering on unbearable, and Sherlock knew that his release was not far off. He suddenly panicked that he would repel John, that he would embarrass himself. He didn't know what he was supposed to do, how he was supposed to react. Would he just look ridiculous?
But he didn't worry for long. John caught his eye, and Sherlock gasped at the intensity of the stare that gripped him. Lips slightly parted, John moved into him, his mouth against his ear and he whispered "Let go, Sherlock. Just let go. I'm here."
And with that he did, the force overwhelming him so much that he briefly couldn't see. He was aware of absolutely nothing for a few joyful seconds as his orgasm ripped through him, and as he began to come round, the only thing he noticed was that John was following suit, his body going rigid above him, biting down on Sherlock's shoulder as he came. Sherlock reached down and pulled the cover over the pair of them as John collapsed, sliding off and curling up into Sherlock's side, looking suddenly calm. The detective cast a sleepy eye over him, noting the tiredness was shared as John's eyes fluttered closed and he snuggled into Sherlock's shoulder. Smiling contentedly to himself, Sherlock wrapped his arm around his blogger and drifted off.
Greg watched in slight bemusement as Sherlock bounded up off the sofa and into the bedroom to find more suitable attire, before turning back to face John, who was already dressed in what he felt was acceptable clothing. The Detective Inspector had just witnessed Sherlock plant a quick but clearly loving kiss on the doctor's head, delighted at the new case that Lestrade had brought them, and John had acted as if nothing odd in the slightest had happened.
"So, you and him...?"
John glanced up at his friend. "Are a couple? Yes, did you not realise that?"
Greg shrugged. "I guess I just didn't quite believe it until I saw it with my own eyes. You two haven't been around much for a couple of weeks."
John smirked despite himself. "Yeah, well. We've been a bit busy."
His friend groaned. "Spare me the details." He paused, thoughtfully, then, unable to help himself, he leaned a little closer to John, who was sat in his armchair, tapping his fingers on the arm. "Although... I have to ask, John. What's he like, as a partner?"
John rolled his eyes. "An absolute pain. He's messy, he's grumpy, he's impatient and quite rude, he steals all the covers in bed, he can be quite inconsiderate and he's a frankly rubbish cook."
"I can hear you, you know," came a deep voice from the bedroom.
John grinned, then winked at the detective inspector, and Greg realised that John had known that they could be heard all along.
"Seriously though," he continued at a much quieter volume. "I don't think I've ever been happier, Greg."
His friend regarded him for a minute, taking that in. It was hard to believe, knowing Sherlock as he did, that he could make anyone happy in a relationship. Everything John had said, he could quite easily believe, and he had a feeling that John wasn't exactly lying when he'd listed all of Sherlock's negative qualities. But, it was abundantly clear that John really was ecstatic, and when Sherlock reappeared a few moments later, it was obvious that Sherlock was just as happy with John. In some odd, ridiculous way, they completely and utterly fit together, and the love between them, though not in the least bit nauseating or over-the-top, was very obvious and beautiful.
As the three of them left the flat, taking the very brief stroll towards Lestrade's car, he grinned to himself as he observed his two mates, walking closely together in front of him, looking every inch the devoted couple. Thank goodness they finally figured it out, he thought.
And that's it folks. Thank you so much for all the favourites, follows and reviews that this fic has received. Special thanks go to TheVenturer, who is an absolutely brilliant writer herself - please check out her works, they are all excellent. Also many thanks to AntiHeroLydia, serenityofthematrix, codename penguin, leetah evee, lordlottie, Countess Hargreaves and The Professional Gabbygirl for their regular and lovely reviews. And thank you to everyone who has read this, it means so much. Any more reviews you are willing to give will be very gratefully received. I love you all :) x