John reports to work the following day, again under Sherlock's orders. His sight has gotten a bit better since last night but still isn't completely back. Besides, what reason would he have to stay home?

Sherlock goes about what has become his typical routine as of late, trying not to get too excited when things become more and more clear, but the feeling of immense relief he feels is practically overwhelming. He didn't truly understand how concerned he was that his blindness would be permanent until he allowed himself to believe that it wasn't.

To celebrate, Sherlock begins to make dinner shortly before John is due home from the surgery. His sight is nearly perfect once more.

"Am I supposed to trust you, then?" John asks in amusement as he enters the flat and finds Sherlock in the kitchen.

Sherlock rolls his eyes, "I can see perfectly fine now," he affirms without moving from facing the stove.

John moves towards him, "I mostly meant having you near anything warm that you can hurt yourself on," his large smile is evident in his tone, but Sherlock turns to lay eyes on it anyway.

The sight stuns him. John's face is lit up with happiness as their eyes meet. He has the sudden urge to grab John's face and kiss him, "You're hilarious as usual," he says to cover the moment, turning away again.

John chuckles as he moves to the counter, sitting on it the way Sherlock has been doing for the past three weeks or so. When Sherlock moves past him to the fridge, he feels John's eyes on him the entire time.

"God, you really can see again, can't you?" John asks reverently.

Sherlock's sarcastic retort is cut short as he locks eyes with John again and sees the utter adoration shining within them. And he suddenly knows without a trace of doubt that John is feeling - possibly has been feeling - the same pull to be close and together.

John can see the realization dawn in Sherlock's eyes that John wants him and is nervous for just a moment before raising his chin in defiance. Challenging him.

Sherlock closes the door to the fridge without even looking away from the other man, walking towards him as though drawn beyond his control, and maybe he is. He comes to a stop between John's legs, his hands resting on John's hips. John lifts his hands naturally to cup his neck gently.

"Yes," Sherlock whispers, "I can finally see," he says with so much meaning on the final word that John can't even try to misconstrue it as literal.

"Took you long enough, genius," John goads him with a flirtatious smirk.

Sherlock gives him a predatory smirk of his own before slowly moving in to claim John's lips with his own, giving him ample time to pull away if he so desires. But of course he doesn't.

The touch of lips is electric - not anything Sherlock has ever felt before - but it absolutely pales in comparison to the taste of John when he opens his mouth and begins to ravish him. John clearly has more experience than Sherlock, but John doesn't seem to mind, because the man is finally his. That cupid's bow, those ridiculous curls, his unexpected accident-prone tendencies, all his. And he couldn't be happier.

John moves his left hand up to wrap in the curls while his right slides down his chest, teasing on his way to his side. Sherlock moans at the contact, unconsciously moving yet closer to the other man who in turn wraps his legs around Sherlock's upper thighs in a stronghold.

When dinner begins to burn beside them, they break apart with a laugh. Sherlock turns off the stove and gives an embarrassed smile.

"Sorry I ruined dinner."

"We'll order in later," John assures him, "for now I've got something else in mind."

John pushes Sherlock away just enough to allow himself room to dismount from the counter. He does so while smoothly dragging his body along the taller man's, and how did he ever become so graceful?

Once on the floor, John grabs Sherlock's hand and begins to walk backwards while pulling him toward the bedroom. A few steps in he asks nervously, "Okay?"

"God yes," Sherlock practically breathes, unable to believe that the magnificent, caring creature in front of him would ever choose him.

Sherlock, as many in the past have assumed, is in fact a virgin. He doesn't plan to bring up this fact tonight - since he can't understand why it would matter - but it also doesn't make him any less sure of this next step with John. Sherlock has never felt anything, emotional or sexual, for anyone to nearly the immense degree that he does for John. That, above all else, is why he's never engaged in sex. But John takes care of him and John accepts him for all of his faults (John thinks there's more than there are, but Sherlock will give him that if only he'll stick around).

As they arrive at the bed, John looks nervous - as though he's been superimposing his wishes on to the other man – so Sherlock pulls him close for another kiss as his fingers begin to work on John's jumper. John takes the hint and eagerly begins undoing Sherlock's many buttons. Sherlock is grateful to find a simple t-shirt on underneath the jumper and removes it just as quickly as the other. He takes a moment to pass his eyes over the expanse of his toned torso and strong arms, not being able to stop his hands from following suit. John shivers under his touch.

Sherlock's hands move down to the top of John's pants. He hears John inhale sharply and he glances at him from beneath his lowered lashes, making sure he's alright. Sherlock holds his gaze as he falls gracefully to his knees, beginning to undo the belt and flies. Sherlock grabs both trousers and pants before tilting his head questioningly to the side, clearly asking if John is fine with both being removed before he does it. John swallows thickly and then nods a few times, giving his consent.

If Sherlock claimed to have never imagined the size of John's penis before, he'd be lying; in fact, he'd much rather boast about how accurate his assumptions had been. A nickname like "Three-Continents Watson" and a gait that makes it appear as though he's chaffing all the time had to lead to a sizeable cock. God, he's never been so glad to have been right.

When he helps John step from the garments and then his socks, he looks John in the eye again and smiles, "Get on the bed," he orders seductively.

John climbs on the bed, laying on his right side in a very self-conscious, protecting way: left leg bent with knee on the bed and left arm straight, meeting in the middle to cover his modesty. Sherlock notices this but, for once, doesn't say a word, simply begins to strip the remainder of his clothes from his body slowly, gauging John's reaction to each movement.

John hadn't spent quite as much time imagining Sherlock's penis as the other man had his – at least not in any scientific way – but he was pleased to see that it was proportionate to the lanky body, long and lean like the rest of him. When Sherlock begins moving towards the bed, John lifts his gaze back to his eyes and almost stops breathing at the look of desire in the now dark blue eyes.

Sherlock crawls on to the bed predatorily, using his entire body to lead John on to his back. In the past two years, Sherlock has lost every single one of his five main physical senses, and he'll be damned if he doesn't use each and every one of them tonight to worship this man.

He kisses him hungrily, hands moving only so far as his current position allows, not feeling a need to rush. He moves down to kiss what he has always suspected would be a particularly sensitive spot on John's neck and is rewarded with a hand in his curls, John's body arching up in to his as he moans, "Oh, God."

Sherlock tastesevery inch he comes across in his journey to the ultimate destination. When he reaches John's cock, the smell of the musk and arousal affects him in a much stronger way than anticipated. He moans out before mouthing down along the silken flesh, wringing a moan from John in turn. He licks his way from root to tip, growing accustomed to the taste and feel for the first time, before bringing his right hand up to help aid a more comfortable position for himself.

He takes John's cock in slowly, wetting it thoroughly as he goes, and relishes in both the taste and John's reaction to it. He quickly accepts that he could spend hours learning each inch of this man, what he likes and dislikes. A study might need to be done, but there's time for that later.

Sherlock loses track of time, not sure how long it is before John is pulling him up gently by his jaw. At first he questions whether he did it wrong, but then realizes that John just wants to kiss him again, and who is he to deny that? He's so caught up in the kiss that it catches him off guard when John rolls them on the bed to switch their positions. The look in his eyes is…heated, but affectionate. Before Sherlock can figure out what that means, precisely, John is moving down his body to reciprocate the blow job in an excruciatingly talented fashion.

Then John's tongue has moved further down and is licking Sherlock's arse. He bucks at the sudden sensation and wonders how the hell that can feel so good.

John chuckles at his look of awe before breaking their verbal silence, "Please tell me you have lube down here."

"Top drawer," he pants, pointing to the bedside table to his right.

"Good man," John praises, kissing the inside of his thigh before moving to grab it.

On his way back, Sherlock notices the hesitation on John's face again and reaches out with his right hand to cup his cheek softly, "Yes. Please," he answers honestly before John can even form the question.

John gives him an unsure, questioning look, as though he doesn't think Sherlock quite understands his hesitation. So instead Sherlock pulls him down in to a burning kiss before speaking again.

"It's always been you. I know what I'm doing."

John's look of adoration grows, but he closes his eyes and kisses Sherlock instead of trying to find any response that he's certain will fall far short of what he actually wants to say anyway.

John moves back down Sherlock's body, placing kisses as he goes, and begins to slowly prepare Sherlock with his fingers. Sherlock squirms through the feelings of too-much to not-enough to Oh-God-please-now. When John is satisfied that he won't hurt the other man, his mind surfaces for one last responsible question.

"Shit, condom?" He looks at the beautiful sight below him longingly.

Sherlock groans in frustration, "Second drawer," he points to the same side table.

"What? You really have some in here?" John looks honestly shocked.

"Science, John," he explains impatiently.

John merely chuckles a, "Yeah sure," as he moves to retrieve one. Once on, he places himself in to position, lifting Sherlock's hips up and guiding his legs to wrap around him securely. And then he slowly enters him.

Sherlock bears down, as he knows he's supposed to do, but the stretch is much more intense than originally anticipated with all of the preparations.

"Jesus Christ," Sherlock forces out on a breath, eyes closed tight, as John's hips finally meet his.

"Oh my God, Sherlock," John pants, forehead resting on the taller man's for a moment before he moves to kiss him tenderly and to tell him to breathe.

The pain subsides finally and Sherlock dares to open his eyes. The sight before him is absolutely the most magnificent thing he's ever seen: John's face so close to his, his concerned eyes searching his face for signs of discomfort, the sweat glistening off his body already. Honestly, it's glistening. His muscles, not as bulky as his army days, still stand out impressively as he holds his own weight above Sherlock.

Sherlock's hands move on their own accord, drawing down as far on John's chest as they can without disrupting their bodies, causing John to involuntarily thrust forward slightly. They moan in unison before Sherlock encourages him to do it again, looking him deeply in the eye as he says his name in a way that is new to both of their ears.

And then they move together, like it's a dance that was written just for them. Sherlock's hands move to grasp John's powerful arms, causing a fresh wave of lust to course through him at the feel of them, knowing they're caging him in. Owning him.

Sherlock has a difficult time deciding what his favorite sound is during it all. It could be his moans and groans, caused by Sherlock's body. It could be the curses that are uttered, the Lord's name surely being taken in vain more times than is forgivable, as Sherlock begins to meet him thrust for thrust. But as soon as he hears his name in place of a prayer on those lips, he knows he's found it: the only sound that will matter for the rest of his life, knowing he will strive to hear it again and again.

"God, Sherlock, I'm close," John moans, his hips thrusting harder and deeper than before.

"John," is the only response that Sherlock can think to moan out.

John leans down and sucks a mark in to Sherlock's impossibly enticing neck, bringing Sherlock over the edge without any warning, a fantastically, embarrassingly loud moan heralding its arrival. John rides out Sherlock's orgasm with him, letting his inner walls milk his own from him.

They collapse, finally somehow letting each other go long enough to be rid of the condom and position themselves on their sides facing each other, sharing air as they both attempt to regain their senses.

Sherlock opens his eyes and meets John's affectionate gaze again. His eyes, his smile, his mused up hair where Sherlock gripped it in the throes of passion…this, he amends in his head, this is the most magnificent thing he's ever seen.

"John," he whispers, scared of the sentiment about to leave his mouth but needing to say it anyway.

"Sherlock," John whispers back, a hint of a question on the name.

"Should this be the last thing I see, I want you to know it's enough for me," he says honestly, silently cursing himself for the poetic drivel spilling from his sentimental mouth.

John smiles wide before leaning forward to kiss each of his eyes tenderly in turn. When he pulls back he whispers, "Yeah. I love you, too."

A/N: First off, "Should this be the last thing I see, I want you to know it's enough for me" is from Tenerife Sea by Ed Sheerhan. Beautiful song.

Secondly, if you've made it this far, I humbly thank you and truly hope you enjoyed it. As always, thank you for even reading it; I hope it brought you even an iota of the satisfaction that it gave me to write it.

I would love to hear your thoughts via comments or constructive criticism!

Follow me on Tumblr at goddess-of-the-night04 for an easy way to keep up with any new stories from me or just to chat; I'd love hear from you :)