Assumptions - Chapter 7/7

Authurs Note: I'm so sorry for the unforgivable delay! I started a new job just before Christmas and then there was Christmas and then there was work... ok... I really have no excuse... but hopefully this will wrap thing up good enough for everyone! Thanks as usual to the wonderful fortheloveoftea for the beta. She's a bit of a legend!:)

Thanks of course to everyone who reviewed, favourited, alerted etc. I was so overwhelmed by the response I got for this story. Love for one and all and I if i had my way I'd have John and Sherlocks for everyone to take home with them... :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or John but lord help me I love them...

Summary: The morning after

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Assumptions Chapter 7

His first time with Sherlock is nothing like he expected. It isn't elegant and beautiful. It isn't slow and filled with delicate hands and butterfly kisses, with murmurs of love and adoration. It's frantic and messy. It's rough and desperate. It's deep moans and throaty gasps. It's bruised hips and purple bites. And its over entirely too quickly. There is no declarations of deep seated love or undying commitment. There is, however, the few moments of pure worship that is inflicted on bodies slick with sweat.

Then there is the inevitable, awkward moment after an exhausted sleep, when John wakes up. A warm body lying beside him.

Feigning sleep, he began to panic. What the hell was he supposed to do next? How is he supposed to act? Goosebumps erupted along his naked skin, giving him a vague feeling of someone watching him. It is the senses that have been honed from years living on edge that tells him – Sherlock is awake.

If Sherlock is awake, then he knows that John is awake. Maybe its a testament to what Sherlock may have picked up from John over the past few months of living together or maybe he's also feeling the awkwardness of the situation, regardless of which, Sherlock doesn't speak. He's pretending that he doesn't know that John is pretending to sleep. John's head hurts just thinking about it.

This is overwhelming. It's frustrating. It's so utterly absurd, yet John cannot help but want to do it all over again. For everything that sex with Sherlock Holmes is or isn't, it was (in John's humble opinion) exquisite. The sweet agony of nails clawing at virgin flesh, the burn from sharp incisors that marked his skin in possession. The strong yet delicate hands that pinned down his wrists. The deceptively rough lips, that murmured unspeakable acts into his wounded shoulder. Promises of glorious release and blinding pleasure. Each promise fulfilled beyond his wildest imaginings. The memories of last night cause a tremor of pleasure to run through John's body. A blush began to creep onto his cheeks which seem to add to his abject mortification.

Sherlock remained still and silent, ignoring (or respecting, he wasn't entirely sure himself...perhaps a first for Sherlock) John's obvious discomfort. He knew his next move was critical. Right now he had two choices.

Wait for John to make the first move and risk him over thinking the situation. Or two tell John he was aware that he was awake and do as he was wont to do and dissect the events of last night. It made his head spin.

Doing the latter would mean admitting to John exactly how much last night meant to him and what if it didn't mean the same to John? Sherlocks blood ran cold with the thought. And then, like a bolt of lightening, clarity struck. Break the tension that hung thick in the room, then worry about the consequences. In a stroke of utter genius, Sherlock did the best thing he could, he acted like Sherlock.

'Well...That was... interesting.' Sherlock spoke wearily, as if he was talking about a mildly entertain piece of literature not first time sex with his flat-mate. John opened his eyes. Sherlock leaned over his shoulder.

'The sex I mean...' he explained, as if he had to clarify to John what it was.

John began to shudder with laughter at the absurdity of the situation. He turned to face Sherlock and both burst out laughing. Sherlock threw himself back against the crisp white sheets, his forearm covering his eyes as his body convulsed with laughter.

Sherlock still laughing, watched John from the corner of his eye, his lids open a fraction.

John's head was thrown back as a bark of amusement escaped his lips, the tension leaving his shoulders. There was something so free and easy in John when he laughed. His face relaxed, his lips quirked at the sides, his eyes closed. He looked young and carefree. It was infectious. To hear John laugh was to lose yourself in the merriment. All Sherlock could think in that moment was how he could listen to John laughing forever. It was magnificent to behold. Before last night, John laughing was the most wonderful sight he had ever seen.

Before last night.

Now the image of John's face, John so utterly spent after their less than elegant fornication was permanently burned into is minds eye, so that when he closed his eyes, his senses were attacked by it. Sherlocks eyes closed properly at the thought, biting back the groan that threatened to escape his lips. He inhaled slowly to clear his mind and opened his eyes.

John was the first to calm down. He sighed lowly and looked over at Sherlock. It was a sight for sore eyes. Sherlocks long and elegant arm thrown over his eyes while his body twitched in his silent merriment, his toothy grin peaking out from full lips. John leaned over and kissed them chastely. Sherlock stopped laughing, but left his arm covering his eyes, a smile tugging on the corners of his lips.

'Thank you...' John whispered against the lips beneath his. Sherlock stroked his wounded shoulder with the back of his hand, a curious smile playing on his lips.

They'd be alright.

The End

Authors Note: There it is... hopefully you all liked it. Thanks so much for sticking with it to the end! love and hugs and kisses!

Sad Eyed Lady

Oh and read and review... if you would be so kind! :)