A/N – Set immediately after the events in Opening Gambit. Probably would be beneficial to have read that story, but maybe not necessary. This is for mattsloved1 who specifically requested it. I hope it is at least the distant 5th cousin of what you were expecting. I hope you and everyone else enjoy it.
Warning – Most definitely an M rated story. Mention of sexual acts both happy and not so happy. In addition it is so sweet that it might actually rot your teeth. Be Warned….
Disclaimer – Obviously, not mine.
Upsetting the Board
Sherlock is certain that he has lost control of his brain. The normal constant flow of information and ideas is disrupted. He feels like it is starting and stopping, short circuiting down certain pathways and resettling in the present. He has just had sex with John. Sex, the thing he doesn't do, with John, his flatmate.
And it was amazing.
He takes a deep breath and the smells penetrate him. Sweat, himself, John, the new musk that must be a mix of pheromones and sex. He wants to bottle it and carry it around with him forever. He could sell it and become rich. But he'd never do that, he's greedy and wants to keep it all for himself.
He kisses the piece of skin closest to him, just a light peck where neck meets shoulder. John hums a quick sound of approval and squeezes Sherlock's thigh where it rests across the doctor's body. Sherlock pulls John tighter to him.
The detective can't prevent the comparisons starting in his brain, this time versus the first time. He doesn't know if they could be more different.
The memories aren't as powerful as they were just a few hours ago. Without even knowing about them John has driven them away. Sherlock is grateful for that, more grateful that he could even try to express. He can examine them now, without worry or fear.
He'd wanted it so badly, to be interesting to someone in a sexual way. The kisses had been hard, but enjoyable. He'd been unfamiliar with technique and the quick first brushes of skin, as clothing was removed, brought goose bumps and pleasure. He'd been excited.
Then he'd been pushed into the bed, trying to position his face so that he'd continue getting oxygen. His legs were spread. He'd been asked, "Ready?" But no time had been allotted for a response. The pain, the mind-numbing, scream-inducing pain.
"Shut up and love it genius." His head had been pulled back painfully by the grip in his hair.
Mercifully, it had been fast, and then he'd been alone. Alone and in pain.
Sherlock opens his eyes and realizes he'd been hovering in that strange world where reality meets dream.
He isn't alone now, couldn't be farther from it. He feels John filling every millimeter of this room, every millimeter of his insides. The doctor is the darkness settling comfortably around them, the warmth keeping them alive, the silence driving out all the noise.
John has earned trust by trusting. The doctor took and let Sherlock take it all back, and more. He let the detective touch, taste, and explore without rush or demand. He is a stabilizing force without being forceful. An amazing feat as Sherlock sees it. The detective scoots himself a little closer and closes his eyes, letting the heartbeat of the doctor overwhelm him.
Sherlock was certain that he'd never forget the slight fear that had come over him seeing the bottle of lubricant come out of the bedside table. He tried to hide it though, not wanting to scare John away. John had been lying beneath him then, open, vulnerable, trusting, sure. He'd taken Sherlock's hand and placed a kiss into the palm before spreading the slimy gel over the detective's fingers.
"Start with one." The doctor had said simply, relaxing into the mattress. The detective had been dumbfounded and unsure. The thought of maybe hurting John made his stomach twist into knots, and not in the good way.
A sure smile and a grip on the wrist guided the hand to its destination. Sherlock's muscles felt like they were twitching and stretching at random as he watched the doctor react to the penetration. His eyes were closed, head pushing back into the pillow. Sherlock was certain it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
Until, when as instructed, he curled the tip of his finger slightly. He felt the bump just as John let out a blissful "Jesus, like that" and arched slightly. It took Sherlock's breath away.
He pushed himself inside, fighting against the urge to take and take and take. John was trusting him. John was enjoying him. If John was enjoying him, he was certain he could enjoy John. Not now, but soon, very soon.
He'd felt empowered as John shook underneath him, rattling off incoherent words and cries. He had done that. He initially didn't like it when the same feelings started to overcome him. It was different than when he was alone. He felt out of control, uncertain. He was afraid until the arms and legs wrapped around him pulling him down. The voice was undecipherable but calm and constant in his ear. He buried himself in the smell of John and let the wave sweep over him. It was wonderful.
Sherlock opens his eyes. John has transformed while they slept. He is light now, filling the room with sunshine and clarity. Sherlock eyes the form still asleep next to him and lets the happiness bubble to the surface. He feels he is safe and unharmed. He feels good. He wants to do it again, and soon. Now would be good.
He won't wake up John though. John likes to sleep, and he never wants to deprive John of something he enjoys. He never wants to deprive John of anything. He loves John.
He loves John.
The realization surprises him. It doesn't occur to him like "Eureka!" or hit him like a ton of bricks. It's just there, like a ridiculously obvious clue he'd been missing because it was so simple. He loves John, he's fairly certain he's always loved John, maybe even before knew him.
The doctor stirs beside him, body stretching as eyes blink open. Their eyes meet and Sherlock knows he has a satisfied smile that matches the doctor's. Sherlock wants to tell him, wants to share his realization, share his love. He doesn't know if John feels the same, but he does know John will not dismiss him. John won't throw him away.
But it doesn't feel right. He isn't afraid; it just doesn't feel like the moment. Like sometimes when he has to reserve information during a case to get more information. He decides to wait. He'll tell John later.
It does feel like the time to kiss John though. He really, really wants to kiss John. He leans down pressing his chest against the doctor's side. John's hand comes up and settles in his hair in the split second before their lips meet. It sends shivers down his spine. He wants this different life, this newly discovered life. He wants to wake up like this every morning.
* I struggled for a chess related title for this because I wanted to tie it to the other story. Then I remembered the countless chess matches I played with my dad in my youth. I was the kid who flipped the board when I lost. This felt like a moment Sherlock would have flipped the board, not in frustration but for the desire for change.