Sherlock didn't have friends. Sherlock didn't have girlfriends, or boyfriends, or enemies (though that was a different story altogether).

In fact, Sherlock had John Watson. And John Watson was his soul mate.

Before him, it was cold and clear, and the pain (emotional and mental and physical) was sharp and lucid, and he dulled it with drugs, though the respite was only temporary and a destructive kind of thrilling.

That was before he met his own "Raggedy Doctor", who was his own type of thrilling, one that filled Sherlock up somewhere inside and when gone, left behind a dull pain throbbing in his wake.

It had snuck up on him, Sherlock pondered idly, studying John's smooth back, only a few inches from his face. He memorized every dip and dive, every mole and spot and stored the information in a special place back in the shady corners of his mind marked "Never Delete."

This feeling, the one he had clawed and bit and shouted at to just leave, because no one wanted it- he thought he might love it. He loved all of it.

Sherlock wanted to reach out and drag a finger lightly down the other man's back, but he felt unusually timid, a feeling that he was becoming used to with John. He bit his lip and extended his hand, feeling a sharp kick of exhilaration when the pad of his pointer finger made contact with the man's skin.

He traced his name, just like John had done last night. With that thought, memories bubbled up and jumped in his brain, colorful and obscene and unbidden- John's hand in his hair, tightly fisted in need, John's tongue, soft and warm on the base of his cock and on the ring of muscles in his arse.

He shivered, with either pleasure or want or doubt, and splayed his palm in the middle of his flatmate's back. It felt hot, and solid, and impossibly smooth.

Then he felt John stir, just the tiniest bit, and Sherlock's removed his hand like lightning and wished he had chosen to leave the bed ten minutes ago like he'd considered doing. He flipped slowly onto his back, withdrawing into the cold periphery of the sheets, leaving the warmth that radiated from his flatmates's skin.

He felt the doctor turn over, slowly, and kept his eyes locked on the ceiling. He found when he let himself look into John's eyes he did things that were illogical and unwise and possibly insane- even more than he was already.

"Morning," was the sleepy greeting from a quite content John Watson, and Sherlock wished he could turn his head just the littlest bit to see if the word was accompanied with a smile.

Sherlock rubbed the back of his head against his pillow, wishing absurdly for a moment that it would be replaced by a part of John. He sighed and frowned.

"Sherlock?" Damnit, John sounded nervous and lost again, like he had yesterday, and Sherlock couldn't handle it. He deigned to turn his face towards the other man.

John was staring at him with an uneasy look. "You alright?" He asked, throat gravelly from sleep.

Sherlock drank in his face, the curves of his lips, the slight stubble on his chin- which felt delightfully rough against certain sensitive areas, Sherlock had discovered last night.

He blinked. "Yes. Fine." He watched the other man's blue- so impossibly blue- eyes and imagined he could see himself mirrored back in them. "I'm fine."

John smiled then- languorous and lazy and decadent- and Sherlock felt something rise in his stomach, twisting and unwieldy. He swallowed, and the room felt humid and very loud, and John's face was close to him, very close, and John was kissing him-

And they fell back into the old, smooth rhythm with ease, except soon it was anything but smooth and his blood pounded and shapes were starting to lose their edges and it was all John, nothing else.

Soon the other man swung himself up and straddled Sherlock's waist, bouncing very lightly against his cock.

Sherlock decided that speaking would probably be a very bad idea, at least in regards to his dignity, so he pressed his lips shut and just watched in awed silence.

John was still smiling, in an infuriating "Gotcha" way, and began to press down harder on the now thick ride of Sherlock's erection.

The detective bit back a growl. He hated being played with.

"John…" He snarled in warning, trying to resist. "Stop-" he choked as the other man ground himself down in a very deliberate way. "-it," he finished lamely, bringing his hips up into John instinctively, almost groaning.

The doctor relented. Still grinning, John teasingly crawled down Sherlock's body and paused over his groin, catching Sherlock's eyes meaningfully with his own and licking his reddened lips suggestively.

The detective most definitely did not gulp, and his cock absolutely did not twitch. At all.

John hooked his thumbs under the band of Sherlock's pajamas, and pulled slowly, but couldn't manage to drag them over the rise of his arse. "Lift," he commanded with a smirk. Sherlock tried to frown, but his face seemed to have frozen. He lifted.

His pants came down, and his underwear along with it. John held his eyes, leant down, and licked a slow, teasing line from root to tip.

The detective moaned, bucking, but John held him down and mouthed at the head, dipping his tongue into the slit and thrumming his tongue against the underside. Sherlock's mind went white, and he realized distantly that he was gasping.

John finally took pity on him, and Sherlock could swear he smiled carefully around his cock before taking him fully into his mouth and sucking like there was no tomorrow.

It only took a few thrusts, and Sherlock constrained himself as not to choke the other man, and then he was coming, scraping a weak rumble of "John!" out of the jagged mess of his throat.

John swallowed him down carefully, then withdrew, licking his lips in a way that made Sherlock want to weep with lust.

Hyperbole, he thought detachedly, shaking his head at the phrase. John had irrevocably ruined his eloquence.

Speaking of John- the doctor had his eyed closed, breathless and red-faced, cock straining against his own pajamas. Sherlock watched as his arm, almost of its own accord, reached out to his friend and pulled out his shaft, wrapping his hand around it carefully, and jerking him off fast and quick.

John came rapidly, moaning out "Sherlock" as he emptied white stickiness onto the other man's hand, and then collapsed next to him.

Sherlock studied his hand, coated in come. He rubbed his fingers together curiously. They were slippery, and he put one in his mouth.

John made a strange sound beside him. Sherlock looked over to see the man staring at him, mouth open, pulse beating fast again in his neck.

Sherlock frowned in confusion, then understood. Ah. This- he slipped another finger into his mouth, sucking a bit- was considered arousing. John was watching his every movement, wide-eyed, and looking vaguely terrified.

John moistened his lips. "You-" he swallowed. "You should bloody damn well be put in jail, you insane man." He forced his eyes closed with some reluctance. "I'm taking a shower. When I open my eyes again, please have your hand out of your mouth." He allowed a few seconds just in case.

Sherlock extracted his fingers, feeling a bit of his usual smugness. There- he'd shown John. He could be just as sexual as his bloody flatmate, even with all his fancy tonguing and sucking.

John finally opened his eyes and studiously avoided the other man's gaze, sliding off the bed and wandering a bit dazedly into the bathroom. Sherlock hear the shower turn on and snuggled back into the warm space John had just vacated, wiping his hand carelessly on the pillow. He decided he liked the smell of sex, musky and dirty, especially when mixed with the smell of John.

John poked his head back out, biting his lip in what Sherlock guessed was hesitation.

"Erm, d'you want to-" he paused- "maybe- pop in, too?"

Sherlock felt the corners of his mouth turn up. He nodded. John smiled, and Sherlock felt his heart grow and beat wildly inside his chest.

There it was again, he sighed as his feet touched the cold floor- those ridiculous clichés.

Then again, Sherlock decided, as he observed the rumpled sheets, the dents their bodies left on the mattress- he very much thought he had a good chance of a happily ever after.

Endnote- So that's it, guys! Many thanks to everyone who read and reviewed, the comments made me so very happy!