Against the counter in 221B

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters here, or the show - although sometimes I really wish I did.

A/N: This is my first Sherlock and John so I hope you enjoy. Summary pretty much said it all, so onwards we go!


"You don't really know everything, Sherlock. Don't pretend you do," John huffed closing the door to 221B to sweep past Sherlock, in a hurry to mount the stairs.

"Okay, maybe not everything. Anything I don't already know probably isn't worth knowing. I know next to everything that is worth knowing, and I can always read anything that I don't already know but feel could be relevant at some point in the future. Not that it will take that much time to learn. Anyway, John, I know about you!" Sherlock followed in a ponderous fashion, his long lean legs eating the distance with ease.

"You think you know me, Sherlock? You might live with me but you really don't know everything. I do have some secrets that you don't know about," John scoffed as he removed his coat and threw it on the sofa before ducking into the kitchen to boil the kettle.

"Alright then, let's try me then, shall we? You tend to have a bad right shoulder on weekends when you are more likely to get more sleep, but every morning when you wake up its stiff – which means that you likely sleep on your right side, with your shoulder scrunched up. Despite that, you sleep on the right side of the bed near the alarm clock. You're left handed, so you can stretch in front of you with little effort.

"You have a bottle of brandy stashed under your bed side cabinet, not expensive, but it does the trick, Martell, for when you wake up from the nightmares of the things that you've seen in war, so medicinal purposes to get you back to sleep," Sherlock rambled on autopilot.

"Sherlock," John exclaimed, "Hang about, how on earth did you know that? Have you been snooping in my room?"

"You date, a lot. It's never anything serious though and never for too long maybe two dates. Maybe three at a push. You never bring them back here, despite us living in a nice area, easily accessible, and you rarely stay out with them overnight either. So you could be hiding something that you don't want these women to see…But what?" Sherlock continued as though John hadn't spoken.

"Sherlock, please…" John pleaded, leaving the confines of the kitchen to see a pacing Sherlock who stopped suddenly in front of him.

"What are you hiding, John? It's got to be good. You wouldn't bother trying to hide it otherwise. I live with you and Mrs Hudson is downstairs. Afraid of how 'homey' it might look with her looking after us bachelors… No too easy, a man that's been in the army doesn't need his apron strings to be cut. What else? Me? I'm honest, nice enough when I can be bothered, but with a predilection to abandon all tact even when the occasion calls for it.

"No, that can't be the reason, can it John? I'm sure you would warn them all about me and all of my funny little ways. No one knows them better than you. Unless…Unless you avoid talking about me. That would mean a surprise if they were to come here and meet me…" Sherlock quietened his mouth while his mind continued to speed along, like he was trying to see the answer to a simple algebra equation but the answer was eluding him time and again.

"Stop, Sherlock. I get it, you know me. So we can stop this now," John protested in hope he could shake Sherlock from his train of thought before he got to the answer that John had been guarding for some time.

"Why hide me, John? What's so special about me?" The detective mused.

"Nothing is special about you. You're arrogant, tactless. You think of no-one but yourself and solving your crime, and getting results from your experiments," John snapped, backing up towards the kitchen table with another of Sherlock's said experiments, running its course there. John took a deep breath to try to still his mouth and calm the ever rising anger at his colleague's ignorance at the things that had been changing between them for months.

Sherlock took a measured step toward the doctor and marked the flush upon John's skin, over his cheeks and down the side of his thick neck. The detective took a moment to listen and heard John's breathing had increased, and was becoming more laboured. Sherlock had noticed this happen more and more of late. Usually when they were alone and had a disagreement of some kind. He had his suspicions at the changing dynamics, but this was not something he was willing to act on instinct alone. He needed more information rather than to risk his friendship on a hunch.

"I haven't changed, John. I'm still me but you're wrong on something, I don't just think about myself. I have three people that I would die for. Three people who are all I have and one of them is more important than the other two. By leaps and bounds," Sherlock took another calculating step forward speaking quietly, and watched John consider moving, left then right until he finally decided to stay where he was. To Sherlock he looked almost like a deer caught in headlights, panicking and ready to leap to freedom.

"Why hide me, John?"

The smaller man raised his chin in defiance and looked Sherlock straight in the eyes, "You tell me, Sherlock, you tell me," he said calmly, before he turned on a heel and resumed making the tea from the now boiled kettle.

John took refuge in not looking at Sherlock's face while he could practically hear the cogs turning at an alarming rate within his genius mind. He couldn't derail the train that was speeding ahead called Sherlock Holmes, no. John Hamish Watson now had to wait for Sherlock to arrive there himself. They had to bring this to a head today.

"We're friends, the best of friends in fact. We work together. Live together. We've almost died together on numerous occasions. You are my conscience more often than not when my mind is too taken with details, facts and figures. Where I see science, you see people. So we sort of balance each other out," Sherlock moved to the fridge and leaned against it looking at John's back pensively,"If you're not protecting other people from my genius and ineptitude at emotions, then you must be protecting me from other people and the way that they may see me. I don't care how people see me John. I really don't."

John was taking care in arranging the teacups on the tray with such precision when he quietly said, "But I do, Sherlock. I care."

"Do you care because you're a friend?" Sherlock asked gently, walking another step closer to John's knit clad back, he still hadn't turned around. Sherlock needed to see John's face. Sherlock needed to see John's eyes, those expressive dark blue eyes that always told Sherlock exactly what John Watson was thinking, even when John didn't actually say a word. Those eyes would tell Sherlock where John's mind would go to next as well.

"Yes, and because..." John stopped himself and focused on steeping his own tea longer than necessary. He put sugar in Sherlock's cup and some extra in a dish for Sherlock to add at will when he found that John's solitary teaspoon was never enough. He couldn't trust himself to speak again unless they changed the subject. He couldn't bear Sherlock's scorn on human emotion, on John's very own emotions.

Since Jeanette had so effectively made it clear that it seemed the most important person in John's life was Sherlock, and Irene Adler had pointed toward the very same thing in more ways than one, although with her own agenda in mind ,John had thought about his relationship with the detective a lot. Possibly more than he should.

His own feelings revealed to him that life was boring without Sherlock in it and it wasn't just the cases. It was Sherlock, and everything about him. They worked well together, anticipating each other's moods. John also knew how to bring a little humanity into Sherlock's life beyond the sciences. John knew that although Sherlock would rant, rave and rally against it, he was also deeply grateful that someone had taken the time to get to know him better and help him understand things he had no knowledge of, even if he didn't intend on remembering it.

"Because what, John? Because...?" Sherlock moved another step closer to John's back, and Sherlock could feel the heat radiating from John.

"Sherlock, please don't make me say it. Please lets not..."

"I'm not. Maybe I can make things easier for you though. Things between us have been... changing since that day at the pool, with Moriarty. We have been... Closer, so much closer in fact. We need each other now more than we may have ever needed each other before. What I said when we were at Baskerville, after that night in the woods... It was true. It is true... You... are my only friend. My best friend."

Sherlock had hoped that John would turn to look at him, but he didn't. He stayed facing the cups and his shoulders visibly slumped. John couldn't talk for a moment while he tried to control the overwhelming emotions he felt pummelling him from every direction into an emotional corner.

"Right then, of course. It's always good to have a best friend. You are mine, too. My best friend, I mean. It's a good thing."

"I've upset you, haven't I?"

"No, I'm fine. Tea?"

"John, I really think we should talk about this." Sherlock persisted, a certain stillness coming over him as he remained but an arm's length from John.

"We just did." John brought himself up to his full height and squared his shoulders before turning round to face Sherlock notching his chin up in the air, the military man coming to the fore with an attempted sense of finality.

"John, I have feelings!" Sherlock spat out, stunning them both into silence.

Sherlock took a step back, unbuttoned his jacket to reveal a deep blue shirt opened at the top to reveal a small triangle of his pale skin and leaned against the kitchen table thrusting his hands in his trouser pockets petulantly and looked at the floor. John wasn't sure where to look at first. To look at Sherlock direct in the face would be to let him read everything. For once John was able to read something from the detective while he wasn't looking. His face became animated in a way John had only seen in the pub during the Baskerville saga.

Sherlock looked nervous, like he was waiting for some kind of decision to be made, and after his declaration, John felt he understood something at last. Sherlock didn't feel in control of something. Something most people would have to deal with on a day to day basis. Emotions… If you weren't too sure of how to react to them, never been in an adult relationship, you'd be lost, confused even. John was sure this is what he was watching is flatmate experience.

"Feelings are good Sherlock. They can really help to open you up."

"Is that something that your therapist said?" Came Sherlock's dry response.

"No."

"Well, now I can't fair well say that she doesn't know anything, can I?" Sherlock mused before falling into silence. John turned and picked up his own cup of tea and took a sip, and then he turned back he was faced with a triangle of pale skin that had moved silently, the scent of mangoes tickled his nose, and John knew that Sherlock had used his favourite body shampoo.

John looked up into Sherlock's face and couldn't think. Being this close to him was causing his brain to short circuit. Sherlock's blue eyes peered down and looked like a clear sky to John. He felt lost for a moment.

"John?"

"Yes, Sherlock."

"These feelings... I am lost in them. I try to beat them back. To ...control them. But I can't. I just... they are there all the time." Sherlock struggled, drawing his hands over his face once, twice before thrusting them back in his trouser pockets. "I can't get away from them, and I am not entirely sure that I want to."

"Well that's good, Sherlock," John slipped in before Sherlock continued once again oblivious he had spoken.

"It's your fault. All these feelings, I wouldn't have them plaguing me if not for you. Caring for you and being around you all the time with your heart. You are making me feel... making me feel for you, everyday. I won't keep it locked up any more, John. I just will not. My head might explode with all the thoughts of you in there."

John almost dropped the teacup in his hand and placed it back on the tray for safe keeping before squeaking, "What do you mean 'thoughts of me'?"

"I mean thoughts of you. All I think about is you. How I would feel if suddenly you left me. How nice it is to know that you're here when I get home, or nice it is that you understand my ways. That you did from the word 'go'. That you accept me for who and what I am."

John's mind scrambled to keep up with the knowledge that was being thrown at him. The knowledge that Sherlock was sharing freely with him here in their kitchen, much like normal people would do. The subtext of what he was saying was clear but John really wanted to hear him say it. Not for satisfaction, or one up-man-ship, but if Sherlock could say the words they both knew were coming, John may have the strength to divulge his deepest and most well kept secret also.

"What are you saying, Sherlock?" John turned his face up to Sherlock's as the good detective peered down at him with his clear blue eyes, "I need to hear you say it. Please."

Sherlock pursed his lips together, "You're going to make me say it?"

"It's as much for me as it is for you, but yes. Please. Say it."

"When I think of you…," Sherlock's lips twitched, "When I think of you, I get warm. I feel like I'm happy. Not the same happy that I get from solving a case that is more of a temporary excitement. What I get from you is a sense of peace, happiness. I'm not… alone. I'm… yours. You have a quiet way of handling me. Of letting me know that I am being a little less human… that helps to soften my sharp edges. When I said before that I don't care about what other people say, I meant it. I don't care about what Molly, or Mycroft or Donovan think. I care about what you think. I always care what you think of me.

"I want to say that I… that I love you, except I'm afraid that I don't really know what that means in a relationship. I know that I want to learn it from you. If anyone could show me how to love, John it is completely you. You brought about this… metamorphosis. It has to be you."

"Well that is very good, because I always think of you. When you're obnoxious, irritating. When you let you head get so big that you are swollen with self importance. I think of you. Sometimes I am thinking, 'God Sherlock, could you be any more arrogant?' And then you prove me wrong. You make me smile, even when I'm losing my temper at you. I can be myself, just me, no walls. Not that I could have any with you, I mean, you see through practically everything that I say and do… it means that you know me though, really know me in a way that others will never know me.

"I care about what people think of you because you are an amazing man, truly brilliant. You try to hide it, but you have a big heart. Lestrade said to me once that you were a great man, and that one day you could learn to be a good one. I think you can. With me. I know you can. Together we bring out the best qualities in each other, we can make it work. We can love each other."

John stepped to Sherlock so they were chest to chest. Sherlock froze, his eyes widened and when John stretched up to put his small hand to Sherlock's face, he gasped. They'd never touched like this and John's hand was warm from the cup of tea he'd been holding. The tactile sensation of John's roughened hands against the smooth skin of his face sent shivers down his spine. John let his hand roam to the back of Sherlock's' head of curls and drew his face level to his own. Their breath mingled as they began to breathe faster, their hearts raced in their chests threatening to escape.

"You think I'm brilliant?" Sherlock whispered his eyes focused in on John's lips, waiting for him to speak.

John raised an eyebrow at the question that Sherlock knew the answer to, "You know I do," he murmured moving his lips a hairs breadth from Sherlock's own, "Just like you know what I'm about to do."

"Oh yes," Sherlock groaned, closing the distance and joining his lips with that of his doctor.

John tried to restrain himself, slow himself down. He knew that Sherlock's carnal knowledge wasn't like his own and in the back of his mind somewhere a small record was repeating the words 'slow down'. Oh, but the thrill of Sherlock's lips, his soft cupids bow begged for more, John was loath to resist after all of the nights he had thought about their first kiss.

John opened his mouth slightly and let his tongue slip out and caress those lips, and Sherlock whimpered. John smiled and pushed past the seal of his lips, so he could slowly delve into Sherlock's warm mouth as Sherlock tried to make John kiss faster, harder and deeper.

With a deep growl, Sherlock pushed against John backing him against the counter almost pushing the tray with the now cold tea on to the floor. With John's thud, Sherlock became the dominant one, the one in control.

Only Sherlock wasn't the one in control, because all of the feelings that had been boiling around inside of him were coming out now. He didn't know if he was doing it right, he was sure that John would tell him or show him if he wasn't. His lack of experience bothered him now, although it never had done in his life before John. Science had been his life, chasing the solution.

Sherlock's body was in overdrive as his hands started to roam over John's smaller but broader frame. The grey jumper that Sherlock loved was bulky, it covered too much of John, an unnecessary barrier. So Sherlock found the hem and started to tug it upwards impatiently.

"Sherlock," John broke away reluctantly panting hard, "What are you doing?"

Sherlock gulped in some air before speaking. His pulse was racing, too fast for him to want to check now, not with John flushed standing before him gasping for breath. Not when all of his senses were telling him that the blood wasn't going back to his brain, but beginning to settle lower.

"More. I want more. I need more of you, to... to touch you, John. You're skin... I've never felt anything like this before. All I know is that I want more, please... More." Sherlock started to chant to himself when John moved his arms to allow Sherlock to move the jumper higher until it was off his head and free of his arms and the t-shirt that John wore underneath quickly went the way of its predecessor. Sherlock moved in for another kiss, only at the neck, and John wrapped one arm around his shoulder giving him access to the dark mess of curls once more as Sherlock found his way back to John's waiting mouth.

John surrendered himself to the kisses that followed at their varying intensities before remembering that Sherlock was the less experienced and that he should take some form of control. Changing the depth of the kisses, the swipe of his tongue, John managed to get Sherlock whimpering again at the sensation that he felt, allowing John to roam a hand over his chest through the navy shirt. He discarded Sherlock's jacket swiftly and looked up into his lust laden eyes.

A wry grin played across John's face as Sherlock watched him intensely undo the buttons of his shirt. Every inch of skin that John discovered was pale and unblemished. He marvelled at how beautiful Sherlock was kissing the skin he revealed tasting an interesting mix of mango and salt. Sherlock could be a living statue if he didn't speak, which happened on rare occasions these days. John wanted to taste him, to enjoy every look that ran across Sherlock's face. Right now Sherlock was looking down at John in awe and anticipation. That was a very good start.

"I am trying to go slowly here, for you but I have got to taste you, if I don't...," John shook his head, "Well, that would just be very very bad. If you want me to stop, at any time... tell me."

"Stop what?" Sherlock asked nonplussed as John bent down slightly and took one of Sherlock's nipples in his mouth. The feeling went straight to Sherlock's cock and he moaned, his moan having a chain reaction on John who found that his own cock was straining at his zipper begging for freedom.

"Don't stop... please, don't..." Sherlock begun to urge John on as a hand rubbed Sherlock through his trousers lightly, but the feeling was gone before he had a chance to thrust himself into the hand that had palmed him.

John stood quickly, his mind made a snap decision as he spun Sherlock against the counter and pulled him in for a kiss tasting the sweetness that lingered there from their night out. His hands ran up and down Sherlock's sides in tandem, and suddenly there was only one hand roaming before Sherlock had noticed. John was resting one hand at the waistband of Sherlock's trousers, running it along his lower abdomen drawing pleasurable gasps and moans from the detective.

With quick and decisive hands, John unhooked the trousers and slid the zip down, and Sherlock soon found himself standing with his trousers around his ankles, a predicament he didn't think he'd ever found himself in before. John lowered himself to his knees and looked up to Sherlock to see his eyes widen in realisation.

John had never done this before and Sherlock had never done this before, and yet for the two of them, it seemed like it was the most natural thing for them both to be doing, right here, right now. John looked up with shining eyes before tugging on the blue stripped boxers that Sherlock had on and gazed in amazement at what stood to attention before him.

Sherlock was hard, and long, which John should have supposed would be the case, but he'd read articles discussing the correlation between height and size, there wasn't usually any truth to the rumour, but still John gulped in anticipation. He was a doctor, and over many years in the military he'd had to view many John Thomas', but none of them had ever brought a lick of passion. He refreshed his memory and remembered what he himself liked, and knew that he was not going straight to the heart of the matter; he instead licked Sherlock's thighs in long wet alternating swipes ensuring to avoid the one thing he really wanted.

Each swipe brought Sherlock to the tips of his toes as all of his synapses fired pleasure through his body. Though, when Sherlock really lost his senses it was because John had suddenly covered his cock with his mouth and enclosed him in heat. Sherlock bucked on instinct. He couldn't understand the impulse, but he knew that the feeling was nice. He wanted more, but he couldn't form words, all he could do was feel.

John couldn't believe how good it felt to have Sherlock in his mouth. He could smell the mango scent that had clung to his skin, and the slight salty undertone, and the musky scent that was uniquely Sherlock. It was Sherlock all over. John couldn't get enough.

John let his hands settle on Sherlock's hips and found himself dipping in a rhythm that he created where he would take Sherlock in full length, suck hard on his cock, and then draw slowly back, creating a swirling pattern on the head of his cock discovering the different sensations he could draw from himself and transmute to Sherlock with a glance. John began to lose himself in the motions almost as much as Sherlock had begun muttering nonsensically as his pleasure as it started to crest.

"John... I'm...," Sherlock began, feeling his lower back start to tingle, "I... John I can't..." Sherlock tried to warn John while scrambling for purchase on the counter, but the doctor remained on his knees, mouth on his member as he sucked harder creating a vacuum. One hum from John around his most tender point was all it took for Sherlock to be pushed over the edge sending spurts of warmth into John's mouth and down his throat with a deep groan.

John welcomed the warm salty taste of Sherlock spurt after spurt, and John had worried that he wasn't sure he would like Sherlock's taste, but those fears had all but gone now. Looking up to Sherlock's flushed smiling face he could see that he was there with him every step of the way. He let his hand take Sherlock gently from his mouth but did not relinquish his hold on the glorious cock that he had just gotten close and personal with for the first time, instead he could only nuzzle his thigh and feel the fine hairs that smattered there.

"That was...," Sherlock panted.

"I know, it was unbelievable. I've wanted to do that to you for ages," John finished for him, smiling up.

"Are your knees...? Do you need to get up?" Sherlock ran fingers over John's hand that still had him palmed gently while caressing his sandy hair with the other.

"My knees will be fine, Sherlock. How are you feeling? Steady on your feet?" John asked getting up slowly, ignoring the crack in his knees and the throbbing that remained in his lower extremities. He brushed up to Sherlock and leaned his head on his shoulder.

Sherlock leaned down to capture John's mouth in a tender kiss, it was brief but it said so many of the things that Sherlock didn't know how to say yet but John knew what was in his heart.

"Is there anything I can do to help? I mean," Sherlock grazed John through his jeans tracing the line of his bulge, "You did something amazing for me. I want to reciprocate. I think I can do what you just did..."

John drew Sherlock's hands away and kissed the palm, "No, that was something from me to you, so you know how serious I am. Just in case you had doubts that you weren't good enough. I wanted you to see what you are worth to me. Give me some time, and it'll go away. I promise."

"But John, I want to do this. Honestly."

"Baby steps, Sherlock. Let's not rush. We both have to be... what I mean is that, later we can further explore, but right now... we could lie down, the two of us together, and enjoy being together there. Please, trust me on this."

Sherlock looked at John petulantly, but relented at seeing the good captain's `no nonsense` look with the playful tinge in his steel blue eyes. They stood there together acclimatising themselves to being this close for a time in relevant comfort. The closest they had been thus far, with the knowledge that at some point soon they would get closer.

"Love, you are going to get cold as you are, let me pull up your pants."

Sherlock withdrew his hands and allowed John the space he needed while his own brain chugged back into action.

"John, how did you know how to...? I mean, you've never... before."

"No, I've never done that to another guy," John shifted his feet and looked quite bashful as he looked up into the consulting detectives eyes, "But I got myself hoping some time ago that we would, uh..., do that. So I researched it, and worked from, um... being on the other end. I wanted you to have something, from me."

Sherlock cupped John's cheeks and pecked his forehead, "I should have known you'd research. I wanted to, but I was... well I was a little afraid to."

"Afraid? You? Sherlock Holmes doesn't do afraid! Not my Sherlock at any rate."

"Well as I am the only Sherlock here... I don't know who else it would be," Sherlock leaned against John gently looking as if he wanted to asked a question, John could see him finding a million and one ways to ask what was on the tip of his tongue, but couldn't quite push the words out, so John decided to intervene.

"Should we go to your room, or mine then? I mean, either is a good choice, but where would you feel most comfortable?"

Sherlock simply smiled, "Wherever you are, of course."

John blushed and took Sherlock's hand and led him from the kitchen to his own bedroom wordlessly.

Who's to say where the worlds only consulting detective and his doctor go from here, but they know that when people ask, they will always say "It started against the counter of 221b."


UPDATE A/N 12/02/12: I hope you enjoy this first venture into Sherlock fanfic. I am writing another chapter to this, so keep your eyes open. I will be posting soon, once my lovely beta has given it the go ahead. Thank you all so much.