John Watson sat in his arm chair and watched his flatmate pace back and forth across their living room. They had spent the past two days chasing down a con-artist and had successfully cornered him in an ally less than two hours earlier. It had been a very satisfactory end to the case, but the calm that John usually expected after such a case hadn't come. If anything, Sherlock was even more agitated than he had been before.
Almost as soon as they had returned to Baker Street he had begun pacing furiously, gesticulating wildly and mumbling incoherently to himself the entire time Originally, John had just chalked it up to Sherlock being Sherlock, but that had been over an hour before and Sherlock only seemed to be getting worse, which was actually starting to worry the doctor.
The detective became more and more frantic until, finally, he stopped short, "Tea. I think I'll make some tea. How about you, John? Would you like some tea?"
The doctor blinked a few times before slowly nodding, "Yes, tea sounds good." Sherlock gave him a curt nod before walking determinedly into the kitchen. John was still for a moment before getting up and following his flatmate. He was genuinely concerned for his friend – Sherlock never made tea, and when coupled with the manic pacing and mutterings of only a few moments prior, the doctor in John couldn't help but wonder if this wasn't signaling some sort of psychotic break.
John leaned against the door frame and quietly watched Sherlock prepare them both tea. When he finished, Sherlock handed John his mug and they stood silently in the kitchen, facing each other and not drinking their tea. After a few moments Sherlock seemed to come to some sort of decision. He cleared his throat and walked purposefully over to John, taking his mug and setting it aside. John looked expectantly up at him, wondering what the hell his crazy flatmate was up to now. Looking back on that moment, John would say that he should have seen it coming. The truth is that his subconscious really had seen it coming; John had just told his subconscious to shut up when it came to Holmes so often that it no longer bothered to make its opinions known concerning the man.
Sherlock licked his lips nervously – an emotion that went unrecognized because John had never once in the entire year that he had lived with Sherlock seen his friend experience it – before steeling himself against his decision, taking his flatmate firmly by the shoulders and bringing his lips down to meet John's. The kiss was strong and determined, yet somehow soft and vulnerable at the same time.
John's brain seemed to completely shut down. He had known for a long time that his feelings for Sherlock weren't strictly platonic, or heterosexual for that matter, but it wasn't until that moment that he had allowed himself even a small sliver of hope that his feelings might be reciprocated. John's mouth opened – partly in surprise, partly in something else. Sherlock took the opportunity to hesitantly slip his tongue into his friend's mouth. The tongue on tongue contact jolted some life back into John's frazzled brain, and he realized that he had absolutely no idea what the hell was going on, which actually scared the hell out of him.
John grabbed Sherlock by the shoulders and pushed him back, "Sherlock what… what are you doing?" His voice was softer than he wanted it to be, and his heart was pounding more than he cared to admit, but he managed to keep his expression blank.
Sherlock blinked a few times before muttering something unintelligible and running from the room. John heard the front door slam and he sighed, taking a drink of his cooling tea. It actually tasted pretty good, but not as good as Sherlock's mouth. John shook his head to rid himself of that rather distracting though and as soon as his heart rate had returned to normal he went to find his wayward flatmate. Sherlock had left without his coat or shoes, so John wasn't really surprised to find him sitting on the stoop.
John sighed, "Sherlock, it's freezing out here. Why don't you come inside?" Sherlock didn't move, so John sighed again and sat down next to him. They sat in silence until John's nose began to get cold and he decided enough was enough.
John cleared his throat, "Sherlock, about what happened, you can't just do that. I'm not an experiment."
"I know you're not an experiment, John," Sherlock answered quietly, still decidedly looking away from John.
"Alright," John said with a sigh, "then why did you do it?" Sherlock was silent for a long time before answering.
"John, I-I love you, and I wanted to show you," he mumbled, his voice soft and shaky and completely un-Sherlock.
John squeezed his eyes shut, "Sherlock, please, please don't say that if you don't mean it. I don't know what you're trying to accomplish here, but if you're trying to experiment or manipulate me I really need you to stop now. You are my best friend and I don't want to mess that up. So, if you don't mean that, tell me no. I'll go upstairs, come down tomorrow morning, and everything will be fine." John finished speaking and silence fell.
John was waiting patiently for Sherlock to speak, and Sherlock was trying to figure out what answer John wanted to hear. Sherlock knew what he felt, but he didn't know how John felt. And Sherlock didn't like not knowing – he wanted to know all of the variables and all of the probable outcomes before entering into any situation. Unfortunately, John was always introducing unknown variables and previously unconsidered outcomes. He wanted to ask what John's response would be if Sherlock said he was telling the truth, but he was pretty sure that that would defeat the purpose of this particular exercise.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Sherlock turned his face towards John and whispered, "I'm not lying, John. I meant what I said." John let go of a breath that he hadn't realized he had been holding, a slow smile spreading across his face.
"Well good," he answered, taking Sherlock's chin in his hand, "because I love you too." He placed a gentle kiss on his lips before clearing his throat and standing up. "Come on, let's go inside. It's bloody cold out here."
Sherlock Holmes has never been the type of man to do anything halfway: be it an experiment, solving a crime, or loving a certain ex-army doctor. As soon as the door to 221B was closed behind them, Sherlock had John pressed up against the door and their lips were crashing together. John couldn't remember having ever been so thoroughly snogged in his life, and one of the few facts that John was absolutely certain of in that moment was that if it wasn't for Sherlock's body pressing him so tightly against the wood, his knees would have failed and he would have ended up on the ground. Thankfully, Sherlock showed no sign of letting him go anytime soon.
John, as so often was the case when Sherlock was involved, had no clear concept of what was going on or where exactly it was going, so he did what he normally did when Sherlock was involved – he put his trust in the madman and went along for the ride. He had never really allowed himself to consider it to be a real possibility that Sherlock would ever kiss him, let alone snog him so thoroughly, and a very happy portion of his brain was saying that he would be more than content to keep doing that forever. Another, slightly more self-aware, portion of his brain took great glee in reminding him about his healthy erection that was quickly becoming painful. Sherlock, the genius that he was, brought his hips forward and ground hard against John's groin, eliciting a moan of sheer pleasure from both men. Luckily for John, Sherlock always had a plan, and he was never shy about implementing them.
"Bed, please John, bed," Sherlock murmured, barely breaking their kiss.
"Bed, John agreed, not pulling his lips away from Sherlock's. The men pulled away from the door and stumbled through the flat. They finally ended up in Sherlock's bedroom with minimal collateral damage.
This time it was Sherlock who was pressed against the door and John – who had always prided himself on his sexual prowess – was quickly taking control of the situation. He had never been with a man before, and he knew that that should make him at least somewhat nervous, but then this was Sherlock, and he had complete faith that if he did something wrong the mad genius would tell him.
John reached up and began to slowly unbutton Sherlock's shirt, running his fingers over each piece of bare skin as it was revealed; his hands didn't shake at all, and he was rather proud of himself for that. Sherlock, on the other hand, was shaking so badly that he could barely get John's jumper over his head; John was rather proud of himself for that too. Soon enough, though, they were both stripped to the waist and John took a brief moment to admire the marble-like torso in front of him before stepping forward again and pushing their chests together as they kissed. Sherlock's breath stuttered audibly at the contact, and that only made John push even closer to him.
"John, please, John," Sherlock said, his whisper sounding suspiciously like a sob.
"What do you want from me Sherlock?" John asks, moving his kisses down to that glorious neck as he waited for an answer.
Sherlock's breathing hitched before he was able to answer in that same whisper/sob, "Anything. Anything you can give me."
In the darkness of Sherlock's bedroom John didn't feel any shame in answering with complete honesty, "Everything Sherlock. I can give you everything I have." Sherlock was proud of himself when he was able to transform the next sob-like noise into a moan.
John hooked his fingers into Sherlock's belt loops and pulled him across the room. They turned so Sherlock was walking backwards and when the back of his legs his the bed, John gently pushed him down so he was seated. Sherlock hesitated for a moment before remembering what previous partners had wanted from him in this position. He swallowed hard and fumbled with John's belt buckle as he tried to tell himself that he would like it this time, because it was John.
John chuckled and gently pushed Sherlock's hands away, "Not yet, love, I'm not quite done with you yet." He leaned down to kiss him again and Sherlock felt relieved, although he did his best to hide it.
John maneuvered them so that Sherlock was laying on the bed, his head resting on the pillows, and he was straddling his hips. The had yet to stop kissing and this time when Sherlock reached for John's belt buckle John didn't stop him, and he didn't feel the need for a pep talk this time. He wondered if that's why John didn't stop him.
John sat up and smiled down at Sherlock, "I thought you didn't do this." His tone was teasing but something darker flashed in his eyes.
Sherlock smirked at him, "I thought you were straight." He reached down and palmed John's erection to prove his point that John wasn't, in fact, straight. John groaned and ground down against the man beneath him, eliciting a reciprocating moan.
"You seem to be the exception that proves the rule," John answered, his voice barely above a whisper.
Sherlock sat up and pressed his lips against John's for a breathtaking moment before whispering, "You are the exception to every rule." John grinned before kissing Sherlock again and pushing him back down against the pillows and moving his attention to Sherlock's gloriously long neck. When John started sucking on his pulse point Sherlock's breathing hitched and he was lost for a moment in pure unadulterated pleasure before he remembered that this was supposed to be a two way street. He took as deep a breath as he could muster in an attempt to center his scattered mental faculties before canting his hips up just so, causing John to moan wantonly and pause what he was doing.
John chuckled, "You know, for this not being your area, you really are very, very good at it."
Sherlock shrugged and answered honestly and without really thinking it through, "I've had practice; Cocaine is an expensive habit." Both men froze as soon the words left his mouth. John sat straight up, his eyes wide and his mind completely and utterly blank. Sherlock wasn't so lucky. His mind was stuck on a panicked loop of '.
After a few moments the doctor's brain kicked back into gear and he was able to read the detective's tortured inner monologue in his friend's eyes. John didn't hesitate before crashing his lips against Sherlock's, bringing the detective's thoughts to a stuttering halt. John slowly shifted the kiss into something more tender and promising before and moving back down to Sherlock's neck. The doctor had had so many fantasies regarding that neck that it was with unmitigated glee that he set about the task of marking it as his. When he finished he sat back to admire the rather colorful bruise that he had left and Sherlock smirked.
"People will talk," the detective said, his voice low and smooth.
"They do little else," John quoted back to him with a grin before returning to Sherlock's neck.
He kissed and nipped and licked his way down Sherlock's body, pausing for a moment at his nipples and then his navel, until, finally, he reached the waistband of Sherlock's trousers and stopped. Sherlock, who had up until that point been rather active, practically writhing beneath him, froze, looking down at John with wide eyes. Both men had reached the limit of what they were confident in their ability to do correctly and were wondering how exactly to proceed. After a few moments of indecision John decided that he was being ridiculous and he sure as hell wasn't going to stop now just because he was a bit out of his element. He took a deep breath to try and steady his frantic heart before moving his steady hands to his friend's belt. Sherlock remained perfectly still, barely even trusting himself enough to breathe. John quickly unfastens his trousers before standing up and finishing the job, leaving them both in only their pants.
John returned to the bed and knelt between Sherlock's long, pale, muscular legs. He leaned down to mouth Sherlock's cock through his pants, finally breaking the detective's impromptu vow of silence. He continued what he was doing and Sherlock became more and more vocal. After a few minutes the man was practically thrusting his hips up into John's face, which was a far more pleasant experience than the Doctor would ever have guessed. John reached up and slowly pulled down Sherlock's boxers.
"I've never done this before, so I'm likely to be shit at it," John said, looking slightly embarrassed.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and gave a small huff of laughter, "John, I'm fairly certain that this is one of those situations where it's the thought that counts, because I know for a fact that if you get your mouth anywhere near my cock it's going to be absolutely bloody fantastic."
John smiled up at him before taking a deep breath and bringing his mouth down around the detective. Sherlock's breath caught in his throat and his hands fisted in the sheets. John twirled his tongue around the head a few times before bobbing down, using his fist to stroke what he couldn't fit in his mouth. Sherlock let out a breathy moan before reaching up and gently tangling his hand in John's sandy hair, squeezing his eyes shut to keep from crying out. John's mouth and hand moved faster and faster until it was all Sherlock could do to frantically tug at the doctor's hair as a warning before he was coming, biting his bottom lip in order to stifle his cry.
Swallowing wasn't nearly as disgusting as John had imagined. As soon as he had worked Sherlock through his orgasm he slithered up the other man's body, but hesitated when he reached his lips, not wanting to kiss him with the residue of come still in his mouth. Sherlock read his expression and would have rolled his eyes, but he couldn't quite summon the energy, so he just smirked instead.
"John Watson," he said, his voice still more than a little breathless, "if you think that I'm actually not going to kiss you after that, then you're crazier than I am."
John grinned before pressing his lips against Sherlock's, opening his mouth to let in the other man's tongue. The doctor was so focused on kissing Sherlock and rutting against his hip that he was actually surprised when Sherlock reached down and wrapped his long fingers around his erection. John let out a breathy moan and thrust into the detective's fist; Sherlock smirked again. John moaned and started panting as Sherlock's hand worked faster and faster, his thumb rubbing roughly over the head and dipping into the slit. It really doesn't take very long at all for John to finish, and then he's biting into Sherlock's neck as he comes - he honestly would be a bit embarrassed at that if he weren't so utterly thrilled at the whole situation.
As soon as he was confident in his ability to walk without collapsing, John placed a kiss on Sherlock's temple and carefully untangled himself from the mass of gangly limbs. He quickly made his way to the bathroom and cleaned himself up before wetting a flannel to take back for Sherlock. When he walked back into Sherlock's bedroom, though, the doctor's slightly smug grin fell off his face.
Sherlock was laying on his side, his naked back to the door, with his knees pulled up to his chest. He looked as small as he possibly could and his entire frame was shaking with what looked like silent sobs. His suspicions are confirmed when Sherlock, obviously not having noticed John's return, let out a strangled whimper. John's heart broke at the sound and he rushed forward, kneeling on the bed beside his friend's trembling form.
"Sherlock," John whispered, cautiously laying his hand on the detective's shoulder, "Sherlock, love, what's wrong?" Sherlock turned to look at him, still shaking and not bothering to hide either his surprise or tears.
"You came back," the detective whispered in disbelief, "you haven't left yet."
John's already shattering heart broke a little bit more as he nodded, "Of course I came back. Did you really think that I would leave?" He leaned down and kissed him before Sherlock had the chance to respond; he already knew the answer and saw no need for it to be said out loud. He cleaned his friend as quickly as he could by still being gentle before maneuvering them both underneath the duvet and wrapped himself tightly around his partner's thin frame.
Sherlock snuggled in closer to John, closing his eyes as his shaking subsided, "I love you, John."
"I love you too, Sherlock," John replied, intertwining their fingers.
He was almost asleep when Sherlock leaned his head back and whispered, "Next time, I'm going to make you scream." John just smirked and whispered, "I hope you do," before finally drifting off.