Epilogue- A few months later
They tumbled through the door of Baker Street giggling and pulling off each others jackets.
"Are you sure Sherlock's out?"
"Yeah, it's a Friday night and there's no case, he'll be out searching for the next conquest."
Greg huffed out a laugh as he pulled John's jumper over his head. "I am quite impressed with myself that I managed to turn Sherlock from basically asexual to a voracious soho shark."
"You've ruined him for blonds you know, they're all dark with big brown eyes."
Greg grinned smugly and John rolled his eyes.
"That's where the similarity ends though, they're all about 22. Some of the boys he brings back are just gorgeous."
"Hey, am I not enough for you?"
John slid his hands up from Greg's chest where they were unbuttoning his shirt and round to the back of his neck, drawing him in for a soft sweet kiss.
"More that enough, always."
Greg murmured his approval against John's lips and slowed right down, moving his hands from under John's shirt, using one to hold his cheek and deepen the kiss, and the other he pressed against the small of John's back, pulling the other man closer to him. This stayed like that for a while, kissing softly, and swaying to and fro slightly to a rhythm that was only in their heads. Finally, John pulled away, rubbing the back of his neck. "You're too tall"
"That's one way of looking at it..."
They pulled each other down onto the sofa and started kissing again, hands sliding slowly up under shirts, stroking along thighs, lips slipping from mouth to neck to ears. After pulling back from a particularly leisurely kiss Greg grinned "You still taste like tiramisu."
"Which is impressive given that I managed to get about two spoonfuls of it."
"That's a bit of an exaggeration"
"Really? As I remember you were going to have 'a taste' of mine then you managed to shovel away half a bowlful! You do it every time. It's deeply deeply annoying"
"You love me really."
Oh shit. Greg hadn't meant that. Well, he had meant it but he hadn't meant to say it. The feeling had been whirling around in his gut for a while now but he knew it was early, far too early to have declarations, especially from two men who had been down this road a few times before.
"I suppose I do."
"Do you really?"
"Yeah. I love you."
"I love you too."
"Well, good we had this chat."
Greg laughed and pushed John down onto the sofa kissing him. "See that was lovely and you just had to spoil it and have your little joke."
"Did it spoil it?"
"No not really."
"Then to quote a certain Detective Inspector I know, you love me really."
"For my sins, yes I do."
They started kissing again, but something had shifted. The kisses weren't lazy and relaxed anymore but deep and needy. John couldn't believe they'd got there, after a few short months. That the object of his fantasies was on top of him hands, running up and down his sides, greedy for him' loving him. John moaned just at the thought. "Upstairs, please, I want to be inside you tonight."
Greg groaned and pulled himself up, tugging John up with him. "Oh God yes please."
Sherlock slowly meandered down Baker Street. The club had been crazy, some University or other had clearly shipped it's LGBT club down to Soho for the night and the dancefloor was full of half naked men, boys some of them, giddy and laughing and, though Sherlock said it himself, very interested. It had been entertaining for a while, getting flirted with, being pulled onto the dancefloor, being the centre of attention, but at around 1am it had started to pale a little. He'd scanned the dancefloor, looking for someone interesting enough to take home and saw no-one. Many of them were pretty enough, and all eager but... Sherlock huffed out a breath. He'd think about it tomorrow, right now he was sleepy (a positive side effect of his new non-case lifestyle was that regular orgasms gave slightly more predictable sleeping pattern) and his brain refused to fire on all cylinders.
He opened the street door and trudged up the stairs to the flat. Pushing the flat door open he saw John and Greg's jackets on the floor by the door. The ever-conscientious John hadn't even managed to get them on the hook. That normally only meant one thing. And then he heard it. They were never particularly loud, while Sherlock knew Greg could make a fair amount of noise when he wanted to, when Greg and John were having sex the only sounds Sherlock normally heard were the occasional bedspring, headboard, groan and the odd muttered expletive. And that was only when he was listening very hard. For some reason tonight the sounds were louder. Sherlock carefully hung up his jacket (take that John, who's the messy one now?) and snuck towards John's bedroom. While Sherlock could probably infer from the various house rules about personal space ("Why are you naked at three in the afternoon? Again?" "Sherlock I want to piss in peace" "No I bloody won't let you measure it, even for scientific purposes!") that listening to Greg and John have sex was probably a no-no, he had very carefully never sought a final definitive answer on that point, and hence felt justified in continuing to do so until caught. As he turned the corner he realised why the sounds were louder, they hadn't properly closed the door.
Jackpot. Yet more information to gather. John was very prudish about some of Sherlock's questions about his sex life and that had led to a shocking lack of data about middle aged gay men in serious relationships. Now was an opportunity for first hand evidence gathering.
He peered through the crack in the doorway, moving slowly to avoid catching in anyone's peripheral vision. He needn't have worried. Greg was on his back, with his head propped up on some pillows, legs spread wide and his hands splayed across the small of John's back, John had one arm bracing himself against the bed and the other was fisted around Greg's cock. They were moving slowly, Greg rising up to meet John's thrusts down. Their faces were millimetres apart, with John sometimes resting his forehead against Greg's. They were both shaking and sweaty and their eyes were fixed on each others.
Interesting. From Sherlock's imperfect data gathering he had understood that John usually bottomed. Partly through mutual preference, and partly... Sherlock shifted slightly to change his line of sight... Holy buggering hell. Of course the full picture was obscured by, well, Greg, but if what he was seeing now, and what he could reasonably assume from what he'd seen when he walked in on John peeing ("Sherlock- how many times? Door closed means bathroom in use!") then there was a reason that this was looking pretty intense for both of them. John Watson had an absolutely massive cock. If only he'd have let Sherlock measure it!
Sherlock was distracted from his musings on that particular loss to science when John started speaking.
"You feel amazing baby, oh fuck."
Again, deviation from the norm. While they had used endearments for each other before (more and more often when they realised how much it made him cringe) he didn't think this extended to the bedroom.
"Shit, John, I'd forgotten... ah!"
"Are you okay? Please say you're okay..."
"Ahh... I'm fine, I'm good, better than good, oh love don't stop, please don't stop"
Intriguing, the intensity of the act had amended all sorts of long-standing behaviours. The change in position had also massively turned Sherlock on. While in the initially stages he'd been observing relatively placidly as soon as he's seen John's cock thrusting deep into Greg's hole Sherlock had been incredibly hard. Now he opened his fly and slid his hands down, into his pants and around his cock, teasing the head before giving himself a long hard pull. He felt the tingle all the way round at the back of his thighs, it really wasn't going to take much.
"Oh, thank god, I need to be in you so much, I need to feel you tonight."
"Oh, fuck, John, yes..."
"I need to know you're mine" Greg gasped and raised one hand from John's back to his face and kissed him hard. When they pulled apart they were panting in time.
"I'm yours, every part of me, I'm yours and you're mine."
They were close, the groans, the shaking, it was intensifying as they tried to hold their rhythm. Fuck Sherlock could almost smell it, he was fisting his cock fast now, faster than they were fucking. He needed this, oh God, he'd needed this for hours now...
"I'm going to come inside you"
Greg whined "Yes please, please, I'm so close, I want to feel you"
"Oh Greg... yes..."
"Come for me, fill me up"
Shit shit shit, Sherlock's hand was a blur, the sheer intensity of it, the way they were talking to each other, that bead of sweat sliding down the cleft of John's arse as he thrust, deep, so deep, into Greg...
"Fuck, Greg I'm... Oh God.. fuck, I love you so much, so much..."
Greg moaned and started a litany, chanting John's name over and over until, with a last shouted "John" he arched his back and came over his chest. John pulled his hand from Greg's cock and plated it square on the bed, giving himself more leverage to pump into Greg twice more before giving a strangled cry and tensing all over as he came deep inside Greg. The extra stimulation made Greg whimper and John was quickly pulling out and shushing Greg, lying them both on their sides facing each other and sliding deep into his arms, stroking his back.
"Are you okay?"
Greg grinned sleepily "Not sure that I'd want to attempt that twice in one night but yeah, I'm okay"
John stroked him carefully "Are you sure?"
"I'm always okay when I'm with you"
"There you go again with the jokes"
"That wasn't a joke! Because I'm fantastic when I'm with you. Brilliant. Amazing. Incandescent."
John smiled "Yeah, that sounds about right."
"Good." Greg yawned and pulled John closer. "I think I'm going to go to sleep now."
"You do that love."
Greg smiled " 'Love' I like that..."
John grinned and kissed Greg's ear as he felt the other man go soft and quiet in his arms, in a few moments he as also drifting off, all of his senses, his mind and his heart filled to bursting with Greg.
And Sherlock found himself with his rapidly softening cock out, in the corridor, coming to the rapid and not comfortable realisation that he had just got off to a declaration of love. It wasn't the change in positions that had caused the intensity (though that had clearly contributed to it) but the emotional intensity of the situation. John had always tried to explain this to him but Sherlock had just assumed that this was a useful social convention to encourage pair bonding and reproduction. Now he had seen it in action however... there was no mistaking that for anything contrived. As Sherlock tiptoed back to his room and lay on his bed he pondered the significance of this. Was this what he was missing from those boys at the club tonight? Did he need to find a way of creating and maintaining an emotional bond with someone (he mentally shuddered) in order to achieve the level of arousal he'd just seen from Greg and John? In which case it would have to be done. His area or no this was clearly a field ripe for research. As he started drifting off a small part of Sherlock's mind suggested that finding love in order to get better sex might not precisely be the point. Ah well, he had never done things in quite the conventional way. As each gear in Sherlock's mind shut down one by one, Sherlock idly wondered whether David's Tate membership card and recent history with John might be a good enough basis to start to a long term relationship. After all, he had read it was important to have shared interests...
Epilogue to the epilogue- a few days later
"Jesus, Sherlock, what happened to you?"
"Nothing, what do you mean? Your nose is bleeding and your eye's swollen shout. Did you take a case without me?"
"No. It's nothing. I... I underestimated someones negative emotional response and overestimated my own persuasive abilities"
"You mean you did something insensitive and stupid and got punched in the face?"
"Fine, let's get you cleared up. Can I have my phone back too please."
"Yes, of course, I don't think I need it anymore..."