Author's Note: So sorry for the delay, guys! I'm pretty sick at the moment, I planned on updating yesterday and then I just slept the whole afternoon and evening. Also, this is the last chapter, and who knows if I'll ever move my lazy arse again and actually finish something...Whatever :)

For the last time then, a billion thanks to Sherlock'sScarf, who's just amazing, to the lovely people who commented on the last chapter and to everyone who followed and favourited. You can't imagine what it means to me. Oh, and thanks to Mofftiss for giving me Sherlock. All mine now, you know...yeah, just kidding. They still don't belong to me. I'd share them with you, however :)


Chapter Eight

On their way home, they didn't talk much. John was feeling well again, and the doctors in Mycroft's hospital had told him that the wounds were healing very satisfactorily, so there was no reason to stay.

Anyhow, it had taken them the best part of the day to persuade the therapists who had appeared and who wanted to ''observe Dr Watson for a certain amount of time after all he was put through'' that obsevation really wasn't necessary. In the end, Sherlock had talked to them alone.

John wasn't exactly sure what had been spoken, but he couldn't keep from noticing the smug smile on Sherlock's face, or the fact that one of the therapists had cried when he was done with him.

Now it was already early evening and when they stopped in front of 221B, the sun was already starting to sink.

They entered the flat in an awkward silence.

After just standing around for quite a bit of time, Sherlock felt the need to say something.

"So, what happens next?", he asked, finally looking at John. To his astonishment, he smiled at him in a way Sherlock had never, ever seen him smile before.

"That's easy." John took a few steps until he stood very close to Sherlock. He took his hands, then stroked up his arms, huskily whispering, "I'm just going to do all the things I've been longing to do with you for the past weeks."

Sherlock's throat tightened and he felt a very odd shudder go through his body. No one had ever said something comparable to him.

He had felt loved, occasionally, mostly by his family when he had been a lot younger, but never had he felt wanted, wanted like this. John had stopped the motion of his hands, now cupping Sherlock's face. "Only if it's alright with you," he added in an unbearably soft voice, and when Sherlock managed to nod in agreement, he stretched up and kissed him.

This kiss was very different from the first one they had shared. It didn't feel desperate and hungry but patient and careful, first lips just brushing over each other, barely touching, then slowly becoming more intense.

It wasn't cold and full of fear but warm and there was no need to cling into it, because every time the lips left, they returned, adding a little bit of pressure.

It didn't taste of blood and need but of safety, of something like mint and tea at the same time, all like John and all very, very wonderful.

For the first time Sherlock gave himself totally away, just concentrating on John's hand in his hair, his parted lips, his tongue exploring his mouth. Mmmhhh...Oh. Sherlock opened his eyes, which had obviously closed on their own accord. John opened his, too, after he realized that Sherlock wasn't kissing him back any more.

"What, uhm, what are you doing?" Sherlock asked, a slight touch of insecurity swinging in his words.

John seemed to suppress a smile.

"You really are a virgin, aren't you?" he asked, not moving his hands away from where he had just placed them.

"Obviously," the detective replied, trying to be all himself but blushing at the same time.

"Do you want me to stop?"

Sherlock considered this for a moment. John's hand there made his whole body feel tense. Not in a bad way, though. Just in a way he absolutely wasn't used to feel around John. An experiment.

"No, don't stop," he answered, surprised that his own voice sounded deeper than usual, too.

"We can take this slow, there's no rush," John murmured into his ear, lifting his hand, stroking over Sherlock's belly and chest and stopping at the collar of his shirt.

He opened the first button then placed a kiss to the now exposed skin, not much more than a breath really. He opened a second button and moved his mouth further down. Sherlock felt John's breath quicken to match his own. John opened a third button and when his lips came down for another light kiss, the detective closed his eyes and stroked both his hands through the sandy hair in front of him.

Another button open, another kiss, and Sherlock heard himself making a little noise, something between a moan and a sigh. John had heard it, too, and his kisses became more intense, lasted longer on the pale, soft skin, sucking gently.

When the last button had been opened, John pulled the shirt out of the trousers, then, kissing his way up again, stripped it from Sherlock's shoulders.

He took a step back, letting his gaze wander over every little detail admiringly, then closed in again and pressed their lips back together.

Sherlock carefully placed his own hands on the hem of John's jumper, pulling it up, stroking over the skin of John's back with long, slim fingers, quite shyly at first.

He became braver quickly though, and when his hands had gotten to John's bare chest, he started sucking on the man's bottom lip a little. John seemed to like that, so he sucked a little harder, and was rewarded with a groan.

Sherlock started to feel more secure, pulling John's jumper and shirt off completely and concentrating on moving his mouth along John's jaw and to his neck, starting to suck again, and not just a little this time.

He realized he was leaving marks and looked up at John who had his eyes shut.

"How does that feel?" Sherlock asked in an unsteady voice.

"Amazing," John answered and moved towards the sofa, pushing Sherlock onto it and followed, straddling his lap.

"Amazing," he repeated, moving his hands down on Sherlock. Further down.


John didn't want to overwhelm Sherlock, so he just rested his hand on Sherlock's groin, but he needn't have worried.

At the contact, Sherlock closed his eyes, bit his lips and even rocked his hips a little. John smiled and took his hand away. The detective made a protesting noise that turned into a moan when John lay himself fully on top of him, pressing them together from chest to knee.

Bringing his hands up and pushing them into the curly hair, John captured Sherlock's full lips again, deepening their kiss immediately, while taking in all he could: Sherlock's scent, his taste, the feeling of this long, lean body against his own.

It felt so very different from all he was used to, and he half asked himself where he had gotten the courage to actually do this, but it felt so right, and damn if he wasted another thought on this while his mind should be occupied with saving all these precious moments, because what if he'd just wake up in the morning and none of this really happened?

Sherlock rocked his hips again, bringing still clothed erections together, and John's thoughts blurred, leaving him with only one word in the centre of his mind. More. It seemed quite sufficient.

Suddenly, Sherlock – obviously feeling the need of moving things along, flipped them over so that he was resting on top of John, kissing and sucking on his mouth hungrily.

The sofa moved over the floor a few centimetres at this, and gave a protesting squeal. Only seconds later, they heard the voice of their landlady.

"Boys, keep it down a tad, would you? It's really a little late to move furniture around, don't you think?"

John looked at Sherlock and couldn't suppress the urge to giggle. He smoothed his hands over ruffled curls and asked, his voice low,

"Should we move this to the bedroom?"

Sherlock smiled smugly.

"Oh yes," he drawled.

"Uhm, which one?" John queried.

"Yours, of course," Sherlock said immediately, eyebrows raised to indicate that he hadn't considered anything else. When he saw John's questioning look, he sighed, impatient but affectionate.

"For one thing, it's upstairs, so no one," he gave the hallway a glance, "will hear us. Also, my room is... a mess. Anyway, it's closer to both kitchen and living room, and should we not need two bedrooms in the future, it will be very practical to put to another use."

John slowly nodded.

"There's something else, isn't there?"

To his surprise, Sherlock blushed and looked embarrassed in a totally adorable way.

"Your room also...also smells like you. I like that," he murmured. John felt the warm sensation of affection rise in his stomach. He didn't want to make Sherlock any more uncomfortable though, so he simply took his hand.

"Let's go there then."

Inside the bedroom, Sherlock at once pulled John close, kissing him deeply as if he was afraid that John might have forgotten why they went in here.

John kissed back just as eagerly, letting his hands wander down Sherlock's back slowly until he reached the waistband of his trousers.

He hesitated for a second, then pushed both his hands inside, grabbing Sherlock's arse firmly and grinning against his mouth as he did so, because, well, Sherlock's arse was gorgeous, as was pretty much the rest of him, too, and he was John's to touch now, and John's alone.

Following this thought he decided that any clothes between them were utterly unnecessary. Sherlock had obviously come to the same conclusion, because his fingers were fumbling at John's belt buckle now.

John reached down to reciprocate with slightly trembling hands.

Soon they were both completely naked, and John thought that it was a rather odd sensation; the feeling of being so exposed to the stare of Sherlock's grey eyes wandering over every inch of him.

At least he seemed to like what he saw, and John didn't need any other encouragement to push him onto the bed, following right after.

They were pressed together from chest to knee again, mirroring their position from earlier, only now, there was nothing in between them.

When Sherlock bucked his hips and pulled John down for another breathtaking kiss, John moaned helplessly. The friction felt indescribable.

Sherlock released his lips to let out a groan of his own and John seized the opportunity to lower his lips down to that long, pale throat, biting down harder than he had before, sucking warmth to the surface. Sherlock trembled beneath him, his head thrown back, eyes closed.

"You're so beautiful," John breathed, his mouth close to the detective's ear now, because hell, Sherlock was, he was beautiful, and John was finally, finally allowed to tell him so.

"So unbelievably gorgeous."

His hands were sliding over the narrow chest and to the trail of hair that led down from Sherlock's navel. He took a deep breath, then he wrapped his hand around both of them.

Sherlock inhaled shakily, thrusting into John's hand, rubbing their cocks together.

The sensation felt like almost too much, too intense, but stopping was the last thing on their minds. John didn't even try to wonder why it didn't feel wrong to touch another man like that, because thinking in general had been banned from his head, fully occupied with Sherlock right now, with moving and stroking and moaning and long kisses to every part of him his mouth could reach; his lips, his face, his neck, his chest.

Sherlock arched his back when John's tongue flicked over his right nipple, and his movements became increasingly desperate. He was panting.

"John, John, John, John – Oohh."

John quickly glanced up and the look on Sherlock's flushed face, his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth still forming a perfect, round 'O' was enough to tip him over the edge as well.

"Oh God," he moaned, spending himself all over Sherlock's belly and chest, his cum mixing with the other man's.

All strengths went from his arms and he collapsed on top of Sherlock, whose arms immediately darted out and wrapped around John tightly. He tried to move but found it to be impossible.

"Sherlock! Will you let me get up?"

"No!" The reply was muffled as Sherlock's face was pressed against John's shoulder.

"I just want to clean us up."

After a few seconds, the arms released him. John rolled off Sherlock with some effort and grabbed a few tissues from the box on the bedside table.

He barely had time to wipe most of Sherlock's front clean before the arms were back. John smiled, fetched the quilt from the end of the bed, pulled it over them and settled more comfortably against him.

One of his hands stroke the hair away that covered the detective's forehead and fell into his eyes, carefully drawing the line of each brow. Sherlock closed his eyes and hummed. He seemed calm in a way John had never seen him, or thought possible.

He kept the motion of his hand going, almost soothingly, and soon the other man's breathing was slow and steady.

John regarded him for a few more minutes, then he rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder and closed his eyes.


Sherlock woke from the sun shining into the room. He realized that he wasn't lying in his own bed.

Someone was wrapped closely around him, breathing into his hair. He half turned, looking directly into John's smiling face.

"How do you feel?"

Sherlock just beamed back. He recognized the smile. It was John's "I-had-amazing-sex-last-night"-smile. However it didn't go on with "please-don't-let-that-bother-you" but "thank-you."

"I feel absolutely a hundred percent wonderful," he answered.

"So this is real?"

"What is?"

"Us. Last night. This." John pressed a sweet, brief kiss over Sherlock's collarbone.

"Yes," Sherlock replied, feeling everything ten times more intense than usual; John's strong arms around him, his breath on his own, bare skin, his heart thundering in his chest.

"This is real. If you want it to be, that is."

"I do," John murmured, his mouth only half an inch from Sherlock's ear.

"Just promise me something,"Sherlock went on. "Don't ever run away again."

John half rose, steadying himself on his elbows and looked Sherlock in the eye. His gaze was very intense.

"I promise," he said quietly, and Sherlock knew he meant it. After a few seconds, he cleared his throat, feeling the need to lighten the atmosphere.

"What would you like to do today? I don't have any cases, obviously, as I spent the last week by your bed."

"Hmm, you could spend the next week in my bed," John suggested. Sherlock felt a strange mix of curiosity (did John actually mean that?), lust ("in bed with John" seemed to trigger a lot of positive emotions), insecurity (did John really want him to change from his usual, energetic self?) and horror ( simply at the thought of wasting so much time) at that.

John giggled and took his hand.

"Just kidding," he confirmed. "But I get to choose what we do today?"

Sherlock nodded. A smile spread on John's face.