I am BACK! And with a brand new slashy story. Hope you're as excited as I am!

Swallowed by Feelings

Despair and affection

It had happened once before. Just once in his whole life. Only that one time, had he been able to let his feelings swallow him, and only that time let he down all his barriers. It was the night when he almost lost John. When Moriarty almost took away the only thing, what mattered to him in this whole boring life.

He couldn't sleep that night. Not with the image of John being threatened hovering in his mind. Usually these kind of things didn't matter to him, but that night he had a few drinks, just enough, so his hidden feelings would rise to the surface, harbouring his every waking hour.

He was staring out of the window, his violin in his hands, a minute ago he was playing but the beautiful music stuck at its zenith, leaving a silent room behind. He didn't hear the soft noises of the outside world, neither did he take in the footsteps behind him. He was lost in his thoughts, in his nightmarish fantasies of "what could have happened".

A warm hand gripped his shoulder and he jumped slightly, turning around with elevated heartbeat.

"Are you alright? I called for you at least three times."

The man from his previous fantasies stood behind him, safe and sound, untouched and unharmed, not even with a scratch. Why did he still feel the need to do something, to murder the man, who threatened John? Why was he still shaking from all the unanalysed emotion swirling inside him?

"I was thinking." He said shortly, reaching for another glass and the bottle of brandy. He gave the half full glass to John, trying hard not to notice that John clearly just get out of the bed, his short hair ruffled, wearing only shorts.

"Yes, I heard that." John answered easily, with a hint of smile in his voice.

Sherlock looked up and raised an eyebrow. John, as a response, looked at the violin then back at the detective.

"Oh right, the violin. I woke you." It was pointless to ask.

"Never mind, I'm used to it." This time John smiled, and Sherlock was slightly glad that he didn't actually hear any sign of sarcasm in that sentence.

"I see you're half ready for bed, what keeps you up this late then?" John asked casually, clinking his glass to Sherlock's before taking as sip. Sherlock looked down on himself and realized he was wearing his shirt loosely and unbuttoned. He didn't even remember when he did that.

He closed his eyes for a second before answering "Moriarty." That was enough; he probably shouldn't let John know about what a disturbed mind he had. However if someone knew it perfectly, it probably was John Watson.

"Don't mind that psychopath now, Sherlock. Get some sleep. We deal with him later, when he shows up again. And we deal with him together. Don't try to save the whole world on you own." With that, John drank his brandy and turned around.

Sherlock wanted to scream at the man in front of him he wanted to shout in his face all sorts of things he didn't really understand himself. He wanted to say I don't want to save the whole world, but only you. He wanted to say I can't sleep until Moriarty lives and wants to kill you.

But he didn't say a word but moved instead. Before John could get any further, his hands unwillingly rose up and he touched John's waist. That made the doctor stop but that wasn't enough for Sherlock. His hands slithered up on John's back. He stepped a bit closer and stopped his hands on John's shoulder-blades. He leaned his forehead against John's head, his warm breathing caressed the other man's neck.

"Sherlock, what…?"

"Shh… Just let me… Please, just let me hug you for a moment." His voice was rough and broken.

Sherlock enjoyed the sensation of warm flesh under his fingers; it made him aware that John was alive, that the danger was over, even if it was just for now. But the moment was over, John moved away and he felt a sudden rush of disappointment burning his heart.

But John didn't step away from him, he only turned towards him.

"You idiot." He said quietly in a soft, caring voice. "That's not how you hug." And with that he slid his hands around Sherlock, pulling him in a warm, strong embrace.

Sherlock felt as John's hand slid under his shirt and touched his cold skin. Though the arms were tightly around him, he still felt the hug soft and tender. He enjoyed how John held him close, his warmness invading his cold, worrying heart. The gently caressing hands on his back, the warm breathing on his neck and the very presence of his only friend loosened the chains on his heart. Suddenly he felt all his previous thoughts flying out of his head.

Yes, together. Together everything will be better.

Okay, this was the first chapter, kind of like a prologue. From the next chapter there will be explicit man on man action here, you were warned.

Well, anyone curious about how this goes on?