A/n: This story has elements of some of the previous stories, but hopefully won't sound horridly repetitive. This is my favourite of the series so... hope you enjoy!

And One Time He Didn't

There is that blissful moment that occurs between sleep and consciousness, just as you wake but before you open your eyes where you can't quite recall arbitrary facts such as the date, the season, or even the city in which you fell asleep. The moment was brought into startling clarity as John woke suddenly, filled with the fear that he could NOT in fact remember the date, the season, the city, or even his name. Panic set in, he tried to slow his heart rate, right, right what did he know? He kept his eyes firmly shut as he struggled to recall the basics.

John. John Watson. Yes. That sounded about right. Okay and breathe. Right... what else. Ah yes, London in the summer... definitely London, definitely summer as he was hot and sticky. So where was the rest of it? As John's life began swimming back to him in bits and pieces, he found there was a curious gap - the last thing he remembered was grabbing a coffee with Greg (Le...strade?) while waiting for Sherlock (Ah! Sherlock, yes he was hard to forget) to do something clever and solve the problem at hand but he was having trouble remembering the case details at all, and nothing past that moment at Scotland Yard. There was a dead cat somewhere in the back of his head but there was also pyjamas that turned into vicious 7ft, man eating snakes - he was confusing memories with bad dreams. He gulped and opened his eyes, happy to find he was safe and sound in his own bedroom. Well, they'd got home (Home: 221b Baker Street *wink*) safely - that was always a blessing never to be taken for granted.

He rolled over to try stimulate his muscles if not his memory, and was nearly given a heart attack as he realised he was not alone in his bed. Sherlock lay on his back beside him, still fast asleep, splayed out on his bed, a mass of curly black hair a startling contrast against John's pale sheets, bunched up around Sherlock's hips. Oh god. Oh god what had he done. Okay... okay don't just jump to conclusions. John lifted the covers to find he was in fact completely naked, Sherlock only clad in a pair of black boxers. Not helping the thudding heart. Right then... the obvious had happened. Or had it? Sherlock was definitely still wearing his boxers... was he the sort of man who'd put them back on after the fact?

Lube - right... that'd be a dead giveaway. John shuffled upwards, careful not to disturb the peacefully sleeping detective (since when did Sherlock sleep anyway!?) and opened his bedside table looking for the bottle of personal lubricant that had aided him in his single life. Instead of being shoved hastily to the back of the drawer like it usually was, the entire drawer was messed up and dishevelled as though someone had gone through it in a hurry, the lubricant was laying on its side on top. Fuck. John tried to determine if any was missing from it but found that he really didn't have that sort of brain processing power right now. He glanced back at Sherlock, perfectly white skin glowing in the early morning sunlight. No bite marks... ah, correction, claw marks on his biceps. Damn - and John always tried so hard not to leave any marks on his lovers.

Okay so... alcohol seemed an obvious answer, but John certainly didn't remember having anything to drink, and though his head felt fuzzy and his memory was only seeping through in dribs and drabs, he didn't seem to have a hangover. Very odd. John just stared, for whatever reason he couldn't remember the circumstances that had led to Sherlock Holmes laying almost naked in his bed and that thought was a very sad one indeed because John knew how he felt about Sherlock, he'd known for a long time but he'd never dreamed of acting on it. The detective didn't do love and romance, or sex as far as John knew, but that had evidently gone out the window. John hoped that whatever had happened he'd had the decency and right frame of mind to explain to Sherlock that it wasn't just about sex. He leaned over and brushed one of Sherlock's curls from his closed eyes. He looked stunning, so calm and quiet - unusual for him.

If he were inclined to flights of romanticism, he'd say Sherlock looked beautiful like this - and why not? Hell, Sherlock looked beautiful like this. Perhaps it was just the rarity of sleep, or maybe the post-orgasmic glow (John certainly felt familiarly drained the way he often did after a night in bed with a beautiful woman), whatever it was, Sherlock was gorgeous, chest rising and falling softly with each breath. Which begged the question - how did John hold on to him now? There must have been terms last night, rules and agreements surely? Had Sherlock convinced John that it was a one-off, a never-to-happen-again occurrence? John liked to think he'd have had the willpower to refuse such an offer, but Sherlock's body was quite brazenly on display now, even a straight man would have had trouble saying no to that...

Or had John talked Sherlock into a relationship, into more than a one night stand? John wished he could remember... how did Sherlock look in the heat of the moment? That perfect heart shaped mouth open in surprise and shock at the new sensations? Was it a new sensation? Sherlock had never had a lover in the almost two years John had known him... had he had one before John was in his life? Girls weren't really his area, a boyfriend perhaps? Had another man ever laid hands on Sherlock's skin the way John had done last night? How had John laid hands on him last night? John's backside felt blessedly pain free and he didn't really have Sherlock pegged as the sort of man who'd hand over control so easily. Had they gone all the way? A mutual blow job, perhaps? God he hoped it had been mutual, he'd feel a right arsehole if he'd got off and Sherlock hadn't... was that why he was still in his boxers? No... no whatever had transpired, John was a considerate lover, he would have made sure Sherlock achieved an orgasm somehow.

And those thoughts were beginning to have an affect on his albeit slow and sluggish body. All the possibilities turned him on, John had no knowledge of being with this man (or any man actually, Sherlock was sort of the exception to the rule) - the thought of hard muscle (which Sherlock, surprisingly possessed, for a skinny guy he wasn't all skin and bones, definite definition to his wiry frame) beneath his hands rather than soft curves was oddly scintillating, how had it felt to touch, tease, taste every inch of him? He tried to conjure up memories, but only found himself relegated to the back corners of his mind - the dirty dreams he was so prone to having about the lanky self-proclaimed sociopath.

Sociopath. Right. Doesn't do emotional attachments. It was looking less and less likely that John had convinced Sherlock of anything more than a quick shag. John had thought, the past few weeks, that things had been progressing with them... he'd never really held out much hope that Sherlock would do an about-turn and suddenly want to be his boyfriend or whatever, but there had definitely been more of the little electric touches and shared secret glances and the general well... heat between them seemed to have escalated. Well that was well and truly fucked up now, wasn't it? John sighed, his fingers brushed briefly over Sherlock's sharp cheekbones - lovely, really. His skin was soft and warm, completely contrary to the cold aura he emanated.

John supposed he ought to wake Sherlock up and just ask him, he didn't want to, but he probably should. He was just leaning over to shake Sherlock's shoulders when it occurred to him. There was another way he could wake his sleeping beauty... no. No, he couldn't do that... could he? They'd already had sex... surely whatever rules had applied last night extended a few hours into the morning? Plus, John was good at it... well... he was good with his mouth when it came to women, and lord help him he'd got a long enough string of ex-girlfriends he'd had to coach through it... John tried to reverse the situation to rationalise it... if he'd had sex with a girl who was hopelessly in love with him and she decided to wake him up the uh... nice way... yes that sounded good. Who knows, maybe if he was a good enough shag Sherlock may pity him enough to keep him by his side and if not well... it would certainly soften the blow if they had to break up anyway.

John pulled the covers back a little further, exposing Sherlock in his entirety. As a last minute thought, John grabbed the lube and settled it beside Sherlock's hip, just in case it turned out he was terrible at giving head and ended up resorting to finishing things by hand. Sherlock's position made it all too easy, laid on his back with his legs splayed open slightly... perfect. John took a deep breath before slipping his thumbs under the hemline of the black (satin?...silk maybe?) boxers and slid them down to Sherlock's thighs before deciding they'd be in the way and removing them completely. Sherlock was a rare sleeper, but when he finally did submit he was apparently a deep sleeper as he'd not moved at all.

John took a moment to survey Sherlock, naked as could be, laid out in front of him. Sherlock's chest was almost entirely devoid of hair, the occasional curiously ginger curl standing alone, his underarms were thinly decorated with dark wiry hair, his leg hair was sparse and soft (John ran a finger over it to check), sat above his flaccid penis was a thick thatch of dark curls only venturing high enough to have peeked over his boxers slightly before John had removed , John's pulse had picked up with the danger of it all. Right then... couldn't be too difficult, surely? John settled himself between Sherlock's legs, placed his hands on the bed at either side of Sherlock's waist and began a delicate trail of kisses over the taut abdomen before him.

It only took a few soft open mouthed kisses for him to feel Sherlock's sleeping cock twitch in interest, just below his chin. He glanced upwards, Sherlock still fast asleep - brilliant, it wouldn't do if Sherlock woke up before he was fully turned on, could be awkward. The way things were going, it wouldn't take long though, John successfully brought Sherlock to a semi-on by tracing the very point of his tongue over Sherlock's hip bone, his skin tasted clean and fresh, hotter here than on his abdomen. Sherlock's torso was long and by the time John's kisses, which were really more twirls of his tongue, were teasing the top of Sherlock's pubic bone his arms were becoming stretched. He drew them lightly down Sherlock's sides, settling on his hips, the hollows of Sherlock's pelvis fit John's thumbs perfectly and he drew them in soft circles - lowering his head to his target.

Almost completely erect, Sherlock was more impressive than he'd initially let on - perhaps John ought to have been daunted by his size (about 7 1/2 inches when fully erect by the look of it, definitely above the national average) but the insistent throb of arousal was dulling any doubts he may have had. He swept his tongue cautiously over the tip, the salty tang unfamiliar but not entirely unpleasant. It was just as John took Sherlock's shaft in hand, rolling his foreskin back over the head that the detective's eyes snapped open.
"John! What are..." He started, hazy with sleep and confusion but his tone alert and mildly panicked. Now or never John thought and sank his mouth as far down Sherlock's member as he could manage - which was not as far as he'd have liked. "Oh..." Sherlock gasped breathily - definitely not a protest. John drew himself slowly back up, lips in a tight seal contradicting his tongue swirling in lazy loose circles.

Sherlock's hand flew downwards and for one wild moment John didn't know whether Sherlock was going to yank him back by the hair or force him further down (and why, oh why did that last thought exhilarate him so much?). He did neither, left hand clinging to John's right shoulder in silent encouragement, fingers clenching tightly. After that it was easy enough to show Sherlock exactly how John himself liked it, but this wasn't about what John liked - he wanted to find out what Sherlock wanted, how to please him best, so his technique started to vary between long slow open mouthed teasing of Sherlock's whole shaft and short sharp sucks towards the head.

The noises Sherlock made were fascinating and delightfully unexpected, in John's dreams Sherlock had always been a quiet lover, strong and silent, but he'd been very very wrong. Sherlock alternated between almost feminine breathy gasps and whimpers, to the overtly masculine groans and growls that caused his entire body to vibrate with pleasure. Each simple sound sent pulses straight to John's groin, encouraging his endeavour - definitely not a task, a task implied it was unenjoyable and this was heavenly. It was definitely different to pleasuring a woman, which he was used to, but not different in a bad way, the weight of Sherlock's cock against his tongue made him delirious, the heat was dizzying and dear god Sherlock was so bloody responsive with his writhing and wriggling and moaning.

The only downside to giving a blow job in John's book was that after a while his jaw started to ache a little, he pulled off with a slightly obscene wet popping noise and ran slightly parted, very slightly swollen lips, down the underside, tongue dipping out occasionally to lap at the vein he was following. He drew one hand up to cradle Sherlock's testicles, massaging them lightly provoked an odd reaction from the addled man below him as he struggled to free his right thigh from underneath John's elbow. John shifted a little and as soon as Sherlock's leg was free the detective shamelessly and almost instinctively spread his legs, giving John better access.

Well... if that wasn't an invite John didn't know what was - his lips lingered over the tip of Sherlock's cock, connected by a thin strand of saliva and he spared an upward glance to see if Sherlock was actually trying to encourage him or if the move had been accidental. John hadn't been prepared for what he saw, Sherlock's free hand was fisted tightly in the sheets, his entire body flushed a very light shade of pink, head pushed back into the pillows with his eyes clenched shut and mouth open in a silent 'oh', John rolled his thumb over the slit, slick with spit and pre-ejaculate his thumb glided easily. He watched as Sherlock's face continued to contort, he could literally see each breath as it caught in his throat. He looked amazing, the very physical embodiment of sex. John gulped, yes he was definitely going to take that as an invitation.

Lowering his lips once more and never once removing his mouth from Sherlock's dick, he managed to get the cap off of the bottle of lubricant he'd conveniently placed, he knew he was being far too generous with it but right now he was surprised he could remember his own date of birth (some time in March, he thought idly, maybe April.). Fingers overly slicked, he placed the heel of his palm against Sherlock's balls, rubbing gently and letting the excess lubricant dribble from his fingers and down the cleft of Sherlock's spread legs. Only when Sherlock shivered did it occur to John that he probably should have warmed the lubricant up first - he'd remember that next time... if there was a next time.

He pointed the tip of his tongue and dragged it in a full circle around the silky ridge at the crown, flushed a brilliant red with desire, and Sherlock's hand moved as he did so. It had been resting on John's shoulder, squeezing every so often and occasionally scratching, now Sherlock settled it in John's hair - again John wondered if this was the point Sherlock would act like Sherlock and manipulate John to where he wanted him with a waspish remark, and again John was pleasantly surprised, the touch was not forceful or even critical in any way, Sherlock's fingers stroked through the hair at the side of John's head softly and gently.

Even if just for a moment, John realised that this must be what it felt like to be loved by Sherlock Holmes - the man was loud, brash, rude, violent and just a little bit mental but he was capable of such unassuming intimacy, his thumb lightly brushing the shell of John's ear. Sherlock didn't treat people like this, so John was something special, even if Sherlock didn't feel the same way - he definitely still valued John as a friend and hopefully as a person. John rewarded the small display of affection by lowering his mouth back down around Sherlock's erection, going back to sucking instead of licking and teasing, ignoring the pain in the bolt of his jaw. He coupled it by brushing the flat of his index finger over his hole, causing Sherlock's hips to jerk upwards involuntarily - if John nearly choked at the suddenness of it all he hid it well.

Sherlock tried to stammer out what was possibly an apology for his sudden movement but it merged into a strangled cry as, inspired, John managed to force himself an inch or two further down, the crown bumping against the back of John's throat. John pinpointed the pinnacle of the cry and chose that exact moment to press the tip of his index finger inside Sherlock who, for a moment, tensed terribly at the intrusion, whole body stiffening in panic, before lowering his hips back to the bed and slowly relaxing a little. After a little while, Sherlock's confusion became apparent, he didn't know whether to buck upwards into the welcoming heat of John's mouth or downwards to impale himself further on John's probing finger, inching its way slowly inwards, John made the decision for him, licking a wide stripe up his shaft before pulling off - multitasking was too difficult.

He placed a few kisses on Sherlock's abdomen and shifted all his concentration to his hand, dragging his finger out trying to ignore the fact Sherlock's internal muscles clenched and tried to pull him back in (because that made him think of what else those particular muscles could swallow), before pressing in again, twisting and curling his finger which was just not quite long enough to reach its goal. Only one thing for it then, he (carefully) added his middle finger, Sherlock flinched slightly at the stretch but there was enough lube that the sensation was only slightly unpleasant before he gave in, mewling oddly as John scissored his fingers inside him. Sure enough John's middle finger was just long enough to brush Sherlock's prostate on each inward thrust - which resulted in a very startled Sherlock yelping and sky-rocketing his hips off of the mattress in a surprised jolt that shot through his whole body.

"Oh god." Sherlock moaned, the first real words he'd managed since this all began - and again. "Oh god." John grinned a little to himself, silently pleased that he could issue those words from Sherlock (who was what John described as 'devoutly Atheist') with only two cleverly placed fingers. He continued to tease, fucking Sherlock with his fingers that at this angle were only capable of tormenting, not providing quite enough pressure to Sherlock's most sensitive spot combined with the fact John was no longer servicing the detective orally (the occasionally kiss on the flat plane of Sherlock's stomach did not count) meant that Sherlock's arousal was building but had no real outlet. John worked a third finger into the picture, analysing Sherlock's gasps - making sure they were noises of pleasure and not of pain.

Sherlock's insides were scorching hot and the heat only mounted with each curl of John's three fingers.
"John." Sherlock panted weakly, addressing him directly. John tore his eyes away from the vision of himself breaching the detective's backside and looked up at Sherlock - eyes open now, wide and pale, he looked positively wild and even though he'd only said John's name, John understood the gravity behind the word, that Sherlock was asking 10 million questions with that heated gaze and John didn't want to say no too any of them.

He glanced around - condoms? There was no evidence that they'd used one last night, which was only slightly odd as John was working on the theory that they'd had a shower after sex last night, Sherlock tasted too clean to have fallen asleep right afterwards. John struggled to remember when he'd last been STD tested... couldn't pin down an exact date but he did know for certain that he'd not had unprotected sex since then (he'd barely had sex since then - pathetic). Which left Sherlock. Sherlock had closed his eyes and thrown his head back once more, keening into the deliciously slow wriggling of John's fingers, calmed as he thought.

Sherlock didn't seem the type to go round shagging half of London without a condom, but really John didn't have a bloody clue about Sherlock's sexual history, up until yesterday he'd have been willing to swear the detective didn't even have one, and then there was the drug use - John knew about that. God he wanted to, he really did but it would be irresponsible and unsafe to...
"Oh for god's sake, John, I'm clean - if you're going to do it, just do it!" Sherlock snapped. Ah, there was the aromantic bastard John knew and loved, but any venom behind his words was sapped as he moaned once more at the feel of John dragging his fingers out of him before he reached for the bottle again. John sat back on his heels as he slicked up his own ignored erection, aware of Sherlock's analytical eyes narrowed down to this specific part of his anatomy, it twitched in his grip as John tried not to shiver under the hungry gaze. John had nothing to be ashamed of in the size department, certainly not quite as large as Sherlock, but a decent size all the same, plus it didn't really come down to size, it was how he used it - and he'd had no complaints in that department on three continents. He felt a thrill up and down his spine as he realised Sherlock was watching him masturbate and his grip tightened on himself instinctively.

He moved forward, making a mental note to kill Sherlock if he was lying about being clean and lay himself over Sherlock, pale hands clutching at his shoulders as he lined himself up. John intended to go slowly, be careful and gentle - he didn't know whether he'd done this specific part with Sherlock last night, Sherlock's actions indicated they had, as John started to tentatively ease the blunt head of his own cock into Sherlock's opening (and oh, wasn't that just heavenly), Sherlock wrapped his ankles around the back of John's thighs and thrust upwards, sheathing all of John in one smooth motion. Sherlock's hiss was drowned out by John's gasp - right then, none of this 'gentle' nonsense would be tolerated apparently, John raised his hips, withdrawing almost all the way before bucking forward once more - and fuck it all, it felt brilliant.

John was a sensible man, he didn't have unprotected sex very often, could only remember three times in his entire life where he'd taken the risk - all three times he'd been slightly drunk and incredibly horny (miraculously he'd never caught anything or got anybody pregnant) he had been young and foolish then, but the sensation of being inside someone was immeasurably better without the thin latex barrier between himself and his lover, and being inside Sherlock was massively different to being with a woman - tighter, hotter, somehow more intense. John didn't know whether it was the fact Sherlock was a male and that the anatomy was very different that was making this feel mind-bogglingly amazing so quickly or the fact that Sherlock had locked eyes with him - his pupils blown wide leaving his pale silver irises almost completely eclipsed, he still looked wild, untamed, confused, both fascinated and fascinating. John didn't let their eyes break contact, feeling the electricity there and revelling in it as he began pistoning his hips, diving in and out of Sherlock, who, having initiated the first thrust was largely submissive from that point on, ankled still hooked around John's thighs, encouraging him.

John suspected he was overwhelmed with just laying back and letting John take him, as his eyes finally fluttered closed again, his mouth had fallen open once more - completely devoid of vicious words or cutting comments but spewing half words and desperate pleas that never quite formed properly between his brain and his tongue.
'God' came up a few times, several monosyllabic
'Oh's and
'Ah's (with varying volume and pitch, loudest and highest when John thumped against his prostate he noted frenziedly) as well as a mildly amusing
'Don't stop' - as if John was going to give up mid-coitus and just walk away. John didn't think he could have stopped even if he wanted to - and he didn't, he wanted to be buried balls deep in Sherlock forever, his muscles clenching, gripping John tightly, drawing him in over and over until they were both desperate.

Sherlock's mouth was going to get them into trouble shortly if he wasn't quieter - the last thing either of them wanted was for Mrs Hudson to come knocking to make sure neither of them were being murdered. In an attempt to silence him John lay himself even flatter over Sherlock so they were chest to chest, Sherlock's cock trapped between their abdomens, it changed the angle of John within Sherlock, almost guaranteeing the doctor's thrusts would graze the bundle of nerves deep inside Sherlock. The additional friction seemed to do the trick for Sherlock, but before he could moan his approval, John kissed him, swallowing it between them. The kiss seemed to alarm Sherlock more than anything thus far had done and he froze, his held breath jarred as John didn't relent, still fucking Sherlock in earnest, still rubbing Sherlock's erection with his body. Or maybe, just maybe Sherlock had froze for an entirely different reason - oh.

He saw Sherlock's orgasm before he felt it, Sherlock tore his lips away from John's to jerk his head back in the pillows, his back arched pushing them both up off the bed in a bow, his fingernails dug into John's shoulders and the choked growl he put forward was almost inhuman. Then he started to tighten, walls clenching John in a vice grip, his quivering cock spitting hot white ribbons over their stomachs and his own chest, his whole body pulsed and shook beneath John, who had forgotten how to breathe as Sherlock's climax rocked them both - he forced himself to keep going, power through the waves crashing over them, he managed a few more aborted thrusts before he too was overwhelmed by heat and came so hard that he saw stars, riding through one of Sherlock's aftershocks until they were both trembling from head to toe, easing themselves breathlessly back down to the mattress.

John wasted no time on recovery, still inside Sherlock he began placing kisses at the bolt of Sherlock's jaw, trailing them down his neck and throat. Sherlock spoke first, sounding completely shell shocked.
"What... on earth was that?" He breathed.
"An apology." John murmured into the crook of Sherlock's shoulder.
"Right, yes." He didn't sound entirely there, his air vague and dream-like. "What are you apologising for?" He asked, still panting heavily. John sighed, he was going to have to be honest on this one - as much as he was loathed to admit it. He pulled his head back up to look Sherlock in the eye as he spoke.
"I'm sorry... I don't remember it." He breathed, raising one hand to brush a sweat dampened curl from Sherlock's forehead. "I wish I could and I don't know why I can't but I can't remember our first time. I don't know what rules we set up or anything, I just hope it was half as amazing as that was." Sherlock had paled slightly, the post-coital blush fading rapidly from his sharp cheekbones. "And if that's not enough of an apology, if you're happy to wait 45 minutes I'd be happy to apologise again." He murmured.

"Oh..." Sherlock's 'oh' was not an 'oh' of a man anticipating another sexual encounter, no, it was an 'oh' filled with dread and John was immediately worried. "John... I think you and I may have got our wires crossed..." He continued, averting his eyes for a split second.
"Hm?" Sherlock looked back at him.
"We didn't have sex last night... or do anything of a sexual nature." Sherlock said softly.
"Don't be daft of course we..." John froze, feeling his blood run cold... actually - what evidence did he have? "But... but I was naked... the scratches on your arm..." He stammered awkwardly. Sherlock's face had completely transformed from post-coital bliss to deathly serious in the space of a few seconds.

"I can explain..." He started as John began to pull away, face a furious shade of red, he tightened his grip on John's shoulders holding him in place.
"Gerroff..." John mumbled embarrassedly.
"If I let go, will you let me explain?" Sherlock asked sternly, not relenting his awkward hold.
"Yes just..." John pulled himself free of Sherlock's grip, which had lessened at the word 'yes', and rolled over, sliding out of Sherlock slick hole with a giddy thrill of misplaced pleasure. He lay on his back beside Sherlock, who was shuffling upwards to sit up against the headboard.

"What the hell happened last night?" John asked, trying not to freak out until he knew all the facts, he stared intently at the ceiling, unable to bring himself to look at Sherlock, whose debauched appearance was doing nothing to aid the awkwardness of the moment.
"You were drugged... you don't remember anything?" Sherlock asked cautiously, John shook his head. "Holly Walker... the vet who was practising illegal human medicines on her clients animals as part of a drugs trial..." John thought hard, something about it rang a bell but it was distant and unclear. "We were at the mortuary at the vets examining the body of a cat..." Oh yeah, dead cat."When she came in and caught us... she stabbed you in the arm with a syringe full of an unlicensed drug..." John immediately began checking his arms looking for a puncture mark, Sherlock pointed it out, a tiny red mark no bigger than a freckle on John's left arm, no wonder he hadn't noticed it... John's skin burned where Sherlock's finger tip had touched him, however briefly.

"Scratched me in the struggle..." Sherlock indicated the shallow red scrapes on his own forearms, that John had mistaken for heat-of-the-moment grasps."She was arrested... Apparently Lestrade doesn't trust me to go off on my own so he had us tailed, they were on the scene about five minutes after us." Sherlock was talking quite tentatively. "You were taken to hospital... you seemed mostly okay, just a little dazed, just wanted to go home and have a 'well bloody deserved cup of tea'..." Sherlock quoted directly.

"Ms Walker explained the finer details - the side effects of the drug, confusion, memory loss, sluggishness, delirium... the hospital made me sign a waiver that promised if I took you home I'd keep an eye on you as it's an unlicensed and untested drug. You told everybody you were fine and the 'red tape was a damned nuisance' so I signed it... we got home..." Sherlock was frowning, trying to catch John's eye but the doctor was resolutely avoiding eye contact, still staring at the ceiling like he was trying to burn a hole in it.
"And then what? You thought it was a good idea to remove our clothes and climb into bed?" He asked.

"No..." Sherlock said drily. "I intended to sit in the chair by your bed while you slept it off but the delirium had kicked in... you lost all semblance of lucidity while I was in the shower - cat hair everywhere. I left you for approximately six minutes and when I returned you were interrogating the mirror..." He did not sound impressed - at all, John supposed to anybody else, the sight of their flatmate arguing with inanimate objects would be comical. Not to Sherlock Holmes apparently.

"I spent half an hour trying to calm you down while you ransacked your room... emptied out half your drawers - when I finally got you sat down, you kept standing up and trying to leave because your - and I quote 'mad flatmate might be back at any moment'..." John winced slightly at that. "You kept calling yourself James and insisted that Mycroft had electronically bugged your cane..."
"That last bit might be true..." John said half-heartedly.
"It's not, he only bugs my possessions, he couldn't care less what you do when you're not with me." Sherlock told him dismissively. "I convinced you to go to bed, managed to talk you into your pyjamas but you kept telling me they were trying to eat you... you were yelling about snakes and just taking them off - after the third time I just stopped trying - you were getting distressed." Ah... 7ft, man eating snakes... yeah.

"And why were you in my bed?" John asked exasperatedly, trying to sift through his hallucinations in his head.
"At about three in the morning you started having a whispered conversation with the lamp, telling it you were scared and that the man in the corner - that would be me - was watching you. You weren't making much sense but you seemed to think that the lamp was me... kept asking it-me to come to bed with you because the man in the corner was terrifying... So I turned the light on and you just... you dissolved into tears," Sherlock said distastefully - evidently disapproving. "Tears are not my strong point."
"I know..."
"It was obviously still the drug in your system. You begged me... well, you begged the lamp, to just lie down with you - so I did. It's summer, too hot for clothes and you wouldn't let me leave to go fetch my pyjamas so I climbed in, in just my boxers and you fell straight asleep on your own side of the bed..."
"And then?" John asked, a little hopelessly.

"There is no and then... I must have fallen asleep at about 5am and when I woke up you were... doing that thing with your mouth." Sherlock gestured vaguely towards his own abdomen.
"A blow job Sherlock, it's called a blow job... why the hell didn't you stop me?" He sighed heavily.
"Oh yes, forgive me for not understanding that you were only having sex with me because you thought you'd already had sex with me." Sherlock said sarcastically. "Obviously that was the logical conclusion." He even rolled his eyes, making John feel even thicker than he already did.
"I just shagged my best mate - for no reason." He groaned, placing his palm over his face - he was a fucking idiot.
"Well that's not entirely true." Sherlock countered. "You're obviously attracted to me - that's usually a fairly acceptable reason for sexual intercourse."
"You're not helping." John muttered darkly.

There was a long, awkward silence, with John massaging his forehead and cursing himself for making the crucial mistake Sherlock always warned him against: never theorise without having all the facts. The evidence had all pointed toward some kind of sexual encounter - the evidence had been wrong. Fucking foolish.
"So..." Sherlock said eventually, laying back down and mirroring John's pose, looking up at the ceiling. "That was sex..." He spoke with the air of somebody discussing the weather.
"No shit, Sherlock." John grumbled,wondering how he was supposed to apologise for his ill thought out apology.
"It was... interesting." He acknowledged. "Very messy." He added distastefully, eyeing the mess on his stomach. John rolled over and grabbed the tissues from his bedside table, chucking a wad of them at Sherlock who began cleaning himself off.
"Look I'm really sorry..." He started but Sherlock held up a handful of tissues.
"Don't be." He dismissed, throwing them onto the table on his side of the bed as John cleared himself off. "It was enjoyable for both parties." It was John's turn to roll his eyes in exasperation, trust Sherlock to be so... Sherlock.

"I feel like a right twat." He grumbled, balling up the tissues and aiming for his waste paper basket. He missed by a mile.
"For a man who just had by all accounts a rather spectacular orgasm, you look rather sorry for yourself..." Sherlock observed, tilting his head side way to take in the view of John, who hastily pulled the covers over himself in a last ditch attempt at modesty. Bit late for that. "I thought this was what you wanted?" Queried Sherlock, bewildered by the sudden withdrawal.
"Wanted? No, Sherlock this isn't what I wanted..." He sighed heavily, because the half-second glance he spared Sherlock's facial features showed him the detective was confused. Well, he supposed being woken up with a blow job from your allegedly heterosexual flatmate was enough to confuse anybody.

"I didn't want a one night stand or a one... morning stand or whatever the hell this was. I wanted you... the whole she-bang, kissing, hell - cuddling if you'd put up with it, y'know an actual adult relationship." Sherlock's brows furrowed as John spoke, but he was still staring adamantly at the ceiling as though it had personally wronged him.
"Does an orgasm always adversely affect your intelligence?" John was fairly certain Sherlock had just called him an idiot - he didn't argue with it this time, he was a bloody idiot. He'd screwed up royally on this one and apparently Sherlock was going to make him pay for his mistake in insults and distance. "That's what I'm offering, John." John blinked, several times - he was still sluggish from the drug in his system and Sherlock was partially right about an orgasm dulling his senses.

"What... you... a relationship?" He asked somewhat incredulously.
"We've been dancing around it for weeks, months even. It's about time one of us did something about it." He shrugged, John rolled onto his side, actually looking at Sherlock for the first time since they'd climaxed, he tried to detect some sort of joke in Sherlock's eyes but there was none, his features schooled calmly and seriously.
"Wait... you said earlier that it was obvious I was attracted to you... you knew." He accused, the realisation that Sherlock had not been oblivious hitting him like a tonne of bricks.
"So did you, I've seen you monitoring the minuscule touches, cataloguing the overly long glances." Sherlock said simply.
"Why didn't you say anything?" John groaned. Sherlock looked perplexed.
"I thought we both knew where we stood on the matter? Ah... apparently I was mistaken." He noted John's exasperated expression as he spoke.

"I chose not to act as I believed that no matter what romantic associations were developing - we were sexually incompatible." He explained simply.
"Wait so... you were attracted to me, you knew I was attracted to you, but you didn't do anything about it because you thought I wouldn't be interested in gay sex?" There was an obvious tone of complaint in his voice.
"Quite the opposite." He said, shaking his head. "That you desired me in a sexual manner was a given, your morning shower ritual has required an additional thirteen minutes as of late, your masturbatory habits indicated you were very much sexually attracted to me." John thought he ought to be embarrassed that Sherlock had been aware of every early morning wank he'd had while fantasizing about him, he wasn't at all embarrassed or surprised by it. That was Sherlock fucking Holmes for you. "No, your sexuality was never an issue. The fact of the matter is that until this morning I'd not sustained an erection willingly since I was nineteen." John thought he might need a moment to process that but Sherlock ploughed on.

"Oh, we're doing the whole tedious back-story bit are we? You might as well get comfortable." Sherlock flung one arm out, indicating that John move into it - John was completely and utterly befuddled, he didn't have a bloody clue what was going on, in one breath Sherlock had told him he was attracted to him only to retract it in the very next. "I'm to understand post-coital cuddling is somewhat mandatory after someone allows you to penetrate them anally." He said it in such a no-nonsense tone that John, despite his reservations, felt he had little choice, he lay himself against Sherlock's side, his face in the crook of Sherlock's neck.

"Okay... explain." John said, inhaling softly as Sherlock's outstretched arm curled around him, hand settling on John's shoulder. Sherlock now smelled of sweat and sex - it was intoxicating, a few stray curls tickled John's forehead and he had to admit it was rather nice to just lie in Sherlock's arms like that - even if he didn't know where it was going.

"I have... amendment - had no sex drive... when I was in high school and the other boys were addled by a cocktail of surging hormones, copulating or attempting to copulate with air headed teenage girls behind the bike-sheds: I simply had no interest. It didn't bother me, I had studies to attend to. Sex and sexuality was trivial - the occasional erection was dealt with the way any inconvenience was, as quickly and efficiently as possible."
"You're not a robot, Sherlock..." John said softly. Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"If you're going to get sentimental and pity me for my sexuality I will not hesitate to extricate myself from this embrace. You wouldn't pity someone for being straight or bisexual or gay, so don't make out like it's some terrible tragedy." John jolted slightly at that.
"I didn't mean..."
"Being asexual makes a person no less of a person and I resent the comparison." Sherlock told him icily.
"Yeah I know, sorry... I only..." John muttered feeling a complete prat, Sherlock was right of course.

"Anyway." Sherlock cut in smoothly, before John could attempt to apologise. "It was something I found easy to repress. When I got to university - virginity became taboo, every student in the school was shagging another, or a teacher in some cases. You don't get to be a twenty-something virgin in today's society, it's unacceptable. So despite the fact that it didn't interest me, I did make certain... attempts." He trailed off, suddenly assaulted with memories he'd not confronted in a long time, he absently squeezed John's shoulder. "Three attempts, three different people. On each occasion I was either unwilling or unable to maintain an erection. The partners were... less than thrilled, each seemed to take it personally for some reason."

John had to think about that one, if he'd been a twenty-something, in university and in bed with Sherlock Holmes (who he had to imagine was scrawnier but just as handsome in his youth) would he be offended if Sherlock couldn't get off? He could definitely see how they could have taken it personally, and felt an overwhelming sense of guilt beginning to gnaw at his stomach.
"After that I stopped trying. Sex clearly didn't work for me, no sense beating a dead horse so to speak. I've never lusted after a person's body - which brings us to now." Sherlock continued.
"And by now you mean me?" John put forward, he felt Sherlock's chin briefly against his hair indicating Sherlock had nodded.

"I had no doubts that you and I were romantically compatible, I recognise the symptoms of attraction, they're not unfamiliar to me. We have what people idiomatically refer to as 'chemistry'. There have been various times in my life I have admired someone's brain, their courage or their personality - asexual does not equate to aromantic. So yes, I was attracted to you... but I had no sexual desire for you." He paused before adding, almost apologetically - unheard of for Sherlock."Don't take it personally."
"I don't." John promised, knowing that it was far from personal - it wasn't that Sherlock wasn't sexually attracted to him, it was that Sherlock wasn't sexually attracted to anybody.
"I did consider the options. I knew you would not be happy with a sexless relationship, I briefly courted the idea of a one sided sexual scenario - letting you use my body as you saw fit."
"I wouldn't..." John started, appalled by the idea, but Sherlock cut him off again.
"I know you wouldn't, which is why I didn't offer it. I'd have been content with that situation though, it would have been a task, but one I'd willingly have endured."

It actually physically hurt John's chest to hear Sherlock talking like that, John would never have dreamed of willingly compromising Sherlock's sexuality - sex when one partner is unwilling or unable to derive pleasure wasn't sex, it was abuse, yet Sherlock was so casual about it. He'd actually considered letting John take him like that.
"I did try." Sherlock said, almost softly. "Attempted to arouse myself with visual imagery, I spent hours trying to achieve arousal over you and it just didn't happen." John knew he shouldn't pity Sherlock for this, but he did, these were not the words of a man comfortable with his sexuality, these were the words of a man who had tried everything to stop being what he was. Almost instinctively, John placed a delicate kiss to Sherlock's neck - the detective twitched slightly at it.

"Then... this morning you went and knocked the whole thing on the head." Sherlock actually sounded impressed. "Not only did I achieve an erection, I maintained it and reached a mind-blowing orgasm." John blushed a little bit there, just a little.
"I didn't mean... I didn't know... I wouldn't have..." He couldn't quite form the words.
"I'm actually rather glad you didn't know. Had you harboured the same beliefs as myself, we'd never have ended up knowing what we know now."
"Which is..." John started uncertainly, Sherlock gave a hefty sigh before pulling John back on top of him, staring up to keep eye contact.
"I am, apparently, sexually attracted to you..."
"Sherlock one time doesn't erase a lifetime of..." John sounded weary, this could all end very badly.
"Shut up and listen to me." Sherlock barked.

"It's true that if you had not forced this upon me," John hated that. 'Forced'. He was a fucking monster. Ugh."I wouldn't have had the inclination to start it." He said, raising one hand and cupping John's cheek. "But right at this very moment? I'm in bed with you, we're both naked... I'm a little too tired for the second round, but give it a few minutes, I'm not nineteen any more." He grinned in a cat-like manner, making himself appear a bit manic, but John still looked uncertain. "Tell me you don't feel that?" Sherlock breathed, moving his head up closer to John's, lips almost touching.

"Feel... what?" John asked cautiously, torn between what he wanted and what Sherlock might not actually want. Sherlock hovered his lips just over John's, perilously close but not quite close enough.
"Heat." Sherlock whispered as John's eyes darted down to his mouth and back up. "Intoxication, adrenaline, need, want, furiousdesire." He purred and revelled in the hitch of John's breath. "It's all a bit new... but it's definitely there." His voice was barely audible now, the tension in the room was thickening as John waited: waited to either be told this was all rubbish and to get off of him, or waited to be kissed. Sherlock smirked.

"If you're going to do it, just do it." He repeated low and urgent, choosing his words carefully, knowing the imagery and sensations they conjured in John's mind. The temptation was too much and John closed the infinitesimal gap between their lips, meeting Sherlock's mouth with a kiss that could not have been chaste if it tried, Sherlock was right - he always was, there was definite desire from both parties, two tongues sweeping each other, two sets of teeth taking it in turn to nibble against two bottom lips. John pulled back for air and was pleasantly surprised to see Sherlock's pupils blown wide again - not only with arousal but with shock that he was aroused, a frankly stunning combination.

"Oh yes." Sherlock said, still grinning as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip, tasting John on himself. "Definitely there." He placed both his hands on John's hips, sliding him just a little further down his body to show John physical evidence of his state of arousal. Letting him feel the beginnings of Sherlock's second erection of the morning pressing against his backside. It had been maybe half an hour since they'd finished, they'd talked for a good while, John's stamina was not quite up to par, but he supposed if he'd made it to his early thirties without sex his refractory period would be fairly quick too.
"So... not asexual then?" John murmured.
"So... not heterosexual then?" Sherlock countered, apparently snogging had not wiped the smirk from his face. He drew his hand down John's cheekbone, then his jawline, he traced two fingers down John's throat and was half way down John's chest when he heard him gasp.

"Whole new world of possibilities to explore." He was using his lowest voice, the one he knew John found sexy, half growling his words. John nodded mutely. "I have an addictive personality you know... I think you're what they call an enabler." He told John, as his hand lowered, fingertips dancing over the doctor's abdomen. "Could be dangerous." He added, and it was John's turn to smirk, looking down at Sherlock with wonder and affection.
"Want to see some more?" He offered, playing Sherlock's game just as well as he could. Before Sherlock could answer with the obvious response, John rolled his hips backwards, pressing Sherlock's semi erect cock between his cheeks. Sherlock groaned, but managed to say it, albeit in a sharp breathy tone he had not intended on using:
"Oh god yes."

A/n: It's... over. I don't even... what do I do now you guys? Answers and opinions in a review please.

Seriously though thank you for following this, slightly odd, set of stories and hopefully I'll see you next fic! If you've read this all the way through please leave a comment, I'd love to know what you thought.