My Beauty It's Black

Chapter 2

Sherlock stood at the window and watched the doctor as he left the house. When he turned and looked up, Sherlock stepped back from the window. John was not mistaken, the curtain had moved. Sherlock had been thinking the entire week about John, had been trying to figure out what had happened to him last Saturday. But he couldn't get anywhere with that. It was frustrating. He just couldn't understand why his feelings for John had suddenly changed. And why he couldn't suppress and forget them like he had from his childhood on with all the unwanted emotions. Emotions made him open to attack, vulnerable, weak. He did not want that, that was not like him! But he noticed that his carefully constructed walls that had grown over the years, which had becoming thicker and harder, began crumbling at one point. John. John was different; John was clawing at the mortar.

Contrary to what he had planned, Sherlock went back to the club. He had to see John dancing again. The whole week John had shunned him; of course Sherlock had provoked his behavior deliberately, but tonight he could watch him without John noticing. Thankfully it was always so crowded at the weekend that he would remain unseen. He picked up a drink and looked for a spot from where he could see the dance floor without being noticed himself.

Then he saw him. It was like the last time. John, once again all in black, was completely absorbed in the music. Sherlock's gaze was stuck on him, he could watch him for hours. John's eyes were closed, different emotions were mirrored on his face, and it was just incredible. The dark-haired guy was there again, but he stood at the edge of the dance floor and watched John from there, just like Sherlock, except that the other one didn't hide in the shadows.

Sherlock couldn't tear himself away from John, he was mesmerized. Startled, he jumped as the dark-haired man suddenly stood in front of him.

"Hello, I'm Victor."

It took Sherlock a moment to collect himself. "Hello ... Victor, can I help you with something?" He had regained fully control, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

"You are only here to watch him."

Sherlock was silent and looked at him blankly.

"He is not good for you." Sherlock's eyebrow questioningly wandered upwards. "He is unlucky in love, lets off some of his frustration, but nobody comes close to him. Believe me, I've tried more than once." A sad smile crossed his face.

Sherlock looked straight at him, his intense gaze boring into Victor's eyes. "Oh, yeah?"

"Well, sure. Once I've had a drink with him, he has told me a bit, mainly about his great love. But the guy must be a real tosser; he was in a really bad mood when he arrived here today."

"The guy? So no girlfriend." Sherlock squinted.

"Obviously not." Sherlock's mouth quirked slightly when he heard this phrase. "In any case, I've no doubts considering the few things he has told me. But I don't know much, only that the other one probably is not interested and ignores him. That breaks him down, even if he doesn't say as much, but in recent weeks it's getting increasingly worse. Uhmm ... what do you like to drink?"

Sherlock knew he wouldn't get any more information out of Victor, so it would be a waste of time and energy. "Nothing, thanks." Was that enough or had he to be more specific?

Victor looked at him, and what he saw in Sherlock's face was enough to make him realise that he had tried in vain here and that it was futile. "Ok, see you."

Sherlock nodded and turned back to the dance floor, his eyes roamed over the heads, seeking out John. But the doctor was gone. Sherlock's eyes frantically wandered around the room, scanning every angle until he saw him at the bar.

But John wasn't drinking anything. Instead, he was staring straight at him. Victor stood next to him and talked insistently to him, pointing at Sherlock. The entire colour had drained from John's face and he looked as if he had received a blow to the gut. Then he turned on his heels and disappeared.

Sherlock stood there for a few seconds, petrified, until he rushed behind him without thinking. Outside the door he saw John leap into a cab, then he was gone. Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment. That had gone horribly wrong. He hadn't intended for John to see him in the club. Sherlock slowly walked towards Baker Street. He wanted to think, but he couldn't. All his thoughts were replaced by the image of John. John, who was looking at him with this indescribable expression. He had seen the shock in his eyes, as well as pain and fear. He would never forget how he had looked at him.

When he stood outside the front door of 221B he hesitated a moment, then opened the door and went inside. He walked up the stairs softly, listening for a sound from the flat or John's room, but everything was quiet. Hadn't John come home? Where was he? Sherlock opened every door, went through every room, finally he knocked at John's door, and when he got no response, he opened it cautiously.

John was on his bed, back to the door. He was still wearing the black pants and the t-shirt he had worn at the club. He had drawn his knees to his chest and curled up into a ball.

"John," Sherlock tried very tentatively.

"Get out!"

There was so much repressed anger in these two words Sherlock was startled and stepped back.

He tried again. "John, can we ..." He got no further. Suddenly John was standing in front of him; sometimes Sherlock forgot how incredibly fast this man could move. Sherlock flinched again.

He growled at him through clenched teeth, restraining his anger with difficulty. "I said that you should bugger off. For heaven's sake, can't you do what I told you, for once?"

"John, I …"

"OUT!" This time he really yelled at him, he wasn't just angry, he was furious. "Get out of here, now! Who do you think you are? Was this another one of your experiments, or have you been spying on me out of sheer boredom? Forget it, forget it, I don't wanna know. But I have to congratulate", his voice was dripping with sarcasm, "you have destroyed every last bit of privacy that I had left. You can be proud of that, at least; as usual you were very thorough." He turned and threw himself back onto the bed. "And close the door behind you." The last words came quietly from the bed, not angry, just tired and resigned.

John closed his eyes and listened to the click of the door, then let out the breath he had been holding unconsciously. Oh God, what should he do now? How much did Sherlock know? Had his outburst betrayed him? He should stop it here and now and look for a new flat. Even if Sherlock hadn't noticed yet, he eventually would. Sherlock would be horrified, and he couldn't bear the shame. He sighed deeply, a single tear fell on his pillow. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Something creaked behind him and John froze, he opened his eyes wide, his heart raced and he caught his breath. His mattress was moving, then he felt a feather-light touch on his hair. He shivered involuntarily and the touch changed into a caress. John could feel Sherlock's long fingers gently massaging his head and somehow wiping out all thoughts. He closed his eyes again, couldn't think straight, could only feel those fingers on his scalp. Slowly the tension seeped from his body. Sherlock lay down beside him on the bed, with the distance of an arm's length, so his fingers could glide through John's hair.

"John, please believe me, I didn't spy on you. It was pure chance. When I had the extortion case, the money delivery was to take place in the club. The blackmailer came, I was able to furnish evidence, and Lestrade and his men arrested him. I remained at the club, because it's a good place to watch people without being noticed. You know me, such a good opportunity ... . And then, I saw you … dancing … and it was ... amazing."

John's body stiffened at hearing the last sentence, but Sherlock's hand continued to move through his hair. "You were overwhelming; I don't know how I can describe it to you. I just had to see more, you were so ... beautiful." His words became softer, as if he was afraid to say it out loud. "And I was not the only one who noticed", he added quickly. "I saw how the women swarmed around you, but also some men. You danced with Victor, and then I left."

John turned to face him. "You know Victor?" He almost regretted it when Sherlock took his hand away.

"No, that is ... now I know him. He approached me today, he has noticed that I … that I only - ever ..." Sherlock hemmed and hawed.

"That you've only ever been watching me the whole time?" Now John wanted to know what was going on.

"Yes," Sherlock admitted.

"Why? Sherlock, why? I don't understand!"

"That's precisely what I'm trying to explain. But it is not so easy; I really don't understand it." Sherlock tore his hair in frustration. "Seeing you dancing triggered something in me that I do not understand! Emotions that I've never had before, that I never wanted to have. I was always able to suppress any and all unwanted feelings, to delete them; it was never any trouble for me, never. John, when I was a child I had already learned that emotions were disadvantage. They make you vulnerable and weak, you saw it with Irene."

Gradually, John began to understand what Sherlock had busy during the past week. His whole world obviously had been faltered - by him!? That was the point he could not grasp.

"I left when you came to the bar to have a drink with him, I didn't want... it was ..." He broke off, his thoughts drifted to that first night again. Then he shuddered, as if he could shake off the thoughts, too. "You didn't coming home that night; I assumed that you were with him. That ... that was ..."

"Not good?" John asked softly. Sherlock nodded. "Not good," he repeated.

"I was not with him", John said after a short silence. "We had a drink and we danced. It was the first time that I'd ever flirted ... with a guy. I don't know, it was ... weird, but also ... exciting. Later, we went to another club that was open until morning. We talked a lot and ... eventually we kissed. But there was nothing else. I think Victor had been expecting more."

"So, you haven't ..." Sherlock closed his eyes.

"God, no, Sherlock!" Again there was a pause, a longer one this time.

"I didn't want to go to the club anymore." Sherlock spoke with his eyes closed again; it was impossible for him to look at John. "I didn't want these feelings. But I had to go again, I ... I couldn't help myself, I had to see you again, see you dancing." His voice drifted away. "Then I saw him, he walked over to you, danced with you, talked to you. I did not understood why, but I couldn't stand it and I left again. And when you came home later, I thought that you might bring him, let him stay with you overnight."

John's voice was very quiet and flat. "You didn't have an upset stomach, it wasn't the food. I should have known it. It was all because you thought I slept with him?" He was stunned. "But how ... what ... how ...? You just said you do not have such feelings. How, then, can this idea cause such a reaction? Sherlock? Sherlock, open your eyes!"

Sherlock was pale again, while John spoke. He tried to focus on his breathing, in order to suppress the nausea which was back. Finally he opened his eyes and saw John's face in front of him. He seemed desperate when he finally blurted out. "I did not want those feelings, but ... I can not help it. I have tried. I've tried to suppress them, ignore them, but they are stronger. You are stronger. No matter what I do, I always have to think about you. I can't compose, I can't work, I can't sleep! I always see you, how you danced that night in the club, how you moved to the music in your black t-shirt, eyes closed, one with the rhythm and the melody, with effortless grace, lithe - beautifully - breathtaking. - And with Victor", Sherlock stopped abruptly.

"Sherlock", John cupped Sherlock's face with both hands. God, this was so weird. "Sherlock, there was nothing between Victor and me, except the kissing, I've already told you. He's a nice guy and I was attracted to him at first, but only because he reminded me of you, with his size and the dark hair. And for a brief moment, I tried to imagine that it was you I was sitting with, and that it was you kissing me", his voice was only a whisper, his eyes flickered over Sherlock's face, stopped at his slightly parted lips and he couldn't look away. "But it didn't work. The wrong lips, the wrong mouth." Gently his thumb stroked over Sherlock's lower lip.

"John ..." Sherlock's voice was hoarse. Their eyes met and were caught in each other's gaze. John's lips parted, he swallowed hard, ran his fingers through the dark curls.

And finally their lips met, very slightly at first, carefully groping, tentatively, uncertain; and then more courageous, exploring new terrain. Their kisses got more passionate and hungry; eventually they clung to each other almost desperately, parting only to catch their breaths.

The next morning John woke up because he couldn't move. He lay on his back; something - someone - was lying on him and held him. At first he was overwhelmed by panic, until he remembered the night before. Sherlock. Sherlock! The doctor opened his eyes and looked at tousled dark curls. Sherlock's head was on his chest, his long arms and legs pinning him quite effectively to the mattress. Sherlock's right arm was wrapped around his waist, their legs were intertwined, Sherlock's body pressed to his right side. He looked so young, so innocent.

A flush of warmth filled his chest; it felt like it would burst. He was so happy. With his free hand he stroked Sherlock's arm and kissed him lightly on the hair. Had all that really happened last night? He couldn't believe it. But here he was, with Sherlock - Sherlock! - in his arms. He couldn't remember when he had ever been so happy. He brushed a curl out of Sherlocks face, caressing his cheek. The phrase 'Finally arrived' flashed through his head. Yes, that's it, he had finally arrived home, although most people would probably find it more than strange to associate Sherlock with 'home'. But that was exactly how it was; Sherlock was his home, his world, now everything fell into place. Oh god, how he loved this man.

"Stop thinking", he heard a drowsily from down upon his chest. "It's too early." Sherlock stirred and opened an eye, blinking slowly up at him.

"Good morning", John grinned, Sherlock was grumpy in the morning and from the clock on the bedside table he could see that it was actually very early. Moreover, it was Saturday and he didn't have to go to the surgery today. He pulled his right arm out from under Sherlock and hugged him tighter, stroking his cheek again.

"For a 'good' morning, it is clearly too early", Sherlock grumbled, turning on his side to face John, his right hand unconsciously stroking John's side and two very awake gray-blue eyes wandering over his face. It was as if Sherlock was trying to read his mind. Then a small smile crept on Sherlock's face, a little hesitant at first, as if he was not sure whether it was the right response. But what he could read in his face seemed to convince him, because the smile soon grew into a wide grin.

John gave him a bright smile back. "Did you sleep well?" Sherlock yawned, "I slept better than I have in weeks." John's grin widened. "That's something you can get more frequently." He leaned on his elbow and gave Sherlock a little kiss.

Sherlock stretched and kissed him slowly and thoroughly. John opened his lips, kissing him back; he slid down until he was in Sherlock's arms and they held each other, as they had done for half the night.

During the night, nothing much had happened, and yet so much. They had held each other like two drowning men, looking for a hold, gasping for air. They had kissed ... and kissed until their lips were swollen and sore and they were out of breath - and then they continued to kiss. Their hands on each other's face, hair, neck, shoulders and torso. There was so much to explore, but in this first night something else was important. In this first night they needed mutual assurance that it was true, that this was not a dream but reality.

At first John couldn't believe that Sherlock really wanted him, average, normal, boring John. He was still a bit worried that he would have second thoughts, would glance at him with his piercing eyes, amazed, and would ask him what he had been thinking. But when he looked in his eyes now, he could see that everything had changed. Not only his world was upside down.

Sherlock had wrapped himself around John, quite literally, with his long arms and legs. He had to feel him, hold him, to be sure that he would not fall.

After he woke up, because John couldn't have come to a halt, it had taken some time before his brain could classify the unusual sleeping position. Then he had abruptly realised that it was John he was clutching. It had cost all of his courage to open his eyes and then to look at John, but one glance at his face showed him, that it was true and he could relax.

And now he was allowed to kiss John. Whenever he wanted. He could simply go through the living room and give John, who would be sitting in his chair and reading the paper, a kiss. The thought brought another big grin to his face. Oh, how he wanted to! He wondered why he had never tried before, it was great, overwhelming. He had missed so much! Then he imagined someone other than John hugging and kissing him, and an icy shiver ran down his spine. No, never. He shook involuntarily.

"You all right?" John asked, more surprised than worried.

"Yes … yes, I'm fine."

"What are you thinking about then?"

After some hesitation, Sherlock replied: "Kissing."

John leaned on his elbows to get a better look at Sherlock. "Kissing me?"

"Kissing you, wherever I want, whenever I want." He shivered again, but this time it was because he had seen John's gaze, his large, dark pupils.

"Where do you want to kiss me?" John's voice was low and husky.

Oh … oh! Sherlock realised that John's "where" was different than his . He grinned, "I thought about the living room."

Now it was John's turn to realise, and he grinned, too. But instead of an answer he started to kiss Sherlock's throat, down his neck and to his collarbone. He'd always dreamed of this whenever Sherlock wore his shirts with open collars; he never closed the last buttons, never wore a tie. Sherlock turned his head to give him more space and a moan escaped from his mouth when John's teeth scraped over the delicate skin. "And I've been thinking about your throat for such a long time", he murmured.

His kisses became more forcefully, his teeth bit harder and left dark marks on Sherlock's pale skin; it was marvelous. Sherlock groaned aloud; he didn't mind the marks John left on his neck and his collarbone, not when it felt so good. John kissed and licked his way down, his tongue swirling around his nipples, and Sherlock arched his back and drew in a sharp breath.

"There are more places where I want to kiss you. May I?" John smiled while he was nibbling at Sherlock's navel.

"Oh God, yes, please, John."

And John's mouth wandered southwards, deeper and deeper, using the tip of his tongue to stroke a line downwards. Sherlock squirmed under him, moaning his name.

When John licked his full length and took him in his mouth, sucking and whirling his tongue around his top, Sherlock couldn't speak anymore. He was trembling and moaning, and his hands clawed at the duvet and he cried out John's name when the orgasm shook him.

John kissed him deeply and Sherlock could taste himself - it was amazing. He had wrapped his arms around John and was holding him tight when he became aware that John was still rock hard. Sherlock thrust his hips upwards and John groaned in his mouth. Then he managed to get one hand between their bodies and he wrapped his fingers around John. He stroke him slowly, his thumb slid over his top and spread his precum all down his length. John gasped and Sherlock licked and kissed at his ear, and then he nibbled at his neck and sucked at that sensitive point behind his ear. It didn't take long; John arched into Sherlock's hand and when Sherlock buried his teeth in his neck, he shattered over the edge and his vision went white for a moment. Sherlock pulled him in close and John panted for air, his body still trembling. They kissed again, their hands moving across their bodies all the time, reaching for every piece of skin they could reach, pressing up close together like they still couldn't get close enough.

The next Friday John came home early from the surgery. Sherlock were at the kitchen, working on an experiment.

"Hallo Sherlock." John hung up his jacket and went into the kitchen. "I've a headache; I'm going to lie down a bit."

Sherlock looked up from the microscope, his eyes narrowed. "Are you all right?"

"Yes", John reassured him, "it's really just a headache. I'll lay down for an hour or two, then I'll be fine."

"Do you still want to go out tonight?" Sherlock watched him close.

"Of course I want to, and I'm looking forward for dinner", he grinned. "You know I've got a date."

"Of course", Sherlock repeated and looked at the microscope again; John went upstairs to enjoy the tranquility of his room.

It was 7:30 pm when John came downstairs again. He'd been asleep for a while and showered afterwards; now he felt better. Dressed in a tight black Jeans and a similar t-shirt, he stood in the living room in front of the mirror and fumbled at his hair.

Suddenly Sherlock appeared behind him. "Don't exaggerate."

John gave him a smug smile. "My date likes that, what shall I do?"

With one swift movement Sherlock turned John around to face him. He grabbed him by his shoulders and pushed him against the wall, his dark eyes pierced John's. Then he grabbed John's wrists and held them firmly above his head, pressed him with his whole body hard against the wall, so that John couldn't move. His lips found Johns, he kissed him hard, demanding, bit him, swallowed him. Only gradually the kisses and bites became gentler and his grip loosened, so that John could put his arms around Sherlock. In turn he pressed against Sherlock, wouldn't let the pressure be one-sided. Eventually Sherlock buried his face in John's neck. "John Watson, what have you done to me?"

John ran his hands smoothing up and down Sherlock's back. "Classic case of obsession," he said, smiling at his shoulder. "But I think I can live with that." Sherlock blushed; he was still pressing his face into John's neck. "I'm sorry, John. I didn't want to …" But John stopped him. "Hey, it's all fine." He cupped Sherlock's face with his hands. "Maybe you overreacted a bit, but it was also very - stimulating." He smiled and kissed him tenderly. "Come on, let's go, I'm starving."

After the dinner they went to the club. Sherlock wore black jeans as well, and his purple button down-shirt that John liked so much. They got a drink at the bar and sat down at one of the tables. John knew how much Sherlock liked to watch other people, so they sat there for a while and played their game. He chose someone and Sherlock told him everything about the person; it was most interesting.

Somewhat later, John's feet began to itch; he wanted to dance, and this time not alone. Finally he stood up and held out a hand. "Coming?"

"I'll never let you dance alone again, too dangerous," he smiled and took the hand.

John went ahead, winding through the people, greeting some here and others there, until he was where he wanted. He turned around and let Sherlock's hand go, began to move to the music. With eyes closed, his head slightly tilted to the side, he let himself become enveloped by the music, drifting to the beat.

Sherlock was stunned. Of course he had known how John looked when he danced, but now, here, to be with him ... it was just ... breathtaking. He couldn't move and merely stood in the crowd, watching him. Then John opened his eyes and saw what had happened. He smiled, moving up to him and took his hand. As a result, Sherlock awoke from his torpor.

He looked gorgeous in that purple shirt; John ran his hand through the tangled dark curls. And then Sherlock finally relaxed and got involved with the music. He danced amazingly well; John had suspected as much, as elegantly as he already moved in everyday life.

As a couple they were startling. Sherlock certainly recognised the gazes of others guests. Some of the women, he realised, had tried to come closer to John before. And even Victor was there, watching them bewildered and jealous.

It was just brilliant; Sherlock had never felt like this, so happy and so proud. He was proud to be with John here, to belong to him. John had chosen him, though he probably could have had almost anyone here. This realisation virtually overwhelmed him and he felt as if his heart would burst with happiness. He grabbed John's hand and held it tight for a moment; John returned the pressure, smiling and dancing closer to him.

Their eyes met and locked. As if on cue, a new song began, melodic guitar music sounded through the room and John pulled Sherlock towards him, took him in his arms and danced with him tightly entwined. The soft voice of the singer made them forget the world for a moment; their world was perfect at this very moment, just as it was.

The End

"The greatest thing I ever learned is I don't know a thing
The hardest thing I ever earned is a chance in the ring
'Simple boys make better boyfriends'; that just isn't true
And time will tick 'til you can see there's no simple in loving you"
(Rob Me Blind by Jay Brannan)