A fair warning: There happens to be orgasms and a fair amount of cheesiness (pillow talk) in this chapter.
Sherlock floated into consciousness, warm, happy and vaguely wondering who Adele was. Probably the prime minister.
He shifted slightly and inhaled a little of the smell of fresh sheets and a lot of the smell of John, enjoying the hard planes of muscles beneath his fingers where they lay on the other man's chest. One heavy arm was slung over his waist and one heavy leg was thrown over his slim hips. An erection lay proudly on his thigh.
Sherlock wanted to touch it.
"John", he rumbled into the fragrant neck his face was cradled in.
John grunted and wrapped himself more tightly around the detective.
Sherlock felt his face nuzzle into his curls.
"Go back to sleep, sweetheart," John's sleep infused voice sounded from above him.
That surprised the detective into a momentary silence. Sobriquets?
Well, it was rather nice, as long as no one else happened to be lurking around to hear. Sherlock imagined, against his will, Donavan, or, god-forbid, Anderson, hearing him being called sweetheart. He would be absolutely mortified.
Even more mortified than when Mycroft, of all people, had pointed out he was deeply in love with a certain army doctor about a week ago.
"It doesn't matter what you believe, dear brother", he had said, looking smugger than ever – and Sherlock had wanted to vigorously throttle him – "you are certainly irrevocably – no now, do not throw that at me – in love with the darling doctor. As he is with you, trust me."
Sherlock had settled with poking him on the chest with the end of a thermometer. So there.
Frankly the idea had been nothing short of absurd. Trust me. Sherlock had scoffed. When it came to matters such as the one that was insistently at hand, Sherlock could think of three people who he'd rather trust over his elder brother, and two of them happened to be in prison for murder. But taking all things into account in that contemplative half-an-hour where Sherlock had slapped on three nicotine patches, as the occasion required, and watched the pretty pink nylon socks John's sister had gotten him for Christmas go up in flames in the grate, (it really had flamed like anything), he decided his brother was really quite right.
He was in love.
He, Sherlock Holmes of 221B Baker Street, a massive well of idiosyncrasies, eccentric genius extraordinaire with all his self-proclaimed sociopathic glory, had fallen in love. With John Watson. John who was loyal and sweet, kind and accepting in the way that no one was, dangerous with nerves of steel, and so impossibly cuddly.
John, an endless haven of patience and forgiveness. John, who he tolerated, who tolerated him.
The knowledge came with a bewildering amount of nauseating dizziness and anxious insecurity and Sherlock had devoted most of his energy flying restlessly about the flat while Mrs. Hudson continually shouted something at him from downstairs. He then calmed down slightly and settled down into an almighty brood. Ten minutes into the said brood, his recalcitrant mind was already, as per usual, straying off into the area of John's delectable body, his amazing mouth; how his normally tidy hair looked so sexy when it was sleep mussed, how mouth-wateringly well hung he happened to be.
And now, a week later, he was dangerously and excitedly boarding the same train of thought because the thick erect prick rested contentedly on his thigh and his own cock was responding with merriment. It was only natural.
He looked at the patch of tanned, scented skin his face was resting against and wondered what it would taste like. He wriggled closer, groaned a little at the sensation and licked.
John's warm hand trailed tantalizingly down his spine. Sherlock, mildly encouraged, bit.
The results were instantaneous and very very arousing.
With a low groan, the doctor's back arched into Sherlock's body, thigh coming to meet his crotch. Sherlock was only just gasping when he was suddenly flipped onto his back and was being straddled. He found himself looking up into the dilated pupils of John H. Watson and then he was being pressed into the pillow, wet lips meeting his own in a long, heated kiss.
As far as Sherlock's prior experience went, regardless of the night before, kisses were fumbling, pointless and boring. But this – oh this – was anything but. His mind, usually rocketing about, stuttered and shut down and soon he was gasping into John's mouth as their tongues tentatively touched and warm hands trailed down his sides, resting on his hips. His own hands found purchase – one in John's hair and the other squeezing John's toothsome arse.
They writhed together, touching and panting and soon Sherlock thought he might die from the lack of blood to his vital organs. John seemed to be on the same page, for two fingers hooked onto the band of Sherlock's boxers, tugging, while his neck got nipped, sucked and bitten.
The scanty pieces of clothing were done a quick job of, and rigid erections were freed with haste. Sherlock relished the feel of his naked body against John's skin and ("ah") John's dripping cock against his own. Soon Sherlock was rutting lustily against one firm thigh, eyes shut and head thrown back, while John slicked his palm and minutes later they were both thrusting into his fist and against each one another, moaning wantonly, slick, wet sounds bouncing around the walls and spurring them on.
"Joohnn", Sherlock moaned, his voice an octave higher and quivering as jolts of pleasure zinged up and down his spine, coiling at the bottom of his stomach. He watched, eyes hooded, as John moved with him, skin glazed with sweat and jaw slack. "Jooohn – oh!" His hands dug into warm flesh as John sped up, bracing one hand besides Sherlock head and bending over to capture his lips in a dirty kiss.
With a grunt, John pulled back, head hanging and eyes wide. "Oh fuck", he swore, gasping and rocking with a wild abandon. "Oh fuck, fuck – Sherlock."
With a cut off sound, John was suddenly coming, sending Sherlock sprawling over the brink as well, arching and gasping in a dire need for air, shuddering in ecstasy. John collapsed next to him, trailing a finger through the semen across his belly and chest, and placed a gentle kiss on his temple.
Sherlock struggled to get his brain online.
He felt John wiping him with the tissues from the nightstand, and blinked up at his softly smiling face. "Morning", he said softly, a sudden rush of embarrassment causing his face to heat up.
John smiled wider, eyes crinkling in amusement, and pushed a sweaty curl off his forehead. "Hi."
Sherlock grasped for words, one hand wrapping around John's wrist. His pulse was still strumming quickly, heightened from their morning exertion. "We should do that more often."
John huffed a laugh, eyes twinkling endearingly. "Yes. Definitely." He paused. "Dates?"
Sherlock squinted in consideration. "Yes, I'd be amenable."
John was suddenly serious, wiping the sweat off Sherlock's brow lightly with the back of his hands. "I do love you, you know. I do. Probably since you deduced the first thing about me. Ever since 'Afghanistan or Iraq' came out of that proud, beautiful mouth of yours. It took me a while."
Sherlock shifted and blinked, gazing up at the man, and thought about his parade of girlfriends, all who had left him for his loyalty to Sherlock. He thought about the last procession of one night stands John had taken to, having given up on long term relationships, because of Sherlock. If there had been doubts the week prior, the night before, there seemed to be none now.
"I love you, Sherlock." The proclamation soaked softly through his skin and warmed his insides.
He leaned in, stomach tingling and cheeks flushed, and placed a soft kiss on the stubbled jaw. "I love you as well, my dear blogger. Now if we could go again, that would be very pleasant."
John laughed his lovely laugh and pulled him into another kiss. Sherlock smiled into it, blissful and content.
This was exceedingly fun to write. Not just the bit where they engage in recreation of the sexual nature - which I have never written before, (considering the amount I've read though, I reckon I should be fine) - but the entire thing. Thankyou, thankyou, thankyoouu to everyone who stuck with my experiment in fluff and humor and Johnlock, you've made everything so much happier ! Thoughts on this last chapter will be super enthusiastically awaited !
MORE : I've been working on a superlock (is that a coined term?) fic - Sherlock + Supernatural crossover. If any of you like Supernatural maybe, if you want to, head over to my profile and give it a read? It's titled 'Run' and I've got two chapters up so far and I'd love some feedback please. Thanks!