#johnlock smut

A little ficlet with very little plot. Post-case, first-time possessive sex and sentiment. Basically? 1400 words of John owning a certain consulting detective's arse.

Everything and This by suitesamba 2.7k

Sherlock and John’s relationship moves from platonic to physical with no fanfare, no explosive arguments, no drunken confessions. It was just John doing what he always did, and Sherlock finding a fitting new way to thank him.

Not like I love you by TeaHouseMoon 2.6k

“So, if we wanted to… Er. Do. What you – what you said. What would be – how would we, do it?”

John looks over at Sherlock, as he's sitting at the living room table, fingers fiddling with the fork from his Mrs Hudson-cooked breakfast. He isn't looking at him and his face is flushed, his cheeks almost visibly red.

notes: dirty talk

Chain Reaction by Weisse_Rose 1.6k

John tries something new and is surprised at the reaction he gets from Sherlock.

notes: For those of you who like Sherlocks sexuality to be like a dam breaking.

Deduced by sleepingirl 5.5k

"You like my voice," Sherlock said, interrupting him. "It arouses you."

John shut his eyes for a moment, trying to claim back some sense of decency, trying to will his prick not to twitch. "Oh, it took you that long to catch on?" It came out weakly, but enough sarcasm to keep him afloat.

"Of course not. I'm flirting, John, keep up."

A Million Ways by Mazarin221b 1.8k words

John is the master of the sneak attack; the sniper kiss to the back of the neck, the surprise snog in the kitchen, and because of this, Sherlock's inexplicable elusiveness only makes him want to try harder.

notes: sherlock is a tease, getting together, tension

That One Last Tender Place (To Sink His Teeth In) by philalethia 6.1k words

In which John has an occasional kink for pain, Sherlock finds out and begins acting oddly, and John quickly becomes (pleasantly) overwhelmed. Lighthearted painplay fic.

notes: kink negotiation, getting together

Something Reckless by berlynn_wohl 1.6k words

"But you'll forgive my naivete..."

notes: first time hung!John results in Just The Tip

Exceptions by lily_winterwood 1.2k

Perhaps it's because it's Sherlock, because Sherlock has always been the exception in John's mind.

notes: post-case first time, lighthearted

In Good Hands by englandwouldfalljohn 1.2k words

As an ever-insistent Sherlock assists his flatmate with yoga stretches for his leg, he notices that more than John's muscles could use some attention...

Problematic by MrsNoggin 6.1k

Author’s summary: This could get to be a problem. Sherlock is semi-aware of his position and how he managed to get there, but has yet to figure a way out of it.

John was… he wasn't nervous. He was just a little anxious about finding out who he'd be sharing a room with all semester. He'd had bad roommates, he'd seen how horrible things can go. He just wanted to get through the semester till he could get his own place with some friends, just have his space, and hopefully find someone who'd respect a sock on the door.

At least it was a guys only floor.

At least he thought that until he opened the door to room 221b Baker's Hall. And half the room was decorated in medical diagrams, crime drama posters, and everything purple and black. Including the fuzzy purple beanbag that sat at the end of one bed. Which sat a pale body, purple striped tights on under a black leather skirt, layers of different undershirts and over shirts all a mirage of purple and black and sparkles of silver covered, chunky headphones, notebook in he-hi-their lap.

"Uh… Hi." John said after staring for too long to be appropriate. He shifted and side stepped towards his own bare side of the room. The person looked up, eyes sharp like blades, ice blue.

"Sherlock Holmes. No this isn't the co-ed floor, no I'm not a girl, yes I smoke, and if you call my brother I'll cut your cock off. If you find that amenable, it's nice to meet you." The per- The man said. John blinked, eyebrows going up as he thought it over. He nodded, processing as he looked towards the window, ashtray on the sill. He nodded, stuck on the brother part but everything else was… agreeable.

"Alright. Well uh don't cut my dick off, I planned on fucking my way through the semester. I'm John. I don't smoke, drink occasionally, and I don't even know you're brother. I won't… tattle on you for smoking." John said, reaching out a hand to the other. He couldn't help as his eyes really took in Sherlock. Thin, lithe, the skirt making his hips look wider, he looked so… feminine. What a weird guy, John thought.

"Very well than. But the tattling is mostly because of my addiction." Sherlock said as he stood from the beanbag, rising to be taller than John by a good bit, especially with the boots he had on. John didn't notice his eyes going wide.

Sherlock put on a fake smile and shook John's hands before the shorter could respond.

"I'm a sex addict, but since you're okay with it! We should get along just fine. Glad to have you John." Sherlock purred his name, all sly and teasing. John stood there, hand still in the air, blinking, as Sherlock flopped onto his back on his own bed, skirt fluffing up to show his slender thighs. They weren't tights. They were stockings. John barely glanced and saw the black satin underneath the leather skirt.

This was… John left his bag and left. He needed to get some air because fuck… he knew he asked for too much. Of course he got roomed with tall, hot, and freaky. He just wanted to fuck through gen-ed and try not to get an STD and pass his classes. The world wasn't fair.

The first issue with living with Sherlock Holmes was his closet. Or rather the two dressers that were filled to the bring and unorganized as possible. Pants tailored to the centimeter, jeans so tight they cut circulation, blouses, dresses, skirts, long sleeves, cardigans, everything. Sherlock had everything. John learned quickly that Sherlock was loaded. He wasn't flashy, one good watch, a few finer pieces of jewelry kept in a small lockbox, nothing extreme. But the clothes were everywhere. John had to have a conversation with him about leaving unmentionables out when other people are coming to the room. (Especially after his sister visited him and a pair of cut out lace panties were thrown over the back of his chair with a purple bodysuit.)

A positive that arose, among few others was that Sherlock, after a month of living in awkwardness, was positively fond of John. Sherlock was weird, no doubt. However the nineteen year old was brilliant. John was never short of amazed when Sherlock figure out things aloud. And Sherlock flourished with the praise, the attention. John needed a new bookbag, his having gotten snagged and ripped open, and before he could sew his old one up, Sherlock had bought him a heavy duty one, sturdy and expensive. It was the least Sherlock could do, really, because he was such a pain.

Sherlock did understand a sock on the doorknob. The few times John brought anyone to the dorm, Sherlock had kept away. However Sherlock himself did not adhere to the etiquette. John walked in on him far too many times, catching Sherlock astride some poor bloke, riding him for hells worth. And Sherlock wasn't even phased, not when John walked in on him getting utterly plowed, not mid blowjob, not even when he had a pair of blonde twins eiffel towering him. John realized that for all his strangeness, Sherlock did have a certain… appeal. However after a long talk, those walk-ins slowed. Fading into a story of the past.

After three months John realized something to his own horror. He was oh so fond of Sherlock. His weirdness, his ability to drag John into the strangest of situations, the excitement that followed him everywhere, John had never been so happy.

However everything came to ahead when they had three days off together. How Sherlock got John into the gay bar, on a drag night no less, he didn't know. But they were both drunk, Sherlock dressed to the nines, makeup dark and precise, smelling like rich perfume and pen ink, and John in his cups. He didn't even realize how late it had gotten, they'd been talking and talking and talking but then the bell rang for last call and they both turned for the door.

"You know.. You know I told you I'm a sex addict." Sherlock slurred as he held onto John, his platforms a little wobbly under his feet.

"Yeah… first time I ever even met you!" John said with a laugh. Sherlock giggled as he leaned down, smelling John's shampoo.

"I was lying. I don't- I don't even like the sex. I- I like the intimacy." Sherlock said, voice quitter, confessional. John shook his head, looking at the street signs, trying to get them back to Baker's Hall.

"Intimimacy is the sex Sherl, it's like, a cinnamon." John said, a little too dizzy to be holding Sherlock up. Sherlock shook his head and sat down at a passing bench, tugging his shoes off.

"I like being touched. I don't even- I've never liked sex. But being kissed, touched… loved. I enjoy that part." Sherlock said, looking out ahead of himself. John admired him. So pretty, soft and even with his makeup smudged, he looked perfect. John sat down next to him, squished together.

"I could… I could give you that. Give you a cuddle. Pants on and all if you want." John said looking over at his friend. God, when did that happen…

"Yeah. Maybe just our pants though. I maybe enjoy the sex a bit." Sherlock said, cheeks all red, eyes blown. John cracked up, laughing so hard his stomach hurt, and he couldn't pinpoint why, but it felt good. Sherlock had a funny laugh, snickery and light, and the more he laughed, the more John laughed, leaving them both cackling into the night like maniacs.

John had a vague memory of it, mostly just the image of Sherlock, makeup smudged, glowing in the street lamp light, laughing. It came back to him much faster when one day, after Sherlock had apparently met with his father, and John was laying on his stomach on his bed, attempting to read the material he needed, and Sherlock came in with a huff, a whirlwind of words as soon as he was past the threshold, boots and slacks going to the floor, bag slung onto his own bed, purple silk button down coming loose and open before he flopped onto John's bed, snuggling into the blonde man's back as he quieted.

"I couldn't possibly think of a more horrible way to spend three hours. Read to me." Sherlock ended his rant, chin resting on John's shoulder, looking at the book below. John was frozen, Sherlock was so very close, and smelled like expensive hair products and was a comfortable weight against his back and was so… bare.

"What?" John asked, looking to the side and realizing they were barely a hair separated. Sherlock looked down at him, all cool and collected, completely unfazed, nodding towards the book.

"Read to me. You have to anyway and it'll better your speaking skills. I'm taking you up on your offer for a… a cuddle." Sherlock explained, eyes rolling on the last word. John's eyebrows rose as he nodded, turning back to his book. A Cuddle. With Sherlock. Who'd taken his clothes off. A cuddle with Sherlock in his little black underwear and open shirt.

John cleared his throat and looked back down at his place marker. He could tota-

"Can I take your clothes off. I prefer skin to skin." Sherlock said, not waiting for an answer as his hands shoved themselves under John's hips, fiddling with the button on his jeans. John squawked, flinching around to push Sherlock onto his back next to him on the bed, jeans opened. He didn't even know what to say as he sat up, up on one arm, hovering over a far too smug Holmes.

"You can't just- just do shit like that!" John finally said, face heated and heart thrumming a little faster than he'd like to admit. He couldn't help as his eyes swept down the other's body, his slender torso, toned long legs, the dark briefs, John felt a little breathless wondering if it was a thong, only made his pale skin look ever more flawless.

Sherlock smiled, cattish and sly, hand raising up for a single finger to poke John in the belly.

"You don't seem to mind that much." Sherlock purred as his finger slid lower, towards where a bulge was forming under the layers of John's clothes. Sherlock looked far too happy with himself when John shivered, letting out a laboured breath.

John watched, looking down like he was watching it happen to someone else, as Sherlock ran his finger, long and delicate, down the line of John's cock, coming back to grab his zipper. John let out a breath he didn't know he was holding when Sherlock unzipped his jeans and then pulled his hands away.

"Sherlock…" John said, the name the only word that he could come up with, each letter feeling impossible on his tongue. The other man just smirked, but John noticed his tensed muscles, the trepidation in his eyes. Sherlock was an impatient man.

But John wasn't.

Usually.

"You're a little shit." He said as he finally broke down, crashing down to press his lips against the ones that had been pulled into a smirk for an irritably long time. John didn't hold back, forcing his tongue forward, nose wrinkling at the first taste of cigarettes and sweetness that stuck to Sherlock's mouth. John groaned as hands shoved at his shirt, pulling at jeans, all while Sherlock sighed into the deep kiss.

"God, I thought you said you didn't even like se-" John started to say kneeling up on the bed to pull his tops off, tossing them to the floor before sliding off the bed to manage his jeans down.

"It's not the same. This isn't… that." Sherlock argued, pushing his own underwear off. He was being obtuse, John was sure. So when he turned around, bare as the day he was born, eyebrow raised, he expected Sherlock's usually obtuse reply.

"This isn't sex?" John asked, a bit too proudly as Sherlock's eyes widened, scanning over him with a certain… John's triumphant smile dropped when he noticed the way Sherlock was holding himself, stiff, uncomfortable.

"John…" Sherlock said, voice quieter, name hanging in the air, eyes going to the side.

It was the first time John had ever heard Sherlock say that word to him. First time he'd ever seen the other man look…

"Don't be shy now, Holmes. You certainly didn't lure all those other men into your bed by being timid." John said, trying to sound reassuring as he climbed back onto the bed, expecting to be pulled atop the other man. John had his few dalliances with men, usually ending up on the receiving end. But Sherlock just groaned and picked his knees up, letting John settle between them.

Sherlock was even better looking up close, John discovered. His cheeks held onto a powdery pink blush, skin all smooth and pristine, except for a few little scars along his arms, a few stray dashes on his sides. It made John want to- John smiled to himself as he bent down, realizing he could just lick them.

Sherlock moaned, dexterous hands coming up to grab short blonde hair, wiggling under John's warm tongue. He couldn't help the whines and groans, he wasn't used to attentive attention.

"Shush, Don't want the neighbors getting the wrong idea do we?" John teased and pulled back, enough to look into Sherlock's eyes, to lean up and seal their lips once again, settling himself against the younger's body. Sherlock was featherlight, soft, even down to his hard cock, the skin was soft and perfect, utterly perfection.

John pulled back, sitting up all the way, hand coasting down Sherlock's chest, eyes trying to memorize the way his lips hung open, kissed pink and puffy, eyes blown and dazed, before he finally wrapped his hand around the other's shaft. Sherlock hissed, eyes closing as his head went back, pressing into the pillow.

John gave him a few tight strokes before stopping, hand tight around his base. Sherlock whined a complaining noise as he looked down, wanting to know why John had stopped.

"Lube, condom, come on Sherlock." John teased, raising an eyebrow at the other man and he blinked. Sherlock thought about what John had said, body catching up with his mind after a second. He scrambled over, reaching towards John's own bedside, yanking it open forcefully, looking for the requested items. John didn't have much in that drawer other than condoms, lube, some pens, mints, and a stack of tissues. He was civilized.

"I don't require… much. I'm used to it." Sherlock said as he handed the lube and single condom over, looking toward the wall, unable to meet John's eyes. John understood, quickly slicking up two fingers before pressing them into the other, more perfunctory than anything else, getting Sherlock stretched and wet.

Sherlock for the most part just grabbed onto the blankets, grimacing a bit before John pulled away. Sherlock watched John roll on the condom, as he shifted forward more so the younger's hips were up on his thighs, almost in his lap.

John lined himself up, waiting a minute, just to look at Sherlock. Just to take it all in. That was until a heel kicked his butt.

"Come on, John." Sherlock said, trying to sound confident but it just wasn't there. He sounded desperate, voice cracking over the other's name. John didn't say anything though, just pushing forward to indulge Sherlock.

And himself. Because Sherlock was tight and hot and perfect, especially he moaned, eyes closed as his head tilted back against John's pillow. John groaned as he was surrounded by heat, bottoming out he leaned forward, first to hover over Sherlock but then farther, up on his elbows on either side of Sherlock's chest.

"Okay?" John asked, letting his forehead fall onto Sherlock's shoulder, breathing heavy as he resisted fucking the other, holding himself back. Sherlock hummed a rough 'mhm' as his hands let go of the bedding, wrapping them around John's shoulders instead, body curling around the older's, legs wrapping around John's hips.

John huffed a laugh, the touching. That's what Sherlock liked. He understood then. He pulled back a bit, not moving apart from the other, thrusting forward enough to make Sherlock gasp. It wasn't the best angle, but John kept up a rhythm, bending up to kiss Sherlock's neck, one hand going to rub and down his side, trying to touch the other more. Sherlock only got louder, moaning and writhing against the bed, cock trapped between their stomachs.

"John- John, close" Sherlock panted out, hands grabbing at John's shoulders, his hair, settling with one in his hair and the other around his hand. John couldn't deny that he was close too, Sherlock was so noisy, so well behaved. Nothing like he was when he wasn't getting fucked. Maybe that's one of the appeals, he thought as he sped up.

The bed started to squeak and John fucked harder, chasing his own pleasure as Sherlock pushed back into his thrusts, both groaning when John came, filling the condom, Sherlock making a mess between them.

John wasn't sure he'd ever catch his breath, panting as he collapsed against Sherlock's bony chest, head rising and falling with Sherlock's own gasping breath. He couldn't help but force himself to sit back up, pulling away from the dead weight of Sherlock's limbs, long legs flopping to the bed, arms curling up on his own chest. He hissed as he pulled out, getting the soiled condom off and into his trashcan, brain half functioning. He laid down beside the other man, pressed between Sherlock's side and the wall, with a huff.

"Sherlock, I hate to break it to you but I think you do actually like the sex part of sex." John said, staring at the cum that was glimmering on the other's pale concave stomach. Sherlock groaned and reached over, hand clumsy as it shoved at John's face. John laughed and held onto his wrist, stopping the movement.

"I think… further research is necessary. If you're amenable." Sherlock said, swallowing in the middle. He started up at the ceiling, savouring the warmth of John's body as it pressed against his own.

"Yeah, we can go again. In a minute." John said and closed his eyes, relaxing against the bed.

Sherlock sighed as he stood across from Mycroft, a white sheet tight across his body as he stared at his brother who stood across from him.

John couldn't help but swallow nervously. He had never seen Sherlock in such a compromising position. White skin, as pale as snow, glistened under the luminescent lights that shone from the crystal chandeliers of the Buckingham Palace. His dark chocolate curls sat haphazardly across his forehead and his face was set in a harsh expression. Yes, John decided, he'd never seen Sherlock in such a compromising position and yet he never realised he needed to see it.

John thought Sherlock looked a bit like those statues that stood in the national museum. He was like an adonis in the flesh, like living stone carved from Aphrodites chisel.

John looked away quickly and focused back on Mycroft. Why was he thinking about Sherlock this way? Sherlock who was his best friend, Sherlock who was the bane of his existence and an annoyingly bad roommate. John looked at the clothes that sat in a pile in Mycrofts hand, why couldn't Sherlock cooperate for once? Why couldn't he just put clothes on and not stand there with a thin sheet covering his body? John swallowed yet again and made sure to continue staring at Mycroft.

"We are in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British nation," Mycroft began sternly, "Sherlock Holmes, put your clothes on."

John swallowed yet again, why did he keep swallowing?, when Mycroft pointed out Sherlocks significant lack of clothing. It's not like he needed the reminder, nor did Sherlock, John was just too preoccupied with what might be sitting under the sheet to listen to what the brothers were saying to eachother.

John blinked rapidly as he heard his name being said.

"–Doctor John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers." The man that had joined them said, moving towards John with the intention to shake his hand.

"Hello, yes." John replied to the man, shaking his hand tightly and politely.

"My employer is a tremendous fan of your blog." The man said with a smile as he dropped Johns hand and folded his hands across his front.

"Your employer?" John asked, clearing his throat and trying his best not to look too startled.

"Particularly enjoyed the one about the aluminium crutch." The man informed with a smile that, to John, seemed to become less enthused the longer he spoke to John.

"Thank you!" John responded politely, his smile dropping slightly at the corners.

John zoned out again, the tension in the room growing more as Sherlock walked towards his brother and turned to the man before walking away.

John watched Sherlock walk away, his mouth growing drier. Mycroft stepped on Sherlocks sheet and Sherlock scrambled to grab the sheet to stop it from falling from his entirely naked body.

Johns throat dried up, his eyes drawn to the skin that had been revealed from the sheets fall. Constellations of freckles and beauty marks were dotted around Sherlocks back, tempting John to trace them with his fingers. Sherlock was exceptionally beautiful.

Sherlock clenched his jaw and John stared at his jaw. The bone structure had become more pronounced once he grit his teeth, and John couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to run his tongue across the smooth skin that laid there- no! He couldn't keep thinking about Sherlock like this.

"Get off my sheet!" Sherlock demanded, his arms tensing with the grip he had on his sheet.

"Or what?" Mycroft mocked.

"I'll just walk away." Sherlock blurted.

John felt his cheeks warm. His mind slowly filling with images of Sherlock just... walking away. Would John go after him? Would he stay here with Mycroft? If John followed Sherlock what would happen afterwards? Would they-.

Sherlock sighed, ending Johns thought abruptly. Sherlock turned his head and stared at his brother, anger turning his features tight.

"I'll get changed. Now let go of my sheet."

Some time later, John sat in a spare room with Sherlock ruffling around the pile of clothes that sat on the bed.

"These are a horrible combination, they aren't even the same brand or the same thread count!" Sherlock sighed exasperatedly, he rooted around more and sighed once again.

"No gun, either." Sherlock grumbled.

John sat, his laptop open in front of him, but there was one difference. He wasn't typing for his blog.

"Whats wrong?" Sherlock asked abruptly and turned and strode over to sit on the couch across from John.

John looked up and blinked at Sherlock, the sun from the window behind him lit him up like an angel.

"I don't know what your talking about." John said quickly and looked down towards his laptop again, eyes going distant.

Sherlock frowned before the frown softened and he looked at John differently. Flushed cheeks, his pupils were dilated, and his hands were shakier than normal. These were a signs of attraction, and Sherlock seemed to realise the signs were increasing when John looked at him specifically.

"John, are you attracted to me?" Sherlock asked bluntly.

John looked up, shock filling his eyes before he tried to smooth out his features.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Sherlock." John said and looked back down to his laptop.

Sherlock stood up and John swallowed nervously, causing Sherlocks lips to tilt up into a smile. He walked around the coffee table and stood in front of John, his grip on his sheet getting less tight.

Johns eyes darted up and widened as he watched the sheet slowly glide over Sherlocks shoulders and down his arms, the fabric revealed more and more of his skin and before he knew it, Sherlock was totally naked in front of him.

He was stunning, his hips dipped into muscular legs that came from so much running. His torso was well defined and were covered with beauty spots and freckles much like his back was.

"Sherlock! What- i- put your sheet back on!" John exclaimed, voice more breathless than he wished and he kept his eyes above the waistline of his best friend.

Sherlock hummed and moved towards John before he was standing right in front of him. John was forced to stare up at Sherlock, he licked his lips nervously and he felt his trousers tighten as he began to grow harder than he already was.

Sherlock leaned down and pushed Johns shoulders into the couch before he climbed onto Johns lap. John gasped quietly, his breath slowly beginning to come out in pants. His skin flushed and his head slowly began to spin with Sherlock so close.

Sherlock trailed one of his hands down until his hand hit Johns belt. The clank of his fingers against the buckle made Johns hips jerk upwards subconsciously, his face became warmer with embarrassment.

"Oh, John." Sherlock cooed his hand teasingly tugged on Johns belt again to get a reaction out of him.

He leaned forward and their lips were a hairs breadth away from eachothers. John could feel Sherlocks breath hit his lips and John sighed out, he was slowly beginning to lose any self control.

"Do you want this John?" Sherlock whispered, his mellifluous voice wrapped around John and before he knew it he was nodding and surging forward, capturing Sherlocks lips with his own.

Sherlock groaned into the kiss, he deepened it and the kiss quickly shifted from slow and sweet to passionate desperate and messy. Sherlock tugged off Johns belt and pushed his coat and jacket off his body, leaving him in a checkered, long sleeved shirt and halfway undone trousers.

They parted for breath as Sherlock shoved Johns trousers down his legs as far as he could. Johns boxers were tented with his obvious arousal and Sherlocks gaze turned predatory, he licked his lips and grabbed the hem before looking at John for permission again.

John nodded and Sherlock pushed the offending item of clothing down. Johns shaft jumped out of his boxers, the tip was a soft pink and a bead of pre-cum was already forming at the top. His length slapped his stomach and John groaned and his hips jumped towards Sherlock.

Sherlock wrapped his hand around Johns shaft and watched as John moaned, his hands clenched into the sofa cushions and his head tilted back slightly.

Sherlock groaned and gripped his own length before he began to rub them both at the same time.

"Such a pretty cock, John. Already so hard for me." Sherlock murmured as he stroked them both faster, both of their hips jerking and their groaning getting louder.

John groaned and he felt heat begin to form low in his abdomen and his hands gripped Sherlocks hips tightly. He could feel the oncoming orgasm and he couldn't help stare at Sherlock, the concentration that was so prominent in his beautiful eyes and his flushed cheeks as his hips thrust into his own fist as he pleasured them both.

"God, Sherlock, I'm gonna cum." John moaned out his head tilting back and his hips thrusting to meet Sherlocks pumps.

Sherlock groaned and his head fell forward his chest heaving as his arousal became mkre intense at Johns frantic gasps of breath and his slowly throbbing member.

"Come on then, John." Sherlock groaned out as he fucked his hand around Johns shaft quicker before Johns back arched and ropes of cum shot from his tip and onto Sherlocks shaft, making wet sounds echo around the room.

"Fuck." John moaned as he watched as Sherlock continued to pump himself to orgasm, his ropes of cum landing on Johns length.

Sherlocks body shook but John watched as he slowly became hard again, and Johns body couldn't help but react in response. They were both hard again.

Sherlock looked up at John and smiled teasingly.

"Want to go for round two, John?" Sherlock asked, even when he already knew the answer as it was written across Johns face.

John nodded frantically and Sherlock smirked, before scooping up some cum from his own shaft and rubbing into Johns length yet again before lowering himself until his ass lined up with Johns length.

Sherlock sunk down slowly and Johns member breached the tight ring of muscle and shaky breaths fell from both their lips. Sherlock continued moving until he was fully seated in Johns lap.

"I'm gonna move now, John." Sherlock said, his long, deft fingers caressing the man's jaw.

"Ok." John nodded and squeezed his eyes shut as he felt himself throb as Sherlock rose and sunk over and over again.

"Look at me John."

John shook his head before his jaw was grabbed and his eyes opened. They were half lidded and he looked fucked out as Sherlock moved his hips quickly and groaned as he felt Johns shaft jump.

"Close already? Are you really thag sensitive?" Sherlock teased and he began to move quicker, the member inside him hit his prostate over and over, making his shaft ache and throb.

"Fuck." John whimpered and his hips began to thrust upwards harshly as he neared his orgasm, Sherlock groaned and his hand dug into Johns hair forcing him to keep him head up.

John felt his body become warmer as his orgasmt swelled in his abdomen and shot up his shaft. He came, and Sherlock continud to move, his pace quickening as he felt his own orgasm swell up.

"Come on, John, one more." Sherlock murmured as he held his own orgasm back as he watched as Johns face scrunched up from overstimulation.

John felt himself become increasingly sensitive, he didn't think he could cum again, the orgasm would shatter him, he thought. His body was slowly becoming floating and soon enough he wasn't thinking much of anything as all he could focus on was Sherlock and how he moved on him.

"I can't." John whined out, his eyes glassy and cloudy as he felt another impossible orgasm begin to form.

"Yes you can, you can take it. I can feel it coming, John." Sherlock groaned as his orgasm became almost impossible to hold onto.

John groaned as his orgasm crashed into him, sending whatever consciousness he had shooting into space as his orgasm took over his body. It filled him to the brim and all he could feel was the ecstacy of the afterglow.

Sherlock groaned as he watched Sherlock float off, the sight of his best friend becoming so floaty, so out of it, turned him on and his orgasm shot through him and coated Johns abdomen white. He groaned and his movements stuttered before he stopped moving overall.

When John came to, he was clean and didn't feel sticky. He was dressed in clean clothes and he was still sitting on the couch.

"Sorry to bother you, John, but we are expected back out soon and you can't be a half conscious mess when we go back." Sherlock said as he sipped his tea, he watching John with intrigue sparkling in his eyes.

"Did you- did you clean me up?" John asked cautiously and he sat up, rubbing his eyes as memories of their... encounter floated into his mind.

"Yes." Sherlock said bluntly, as he watched the man across from him for any regret or disgust, but found none.

All John could think of was how Sherlocks hair stuck his sweaty forehead and how he glowed with the sunlight that made him look like an angel that had fallen from heaven. He thought of how Sherlocks member was as pretty as the rest of him, freckled and speckled with beauty marks and as pale as the rest of him, his tip was a rosey pink, like his lips.

"John, think about me later. We must go." Sherlock said with a decisive tone to his voice and John nodded standing and leaving with Sherlock.

“Is Sherlock making you feel good, darling?”

John’s voice seemed so far away, even though you were leaning against his chest, head tipped back as he petted your hair and kissed your temples. With a soft moan, you nodded, your thighs beginning to shake as your hands grasped the dark curls of the head between your legs.

Sherlock definitely did his research.

“I think she’s about to cum, John,” Sherlock said, rather steadily, pulling away briefly. You groaned at the loss of his tongue, and at the sight of his chin and mouth covered in your wetness. “I can feel her pulsing…”

“Is she?,” John said, and your head spun at being spoken about as if you weren’t even in the room. “Cum, YN. On Sherlock’s mouth, let him taste you,”

With a few more skilled flicks of the brunette’s tongue, you were coming, shaking softly and chanting an almost incoherent jumble of your boyfriend and his best friend’s name.

As you came down from your shaking high, you arched your back, trying to sit up. “More,” you managed to say, your gaze shifting between both men, your lips plump from being bitten, your eyelids heavy and your pupils dark with lust.

“More?” Sherlock said, an amused smirk playing at his lips. “Is she always like this, Watson?” He asked John teasingly, and your boyfriend smirked, kissing your cheek.

“Quite often. Why D’you think I’m always late?” As you began whining, he shushed you. “You’re being very good for Sherlock and me,” he told you. “Now… use your words and tell us what you want,”

“I… I want Sherlock to fuck me…” you mumbled, almost unable to look your best friend in the eye (despite the fact that he had just spent the last half hour eating you out and edging you). “B-but I want… want to suck your cock too, John. At the same time,” you nibbled your lip, before quickly adding, “please?”

“Well when she asks so nicely,” Sherlock smirked. “Who are we to deny her?”

As John helped you onto your hands and knees, unbuckling his belt and lowering the zip on his tented jeans, he kissed your forehead gently, before looking up at Sherlock. “Don’t even think about filling her up,”

“I assumed YN was on oral contraceptives given that you haven’t purchased condoms in some time,•

The tall man was bent over the chair, wrestling off a dark, billowing coat and dark blue scarf. His head of dark curls was wind-blown and yet, still looked perfect. The typical tailored suit coat was missing from his shoulders and the sleeves of his dark purple, button-down were rolled up. He looked as though he had rushed away from Molly’s lab at Bart’s so quickly that he had time only to throw on his Belstaff and run. The man was breathless and his cheeks pink when he raised his gleaming blue-grey eyes to John’s. John blinked in shock and his mouth fell open.

“Ah, good. You’re here,” the deep baritone exclaimed and John’s eyes fluttered closed for a split-second in pleasure. The man finished mashing the scarf into the layers of coat and turned to face John properly.

John thought his knees would fall out from beneath him. His mouth went dry and he couldn’t make his muscles work to swallow. No part of his body would work, as a matter of fact, or he would already be in his husband’s arms. Stephen’s plan had been a success, balmy as it was. Standing before John Watson, and very much alive, was Sherlock Holmes.

“I was right, John. My experiments proved it,” Sherlock was saying rapidly, but the words weren’t even registering for the doctor. He was alive. Sherlock was alive and right in front of John, real and warm and excited and so…alive. John fought to move his body, but it still refused to listen to orders no matter how many times he tried.

“The fibers from the shawl were the same ones found on the horse AND they were laced with poison,” Sherlock told him, waving his arms wildly with glee. “It’s not the same poison we found in the butler’s room, but it is the same one I found trace amounts of on his discarded gloves. He knew Majorie Wilson had every intention of decreasing the funds left to him in her will in favor of writing her children back in and he killed her for it. The riding accident rouse was very clever, but he couldn’t hide the fact that… John?”

The ecstatic detective finally noticed his husband had not only said nothing in response to his deductions, not that he had given John much of a chance, but also hadn’t moved since he appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. In fact, the doctor seemed quite shocked, not at all the typical response to a solved case. Sherlock’s brow creased slightly, just enough for the wrinkle at the bridge of his nose to form. John inhaled sharply and Sherlock narrowed his eyes, studying everything others could not see.

“Are you all right?” Sherlock asked in a softer tone. He wanted to approach the doctor, but knew it was ill advised if John had flashed back to Afghanistan. It had not happened in quite some time and only at night when it did occur, but caution was still the best course of action.

“John?” Sherlock repeated. Moving very slowly, he lowered his hands to his sides and held them steady at least six inches from his body so John could see them clearly. He did not want to give the impression that he had a gun to draw or intended to cause harm. He fixed his doctor with an intense expression and spoke again: “John, tell me where you are.”

John’s head twitched, almost like Sherlock’s words startled him. He blinked rapidly a handful of times, stopped, and blinked again. John’s deep blue eyes were wide with wonder and his brows were raised high. His lips were still parted, but his mouth was not gaping as it had been. John blinked once more, slowly this time. The tip of his tongue darted over his lips to wet them. Sherlock’s rigid posture, ready for anything, eased as John came back to himself. Even so, he needed to establish the doctor’s state of mind. Was he at home or in the desert?

“John…” Sherlock said, but John cut him off.

“Sherlock?” he rasped, barely above a whisper. His lips parted in stunned silence and his eyes shimmered. The creases in Sherlock’s forehead deepened as he studied his husband with sharp eyes. John seemed to know he was in the flat. He didn’t display any of the usual signs of PTSD and seemed instead to be in shock.

Sherlock risked a step closer, then another. He raised his arms, bent at the elbow and held his palms out to John, who just stared and blinked some more.

“Sherlock,” John said hoarsely. He swallowed hard. “It’s you.”

Sherlock cocked a brow and squinted his eyes to look at his husband even more intently. John came closer suddenly and Sherlock resisted the urge to step back. John’s expression and body language exuded confusion and utter shock. Sherlock could see no indications of anger or aggression. Aside from that, John was incredibly difficult to read. It was disconcerting and Sherlock wondered what his husband had really done all day because visiting Sarah Sawyer and little Madeleine had never left John in a state like this.

Before Sherlock had the chance to explore any of his suspicions, John raised his left hand and ghosted it around Sherlock’s curls, not even touching their tips before jerking his hand back as if burned. Sherlock’s concern deepened as he considered the scenarios that could elicit such a response from John.

“Is it?” John gasped and released the breath quickly, almost as if in terror. Information clicked into place in Sherlock’s mind and his eyes widened, even as his brow creased again. John was afraid to touch him.

“It’s you,” John repeated, sounding more convinced. 

Sherlock’s mind whirled with possible causes for this behavior, but they ground to a halt when John touched his cheek with one warm hand. A grin spread across John’s face and it was like looking into the sun. Everything about him brightened and color rose up in his cheeks. His blue eyes twinkled as he cupped Sherlock’s face in both hands and beamed.

“Sherlock. God, I…” John’s words were relieved, overjoyed and surprised. As charmed as the detective was with John’s pleasure at seeing him, he continued to search for an explanation for it. “I didn’t really believe him, but…”

John looked at him for a moment, completely bemused, and then surged forward to press his lips to Sherlock’s. The detective was startled, to say the least, when those perfect lips found his parted ones, but his eyes fell closed soon enough as he lost himself in the feeling of John’s body touching his. He had much more to consider concerning John’s strange behavior, but elected to file it away for later.

Sherlock slid his hands over John’s body to hold his waist, the tops of his fingers touching the small of John’s back. Their lips moved together slowly. John’s were almost hesitant at times, but still nipped experimentally from time to time. Sherlock knew there was something on the doctor’s mind and it was a very serious matter indeed. It practically vibrated off of him in waves and was difficult to ignore. John made it a might easier, however, as his kisses grew harder and his hands moved to rest on Sherlock’s shoulders. Sherlock tightened his grip on John’s waist and kissed back with equal fervor. Their lips parted a moment or two later and John pressed their foreheads together.

“I can’t…” John’s voice broke and his breath hitched. Sherlock raised his eyes to see to the extreme close-up of John the position afforded and nearly pulled back in shock. John’s cheeks were wet with tears. 

“John,” Sherlock interrupted, his deep voice gentle and full of concern. “John, what’s wrong?”

He pulled back to look at his husband, his hands going to John’s face. Sherlock cupped the man’s jawline and carefully wiped away the drops of moisture with his thumbs. John looked back with a wet gaze, more tears pooled in them and ready to fall. He bit his lip and his brow wrinkled. If Sherlock hadn’t been so concerned, he would have ranked it one of John’s more adorable expressions.

“Tell me, John,” Sherlock whispered. John blinked and the tears slipped from his eyes to the thumbs stroking his cheeks. Sherlock dipped his chin so his face was closer again. “Please.”

“I…” John swallowed hard. “Later. I promise.”

Sherlock frowned mightily and John rushed to continue:

“Please, Sherlock. I’ll tell you everything. I just… I need this. I need you,” he finished.

They gazed at one another for what felt like hours. Sherlock could see such pain in John’s eyes and also enormous relief. He tried to read more, but so much of it didn’t make sense. The only way to make it clear was through John’s explanation and it was not something he was ready to share. Sherlock took a breath and straightened his shoulders a bit as he resolved to give John whatever he needed to help the pain subside.

Sherlock kissed the doctor gently and took him in his arms. John hugged back immediately and buried his face in Sherlock’s shoulder. The doctor’s breath stuttered and his body shook slightly. Sherlock drew him in tighter.

“I’m here, John. I’m here” Sherlock lowered his head and whispered into John’s ear.

They stood there in the sitting room for more than a few minutes. John wept quietly and held onto Sherlock with all his might. To his credit, Sherlock did not try to deduce or even think about anything other than comforting his husband. He held the man in his arms and kissed his head every so often, assuring John that he would be there for whatever he needed.

When John finally pulled away, his eyes were red-rimmed but clear. He looked at Sherlock, really looked. His blue-grey eyes, cheekbones and jawline, the curls atop his head; John took it all in and inhaled deeply. As he let it out, he took one of Sherlock’s hands and stepped back. He turned his body toward the hallway that led to the loo and their bedroom. His expression asked silently if this was okay and Sherlock nodded in reply. John’s eyes softened, a small smile on his lips, and he tugged Sherlock along.

When they reached the bedroom and closed the door, Sherlock followed John’s lead again as he stripped down to his pants. The doctor took his detective’s hand again and they climbed onto the bed. They didn’t bother with the duvet, more focused on a tight embrace. John was further up on the pillows and pulled Sherlock’s head to rest on his pectorals. His body relaxed, the tension easing out as he began to stroke the silky curls. 

Sherlock relished in the firmness of John’s muscles and the warmth of his skin. He knew John would scoff at the idea and assert that he had been fit in the army, but not so much now. Sherlock didn’t care. His husband’s body was perfect, from his still quite firm musculature to the slight paunch around his middle. Sherlock loved every bit of him.

With his cheek and ear pressed against John’s chest, Sherlock could hear his heart beating strong and sure. He closed his eyes and listened to the rhythm of it. Steady. John. His John. The most comforting sound he had ever heard in his life and the most loved, save John’s voice itself.

“I love you, Sherlock,” the words were hardly more than a whisper drifting through the air, peaceful and intense in equal measure. “I’m never letting you go again. Never.”

The last word was spoken with such ferocity that Sherlock tightened his arms around the doctor’s sturdy frame in solidarity. He turned his head slightly and kissed the skin stretched out before him. It tasted of sweat with a hint of something sweet. Sherlock could never explain how his doctor managed such a flavor. John did not eat a lot of sweets. In fact, Sherlock was much more prone to chocolate biscuits and pastries than John. Even if the man did indulge, it wasn’t as if the sugar would immediately secrete from his pores. It was a mystery. Perhaps John was simply Sherlock’s match, the alpha whose taste and scent were perfectly suited to his senses. 

In any case, Sherlock wanted more and he kissed again. And again. He let his tongue swipe over the skin for a better taste and smiled with satisfaction when he saw the tiny dots of gooseflesh appear. He licked again and kissed, his mouth moving over John’s chest in search of a nipple. When he found it, his husband inhaled sharply and his body jolted to attention. The nipple was already a hardened nub and Sherlock took it in between his lips, pulling ever so slightly and licking. John shuddered and his hands scrabbled up Sherlock’s back, one coming to rest on his nape. The detective grinned slyly against John’s skin and gave the nipple a gentle bite.

“Oh, god!” John nearly shouted, his whole body tense. Sherlock could swear it lifted right off the bed with the force of its jump.

John hauled Sherlock up until their lips met in a searing kiss. The detective’s mouth burned from the heat of it and he pulled John closer, wanting more. They kissed and kissed, hands moving hurriedly over every inch of skin. Sherlock was fully hard in his pants, the head straining to escape his waistband. He could feel John was too and suddenly hated the whole concept of pants. If they weren’t required to wear them, he and John would be naked already, their erections rubbing deliciously as they moved. 

Sherlock’s hips gave an involuntary thrust at the thought and John groaned into his mouth. He licked luridly along Sherlock’s plush lower lip and the detective opened his mouth to him. John pushed in like a flood breaking a dam apart and plundered Sherlock’s mouth. Sucking and exploring, biting and kissing, and it was all Sherlock could do to keep up. In the meantime, John’s hands found Sherlock’s pants and began yanking at them to no avail. He stopped with the waistband off one hip bone and gasped for breath.

“Off,” John’s voice was loud and commanding. Sherlock could easily imagine the tone barking orders in the suns of Afghanistan and he shivered. “Off. Now.”

They separated quickly and tore off their pants, throwing them recklessly into the room. When their bodies met again, both men moaned with pleasure. Every inch of skin touched from chest to thighs and their legs tangled together. Sherlock shuddered when the silky skin of John’s cock brushed his own and he gave an involuntary thrust that filled his body with sparking adrenaline. Stars exploded in his vision and he thrust again, harder. John’s hips met his every time at a frantic pace, their hands bruising one another’s buttocks for more friction.

“Christ!” John cried. “Oh, fuck.”

The doctor released those perfect, round cheeks and Sherlock grunted in protest as John rose to push at the man’s shoulders.

“Sherlock. Touch me, Sherlock,” the command was breathless and went straight to the detective’s cock

Sherlock found John’s erection with practiced ease and closed his long fingers around it. John moaned and his body went limp, overwhelmed with sensation. Sherlock’s lips quirked and he began to stroke. John’s whole body was hard with tension and he groaned loudly. Its volume sent sparks along Sherlock’s spine, arching into his arms and fingertips. He wanted to stroke faster and watch John come in his hand, but had no intention of letting this end so quickly. Slowly stroking John’s penis, Sherlock swiped his tongue over the head and slid along its ridge. His husband shuddered and writhed when a thumb grazed over the leaking slit and rubbed precome over its length.

John closed his eyes, mouth open and his fingers dug into Sherlock’s shoulders. The detective looked down at what he was doing and gasped. Instantly overcome by the desire to taste, he stopped his ministrations and pushed the doctor onto his back. John made an irritated noise, but then Sherlock’s mouth was on his erection and he moaned unabashedly.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Sherlock,” he looked down at his husband, already bobbing and licking. Wicked blue-grey eyes met John’s as he teased the head, eliciting a throaty moan from the doctor and then he swallowed him down. John shouted and fell back. Sherlock sucked hard and moved his tongue to intensify the pleasure. John would be spilling into his mouth soon and Sherlock couldn’t wait.

“No,” the word slammed into Sherlock’s consciousness and he glared up at John, slowing as he did so. “I don’t want to come this way.”

John’s voice was beseeching and his eyes soft, but as he gazed at Sherlock, both became more focused and intent.

“I want you inside me,” John said in a low rumble, heat in his eyes. “I want you to come inside me.”

Sherlock let John’s cock drop with a pop and grinned lasciviously as he crawled up his body. He hovered over the man’s lips, looking into his deep blue eyes and then crashed their mouths together. John’s hands were everywhere as they kissed urgently and Sherlock reveled in the feel of it. He had driven this man into a frenzy and was all too happy to do as he asked. His body ached for it. His cock ached for it.

He reached for the night table, knowing full well it was too far away even for his long arms. He kissed John one last time before pulling away with a grumble and rolling to the side. John made a sound of disapproval low in his throat that made Sherlock smirk. As he scrabbled in the top drawer for the lube, Sherlock felt an insistent hand on his ass. That was a definite pinch. He grinned as he flipped around to face his husband.

Both on their sides, Sherlock dropped the lube in between them and took John’s face in his hands. Gathering him close, Sherlock searched John’s eyes and then kissed him gently. There was something more in those eyes, something the detective didn’t understand, but he made a mental note to find out.

“I love you,” Sherlock breathed into John’s mouth. He felt every part of John’s body respond and his own tingled with excitement. John brought their foreheads together and repeated Sherlock’s words in a whisper. He said it with a reverence Sherlock had not heard in John’s voice before, full of adoration and pain. Uncertain of how to respond, Sherlock kissed him again. He poured all he could into the kiss, every one of his feelings and emotions, every sense of safety he could muster. He wanted more than anything to chase away John’s troubles and complete him in every way possible.

The two men rested their foreheads together once more after Sherlock broke away from the kiss. Both men were breathing rapidly, creating a kind of humidity between them. Sherlock placed a warm hand on John’ nape and looked into his eyes. They looked more peaceful than before and the detective smiled softly.

“Okay?” he asked quietly and John’s lips quirked up.

“Okay,” he replied, pulling his head back to look Sherlock in the eye and brush an errant curl from his forehead.

Sherlock kissed his lips and then retrieved the bottle of lube he had dropped between their bodies. He coated his fingers and slid down just enough to reach John easily. His eyes were now slightly under John’s so he had to tilt his head up to look at him dead-on and Sherlock loved it. He thoroughly enjoyed being taller than John for a good many reasons, but didn’t hesitate for a moment when he could be the shorter one. 

John raised one leg and bent it over Sherlock’s hip, increasing the height difference and offering more access. Sherlock’s hand snaked down until his first and middle fingers swirled around the tight pucker of muscle. John’s reaction was electric. He threw his head back and groaned deep in his chest. Sherlock could feel his compact body thrum with it.

“More,” John growled. He looked down at his detective with eyes blown wide, dark with desire. “More. Now.”

Exhilarated, Sherlock pressed one finger in and moved as John cried out, clutching at his shoulders. The detective swirled, pushed in and pulled out, all in a steady rhythm before adding a second finger and then a third. John was positively writhing in his arms, thrusting against Sherlock’s long fingers and cursing every time they touched his prostate. The man grabbed at Sherlock’s shoulders and back as he moaned, and bit at the detective’s kiss-swollen lips. Both men dripped with sweat and pressed their bodies together wildly as though they could never be close enough. John threw his head back and rammed himself down on Sherlock’s hand once, twice.

“Christ, fucking… god,” John shouted, his body ripcord tight. Sherlock expected to feel the wetness of his release, but there was nothing. He tilted his head down to see, only to be redirected by a hand on either side of his face. They lifted his chin until his eyes met John’s, which were desperate and wild and clawed at Sherlock’s very soul as he listened to John say:

“Sherlock. Fuck me, Sherlock. Now. Please.”

His words existed somewhere between a command and plea, and they went straight to Sherlock’s baser instinct. He took his fingers from John and pushed him onto his back. The doctor spread his legs wide while the detective covered his own erection with lube. Dropping the bottle and staring into his husband’s deep blue eyes, Sherlock lined himself up and pushed into the tight space. They both cried out in pleasure and stayed still a moment, just to feel one another. Glorious, tight and hot. Perfect.

Sherlock shifted his eyes from where his cock had just disappeared to John’s face. The doctor rested his hands on Sherlock’s hips and nudged at his skin with warm fingers. Sherlock blinked hooded lids and began to move, in and out, his hands braced on the mattress just above John’s shoulders. It was exquisite and absolutely maddening. Sherlock could barely control the desire to pound in again and again. He knew he wouldn’t last if he gave in. He was so close already, but he wanted it to last so badly. He wanted this man with his very being.

“Oh, god,” John’s hoarse voice grounded Sherlock and he emerged from a haze of unbridled want to look down at the man beneath him. Sherlock felt slow, like every small movement took hours, but that all changed in a split-second.

“Fuck me, Sherlock,” John growled. “Fuck me now.”

The air around them crackled and their movements rushed to catch up with their minds like suddenly emerging from a wormhole. Sherlock let loose his control, snapping the thread that held him back. He set to work with a pace that held them both at the verge of complete collapse in minutes. John’s hips met every thrust and his fingers bruised the shape of his grasp into Sherlock’s hips. Both were moaning and muttering one another’s names in between curses.

“Fuck, fuck. Sherlock!” John shouted and came over his own stomach and chest. Sherlock thrust twice more and came deep inside John with a loud cry, the doctor’s name on his lips. Another ribbon of semen decorated John’s belly with the detective’s release and both men twitched through waves of pleasure together. Sherlock moved now and again to punctuate the rise and fall of each one until they began to slow.

“John,” Sherlock gasped right before his arms gave out. He tumbled onto the doctor with his full weight, but it didn’t seem to bother John at all as he wrapped his arms around the lithe body atop his own. He pulled Sherlock close and pressed his nose into the messy curls.

“Sherlock,” John muttered in a voice thick with emotion. “Sherlock, don’t go. Stay. Stay forever.”

For a moment, Sherlock froze. John’s reaction was both endearing and distressing. Why would Sherlock leave and why would that be the first thought on John’s mind? He had met Sarah Sawyer and her daughter for lunch and spent the afternoon with them. Could Sarah have said something to cause such a reaction? Sherlock didn’t believe it of her, but could not think of another reason why John would question their relationship. John’s demeanor had troubled Sherlock from the moment he entered the flat. Perhaps he had been right from the start and John had relived a moment from Afghanistan in which a friend was killed. Intense feelings of loss could make a person worry for those around him in the short term.

With great effort, Sherlock stopped the line of inquiry there. He knew full well there were other possibilities to be explored, but did not want to do so until his husband slept. John’s grip had not loosened a fraction, but his lids were already heavy and sluggish as though he hadn’t slept in days.

“I’m just going to get a flannel,” Sherlock said softly. “We’re quite a mess.”

“Don’t care,” John mumbled, his eyes closing. “S’not important.”

“It will be when we wake up,” Sherlock laughed quietly. “I’ll only be a moment, John.”

“Mm,” the doctor harrumphed, opening an eye to look at Sherlock. He blinked very slowly and let his grip loosen. “Damn you for always being right.”

His words were clearer and he was more wakeful than a moment ago. Indeed, John seemed more like himself all around, as if the ghosts that so chased him had been dispelled. He gave Sherlock a small smile as the detective rose up and climbed off the bed.

Once in the ensuite, Sherlock cleaned himself and used the toilet. He splashed water on his face after washing his hands and toweled it dry. He took a moment to consider the evening’s events and then soaked another flannel for John’s face. He stepped back into the bedroom and walked over to a still smiling John, who raised a hand for the flannel, but Sherlock held both back.

“Let me,” the detective offered.

He wiped John down carefully, relieving him of all traces and dropped the soiled flannel on the floor. He used the other to gently dab away the sweat at John’s temples and forehead. John watched him all the while and took Sherlock in his arms when he finished. Laying his head on John’s shoulder, Sherlock draped an arm over his chest and breathed in the scent of him, all tea and toast and jam.

Sherlock’s brow rose high, his eyes laser sharp at the discovery of new information. An unusual scent had found its way onto John’s person. It smelled vaguely of burnt leaves or leather. It was strange how the two materials smelled so similar when burned at certain temperatures. He had discovered it when running an experiment during an arson and murder case. Very interesting case, however, not important at the moment. 

Sherlock shifted his gaze to his husband, whose head was slowly tipping away as he drifted further into sleep. John had to have been in close contact with one of the two materials burning around 300 degrees Fahrenheit to retain the scent for even a few hours. Disturbingly close contact, in fact. Sherlock had seen no burns on his skin and he’d had quite a look at all the doctor had to offer.

Sherlock considered shifting his body for a better perspective from which to investigate, but stopped cold when a familiar scent reached his olfactory glands. Gun powder. Sherlock looked back at John’s now sleeping face and studied intently. John had fired his gun that afternoon and more than once by the smell of it. Sherlock angled his head toward the hand nearest his shoulder, John’s left hand, and breathed in deep. John had fired three times. More than just warning someone away.

He turned his head back to gaze at John and fought not to wake him. What had John gotten up to today? He certainly wasn’t visiting Sarah and Madeleine. Sherlock would be able to tell easily if John were awake and exuding information now that Sherlock was not distracted by sex. Why hadn’t John told him as soon as he entered the flat? They had promised one another that there would be no more secrets or plots with Mycroft, no matter the apparent benefits. In spite of the evidence and all of the unanswered questions, Sherlock could not believe John would go back on his word.

Sherlock closed his eyes to review everything that had happened since he returned to the flat and John emerged in the kitchen doorway. John had been surprised to see him. No, more than that. John was shocked. There was nothing duplicitous about his demeanor, causing Sherlock to think he suffered from PTSD, but the conclusion did not fit. It was not PTSD that had John repeating ‘It’s you’ in utter disbelief. Sherlock frowned and began searching his mind palace for an explanation. He had a sinking feeling that he would find no answers, but it was all he could do until John woke.

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