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When they met, it was an immediate attraction. Well, immediate perhaps for John. Sherlock, however, had never been one to become attracted to another person unless to get emotionally close to the other. That had originally been a mistake he had made as a silly teenager, so he strayed from the possibilities of finding another. Of course Sherlock hadn't even intended to become so involved with the man that had stood before him that day in St. Bart's Hospital, but he had to learn eventually that not everything goes to plan. Even more so, he had to learn that not all people are insignificant idiots that weren't worth his time. No, not this one. John was different.
John was so, so different.
In the time span of knowing one another for just barely over twenty four hours, John had forgotten his limp in the presence of Sherlock, chased with him around London to find a criminal, allowed himself to trust the detective and even killed a man for him. Again, Sherlock never cared about relationships or falling in love with anyone, no, not the way that everyone else around him did. Everyone wanted to find the "one". Sherlock, though? He did not believe that he would fall in love with anyone. That amount of arrogance vanished, however, the moment he realized that John had been the one to shoot Jeff Hope for him.
It was a nice night after that. Behind closed doors, John was a lovely spirit to be around. Sherlock found this out with their little celebration that same night. John still had adrenaline pumping through his veins and did not plan on getting much sleep that night, so he convinced Sherlock easily to have a few drinks with him while they both stayed up late. Of course, Sherlock was used to staying up most nights, but alcohol wasn't something he had really gotten into even as a teenager. No, as a teenager, he was into different things than that. Still, he agreed with John, figuring that he might as well - what could possibly go wrong?
Nothing went wrong, of course. Sherlock had found that he enjoyed the warm feeling inside of himself a little too much, and he couldn't stop himself from... opening up. John was a lovely person to be around when he was drunk, as well, and Sherlock admired that in him. They took turns, speaking and talking about their pasts, getting to know one another. It was not as bad as Sherlock had expected it to be, and he made a mental note at some point to experiment on how much it actually took John to get to his open point of intoxication. Himself, as well.
Talking to John, though. Sherlock had never talked to anyone as easily as he had with John that night. He allowed himself some sort of freedom to suddenly become human, to become a normal person with thoughts to be spilled and his imagination to be laid out. It was, in a way, the best night of Sherlock's life at the point in time. He found out so many fascinating things about John, learned more about him personally with facts about his past and plans and hopes, and they were somehow all such things that Sherlock hadn't even imagined to pick from John. Perhaps that was another thing about John that Sherlock had found to compliment him. John was so utterly ordinary and human and dull while being so unique and amazing. Sherlock had never met anyone that could do that to him.
Looking back, Sherlock could conclude that that was the very night he completely fell in love with John Watson as a person.
It got a little bad after that for Sherlock. He had never been that much into relationships after his horrible past with them, and he had deleted all of the details of how to function with the emotions that suddenly began to run through him as time went on. One month, two months, three months... A slow burn that trailed down Sherlock's spine and through every single nerve in his body to set him on fire while making him feel like he was drowning. John clearly had an attraction to him, he knew that, but the bloody man never could quite seem to get over the simple step of admitting to himself. This was the reason that Sherlock allowed himself to watch as John went on dates with one woman after the other. All the while, Sherlock had to control himself from thinking about the pain it caused him.
Cases went by, one after the other. Nothing occurred between him and John that could have signified anything until when they finally found Moriarty. Jim Moriarty, the one that had fooled Sherlock so cleverly into believing he was insignificant like the rest of the humans that walked London's streets and tried to catch his eye. Of course, Jim had to find out his weakness, the only weak spot that Sherlock could possibly have closest to his heart. John.
It actually had been a strong moment of conflict and horror that ran through Sherlock when John had emerged in the pool to meet him. A flicker of no, no, please God, no passed through Sherlock's body and entire being, and he nearly fell to his knees but kept his composure. In truth, he was more relieved that John was wrapped in a bomb vest rather than the actual bad guy he had been chasing since day one. That would have hurt on a more powerful level than Sherlock could have possible handled in his state at that time. And if it weren't for John being in danger, they wouldn't have gotten so close in that single moment. When Sherlock had stripped the jacket from John and thrown it, he had been determined, so determined to free John, to get his John to be safe. Because there was nothing more important than his John Watson in that moment. John had to have known that.
Things only seemed to go on from there with a deeper sense of a relationship between the two of them. There was nothing officially settled between the two of them, but there was certainly a sense of more touching between the two of them. More intimacy, more appreciation from Sherlock to John that he was actually there for him, that he had stayed after all of the impossible things that they had been through together and all of the things that Sherlock had put John though. Somehow, deep down, Sherlock knew that John would never feel the love that he did for the man, and he told himself to accept that. Sherlock came to the conclusion that among all of the women that John dated, he would eventually have to feel the pain of John leaving and getting married to a woman.
Then came The Woman, a Ms. Irene Adler. That was when John suddenly snapped.
Irene had clearly had an interest in Sherlock even if she was only ever interested in women. She had seen something else between John and Sherlock, and Sherlock was never one to deny it as much as John did. Truthfully, Irene had made points to John that she was gay and had clearly fallen for Sherlock, and John was straight with the possibility of having done the same. Sherlock had only hoped.
John was jealous; that was for damn sure. Counting the messages that Irene sent to Sherlock's phone with the erotic moan as his text alert, staying impossibly closer to Sherlock, keeping his eyes on him and somehow fixed away from the dominatrix in front of them. And it only continued until John become more and more interested in Sherlock's communication with Irene. Sherlock brushed him off, tried not to feel the thrill of John being jealous. John apparently hadn't been able to handle it.
John finally snapped one night.
"One hundred," John suddenly concluded as he heard the annoyingly familiar text tone come from Sherlock's phone. Sherlock had been in the kitchen, of course, conducting another experiment with his phone left on the desk before John in an attempt to ignore it. Where John had sat at the desk in the living room, he had found himself more uncomfortable than comfortable with the damn thing just taunting him. It was so frustrating, trying to type a proper post on his blog with that damn moan coming from Sherlock's phone. "Couldn't you at very least just silence the bloody thing?"
"Can't," Sherlock had answered calmly, his hand carefully adjusting the magnification of the microscope beneath his gaze. "It seems that she broke the button specifically so that I couldn't do so."
"Come and get it before I throw it out the window," John grumbled before he continued typing on his laptop, tapping at the keys in a slow manner that suggested he was pressing each key harder than usual with frustration.
Obediently, Sherlock finally stood from his chair at the table in the kitchen before making his way into the living room to snatch up his phone. He looked down at John, noticed the way his hands were tensed even as he typed - unusual for the man that was simply making a post on his blog. His eyes were narrowed, his jaw clenched, his nostrils flared. It was a second before Sherlock could realize exactly what was going on before him.
"And now you know how it feels when I watch you go on date after date with those women." It came out of nowhere, but Sherlock said it before he turned on his heel with his phone in his hand. It was a last moment thing for him to say, like a good exit you'd see before a scene ended in a play or a movie, and Sherlock allowed it to linger behind him as he took his steps towards his room. To be alone would be a good thing, especially after that, anyway. Sherlock held his phone in his hand and pressed the ignore button on his phone once more, not wishing to even look at the phone. But that was when the strangest thing happened.
The sudden push against the wall was just as unpredictable as the lips that suddenly captured his in a bruising kiss. It was so sudden, so fast that Sherlock hadn't known what the hell he was supposed to do there. It was actually a moment before he allowed it to sink in that it was John that was kissing him, that this was John holding him with his fists in his shirt holding him still while he took control of him.
"You absolute cock," John suddenly said after he broke apart from Sherlock's lips, not letting go of his shirt. "Do you have any idea how long I've needed for you to say something? To bloody speak or show some sign?" He somehow grabbed Sherlock tighter, not daring to let him go now that he had him. "You're a bloody idiot, you know that?"
"I've been informed multiple times by you and others that I am in some areas, yes," the detective answered, simply rambling. Just then, John was already kissing at his neck and nipping in a way that was meant to mark Sherlock, and Sherlock could only willingly tilt his head to the side to grant him more access.
"Well you're my idiot, understand?" John practically growled against Sherlock's skin, pale and delicate beneath his lips and teeth and tongue. "You're mine, have always been mine. Christ, you should have bloody said something, Sherlock."
"I'm... sorry?" Sherlock asked just before he let out a sudden gasp from a sharp bite that John gave him just on his pulse point. Of course, the detective wasn't even sure how to react with the touching, settling with one hand against the wall behind him while his other hand had found its way into John's short, blond hair. "John, honestly, my bedroom is right there," he whined, looking at the door to his room.
"Shut it, just let me do this; let me mark you, Sherlock, after so long of not being able to just bloody claim you like this..." John gave another particularly hard bite to Sherlock, harder than the previous one as he sucked a lovely red mark that would bruise beautifully.
"John!" Sherlock groaned, practically reaching for the door knob with his free hand. He was thankful for having long arms as he finally twisted it to push the door open. Grabbing John's hand, he dragged the man behind him inside of his room, suddenly taking control of everything as he pulled John close to kiss him hard from his side this time. His hands took to finding something better to do than to simply hold onto John, so he broke from the other man's lips to pull off his annoying jumper that had another shirt underneath it, of course. Damn the weather for being cold; Sherlock wanted John naked in his bed now.
John's hands actually reached to stop Sherlock's from the buttons of his shirt, and he suddenly scolded him. "Bad boy," he said suddenly, and it was almost as if he had known that Sherlock had a thing for that behavior. "Let me undress you, first." His hands went for the buttons on Sherlock's shirt instead - his favorite one, the purple one. The army doctor could only kiss from Sherlock's collar bone and downwards as each button revealed more skin for him to feel under his lips, more skin to taste under his tongue. And Sherlock let him. It was then suddenly clear that John had stood up straight again and was biting at Sherlock's neck while placing kisses as well while his hands were between them working at Sherlock's belt.
"John, please-"
"Shh," John hushed Sherlock quickly just as he got his belt undone before he unzipped his trousers and got the button undone before pushing them down to the floor along with pants and allowing Sherlock to step out of them, leaving him completely naked before the doctor. "On the bed. Now."
Again, Sherlock was obedient to John, getting on the bed.
"Tell me you have lube," John asked Sherlock as he undid the buttons to his own shirt. Sherlock didn't even have to answer as he reached for the bedside tablet to open the drawer, pulling out the little tube that had evidently never been previously opened.
John stripped himself until he was down to his pants, and of course he had worn his red ones that very day without realizing he would be showing them to Sherlock. Instead, he decided to get rid of those immediately, Sherlock's eyes watching him with a heated gaze and dry mouth.
"Lay back, legs open. I want to be able to look at you." John gave the order to Sherlock just as he snatched the bottle from Sherlock's hand. Of course, her intentions were to take complete control of Sherlock, to have him at his mercy and for Sherlock to absolutely love it. "Good boy," he praised Sherlock as the detective laid back flat with a pillow behind his head, his legs open beautifully for John to have all the access he needed in order to properly prepare and promptly fuck Sherlock until he saw stars. And that was exactly how John wanted Sherlock - just like that, facing him while he had him underneath him. Already, it was a lovely sight he would never forget.
"John," Sherlock said suddenly while John got onto the bed to position himself between Sherlock's legs. "I feel that I should inform you, given our current situation, that I am not a virgin. Although it has been years since I last partook in such activities with anyone." It was a lovely sight to see the detective blush for a different reason than simply arousal, and John could only smile as he uncapped the lube. "But I can assure you that I was always careful in my previous affairs, and-"
"I could have told you that," John interrupted Sherlock as he poured the slippery liquid onto his fingers. "I know you're clean, Sherlock, just as I know that I am clean. If I didn't know that, I would have either asked for a condom or gone to get one myself. Now, just relax."
With a deep inhale, Sherlock forced himself to relax just as John asked of him. His body gave in to the command, relaxing his entire being including his mind. This was it, what he'd dreamed of for so long. It was actually just then that he realized how much his neck actually hurt from the marks John had left there, but that only made him wish that there were more. So he focused on that pain in his neck instead of the pain of the sudden stretch provided by John's finger. At that moment, Sherlock wished he would have taken the opportunity to get himself used to the penetration again, but he'd denied himself that pleasure specifically for John - even though he could have never been sure if he would have even ended up like that beneath the army doctor.
"John..." Sherlock breathed his name, suddenly letting it sink in that this was real, this was actually happening and wasn't some dream. John only silenced him by kissing him, his right hand planted on the bed to keep him steady enough to kiss him while his left was focused on the slow motion of moving just his one finger in and out of Sherlock.
"I've got you, Sherlock, shh..." John continued to calm him with his voice. "Trust me, yeah?"
Sherlock gave a nod, his eyes remaining shut. "Another, John, please," he begged gently, pushing himself down against John's finger, seeking to have two inside of him. He was eager, of course he was, after having to wait so long to have John, to offer himself to the doctor just like this. "Please, John."
"Another?" John teased Sherlock momentarily, loving to see the detective slowly become undone beneath him when they'd barely just begun. Being a doctor did have its perks from time to time, and John was gentle with his skilled hands so as not to hurt Sherlock. Adding another finger, John kissed at Sherlock's neck, hearing the small hiss that came from Sherlock's mouth before the delicious moan that John regretted not being able to see as it came. "Good boy, Sherlock, very good," he praised Sherlock, and it only made the detective whimper and push against John's fingers again.
It wasn't very long until John finally had Sherlock completely prepared with three fingers, leaving the detective painfully hard and eager beneath him. It was such a beautiful sight that John wished he could take a picture of what he say. He felt lucky that no one would ever be able to see Sherlock like this except him. Reluctantly, he pulled his fingers from Sherlock's beautiful body. Sherlock whimpered softly, his mouth open slightly as he was panting softly. His cheeks were beautifully painted a lovely shade of scarlet while his lips were wet and reddened from biting and licking them constantly. John admired how Sherlock looked with his eyes half lidded and brighter than before, his pupils blown wide with the want and lust. It was a painting that John almost didn't want to touch because it was so beautiful just the way it was.
Grabbing the bottle of lube, John proceeded to pour more into his hand, lubricating his own cock that he'd neglected just as much as he'd neglected Sherlock's. He made sure not to touch himself more than necessary so as not to get himself too worked up before actually starting.
"Ready?" John asked Sherlock to be sure as he positioned himself correctly.
Sherlock bit his bottom lip and gave a nod to John, offering himself to John. The next move was made by John, settling comfortably and glancing down to see Sherlock nod again just before he pushed into him, slow as he could so as not to hurt Sherlock. A hiss of pain came from Sherlock, but it was followed immediately by a moan. John allowed himself to push further into him, keeping his eyes on the expressions that Sherlock made - mixes of pain and pleasure with the moans and whimpers he let escape his lips for him. It almost felt like an eternity before John was completely inside of Sherlock, but he eventually got there.
"You okay?" John asked, himself nearly breathless.
"I'm... fine, yes," Sherlock admitted, taking a deep breath as he got used just to the feeling of John inside of him. His legs wrapped loosely around John' waste, and he held still as the room was filled with nothing but the sound of their breathing.
It took a tap of Sherlock's hand against John's thigh to get him to start moving, first pulling out just a small fraction before pushing back into him. Sherlock allowed himself to gasp, looking at John with a mixture of some sort of love and utter trust in the doctor. Carefully, as John got into longer thrusts and careful movements, he leaned down to kiss Sherlock, showing the love and passion simply with his lips - a thousand words to be summed up with that contact between the two of them.
Admittedly, Sherlock had been looking for sex, as that was all he really knew of. Making love had been a different concept that he'd never put much thought in to, but if he were to label this as anything, that would be it: they were making love. Eagerly, Sherlock moved his lips against John's in an attempt to reciprocate his love and affection. "John..." Sherlock gasped as he broke from John's lips, his head falling back as he bared his neck for more markings. John's lips were there, then, kissing and nipping on his Adam's apple, leaving more lingering marks as he continued to thrust a little harder and perhaps a little deeper.
"Fuck, Sherlock..." John breathed against Sherlock's skin before biting down hard on his pulse point, making Sherlock gasp and grip John, one hand scratching his nails down John's back and the other tugging on John's short hair. Sherlock moaned with desperation, gasping and moaning John's name multiple times before John let go of his neck and kissed the bite mark tenderly before soothing it with his tongue.
Carefully, Sherlock hooked his ankles behind John's back, his eyes closed in bliss. But his eyes were forced open as soon as he felt John's hand on his cock, suddenly stroking him in time with his thrusts. "John!" He cried out suddenly from the contact, arching his body up against John. His hand gripped for John's shoulder, feeling the scar from his bullet wound beneath his fingertips.
"Mine, Sherlock, tell me you're mine," John ordered him as he placed kissed to Sherlock's neck, thrusting even harder.
"Yours," Sherlock swore breathlessly. "Yours, John, please-"
"Prove it, Sherlock, come for me," he insisted, encouraging Sherlock with his thrusting and stroking. As soon as Sherlock was about to absolutely scream for him as he came, though, John captured his lips in a rough kiss once more, only feeling Sherlock moan just as he felt him coming in his hand. Just from this, John only had to thrust a short number of times, feeling Sherlock tightening around him before he was able to stop deep inside of him. Reluctantly, John had to pull from Sherlock's lips to express his groan, burring his face in Sherlock's neck as he felt the waves of his orgasm in sync with the last of Sherlock's.
They were left as a mess, just like that, tangled with one another with the only sounds left in the room being their labored breathing.
"John?" Sherlock asked, his voice somehow soft and gentle. His hand had taken to stroking through John's hair, almost petting.
"Hm?" John hummed against Sherlock's neck, placing gentle and loving kisses to every mark he'd made.
"I love you."
A smile formed on John's lips and he sat up slightly to kiss at Sherlock's lips. "And I love you. My idiot."
Sherlock smiled back. "Your idiot," he agreed.
"All mine?"
"Yours."
FIN