Sherlock S Holmes

John raised an eyebrow. “I suppose. What did you have in mind?” He pushed away from the door and approached the bed. Drugs had never held much interest for him, other than keeping Sherlock away from them, but between...

John giggled again and rolled onto his side as he passed it back one more time. "This wasn't your worst idea," he said, leaning in to mouth against Sherlock's neck. It seemed like a brilliant idea at the time.

For a moment Sherlock froze, wide eyed with shock. He drew on the joint, letting his breath out in a rush of billowing smoke.

"John. What ...what are you doing? Not that er ...I'm complaining."

esgaroths

Scar

Sherlock cleared his throat with a slight cough and looked down at his glass. He said he would answer and he would, he just needed a moment to gather his thoughts and express it clearly.

"I won’t hold you to what you have just said and I want to make this perfectly clear. If I ask you to do something you are not comfortable with, you must stop me." Sherlock turned to look at John and waited until he nodded in silent assent.

"To answer your question, no. I have not ever been emotionally involved and as far as I’m concerned I have never been physically involved either."

John’s frown was expected.

"I will explain further."

Sherlock took a gulp of brandy and rose from his chair, pacing once more.

"I suppose the proper term would be sexual assault, rape even." The word felt foreign on his tongue, it didn’t really apply to him but of the people that knew and there were few, only Mycroft seemed to understand that Sherlock was not in his body at the time.

"It happened when I was captured .. and tortured." This brought up mixed feelings that Sherlock was not prepared to explore right now. "You don’t need the details, it’s not important. But to answer your question correctly I suppose you needed to know."

The look on John’s face was exactly what Sherlock was dreading. He could see the anger first, that he could live with but the pity. Sherlock felt his own anger raising and quickly said.

"Don’t. Don’t do that John. I can assure you that much worse has happened to me and a lot of it was self inflicted. I am not overly affected by the incident and you shouldn’t be either. We can talk more about it another time if you feel you must but if you treat me any differently because of this, I will be forced to drug your coffee or punch you."

He paced again, slower, less agitated, it seemed releasing that piece of information had actually helped.

"I have never been sexually interested in anyone, before you but I have had desires." Sherlock turned his back not quite ready to say this face to face. "I quite like pain. Turns out that’s handy in torture situations."

He had tried to make light of it and turning back to John he thought he may have succeeded. There was a faint smile on John’s lips, even though his brow was not smooth.

A whirlwind of emotions boiled up in John - anger and hate and sadness and pity and love and hurt. It was plainly visible on his face, he knew that, and he also knew that Sherlock knew. Should John ever meet the one who had done this to Sherlock, he’d kill him. They both knew that. And John also decided he’d bring this topic up, some other time. He wanted and needed to know what happened, back when Sherlock was ‘dead’.

But not now.

Sherlock’s comment about drugging his coffee and the almost-joke about liking pain made John feel a little less tense. Sherlock was strong. He could cope. And if he needed John to help him with that, he’d be there for him. John decided, however, that it was time to stop talking about this. He had said what he wanted to say, and Sherlock seemed to understand. And John also knew that if there were more questions, he was free to ask them - and Sherlock would answer.

John looked at Sherlock, a silent Thank you for telling me. For opening up. For trusting me. And he knew Sherlock understood.

However, John wasn’t quite certain how to handle this situation now. Make a joke himself? Curse a little? Go and make another cup of tea? Rip Sherlock’s clothes off to show him that he was more than ready? He contemplated this for a bit, a few seconds at most, and then came to a decision.

So. Sherlock had said he liked pain.

'Do you now?' John said with a growl, slowly raising from the chair and walking towards Sherlock. 'That is… interesting.' With a slightly devious smile he stepped into Sherlock's personal space, chests almost touching. He gently trailed a finger from Sherlock's clavicle down to his pelvis, then reached around him and pinched his bum that it must have hurt, but not too much so.

He stretched himself, tilting his head just so and captured Sherlock’s lips with his. ‘You should have told me earlier,’ he whispered, smiling against Sherlock’s mouth before softly biting down on his bottom lip. John was new to this sort of thing, but he wanted to try, for Sherlock.

"Fuck"

The expletive had fallen from his lips, deep and low, without first passing through his brain. The effect of that word on John was a sight to behold. Sherlock didn't know if it was the word itself, the fact that it was Sherlock saying it or what but John's eyes darkened and his breathing picked up noticeably. That word of course was in response to the flesh of his bum being none too gently pinched.

And John was kissing him, his head swam with unfamiliar chemicals. Teeth on his lip, a little bite, teasing, not hard enough.

"John..." Sherlock sucked in a breath, his hips involuntarily tilting forward. "J John I thought ...you said ...to take it slow?"

His voice came out out low and breathy, rumbling through the stuttered words. He was leaning over John, his eyes fixed on John's lips, his mouth open.

God what was this man doing to him? How could John ever think Sherlock would get bored of him? It was absurd. Blood was rushing south again, leaving him dizzy with want and lack of oxygen.

Scar

Sherlock took a gulp of the brandy and savoured the slow burn as it travelled down his throat.

"I have wondered the same myself but after four years of knowing you, doing …all the things I have done …all the time I spent away. I have never stopped feeling this way about you." Sherlock took a deep breath.

"I am certain, I have never been more certain about anything. I don’t know how to do this John, it’s never happened before."

A wave of hopelessness washed over him then, how could he convince John that his feelings were true? Maybe he didn’t deserve to be happy, maybe he wasn’t capable of this kind of connection.

"I want you John, I want to be yours."

Sherlock wasn’t sure if that was enough, had he answered John question?

"I know you have a lot of questions, I can see that but I don’t know how to answer questions that haven’t been asked. Tell me what you want to know, tell what I need to do to convince you."

John helplessly looked up at the ceiling, struggling for words. Talks like this weren’t exactly easy for him - yet he was the one who was responsible for this. Jesus.

'Sherlock, I…,' he began, soon at a loss of what to say once again. 'There's… there's not much you have to do to convince me. I guess - no, I know I already believe you. That you are telling the truth. About what you feel.’ He absentmindedly scratched the back of his hand that held the glass. ‘It’s still quite impossible for me to fully grasp and all that, but.. it makes me immensly happy. So there’s that.’

And now for the hard part. There were several things he wanted to tell Sherlock, and so, so many questions. And even though John Watson was a huge romantic at heart, talking about emotions and relationships was nothing that came to him easily. He sat there silently for a little while, taking some time to sort through his thoughts and prepare what he wanted to say.

'Sherlock,' he said, looking at him. 'As I said, I don't need you to prove anything. I believe you. However, there are some things I need. From you. I want to get this right, as much as you do, so this might turn into a rather boring monologue, but I need you to listen. This is so important to me. The most important thing in my whole life in fact.'

He held up a finger and noticed that it was trembling a little. He hadn’t been this nervous in ages. ‘I need you to talk to me, and I want you to know that you absolutely don’t have to ask for anything. If we do this, I’m yours. Completely. In every way you can possibly think of. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t experiment on me, but you know as much as I do that I’d even allow that. Just - I’m here for you, no matter what. You can always come to me. Talk to me. If anything is too much for you - tell me and I’ll stop. If you want to try something new - suggest it and I’ll give it a try. If you feel the need to talk - come to me. If you need space to think - drop a hint, and I’ll let you be. If you need a cuddle or a hug or a kiss - you don’t have to ask. I’ll be there. And please don’t hold back - on anything you want to tell me. I want to know what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours, and I’ll listen to you whenever you want me to. No matter if it’s about a frustrating case or your feelings or problems, or whatever. Anything. Anything for you.’

John wanted to reach out and pull Sherlock into a hug but decided against it. They still needed to talk, and if he initiated physical contact now, the only thing coming out of his mouth would be either Sherlock’s name, senseless words and curses and moans, or both. And even though he did appreciate this train of thought, he wanted them to talk.

'And the second thing is a little more… personal.' He stopped himself, feeling the tips of his ears grow warm. He was probably blushing, too. Which was weird because talking about sex usually didn't alarm him. At all. He was a doctor, for God's sakes. But then again, this was Sherlock. Everything was different with Sherlock.

'You're right. I have tons of questions. And I really don't know where to start. Sherlock, have you ever…. have you ever had a relationship? With anyone? Both emotionally and physically?'

Was the Woman right? Are you a virgin? He didn’t dare phrase it like that, he didn’t want to bring Ms Adler into this. This was their moment now. One of many to come.

'Has anyone ever touched you the way… I have? Today? Do you want me to continue like this, later on, when you're ready? If not, that'd be absolutely fine with me too, I just need to know.' He looked into Sherlock's eyes, waiting for him to answer.

#stillbetterthanthesolarsystem #rp #scar #tw:rape

Sherlock cleared his throat with a slight cough and looked down at his glass. He said he would answer and he would, he just needed a moment to gather his thoughts and express it clearly.

"I won't hold you to what you have just said and I want to make this perfectly clear. If I ask you to do something you are not comfortable with, you must stop me." Sherlock turned to look at John and waited until he nodded in silent assent.

"To answer your question, no. I have not ever been emotionally involved and as far as I'm concerned I have never been physically involved either."

John's frown was expected.

"I will explain further."

Sherlock took a gulp of brandy and rose from his chair, pacing once more.

"I suppose the proper term would be sexual assault, rape even." The word felt foreign on his tongue, it didn't really apply to him but of the people that knew and there were few, only Mycroft seemed to understand that Sherlock was not in his body at the time.

"It happened when I was captured .. and tortured." This brought up mixed feelings that Sherlock was not prepared to explore right now. "You don't need the details, it's not important. But to answer your question correctly I suppose you needed to know."

The look on John's face was exactly what Sherlock was dreading. He could see the anger first, that he could live with but the pity. Sherlock felt his own anger raising and quickly said.

"Don't. Don't do that John. I can assure you that much worse has happened to me and a lot of it was self inflicted. I am not overly affected by the incident and you shouldn't be either. We can talk more about it another time if you feel you must but if you treat me any differently because of this, I will be forced to drug your coffee or punch you."

He paced again, slower, less agitated, it seemed releasing that piece of information had actually helped.

He had tried to make light of it and turning back to John he thought he may have succeeded. There was a faint smile on John's lips, even though his brow was not smooth.

Scar

Sherlock smiled softly as John spoke. He reached forward and brushed the tears threatening to fall, with careful fingertips, from John’s eyes.

"I understand John. I’m just not sure that I will be satisfied with anything less than everything." He sat back and looked pointedly at his lap and the tight fabric there before raising his eyes to John’s again.

"I think maybe you had better not touch me, at least no more than this." He said looking at their hands.

He leaned forward again and pressed a quick kiss to the edge of John’s lips.

"For a while."

Sherlock had said he wanted to do this right and he meant it. The idea wasn’t a particularly desirable one but John would want it and it just might reveal some things about John he didn’t already know. There always were a surprising amount of those when it came to John.

"I suggest we have a large brandy and talk about this, about us. Ask whatever you want and I will do my best to answer."

'Right. Yes. Of course.' Reluctantly, John pulled his hand away and got up to search the flat for a bottle of brandy. Harry had given him one last Christmas, but as far as he remembered, he hadn't opened it. Soon enough he found it behind a bag of toenails - 'Honestly, Sherlock? In the mini-bar?’ - poured both of them a glass and then returned to sit in his chair. He desperately wanted to be closer to Sherlock, even for this talk. Having an arm around him would suffice. But he knew that this probably wasn’t the best thing to do.

John chuckled nervously, playing with the glass. ‘I really don’t know what to say. Where to begin. I have so many questions, and I have no idea how to ask them. Or if I should ask them, for that matter. Love can be horribly difficult sometimes.’

He rubbed a hand over his face and let out a sigh. ‘See, Sherlock, I… I’m pretty certain about my emotions, about what I feel for you. And don’t you dare roll your eyes in a manner that says I know, John, you said that several times to me already. I know that myself. And I guess I’ll never get tired of telling you that I love you.’

John stopped himself, twirling the glass in his hands, watching the liquid dance. ‘I’m just… immensely afraid that you will tire of it eventually, you know. Of me, of us, of all this relationship business. Human error, as you call it. That’s what I meant when I said you need to be certain.’ He cleared his throat once again. ‘I just don’t want to… plunge head first into a relationship with you, without knowing… without being sure. Because if you do get bored with me and my ordinary way of being, and then decide to trow me out or dump me - I don’t know if I could take that. Cope with it. I already lost you, and it broke my heart and tore everything apart, and I couldn’t stand losing you again.’

There were so any thoughts in John’s head, but he didn’t dare say them.

'I do want you. With my body and my heart and my soul. I can't think of anything better than holding and kissing you, but I'd also be content with just sitting close to you, knowing that you are my friend. What we have is enough for me. I just - I want to know if there really is more. To us. And I want an answer that is thought through and not influenced by arousal or alcohol. What… what do you want from me? From us?' John looked back at Sherlock. 'And don't just say everything, please. I need to know.’

Sherlock took a gulp of the brandy and savoured the slow burn as it travelled down his throat.

"I have wondered the same myself but after four years of knowing you, doing ...all the things I have done ...all the time I spent away. I have never stopped feeling this way about you." Sherlock took a deep breath.

"I am certain, I have never been more certain about anything. I don't know how to do this John, it's never happened before."

A wave of hopelessness washed over him then, how could he convince John that his feelings were true? Maybe he didn't deserve to be happy, maybe he wasn't capable of this kind of connection.

"I want you John, I want to be yours."

Sherlock wasn't sure if that was enough, had he answered John question?

"I know you have a lot of questions, I can see that but I don't know how to answer questions that haven't been asked. Tell me what you want to know, tell what I need to do to convince you."

Smirking Sherlock lit up and drew in a lungful of smoke. He exhaled slowly, the blue/grey smoke billowing out of slightly puckered lips.

"I thought we might test this grass for Mrs Hudson, she wants to know of it’s any good." Sherlock smiled. "But you knew it was from her."

"I did." John sat next to him and took it from him. A few minutes later he was lying back on the bed, giggling softly. "I think this is pretty good," he said, staring at the ceiling, one hand resting on Sherlock’s thigh.

John and Sherlock were sat back against the headboard of Sherlock's bed, legs stretched out in front of them, passing the joint back and forth.

"I think you're right. This is some quality weed."

The word 'weed' set John off giggling again and it was contagious.Sherlock chuckled, quite content. John's hand was on his thigh, how had he not noticed this? It was warm, that hand, it felt good and Sherlock sank further back into pillows, exhaling. As he passed the joint back, he let his own hand cover John's.

Scar

Letting out a long breath as John stepped back, Sherlock looked at the floor. Of course John was right but he was also completely and frustratingly blind. Sherlock took two more deep breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth, trying to clam his hamming heart and aching erection. What made John think this was a rush decision, or a one time thing, or even an experiment, was beyond Sherlock at this point. He had no idea how to make it any clearer. But John wants to stop. Sherlock turned and began to pace slowly, back and forth across the room.

What had he missed, what wasn’t he seeing? Or worse still, was he seeing something that wasn’t really there, were his emotions affecting his ability to see the truth. Maybe John didn’t want this after all, maybe he was just experimenting himself.

Sherlock stopped, turned and looked at John, who was standing still watching him. There was nothing deceitful or dishonest in that face and Sherlock felt a tightening deep in his chest.

"Of course." Sherlock nodded.

"This is very important to me and I will do whatever it takes to get it right."

He sat down in his chair and wondered if they had any good brandy in the flat.

Why did Sherlock pull away? Why did he pace the flat? Why did he sit down? Why didn’t he return into John’s arms, to John’s lips? Why did he want to stop all of a sudden? What had John done wrong? Was it something he said? It wasn’t like John wanted to stop, not everything, anyway. He would have liked to cuddle a bit more. Kiss, even. (Sherlock was a bloody great kisser.)

God. He really was sending out mixed signals, wasn’t he. Telling Sherlock he should be sure, yet at the same time wishing for him to continue. John pinched the bridge of his nose. He really behaved like a teenager. For Christ’s sakes, they were grown men! They should be able to communicate properly.

But even though Sherlock’s brain usually was quicker, John certainly wasn’t dim. He saw the flash of doubt and hurt and confusion on Sherlock’s face, and it made his heart ache to know that he had caused those emotions - when all he wanted was to make sure Sherlock really, really wanted this.

John slowly went over to Sherlock’s chair, kneeling down in front of him. He gently cupped Sherlock’s hand that lay on the armrest. Sherlock wanted to get this right, and so did he.

'Look, I'm sorry,' he said quietly, giving Sherlock's fingers a tiny squeeze. 'I didn't mean to push you away like that. Rather the opposite.' He cleared his throat, looking up in that unreadable face. 'It's just that… this is a huge step. For both of us, I imagine. And I don't want to rush it. Things like that take time. And I do believe we have all the time in the world.'

At least John hoped they did.

'I just - I just want you to understand why I… asked you to think carefully. About all this, I mean. Because… because I do love you, you mad bastard, and I want this to be the best thing ever for you. I'd do anything for you, Sherlock, and you know that. I didn't ask you to consider this because I want to do you any harm. I just wanted to keep you from regretting this. Because I love, I love you, I love you.’

Somewhere in the middle of his speech, John’s voice had faltered, and he was fairly certain he felt tear drops in his eyes. To think that this bloody brilliant man loved him, and he just might have ruined the chance of his life was too much for him. And by God, if Sherlock wanted to take him right there, right then, he probably wouldn’t object again.

'Forgive me?' he asked quietly, a silent And kiss me? in his gaze, squeezing Sherlock’s hand again, too shy to lean up and kiss him.

Sherlock smiled softly as John spoke. He reached forward and brushed the tears threatening to fall, with careful fingertips, from John's eyes.

"I understand John. I'm just not sure that I will be satisfied with anything less than everything." He sat back and looked pointedly at his lap and the tight fabric there before raising his eyes to John's again.

"I think maybe you had better not touch me, at least no more than this." He said looking at their hands.

He leaned forward again and pressed a quick kiss to the edge of John's lips.

"For a while."

Sherlock had said he wanted to do this right and he meant it. The idea wasn't a particularly desirable one but John would want it and it just might reveal some things about John he didn't already know. There always were a surprising amount of those when it came to John.

"I suggest we have a large brandy and talk about this, about us. Ask whatever you want and I will do my best to answer."

Scar

The intensity of his emotions and the reactions of his body were no longer completely under Sherlock’s control. He wasn’t even aware of the noises he was making. It wasn’t until John pulled away that he realised something was wrong. He stared at John glassy eyed for a moment before his brain caught up.

"What did I do? You shouldn’t have what? Why have you stopped?"

The words came out in a rush, Sherlock needed to understand. He wanted this, it was important, the most important thing in his life. His ignorance in such things irritated him and he ground his teeth in frustration.

He stood there, head bowed, afraid, hands clenched in fists, his skin, muscles and bones still thrumming from the memory of John’s body pressed against his own.

Slowly he looked up. John was flushed, lips red and glistening, breathing hard. Sherlock’s eyes flicked down, ‘still hard there too’ and back up. John’s eyes were dark with desire but the lines around them showed concern. Sherlock fought the impulse to shout in anger at the absurdity of the situation.

Fighting the urge to just jump the man, Sherlock picked his words carefully.

"If I want you to stop, I will say so and you will stop. Equally, If you want me to stop, you will say so and I will stop." Sherlock sighed and then with a slight smile he said.

"I want you, everything, all of you. Now answer my questions."

'I don't - I just …' John didn't quite know how to reply to that, the words I want you, everything, all of you still occupying his every thought. He wanted nothing more than to have Sherlock, or for Sherlock to have him, it didn’t matter, he just wanted that man, with his heart and his body and his mind - but he felt he needed to hold back. What if this was Sherlock’s first time to ever be with someone? (John had never asked.) There were so many what-ifs, and John simply didn’t want to scare Sherlock off. Or hurt him.

John gently grabbed Sherlock’s hands and pulled him into a hug.

'I want you too,' he whispered, 'God help me, I do. But not here, not like this.’ He looked into Sherlock’s eyes, stroking his thumb over his left cheekbone. ‘I don’t want this to be a one time thing. I don’t want this to be an experiment. I don’t want this to be something you’ll later regret, just because your hormones took control over your body. And even though you might want it now - you might change your mind after it has happened, and then you’ll be angry and frustrated, and I don’t want that. I don’t want to use you. And most of all, I don’t want this to be over.’

John got on tip-toes and pressed the sweetest kiss to Sherlock’s mouth. It was a slight pressure of upper lip to bottom lip, and it was so gentle and soft and loving, and it made his heart ache.

'If we are going to do this, then you have to be sure. It mustn't be a decision made in only a few seconds, based on want and passion and the sentiment and chemistry you always despise.' John let his voice go lower, almost a growl. 'And when you have decided you really want this, then it will be my privilege to show you what it means to be loved and cherished. Mine, and mine only.’

And with that, he pressed another kiss to Sherlock’s lips, this time a little harder and more passionate and possessive, yet still caring and gentle at the same time.

What had he missed, what wasn't he seeing? Or worse still, was he seeing something that wasn't really there, were his emotions affecting his ability to see the truth. Maybe John didn't want this after all, maybe he was just experimenting himself.

Sherlock stopped, turned and looked at John, who was standing still watching him. There was nothing deceitful or dishonest in that face and Sherlock felt a tightening deep in his chest.

"Of course." Sherlock nodded.

"This is very important to me and I will do whatever it takes to get it right."

He sat down in his chair and wondered if they had any good brandy in the flat.

merindab

John stopped in the doorway. He watched Sherlock, leaning against the doorframe. “Is this what was so important I had to come straightaway?” There was affection in his tone, fondness. They’d been through so much together. And he knew he’d always come when Sherlock called, no matter what. He worried about him, but things still felt delicate between them, as if they were both afraid of pushing the other one too far. Maybe that was the reason Sherlock had texted.

"Did I text you?"

Sherlock spoke slowly, putting the components together quickly and smoothly.

"Oh well now that you’re here…"

The joint was already made and he tapped it down on the zippo before lifting it to his lips.

"Care to join me in an experiment?"

Smirking Sherlock lit up and drew in a lungful of smoke. He exhaled slowly, the blue/grey smoke billowing out of slightly puckered lips.

"I thought we might test this grass for Mrs Hudson, she wants to know of it's any good." Sherlock smiled. "But you knew it was from her."

John hurried into the flat, tired from a long day at work, but Sherlock had texted him. “What is it?” he asked as soon as he stepped inside, maybe just slightly out of breath. Sherlock wasn’t in sight. “Really?” he asked the empty front room. “Sherlock you better not have taken off without me.” He started down the hall.

Sherlock was sat on his bed, his fingers moving over the components of his task. The papers, the tobacco, the high grade marijuana, even the little bits of thin cardboard for the roach.

This was ritual he realised, the ritual of making the joint was more of a comfort than actually smoking it. Much like John’s tea making ritual, he didn’t realise it but it was the same. John wasn’t so opposed to smoking grass, it wasn’t cocaine after all and it was obvious he had partaken of it in his past. Maybe Sherlock could even get him to share the joint

merindab

#jackssonicblaster #rp #merindab

"Did I text you?"

Sherlock spoke slowly, putting the components together quickly and smoothly.

"Oh well now that you're here..."

The joint was already made and he tapped it down on the zippo before lifting it to his lips.

"Care to join me in an experiment?"

Sherlock was sat on his bed, his fingers moving over the components of his task. The papers, the tobacco, the high grade marijuana, even the little bits of thin cardboard for the roach.

This was ritual he realised, the ritual of making the joint was more of a comfort than actually smoking it. Much like John's tea making ritual, he didn't realise it but it was the same. John wasn't so opposed to smoking grass, it wasn't cocaine after all and it was obvious he had partaken of it in his past. Maybe Sherlock could even get him to share the joint

timey-wimey-drew

John whimpered and bucked his hips. “Please, Sherlock…”

"I’m sorry. I didn’t know. But please, please, please, Sherlock.."

Sherlock lowered his head with a wicked grin and engulfed John’s erection in one swift swallow. He knew suppressing his gag reflex would pay off one day and it would appear, today is that day.

He hummed into John’s hard flesh, tonguing at the head, teasing the slit. With one hand he kneaded John’s balls, rolling them before squeezing and tugging lightly. Then he swallowed John down again.

timey-wimey-drew

John gasped when the tight heat of Sherlock’s mouth engulfed his erection. “Sherl—!” He bucked his hips up involuntarily. “Shit. Sorry!”

He moaned loudly and threw his head back, gripping Sherlock’s curls tightly as Sherlock played with his balls and tugged lightly.

#timey-wimey-drew #rp #johnlock #nsfw

The grip in Sherlock's hair was really very nice indeed. He started to think John could pull a lot harder when he remembered what he was doing. This was about making John come. He sucked harder and swallowed around John again, his fingers circling and pressing at John's hole.

John stiffened, right on the edge.

emmaph

John was moaning and grasping onto Sherlock’s shoulders with a desperate grip. “Oh god… Oh god… Ahhn… Sherlock… Oh fuck, right there!”

The angle was perfect with Sherlock up on his knees and John laid out before him. He took John’s cue and and thrust harder, faster, the sweat beginning to drip from his nose. He grasped John’s erection and stroked in time with the rhythm he’d established.

Each breath became a gasp for oxygen, they were both trembling and so very close.

emmaph

John’s entire body was tingling as Sherlock pounded into him, bringing him so close to the edge that the usual cool-headed army doctor could do nothing but beg for mercy and get his release.

It was obvious John was very close, despite his desire to make this last as long as possible, Sherlock really wanted to see John come. He altered his angle slightly, slowing down until he found the right spot. He knew he was on target when John jerked and groaned. Setting a more gentle pace, he added a twist to the upward stroke of his fist, running the pad of his thumb over the slit of John's rigid cock.

The third time he hit John's prostate, the muscles surrounding him clenched in waves. John face smoothed and relaxed, eyed closed, mouth open and he said Sherlock's name. It was that one word from John's mouth, in this moment that pulled Sherlock's release from him.

#emmaph #rp #nsfw

Scar

"Yes."

Sherlock nodded. He wasn’t sure he could manage more than single word sentences right now, he could still feel John on his lips, in his skin. He had an overwhelming need to be closer, it prickled at the back of his neck, like raw wool on sensitive flesh, it pushed him to do what his body was telling him to do. For once he let it override his brain.

Sherlock surged forward, his hands flying up to John’s face, one cupping his jaw, the other at the back of his head. His lips sealed over John’s and he kissed him with all the pent up passion of the last three years.

The floodgates had been opened and Sherlock was swept away by it. The feel of John’s lips under his own made his head spin and he wanted more of that heat, more of that slick skin, he needed to be closer. His tongue was inside John’s mouth, tasting him and he moaned, pushing ever forward, when John’s tongue slid hotly over his own.

The want washed over him, Sherlock couldn’t think, could barely breathe and his heart was hammering against his ribs. He had been steadily pushing forward, relentless in his need to be ever closer and John had suddenly stopped, as his back hit the kitchen wall.

The jolt caused them bounce against each other and this was when the realization that they were both shockingly hard, struck Sherlock. He stopped, reason returning for a moment, to pull in a lungful of air and possibly prepare to be punched. Then reason slapped him the face. John was hard.

John let out a gasp, the air was being slammed out of his lungs when Sherlock crashed into him. They had never been this close, John had never felt the hard outlines of Sherlock’s chest and torso against his, and he swore he could feel Sherlock’s hammering heart against his own ribcage.

His eyes flicked over Sherlock’s face who carried an expression of arousal and lust and passion and affection - and surprise. And that was when John realised that they both were enjoying this. A lot, in fact. He had become hard in a matter of seconds, and apparently, so had Sherlock.

'Oh Jesus,' he muttered, grabbing the back of Sherlock's head and pulling him into a hard, bruising kiss, all lips and teeth and tongues. He wanted to be closer, much, much closer, letting one hand travel to the small of Sherlock's back, pressing Sherlock against him with gentle force, moaning when Sherlock's crotch touched his again.

'Bloody hell,' John gasped, licking at Sherlock's upper lip, then his bottom one, marvelling at the small whimpers and moanes he was able to elicit from the detective. He wanted, God, he wanted him so badly. And to think that Sherlock Holmes wanted John just as much - that alone was nearly enough to throw him over the edge.

His trousers felt tighter by the second. ‘God, Sherlock’, he moaned between kisses, ‘the things you do to me.’ He loved this man so much, wnated nothing more to be with him, like this, forever. Following an instinct, he cupped Sherlock’s arse with one hand, pressing him closer, hips automatically bucking against Sherlock’s.

It wasn’t until Sherlock made a helpless sound - a moan? a surprised squeak? a plea for putting this to an end? - that John realised what he was doing there and quickly pulled away.

Heat went to his face, colouring his cheeks. ‘Christ, Sherlock, i’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have… I just couldn’t… you… God, I’m sorry.’ He was afraid that he had pushed Sherlock too far, done things he didn’t want. He needed to take this slow, he didn’t want to cock it up like yesterday.