![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
emmagrant01Back to Part A
*****
The first time, it was the sound of the shower that woke him up. The plumbing was much louder than usual, and it was a moment before he remembered he hadn't fallen asleep in his own bed. He smiled and drifted off to sleep again.
The second time, his body woke him. He opened his eyes. He would have loved to lie there and think of ways to get Sherlock to come back to bed, but his bladder was insistent. He pushed himself to sitting and winced.
Ow.
Sherlock hadn't been kidding. He smiled at the memory, though: it was worth it. He wondered how long it would be before they could do that again.
He stood and stretched and then pushed open the door to Sherlock's bedroom. Sherlock was sitting in a chair in the parlor, fully dressed, a cup raised to his lips. He froze when he saw John, his eyes wide. For a fraction of a second John thought he must look far more impressive in broad daylight than Sherlock had expected.
"Ah, good morning, John." Mycroft was sitting opposite Sherlock. He seemed completely nonplussed that John had just emerged from his brother's bedroom stark naked.
"Shit," John said, and turned around again. He closed Sherlock's door behind him and groaned. He still had to piss, but his clothes were out there somewhere, strewn about the parlor, assuming Sherlock hadn't tidied up. Oh, who was he kidding? Of course he hadn't. Not that it would have mattered; Mycroft would have figured out what had happened within two seconds of walking into the flat.
He briefly considered finding a container to piss in and hiding out in Sherlock's bed until Mycroft left. But hell, they were all grownups. Well, John was a grownup, at any rate, and there was nothing to be embarrassed about. He rifled through Sherlock's wardrobe until he found a tee shirt (who knew Sherlock even owned tee shirts?) and a pair of boxers. He put them on and was at least moderately presentable. He opened the bedroom door again.
"Good morning," he said with a curt wave and then disappeared into the bathroom. He stayed as long as he dared, but after he'd brushed his teeth and even flossed, he was either going to have to shave or shower to buy himself more time. He stared at his reflection in the mirror for a moment. Best to get it over with.
He crossed to the sofa, pleased to see Sherlock had set out an extra cup for him. He took it and sat on the sofa, remembering too late that he needed to be careful with that particular end of his body. He clenched his jaw and shifted, and tried valiantly to smile at the two faces that were staring at him.
Mycroft raised his eyebrows and glanced pointedly at Sherlock, who smirked and looked away.
John only barely resisted the urge to flip them both off. "Nice to see you again, Mycroft."
"I understand congratulations are in order," Mycroft continued, as casually as if he was discussing the weather.
John glanced at Sherlock, whose expression clearly said, ignore him. John forced a smile. "Is that what brings you around on a Friday morning, or is there something else going on?"
"Oh, this is a purely social visit. You two have been rather busy of late and I simply wanted to drop by and see how you both were."
"He wanted to know if we were shagging yet or still dancing around each other," Sherlock said.
John coughed, having chosen precisely the wrong moment to take a sip of tea.
"I didn't put it quite so crudely," Mycroft said, "but essentially, yes. Sherlock hasn't returned my calls."
"I never return your calls."
"No, you generally send a text telling me to bugger off, thereby assuring me that you are in fact alive and well. Hearing nothing from you is rather unusual."
"You knew exactly where we were and what we were doing."
"Forgive me for being concerned that you were not only behaving very unusually, but also ignoring multiple opportunities to insult my concern for you."
"Don't take it personally, "John said. "He even turned down a serial murder case last week."
Mycroft's tea cup paused midway to his mouth and he turned to gape at Sherlock. "You actually are in love, aren't you?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes, though the tint of his cheeks tempered the expression into something almost adorable. Mycroft turned back to John with an incredulous expression. John shrugged.
Mycroft set the tea cup back in the saucer and sat back in the chair. "Well, this is perhaps a good time to mention a certain borrowed membership card."
Sherlock sighed. "Yes, of course. I'd assumed you'd want it back as soon as possible."
"I don't," Mycroft said, and Sherlock and John exchanged a glance of surprise. "Keep it, at least for now. It isn't the only such institution of which I am a member, after all. Feel free to keep it as long as you like." He smiled magnanimously.
"Thank you," John said.
"Oh, don't thank him," Sherlock spat. "This way he can continue to spy on us."
"I regret that I have to resort to covert means to maintain a presence in your life." Mycroft's voice had taken on that pleasant tone that meant he was imagining strangling his brother in his sleep. "But more to the point, my aim is actually a practical one. I am a member of three private clubs in London that cater to, shall we say, a variety of interests. You are welcome to borrow my membership credentials to any of them whenever you wish -- one at a time, of course. Left to your own devices, I'm sure you'd find a way into to each of them eventually, which could lead to a rather embarrassing incident I'd prefer to avoid."
John had once again made the mistake of taking a sip of tea. He sputtered and set the cup back on the saucer, and pushed it out of his reach.
Mycroft gave him a long look before continuing. "I am, of course, very supportive of your relationship and am happy for you both. So please consider it a gift."
"Thank you," John said again, with a pointed look at Sherlock. "We sincerely appreciate it." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Well I appreciate it, at any rate." He smiled at Mycroft.
"Yes, of course." Mycroft stood and refastened the button on his suit jacket. "Well then, I imagine you've things to do this morning, so I'll be on my way."
John bit his lip trying not to grin at the attempt at innuendo. Sherlock grimaced as if the comment had actually caused him physical pain. John walked Mycroft down the stairs to the front door.
"Thanks," he said, holding out a hand. "He does appreciate it, even if he can't say as much."
Mycroft took his hand and shook it firmly. "I know." He looked for a moment as if he wanted to say something more, but instead he smiled tightly and opened the door. John closed it behind him and leaned back against it, grinning.
Three sex clubs. And to think they'd only explored one so far. Fuck.
He dashed up the stairs and into the parlor. Sherlock was staring out the window, apparently having watched his brother leave in his usual extravagant-limousined fashion. John crossed to him and wrapped his arms around him from behind.
"So Mycroft approves."
"I don't require his approval for anything."
John smiled into his shoulder. "That's not the point. He's your brother."
"Would your sister approve?"
"It's none of her business."
"Precisely."
"But your brother could make our lives fairly difficult if he didn't approve."
"I suppose." Sherlock's tone indicated he resented having to concede the point.
John brushed his nose against Sherlock's shoulder and tightened his embrace. He wasn't sure when he'd get used to being able to do this whenever he wanted. Sherlock pressed back against him and a curl of desire flared in John's belly. Jesus, he was insatiable. It was glorious.
"Want to try something?"
Sherlock's hands smoothed over his own. "What did you have in mind?"
John turned him around and kissed him for a solid minute, only pulling back once he felt the beginning of an erection pressing into his hip. "Strip. I'll be right back."
Sherlock stared at him as he crossed back to the bedroom, but by the time John had returned with the tube of lube, he was stepping out of his pants.
John set the lube on a side table and took Sherlock's hand. He led him to the sofa and kissed him again before dropping to his knees. He teased Sherlock's dick with his tongue at first, finally taking it in his mouth when it was completely hard. God, he loved this feeling of firm flesh against his tongue -- he could do this all day. In fact, he should consider trying to keep Sherlock from coming for as long as possible. He wondered how long he could go before Sherlock finally lost control and just fucked his mouth. Rough.
Shit, he was getting distracted.
Sherlock groaned and stroked John's head. "I'm not complaining… oh, God, that's amazing… but this isn't exactly new."
"Not yet. Come down here." Sherlock knelt and John pushed the boxers off before taking both their cocks in hand and stroking them together.
Sherlock leaned in to kiss his neck. "That's nice too, though I think I prefer your mouth."
"Funny you should say that. Turn around."
Sherlock blinked at him for a full second before his eyes widened slightly. Without another word, he shifted on his knees so that his back was to John.
"And over, there you go." John pushed between his shoulder blades and smiled as Sherlock pressed his chest into the sofa. John ran his hands down Sherlock's back and settled right behind him. He nudged Sherlock's knees apart and smoothed his hands over his arse, and grinned at the flush that was spreading across Sherlock's body. His balls hung heavily between his thighs and John paused to cup them in one hand and tug gently. He wondered what they would feel like in his mouth.
Sherlock's thighs spread a bit farther apart and John groaned. "You're so fucking hot like this," he whispered. His hands moved back up to Sherlock's arse and squeezed. Oh, he was going to enjoy this. Possibly even more than Sherlock.
John leaned forward and bit his arse playfully, and Sherlock jumped.
"Just checking." He ran his thumbs down the crack of his arse and pressed the cheeks apart, and Sherlock made a sound like a whimper.
It was amazing that just a few short weeks ago this was something that hadn't been on his radar at all, but ever since it had been done to him, he'd wanted to try it on someone else. He leaned forward and trailed his tongue from the top of the cleft down, slowly, teasingly. He felt Sherlock tense beneath him as he got close to his arsehole, and grow even tenser when he skipped over to flutter his tongue just below. He circled the hole with flicks of his tongue for a torturously long time, his own cock aching in sympathy, and then finally spiraled in. When John's tongue pressed delicately into the center of his hole, Sherlock's legs nearly went out from under him.
"Oh my God… Oh God."
That was the reaction he'd hoped for, certainly. He lapped at his arsehole gently at first and increased the pace slowly. Sherlock seemed to be struggling not to squirm and the sounds he was making were less coherent by the minute. John tensed his tongue and pressed the tip into him as best he could, moving in and out with small movements to work him open slowly.
"Oh fuck, John" was the only thing he could understand in the string of words that came out of Sherlock's mouth as he slowly fucked him open with his tongue. Sherlock seemed to be pushing back against him and John was surprised at how far inside his body his tongue could go. The skin just inside him was slick and soft, and God it was incredibly weird and filthy that he not only had his tongue up Sherlock's arse but also that he liked it. John wondered if he could make him come just from this. He pressed his lips around the hole and that helped him work his tongue even deeper. He focused on stroking it in and curling the tip of his tongue just a bit on the way out again.
Sherlock was incoherent now; he'd turned out to be surprisingly vocal when he liked something, to John's pleasant surprise. Drawing that reaction from him was amazing and John wanted to see more. He wanted to see him come undone. He wanted to make him beg. He wanted so many things that it was almost overwhelming.
His jaw was finally starting to ache and he sat back a bit reluctantly. He reached for the lube and squirted some on his fingers, then worked two into Sherlock's body. There was almost no resistance, not that he was surprised. Sherlock groaned again, boneless against the sofa. John leaned over him to place kisses along his spine.
"Is this okay?"
"As long as you're planning to fuck me, yes." Sherlock's voice was slightly muffled by the sofa, and John grinned.
He'd planned to take his time with this part, to work out exactly what Sherlock liked, but less than a minute later Sherlock was squirming again.
"I'm good, I'm good, just… please."
"Right," John said, and slicked his cock as quickly as he could. "Here, off the sofa." He tugged at Sherlock's hips and positioned him on his hands and knees, facing the window. "Just tell me if--"
"Oh, God, just fuck me already!"
John couldn't resist smacking his backside while he got into position. "Cheeky, aren't you?"
"Why, do you like it?" There was a definite smirk in his voice.
John grinned. "Save it for later." He pressed the head of his cock against Sherlock's arsehole and moved forward as slowly as he could manage. Sherlock made a strangled sound and John stopped. "Tell me if-"
Sherlock pressed back against him almost immediately. "No, keep going, it's fine. It's amazing." His voice was tight, but John decided to take him at his word.
John exhaled and pushed forward slowly until he was all the way in. He smoothed a hand over Sherlock's back and groaned. "Oh fuck, you feel good." It felt different than it had with Ryan, and not just because there was no condom. He supposed that shouldn't surprise him. "Can I--?"
"Oh God, if you don't start moving now--"
He started slowly, searching for the right angle. Somewhere he heard a phone ringing -- Sherlock's phone. Sherlock either hadn't heard it or was ignoring it.
"Head down," he said and pushed at Sherlock's shoulder. "Sorry about the floor."
"Don't care. Just… oh, fuck, that's..."
He'd apparently found the right angle. He stroked in and out slowly, watching Sherlock's response. This was about the point when he'd wanted to be fucked into the mattress, but he had no idea what Sherlock might want.
Another phone rang -- his this time -- and he swore, momentarily distracted. "That's got to be Lestrade. No one else would try both of us."
"Don't stop, don't you dare."
"God, no. Whatever it is, it'll wait ten minutes." More like three minutes, honestly. He wasn't going to be able to keep this up much longer. "Oh, fuck, this is good. Tell me what you need."
"Like that, like that, a bit harder… yes, ahh…" Harder he could definitely do. Sherlock rapidly lost the ability to form words after that, and John wasn't far behind him.
He had to struggle not to lose himself in the drive to pound into the body beneath him. He could hardly believe they were doing this, weeks after he'd first let himself fantasize about it, and it was even better than he'd imagined. The friction and heat were perfect and he was so close now, so close he was starting to worry he wasn't going to be able to make Sherlock come like this.
Something brushed his thigh and he realized it was Sherlock's hand, that he was pulling himself off. John grasped his hips and leaned over him as best he could without losing his balance, and drove into him hard. The strain of the position pulled him back from the edge just enough.
Sherlock's hand stilled and John felt his body tense, and Sherlock pushed back into him, swearing loudly. John leaned over him and pressed his forehead against Sherlock's back, struggling to keep moving. Just the sound of Sherlock's voice as he came was nearly enough to push John over the edge, and the feeling of his arse contracting was glorious. When he was certain Sherlock was done John finally allowed himself to be selfish and fucked him with quick shallow thrusts, pressure right where he needed it.
"Oh God, you're perfect, that's so--" The rest dissolved into a shout as he pushed in as far as he could, toppling both of them onto the floor. They lay in a panting heap for half a minute before John could manage to move again. He pulled out slowly and patted Sherlock's side in sympathy when he flinched. "Sorry. Got a bit enthusiastic there at the end."
"No, it was perfect." Sherlock pushed himself to sitting and grimaced at the floor. "This will need cleaning."
"I'll take care of it." John stretched and smiled up at him. "When I can move again."
Sherlock leaned down to kiss him and John pulled him down on top of him. "We should definitely use the bed next time. My knees are going to hurt for days."
"Only your knees?"
"Among other things." Sherlock shifted onto his side. "Though I have to say that was far more pleasant than I expected. I remember it being more of a pain-turning-into-pleasure thing, but that didn't hurt at all."
John smiled for a moment, and then his eyes narrowed as a thought occurred to him. "Hang on. What are you saying?"
Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "Nothing. I--" His cheeks flushed. "Oh, God, no. Not that. I love your penis; don't you dare insult it."
"My penis loves you too." John felt his cheeks heat and he smiled.
"I think it was the rimming, actually."
"I didn't realize you knew that word."
"I know quite a few words that might surprise you."
John grinned at him. "Such as?"
Sherlock leaned forward and kissed John very softly, and whispered, "I--"
The sound of the door buzzer below startled them both.
Sherlock groaned and pressed his face into John's shoulder. "I have never been less enthusiastic to talk to a client."
"We can tell them to come back later. Leave a number."
"We could pretend we're not here." Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
John grinned and kissed him. The buzzer sounded twice more and they ignored it. Sherlock's tongue trailed across the inside of John's upper lip. John caught it and sucked on the tip of it suggestively, and Sherlock whimpered. John wondered how long it would be before either of them would be ready to go again. He should be satiated after that, but somehow he wasn't. He wanted more, to lie in bed all day and touch, kiss, suck, play. He'd felt this way a few times before in his life, but it had been a long time.
He really was in love. It was fantastic.
There were footsteps on the stairs, and they pulled away from each other and scrambled to their feet.
"Shit shit shit," John hissed as he plucked Sherlock's boxers from the floor and pulled them on.
There was a knock on the door and a voice behind it called out, "Sherlock? John?"
"Just a moment, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said. He nearly fell over pulling his trousers up, and John burst out laughing.
"This is ridiculous!" he whispered as he pulled the tee shirt back over his head.
"That's one word for it." Sherlock plucked his shirt from the floor.
"Are you all right?" Mrs. Hudson called from behind the door. "Inspector Lestrade is here and he seems concerned about you. Says you haven't been answering his calls."
John headed for the door with a glance back at Sherlock, who was frantically buttoning his shirt. He nodded.
John took a deep breath and unbolted the door, then opened it enough to stick his head out. "Hi. Good morning." Mrs. Hudson looked startled and took a step back. He must look even more debauched than he'd thought. He smiled at Greg, whose face had gone a bit pale.
"Well, then. See? He's just fine. Is Sherlock fine?"
John grinned. "Absolutely fine." Greg shot John an incredulous look from behind her shoulder. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson."
She nodded and turned, heading back down the stairs.
John opened the door wider and gestured Greg in with a tight smile.
"Sorry," Greg said, his cheeks flushing now. "It's just that… well, Sherlock always answers or texts or--"
"Not anymore, apparently. You may as well come in."
Greg looked torn between walking through the door and turning on his heel and fleeing, but he nodded. His eyes widened when he saw Sherlock. John turned and almost laughed. Sherlock looked utterly debauched: he'd misbuttoned his shirt and it hung at an awkward angle, and his hair was… well. John grinned at him.
"Yes, we were shagging," Sherlock said, hands on his hips. He looked a bit like an angry puppy. "You interrupted."
"Well, technically were we done," John said.
"For the moment. But I was going to--"
"Too much information, lads." Greg's face was as red as John had ever seen it. "I can come back later. It wasn't all that urgent."
"Which explains why you came over to check on us personally and had our landlady let you in when we didn't answer?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
"I was concerned, for fuck's sake. I called you last night and again twice this morning, with no response. I sent half a dozen texts, all of which you ignored. I thought maybe you'd gone and done something stupid on your own with this case and--"
"Clearly not," Sherlock said. "But if we had done, it would hardly have been stupid."
"Considering what we're dealing with, yes; it could have been a disaster."
"Well, happily for Scotland Yard we were otherwise occupied." Oh lovely: Sherlock was in full sarcasm mode now. John groaned and pressed at the bridge of his nose with his fingertips. Seriously, what was it with these two?
"And since when do you not even respond to a bloody text message? I don't know what's got into you lately but--" Greg broke off and pressed a hand to his forehead. "Oh, God, I didn't mean it like that."
"Ironically, that actually is the reason," John said, unable to keep himself from smirking. "Both of you, shut up and sit down. I'll make coffee."
Five minutes later Sherlock had straightened out his clothes and Greg was able to look at them both without blushing, and everyone had a cup of coffee in hand. John sat on the sofa next to Sherlock and felt weirdly, deliriously happy.
"At any rate, we're proceeding well with the human trafficking case. There was another raid last night and we have leads on several more locations. The people we've arrested so far have been surprisingly cooperative."
"There are things worse than cooperating with the police, I imagine," Sherlock said.
"Such as being thrown into the general prison population as a known child sex offender?" John added.
"Yes, there is that," Greg said. "Funny how a quick reminder of that fact encourages people to talk."
"It sounds like you have it all under control, then," Sherlock said. "What do you need us for?"
John turned to look at him; bored was written all over his face. He'd worked out the mystery of the brands and all that was left was to catch all the baddies. Sherlock had little patience for the actual cops and robbers part of the operation; if there was no puzzle left to work out, no intellectual game to play, he was done.
"This is starting to look bigger than we'd first imagined. We're on our way to arresting everyone we can track down in England, but the network is international. At some point we'll need to include other government agencies."
"I think you're talking to the wrong Holmes." Even his tone screamed bored now. John pressed an elbow into his side and hoped he took it as a hint to behave.
"What makes you think I haven't talked to him already? Your strength is analysis, Sherlock. You can look at all the information and see patterns no one else can. You can tell us where to start, and that will give us a tremendous advantage when we have to begin negotiating with foreign law enforcement agencies."
John raised his eyebrows at Greg. Flattering Sherlock was a bit like stroking a cat. Sometimes it got you a purr and sometimes it got you lacerated. John waited to see which it would be this time.
Sherlock looked thoughtful and nodded. "All right."
"Good." Greg's lips twisted into a smile. "If you could come down to the Yard this afternoon, I'd appreciate it."
Sherlock looked at John, and John shrugged. "Apparently we're in."
He felt a hand on his back, fingers tracing the outline of his vertebrae. John curled into the touch and smiled. He wasn't sure if Sherlock thought John needed it or if he just wanted to touch him, but either way it was nice. When it started to tickle, John leaned into him and Sherlock's arm went around his shoulders. Oh, he could get used to this.
Greg's gaze flicked over to Sherlock and back to John again. He smiled. "Around two, then?"
"We'll be there," John replied.
Greg set the coffee cup on the sofa table and stood. "Try not to look quite so well-fucked when you turn up. I don't need my people distracted right now."
John grinned.
*****
"Before we go, can we talk about this?" John leaned against the doorway watched Sherlock button his shirt. His hair was still damp from the shower -- the shower they'd both managed to squeeze into. John's eyes glazed over at the memory of Sherlock on his knees, sucking John's cock while hot water poured down over them both. Jesus, the things he could do with his tongue.
"About what?"
He was getting distracted again. "What exactly are we doing? I mean, we're a couple now, and I'm assuming we're not going to keep it a secret. Well, unless you want to. Do you want to? Because--"
"Why would we keep it a secret?"
John shrugged. "Well… Some people might not be very accepting. It could hurt the business, I suppose."
Sherlock frowned. "Everyone thinks we're a couple anyway, don't they? It hasn't hurt us yet."
"No. Then it won't be a secret. Good." John paused. "So… are we going to keep going to the club, or…?"
"I don't see why not. It's a bit annoying that Mycroft insists on being involved, but--" He paused. "Are you suggesting we stop going?"
"Oh God, no. I want to keep… pushing things. I like it. Is that what you want?"
Sherlock's expression grew heated and John felt a twinge in his belly. Again? Jesus, he felt like he was eighteen.
"I think I've already detailed the list of things I want. One of the other clubs Mycroft belongs to is well suited for some of the more… interesting ones."
John flushed. "Interesting?"
Sherlock stared at him a moment more and then looked away. He cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should discuss the details later."
John's lips twisted as he tried not to grin. It was good to know he wasn't the only one in a constant state of arousal today. "All right. Since we're going to keep doing this, I think we should agree on some ground rules."
"Such as?"
"Commitment. Are we exclusive? I mean, outside the clubs?"
Sherlock's face clouded for a moment. "What do you want?"
"I want to be with you. I have no interest in pursuing anyone else. I didn't even like the idea of choosing someone last night, to be honest."
"All right. But…"
"But when we go out, we do the dom/sub thing. You can share me, control me, use me -- I'm fine with that. I like it, you know I do. Mostly I like knowing that how much it turns you on. But at home--"
"At home it's just us. Yes, that works." Sherlock turned to the mirror and ran fingers through his hair.
John exhaled. "So… Is this power thing going to always be… I mean, for example, am I going to share you?"
Sherlock's eyes met his in the mirror. "Do you want to?"
John hesitated. "I like the idea in theory. In reality I'm not sure. What do you want?"
Sherlock's eyes were locked on his. "For now, I don't want anyone but you."
John crossed to him and wrapped his arms around him from behind, pressing his forehead against his shoulder. "And if one of us changes his mind?"
"We can discuss it." Sherlock turned in his arms and kissed him. "As I said before, everything is a possibility. I have no frame of reference for a healthy romantic relationship. And frankly, I'm not sure what that would even mean for me. As long as we're honest with each other, it will be fine."
John smiled. It was incredibly freeing to think that this didn't have to be anything, didn't have to follow any prescribed pattern. They could make it whatever they wanted. God, the possibilities. He'd always thought he'd eventually meet a woman, get married, have children -- but there was no reason it had to be that way. The future seemed far more open right now than it had in a long time. Anything was possible.
He was tempted to let his hands drift down over Sherlock's arse, but they were probably going to be late as it was and that would hardly help matters. "Do you want to go out tonight? Assuming we don't end up chasing criminals halfway across Europe unexpectedly, of course."
"Do you?"
John pursed his lips. "No, not really. I'd honestly rather spend this weekend in bed with you, only leaving it when we absolutely have to." John nuzzled his neck. "Maybe next weekend?"
"Or the one following that." Sherlock's lips pressed against his forehead and trailed down his temple before moving over to one ear. "There's no rush. I was thinking of starting a new spreadsheet, actually--"
More experimenting -- John found the idea oddly exciting. "If we don't leave right now, all of these clothes are going to have to come off again."
"Not necessarily. We could--"
"No, we're expected." John reluctantly took a step back. "Ready?"
"Yes."
They pulled on their coats and walked down the stairs. Sherlock paused with his hand on the door and turned back to John.
"What?" John asked.
Sherlock smiled and pulled him close. "I love you, you know," he whispered.
John smiled. "I do. And I enjoy hearing it, so say it as often as you like."
Sherlock kissed him and John worked his arms into Sherlock's coat, snuggling in close. Oh God, they were never going to make it out the door, were they? They might as well give up, tell Greg that they'd have to come in on Monday instead.
He could imagine the text already: Regrets for this afternoon -- something's come up. For the third time that morning. He smirked.
"Oh, you two," they heard behind them. John whirled around to see Mrs. Hudson shaking her head at them. "I'd have thought you had enough last night, and again this morning."
John gaped at her. "What?"
Sherlock snickered behind his shoulder and John elbowed him in the stomach.
"The walls are quite thin. Do keep it in mind. I'll have to get one of those noise machines, most likely." She gave them a long-suffering sigh and disappeared back into her flat.
"Oh my God," John said. "Did that actually just happen?"
Sherlock grinned and opened the door. "Let's go." He walked out into the shockingly bright sunshine, his dark coat billowing after him. John paused a moment more as his eyes adjusted to the light. God, blue cloudless skies in London -- what else would this day bring?
Sherlock's magical ability to produce a taxi from thin air worked yet again, and he spoke to the driver before opening the door and gesturing John inside.
John slid across the seat and looked out the window. Sherlock settled beside him and the cab pulled away from the kerb. John felt something brush his hand and looked over to see it that it was Sherlock's fingers. Sherlock was looking out the opposite window, already lost in thought.
John took his hand and intertwined their fingers, and Sherlock squeezed back.
John smiled.
*****
FIN
End Notes: Thank you to everyone who read this story as a WIP, who fed me incredibly insightful and encouraging comments on a weekly basis, and who patiently waited as it kept getting longer and longer. This is the longest fic I've written in six years, and I sincerely appreciate your indulgence and support as I posted what is essentially a souped-up PWP over the course of two months.
In case some of you care to indulge me a bit more, I have fallen head over heels for these particular characters and this little universe, and I have plans to write more. :-)
As always, comments sincerely appreciated!
EDIT: OMG, these comments! I am completely floored. *♥ everyone*
Read alternate and missing scenes
*****
The first time, it was the sound of the shower that woke him up. The plumbing was much louder than usual, and it was a moment before he remembered he hadn't fallen asleep in his own bed. He smiled and drifted off to sleep again.
The second time, his body woke him. He opened his eyes. He would have loved to lie there and think of ways to get Sherlock to come back to bed, but his bladder was insistent. He pushed himself to sitting and winced.
Ow.
Sherlock hadn't been kidding. He smiled at the memory, though: it was worth it. He wondered how long it would be before they could do that again.
He stood and stretched and then pushed open the door to Sherlock's bedroom. Sherlock was sitting in a chair in the parlor, fully dressed, a cup raised to his lips. He froze when he saw John, his eyes wide. For a fraction of a second John thought he must look far more impressive in broad daylight than Sherlock had expected.
"Ah, good morning, John." Mycroft was sitting opposite Sherlock. He seemed completely nonplussed that John had just emerged from his brother's bedroom stark naked.
"Shit," John said, and turned around again. He closed Sherlock's door behind him and groaned. He still had to piss, but his clothes were out there somewhere, strewn about the parlor, assuming Sherlock hadn't tidied up. Oh, who was he kidding? Of course he hadn't. Not that it would have mattered; Mycroft would have figured out what had happened within two seconds of walking into the flat.
He briefly considered finding a container to piss in and hiding out in Sherlock's bed until Mycroft left. But hell, they were all grownups. Well, John was a grownup, at any rate, and there was nothing to be embarrassed about. He rifled through Sherlock's wardrobe until he found a tee shirt (who knew Sherlock even owned tee shirts?) and a pair of boxers. He put them on and was at least moderately presentable. He opened the bedroom door again.
"Good morning," he said with a curt wave and then disappeared into the bathroom. He stayed as long as he dared, but after he'd brushed his teeth and even flossed, he was either going to have to shave or shower to buy himself more time. He stared at his reflection in the mirror for a moment. Best to get it over with.
He crossed to the sofa, pleased to see Sherlock had set out an extra cup for him. He took it and sat on the sofa, remembering too late that he needed to be careful with that particular end of his body. He clenched his jaw and shifted, and tried valiantly to smile at the two faces that were staring at him.
Mycroft raised his eyebrows and glanced pointedly at Sherlock, who smirked and looked away.
John only barely resisted the urge to flip them both off. "Nice to see you again, Mycroft."
"I understand congratulations are in order," Mycroft continued, as casually as if he was discussing the weather.
John glanced at Sherlock, whose expression clearly said, ignore him. John forced a smile. "Is that what brings you around on a Friday morning, or is there something else going on?"
"Oh, this is a purely social visit. You two have been rather busy of late and I simply wanted to drop by and see how you both were."
"He wanted to know if we were shagging yet or still dancing around each other," Sherlock said.
John coughed, having chosen precisely the wrong moment to take a sip of tea.
"I didn't put it quite so crudely," Mycroft said, "but essentially, yes. Sherlock hasn't returned my calls."
"I never return your calls."
"No, you generally send a text telling me to bugger off, thereby assuring me that you are in fact alive and well. Hearing nothing from you is rather unusual."
"You knew exactly where we were and what we were doing."
"Forgive me for being concerned that you were not only behaving very unusually, but also ignoring multiple opportunities to insult my concern for you."
"Don't take it personally, "John said. "He even turned down a serial murder case last week."
Mycroft's tea cup paused midway to his mouth and he turned to gape at Sherlock. "You actually are in love, aren't you?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes, though the tint of his cheeks tempered the expression into something almost adorable. Mycroft turned back to John with an incredulous expression. John shrugged.
Mycroft set the tea cup back in the saucer and sat back in the chair. "Well, this is perhaps a good time to mention a certain borrowed membership card."
Sherlock sighed. "Yes, of course. I'd assumed you'd want it back as soon as possible."
"I don't," Mycroft said, and Sherlock and John exchanged a glance of surprise. "Keep it, at least for now. It isn't the only such institution of which I am a member, after all. Feel free to keep it as long as you like." He smiled magnanimously.
"Thank you," John said.
"Oh, don't thank him," Sherlock spat. "This way he can continue to spy on us."
"I regret that I have to resort to covert means to maintain a presence in your life." Mycroft's voice had taken on that pleasant tone that meant he was imagining strangling his brother in his sleep. "But more to the point, my aim is actually a practical one. I am a member of three private clubs in London that cater to, shall we say, a variety of interests. You are welcome to borrow my membership credentials to any of them whenever you wish -- one at a time, of course. Left to your own devices, I'm sure you'd find a way into to each of them eventually, which could lead to a rather embarrassing incident I'd prefer to avoid."
John had once again made the mistake of taking a sip of tea. He sputtered and set the cup back on the saucer, and pushed it out of his reach.
Mycroft gave him a long look before continuing. "I am, of course, very supportive of your relationship and am happy for you both. So please consider it a gift."
"Thank you," John said again, with a pointed look at Sherlock. "We sincerely appreciate it." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Well I appreciate it, at any rate." He smiled at Mycroft.
"Yes, of course." Mycroft stood and refastened the button on his suit jacket. "Well then, I imagine you've things to do this morning, so I'll be on my way."
John bit his lip trying not to grin at the attempt at innuendo. Sherlock grimaced as if the comment had actually caused him physical pain. John walked Mycroft down the stairs to the front door.
"Thanks," he said, holding out a hand. "He does appreciate it, even if he can't say as much."
Mycroft took his hand and shook it firmly. "I know." He looked for a moment as if he wanted to say something more, but instead he smiled tightly and opened the door. John closed it behind him and leaned back against it, grinning.
Three sex clubs. And to think they'd only explored one so far. Fuck.
He dashed up the stairs and into the parlor. Sherlock was staring out the window, apparently having watched his brother leave in his usual extravagant-limousined fashion. John crossed to him and wrapped his arms around him from behind.
"So Mycroft approves."
"I don't require his approval for anything."
John smiled into his shoulder. "That's not the point. He's your brother."
"Would your sister approve?"
"It's none of her business."
"Precisely."
"But your brother could make our lives fairly difficult if he didn't approve."
"I suppose." Sherlock's tone indicated he resented having to concede the point.
John brushed his nose against Sherlock's shoulder and tightened his embrace. He wasn't sure when he'd get used to being able to do this whenever he wanted. Sherlock pressed back against him and a curl of desire flared in John's belly. Jesus, he was insatiable. It was glorious.
"Want to try something?"
Sherlock's hands smoothed over his own. "What did you have in mind?"
John turned him around and kissed him for a solid minute, only pulling back once he felt the beginning of an erection pressing into his hip. "Strip. I'll be right back."
Sherlock stared at him as he crossed back to the bedroom, but by the time John had returned with the tube of lube, he was stepping out of his pants.
John set the lube on a side table and took Sherlock's hand. He led him to the sofa and kissed him again before dropping to his knees. He teased Sherlock's dick with his tongue at first, finally taking it in his mouth when it was completely hard. God, he loved this feeling of firm flesh against his tongue -- he could do this all day. In fact, he should consider trying to keep Sherlock from coming for as long as possible. He wondered how long he could go before Sherlock finally lost control and just fucked his mouth. Rough.
Shit, he was getting distracted.
Sherlock groaned and stroked John's head. "I'm not complaining… oh, God, that's amazing… but this isn't exactly new."
"Not yet. Come down here." Sherlock knelt and John pushed the boxers off before taking both their cocks in hand and stroking them together.
Sherlock leaned in to kiss his neck. "That's nice too, though I think I prefer your mouth."
"Funny you should say that. Turn around."
Sherlock blinked at him for a full second before his eyes widened slightly. Without another word, he shifted on his knees so that his back was to John.
"And over, there you go." John pushed between his shoulder blades and smiled as Sherlock pressed his chest into the sofa. John ran his hands down Sherlock's back and settled right behind him. He nudged Sherlock's knees apart and smoothed his hands over his arse, and grinned at the flush that was spreading across Sherlock's body. His balls hung heavily between his thighs and John paused to cup them in one hand and tug gently. He wondered what they would feel like in his mouth.
Sherlock's thighs spread a bit farther apart and John groaned. "You're so fucking hot like this," he whispered. His hands moved back up to Sherlock's arse and squeezed. Oh, he was going to enjoy this. Possibly even more than Sherlock.
John leaned forward and bit his arse playfully, and Sherlock jumped.
"Just checking." He ran his thumbs down the crack of his arse and pressed the cheeks apart, and Sherlock made a sound like a whimper.
It was amazing that just a few short weeks ago this was something that hadn't been on his radar at all, but ever since it had been done to him, he'd wanted to try it on someone else. He leaned forward and trailed his tongue from the top of the cleft down, slowly, teasingly. He felt Sherlock tense beneath him as he got close to his arsehole, and grow even tenser when he skipped over to flutter his tongue just below. He circled the hole with flicks of his tongue for a torturously long time, his own cock aching in sympathy, and then finally spiraled in. When John's tongue pressed delicately into the center of his hole, Sherlock's legs nearly went out from under him.
"Oh my God… Oh God."
That was the reaction he'd hoped for, certainly. He lapped at his arsehole gently at first and increased the pace slowly. Sherlock seemed to be struggling not to squirm and the sounds he was making were less coherent by the minute. John tensed his tongue and pressed the tip into him as best he could, moving in and out with small movements to work him open slowly.
"Oh fuck, John" was the only thing he could understand in the string of words that came out of Sherlock's mouth as he slowly fucked him open with his tongue. Sherlock seemed to be pushing back against him and John was surprised at how far inside his body his tongue could go. The skin just inside him was slick and soft, and God it was incredibly weird and filthy that he not only had his tongue up Sherlock's arse but also that he liked it. John wondered if he could make him come just from this. He pressed his lips around the hole and that helped him work his tongue even deeper. He focused on stroking it in and curling the tip of his tongue just a bit on the way out again.
Sherlock was incoherent now; he'd turned out to be surprisingly vocal when he liked something, to John's pleasant surprise. Drawing that reaction from him was amazing and John wanted to see more. He wanted to see him come undone. He wanted to make him beg. He wanted so many things that it was almost overwhelming.
His jaw was finally starting to ache and he sat back a bit reluctantly. He reached for the lube and squirted some on his fingers, then worked two into Sherlock's body. There was almost no resistance, not that he was surprised. Sherlock groaned again, boneless against the sofa. John leaned over him to place kisses along his spine.
"Is this okay?"
"As long as you're planning to fuck me, yes." Sherlock's voice was slightly muffled by the sofa, and John grinned.
He'd planned to take his time with this part, to work out exactly what Sherlock liked, but less than a minute later Sherlock was squirming again.
"I'm good, I'm good, just… please."
"Right," John said, and slicked his cock as quickly as he could. "Here, off the sofa." He tugged at Sherlock's hips and positioned him on his hands and knees, facing the window. "Just tell me if--"
"Oh, God, just fuck me already!"
John couldn't resist smacking his backside while he got into position. "Cheeky, aren't you?"
"Why, do you like it?" There was a definite smirk in his voice.
John grinned. "Save it for later." He pressed the head of his cock against Sherlock's arsehole and moved forward as slowly as he could manage. Sherlock made a strangled sound and John stopped. "Tell me if-"
Sherlock pressed back against him almost immediately. "No, keep going, it's fine. It's amazing." His voice was tight, but John decided to take him at his word.
John exhaled and pushed forward slowly until he was all the way in. He smoothed a hand over Sherlock's back and groaned. "Oh fuck, you feel good." It felt different than it had with Ryan, and not just because there was no condom. He supposed that shouldn't surprise him. "Can I--?"
"Oh God, if you don't start moving now--"
He started slowly, searching for the right angle. Somewhere he heard a phone ringing -- Sherlock's phone. Sherlock either hadn't heard it or was ignoring it.
"Head down," he said and pushed at Sherlock's shoulder. "Sorry about the floor."
"Don't care. Just… oh, fuck, that's..."
He'd apparently found the right angle. He stroked in and out slowly, watching Sherlock's response. This was about the point when he'd wanted to be fucked into the mattress, but he had no idea what Sherlock might want.
Another phone rang -- his this time -- and he swore, momentarily distracted. "That's got to be Lestrade. No one else would try both of us."
"Don't stop, don't you dare."
"God, no. Whatever it is, it'll wait ten minutes." More like three minutes, honestly. He wasn't going to be able to keep this up much longer. "Oh, fuck, this is good. Tell me what you need."
"Like that, like that, a bit harder… yes, ahh…" Harder he could definitely do. Sherlock rapidly lost the ability to form words after that, and John wasn't far behind him.
He had to struggle not to lose himself in the drive to pound into the body beneath him. He could hardly believe they were doing this, weeks after he'd first let himself fantasize about it, and it was even better than he'd imagined. The friction and heat were perfect and he was so close now, so close he was starting to worry he wasn't going to be able to make Sherlock come like this.
Something brushed his thigh and he realized it was Sherlock's hand, that he was pulling himself off. John grasped his hips and leaned over him as best he could without losing his balance, and drove into him hard. The strain of the position pulled him back from the edge just enough.
Sherlock's hand stilled and John felt his body tense, and Sherlock pushed back into him, swearing loudly. John leaned over him and pressed his forehead against Sherlock's back, struggling to keep moving. Just the sound of Sherlock's voice as he came was nearly enough to push John over the edge, and the feeling of his arse contracting was glorious. When he was certain Sherlock was done John finally allowed himself to be selfish and fucked him with quick shallow thrusts, pressure right where he needed it.
"Oh God, you're perfect, that's so--" The rest dissolved into a shout as he pushed in as far as he could, toppling both of them onto the floor. They lay in a panting heap for half a minute before John could manage to move again. He pulled out slowly and patted Sherlock's side in sympathy when he flinched. "Sorry. Got a bit enthusiastic there at the end."
"No, it was perfect." Sherlock pushed himself to sitting and grimaced at the floor. "This will need cleaning."
"I'll take care of it." John stretched and smiled up at him. "When I can move again."
Sherlock leaned down to kiss him and John pulled him down on top of him. "We should definitely use the bed next time. My knees are going to hurt for days."
"Only your knees?"
"Among other things." Sherlock shifted onto his side. "Though I have to say that was far more pleasant than I expected. I remember it being more of a pain-turning-into-pleasure thing, but that didn't hurt at all."
John smiled for a moment, and then his eyes narrowed as a thought occurred to him. "Hang on. What are you saying?"
Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "Nothing. I--" His cheeks flushed. "Oh, God, no. Not that. I love your penis; don't you dare insult it."
"My penis loves you too." John felt his cheeks heat and he smiled.
"I think it was the rimming, actually."
"I didn't realize you knew that word."
"I know quite a few words that might surprise you."
John grinned at him. "Such as?"
Sherlock leaned forward and kissed John very softly, and whispered, "I--"
The sound of the door buzzer below startled them both.
Sherlock groaned and pressed his face into John's shoulder. "I have never been less enthusiastic to talk to a client."
"We can tell them to come back later. Leave a number."
"We could pretend we're not here." Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
John grinned and kissed him. The buzzer sounded twice more and they ignored it. Sherlock's tongue trailed across the inside of John's upper lip. John caught it and sucked on the tip of it suggestively, and Sherlock whimpered. John wondered how long it would be before either of them would be ready to go again. He should be satiated after that, but somehow he wasn't. He wanted more, to lie in bed all day and touch, kiss, suck, play. He'd felt this way a few times before in his life, but it had been a long time.
He really was in love. It was fantastic.
There were footsteps on the stairs, and they pulled away from each other and scrambled to their feet.
"Shit shit shit," John hissed as he plucked Sherlock's boxers from the floor and pulled them on.
There was a knock on the door and a voice behind it called out, "Sherlock? John?"
"Just a moment, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said. He nearly fell over pulling his trousers up, and John burst out laughing.
"This is ridiculous!" he whispered as he pulled the tee shirt back over his head.
"That's one word for it." Sherlock plucked his shirt from the floor.
"Are you all right?" Mrs. Hudson called from behind the door. "Inspector Lestrade is here and he seems concerned about you. Says you haven't been answering his calls."
John headed for the door with a glance back at Sherlock, who was frantically buttoning his shirt. He nodded.
John took a deep breath and unbolted the door, then opened it enough to stick his head out. "Hi. Good morning." Mrs. Hudson looked startled and took a step back. He must look even more debauched than he'd thought. He smiled at Greg, whose face had gone a bit pale.
"Well, then. See? He's just fine. Is Sherlock fine?"
John grinned. "Absolutely fine." Greg shot John an incredulous look from behind her shoulder. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson."
She nodded and turned, heading back down the stairs.
John opened the door wider and gestured Greg in with a tight smile.
"Sorry," Greg said, his cheeks flushing now. "It's just that… well, Sherlock always answers or texts or--"
"Not anymore, apparently. You may as well come in."
Greg looked torn between walking through the door and turning on his heel and fleeing, but he nodded. His eyes widened when he saw Sherlock. John turned and almost laughed. Sherlock looked utterly debauched: he'd misbuttoned his shirt and it hung at an awkward angle, and his hair was… well. John grinned at him.
"Yes, we were shagging," Sherlock said, hands on his hips. He looked a bit like an angry puppy. "You interrupted."
"Well, technically were we done," John said.
"For the moment. But I was going to--"
"Too much information, lads." Greg's face was as red as John had ever seen it. "I can come back later. It wasn't all that urgent."
"Which explains why you came over to check on us personally and had our landlady let you in when we didn't answer?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
"I was concerned, for fuck's sake. I called you last night and again twice this morning, with no response. I sent half a dozen texts, all of which you ignored. I thought maybe you'd gone and done something stupid on your own with this case and--"
"Clearly not," Sherlock said. "But if we had done, it would hardly have been stupid."
"Considering what we're dealing with, yes; it could have been a disaster."
"Well, happily for Scotland Yard we were otherwise occupied." Oh lovely: Sherlock was in full sarcasm mode now. John groaned and pressed at the bridge of his nose with his fingertips. Seriously, what was it with these two?
"And since when do you not even respond to a bloody text message? I don't know what's got into you lately but--" Greg broke off and pressed a hand to his forehead. "Oh, God, I didn't mean it like that."
"Ironically, that actually is the reason," John said, unable to keep himself from smirking. "Both of you, shut up and sit down. I'll make coffee."
Five minutes later Sherlock had straightened out his clothes and Greg was able to look at them both without blushing, and everyone had a cup of coffee in hand. John sat on the sofa next to Sherlock and felt weirdly, deliriously happy.
"At any rate, we're proceeding well with the human trafficking case. There was another raid last night and we have leads on several more locations. The people we've arrested so far have been surprisingly cooperative."
"There are things worse than cooperating with the police, I imagine," Sherlock said.
"Such as being thrown into the general prison population as a known child sex offender?" John added.
"Yes, there is that," Greg said. "Funny how a quick reminder of that fact encourages people to talk."
"It sounds like you have it all under control, then," Sherlock said. "What do you need us for?"
John turned to look at him; bored was written all over his face. He'd worked out the mystery of the brands and all that was left was to catch all the baddies. Sherlock had little patience for the actual cops and robbers part of the operation; if there was no puzzle left to work out, no intellectual game to play, he was done.
"This is starting to look bigger than we'd first imagined. We're on our way to arresting everyone we can track down in England, but the network is international. At some point we'll need to include other government agencies."
"I think you're talking to the wrong Holmes." Even his tone screamed bored now. John pressed an elbow into his side and hoped he took it as a hint to behave.
"What makes you think I haven't talked to him already? Your strength is analysis, Sherlock. You can look at all the information and see patterns no one else can. You can tell us where to start, and that will give us a tremendous advantage when we have to begin negotiating with foreign law enforcement agencies."
John raised his eyebrows at Greg. Flattering Sherlock was a bit like stroking a cat. Sometimes it got you a purr and sometimes it got you lacerated. John waited to see which it would be this time.
Sherlock looked thoughtful and nodded. "All right."
"Good." Greg's lips twisted into a smile. "If you could come down to the Yard this afternoon, I'd appreciate it."
Sherlock looked at John, and John shrugged. "Apparently we're in."
He felt a hand on his back, fingers tracing the outline of his vertebrae. John curled into the touch and smiled. He wasn't sure if Sherlock thought John needed it or if he just wanted to touch him, but either way it was nice. When it started to tickle, John leaned into him and Sherlock's arm went around his shoulders. Oh, he could get used to this.
Greg's gaze flicked over to Sherlock and back to John again. He smiled. "Around two, then?"
"We'll be there," John replied.
Greg set the coffee cup on the sofa table and stood. "Try not to look quite so well-fucked when you turn up. I don't need my people distracted right now."
John grinned.
*****
"Before we go, can we talk about this?" John leaned against the doorway watched Sherlock button his shirt. His hair was still damp from the shower -- the shower they'd both managed to squeeze into. John's eyes glazed over at the memory of Sherlock on his knees, sucking John's cock while hot water poured down over them both. Jesus, the things he could do with his tongue.
"About what?"
He was getting distracted again. "What exactly are we doing? I mean, we're a couple now, and I'm assuming we're not going to keep it a secret. Well, unless you want to. Do you want to? Because--"
"Why would we keep it a secret?"
John shrugged. "Well… Some people might not be very accepting. It could hurt the business, I suppose."
Sherlock frowned. "Everyone thinks we're a couple anyway, don't they? It hasn't hurt us yet."
"No. Then it won't be a secret. Good." John paused. "So… are we going to keep going to the club, or…?"
"I don't see why not. It's a bit annoying that Mycroft insists on being involved, but--" He paused. "Are you suggesting we stop going?"
"Oh God, no. I want to keep… pushing things. I like it. Is that what you want?"
Sherlock's expression grew heated and John felt a twinge in his belly. Again? Jesus, he felt like he was eighteen.
"I think I've already detailed the list of things I want. One of the other clubs Mycroft belongs to is well suited for some of the more… interesting ones."
John flushed. "Interesting?"
Sherlock stared at him a moment more and then looked away. He cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should discuss the details later."
John's lips twisted as he tried not to grin. It was good to know he wasn't the only one in a constant state of arousal today. "All right. Since we're going to keep doing this, I think we should agree on some ground rules."
"Such as?"
"Commitment. Are we exclusive? I mean, outside the clubs?"
Sherlock's face clouded for a moment. "What do you want?"
"I want to be with you. I have no interest in pursuing anyone else. I didn't even like the idea of choosing someone last night, to be honest."
"All right. But…"
"But when we go out, we do the dom/sub thing. You can share me, control me, use me -- I'm fine with that. I like it, you know I do. Mostly I like knowing that how much it turns you on. But at home--"
"At home it's just us. Yes, that works." Sherlock turned to the mirror and ran fingers through his hair.
John exhaled. "So… Is this power thing going to always be… I mean, for example, am I going to share you?"
Sherlock's eyes met his in the mirror. "Do you want to?"
John hesitated. "I like the idea in theory. In reality I'm not sure. What do you want?"
Sherlock's eyes were locked on his. "For now, I don't want anyone but you."
John crossed to him and wrapped his arms around him from behind, pressing his forehead against his shoulder. "And if one of us changes his mind?"
"We can discuss it." Sherlock turned in his arms and kissed him. "As I said before, everything is a possibility. I have no frame of reference for a healthy romantic relationship. And frankly, I'm not sure what that would even mean for me. As long as we're honest with each other, it will be fine."
John smiled. It was incredibly freeing to think that this didn't have to be anything, didn't have to follow any prescribed pattern. They could make it whatever they wanted. God, the possibilities. He'd always thought he'd eventually meet a woman, get married, have children -- but there was no reason it had to be that way. The future seemed far more open right now than it had in a long time. Anything was possible.
He was tempted to let his hands drift down over Sherlock's arse, but they were probably going to be late as it was and that would hardly help matters. "Do you want to go out tonight? Assuming we don't end up chasing criminals halfway across Europe unexpectedly, of course."
"Do you?"
John pursed his lips. "No, not really. I'd honestly rather spend this weekend in bed with you, only leaving it when we absolutely have to." John nuzzled his neck. "Maybe next weekend?"
"Or the one following that." Sherlock's lips pressed against his forehead and trailed down his temple before moving over to one ear. "There's no rush. I was thinking of starting a new spreadsheet, actually--"
More experimenting -- John found the idea oddly exciting. "If we don't leave right now, all of these clothes are going to have to come off again."
"Not necessarily. We could--"
"No, we're expected." John reluctantly took a step back. "Ready?"
"Yes."
They pulled on their coats and walked down the stairs. Sherlock paused with his hand on the door and turned back to John.
"What?" John asked.
Sherlock smiled and pulled him close. "I love you, you know," he whispered.
John smiled. "I do. And I enjoy hearing it, so say it as often as you like."
Sherlock kissed him and John worked his arms into Sherlock's coat, snuggling in close. Oh God, they were never going to make it out the door, were they? They might as well give up, tell Greg that they'd have to come in on Monday instead.
He could imagine the text already: Regrets for this afternoon -- something's come up. For the third time that morning. He smirked.
"Oh, you two," they heard behind them. John whirled around to see Mrs. Hudson shaking her head at them. "I'd have thought you had enough last night, and again this morning."
John gaped at her. "What?"
Sherlock snickered behind his shoulder and John elbowed him in the stomach.
"The walls are quite thin. Do keep it in mind. I'll have to get one of those noise machines, most likely." She gave them a long-suffering sigh and disappeared back into her flat.
"Oh my God," John said. "Did that actually just happen?"
Sherlock grinned and opened the door. "Let's go." He walked out into the shockingly bright sunshine, his dark coat billowing after him. John paused a moment more as his eyes adjusted to the light. God, blue cloudless skies in London -- what else would this day bring?
Sherlock's magical ability to produce a taxi from thin air worked yet again, and he spoke to the driver before opening the door and gesturing John inside.
John slid across the seat and looked out the window. Sherlock settled beside him and the cab pulled away from the kerb. John felt something brush his hand and looked over to see it that it was Sherlock's fingers. Sherlock was looking out the opposite window, already lost in thought.
John took his hand and intertwined their fingers, and Sherlock squeezed back.
John smiled.
*****
FIN
End Notes: Thank you to everyone who read this story as a WIP, who fed me incredibly insightful and encouraging comments on a weekly basis, and who patiently waited as it kept getting longer and longer. This is the longest fic I've written in six years, and I sincerely appreciate your indulgence and support as I posted what is essentially a souped-up PWP over the course of two months.
In case some of you care to indulge me a bit more, I have fallen head over heels for these particular characters and this little universe, and I have plans to write more. :-)
As always, comments sincerely appreciated!
EDIT: OMG, these comments! I am completely floored. *♥ everyone*
Read alternate and missing scenes
