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John made his way to the flat, heart still racing despite the lack of danger. Case over; solved. Sherlock was still with Lestrade, going over the details, but John had headed home as soon as the suspect had been in cuffs.
He got to the flat, careful to not wake Mrs Hudson, and shakily carried himself up the stairs. Door shut behind him, he closed his eyes. The image of Sherlock jumping over the ledge flashed into his mind, seared onto the back of his eyelids. He stood by the door, not even bothering with the lights, and waited for the detective to return.
Nearly half an hour later he heard the main door open. As soon as Sherlock stepped through into the flat, John grabbed the lapels of his coat and slammed him against the wall. Then again, for good measure.
"You bastard." Slam. "You fucking wanker." Slam. “You inconsiderate,” John’s fingers tightened in the coat, “absolute,” he pulled Sherlock off the wall, “bloody," slam, "fucking," slam, "prick!" John slammed Sherlock back one last time, nearly knocking the wind out of him, though the man didn’t let it show.
Silence dragged on for a few minutes, John catching his breath and Sherlock starring resolutely at the opposite wall.
"Quite finished?" Sherlock asked calmly, breaking the silence.
John let out a growl, then slammed him against the wall once last time before he leaned up and pressed his lips to his flatmate's still ones.
Cold, was his first thought. Then, full. Soft. Warm. Firm. Responsive. Alive.
He pulled back with a choked sound and dropped his head to Sherlock's chest.
Sherlock.
Shit.
He slowly opened his eyes and leaned back to see the detective's face. Eyes closed, brow furrowed, frowning.
Fuck, no. Take it back. Quickly now, Watson.
He loosened his grip and gloved hands shot up to hold them in place.
"I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I don't know what I was thinking. Just... fuck."
John tried to move back only for the hands on his own to hold tighter.
"Let me go," he demanded. Sherlock slowly opened his eyes and the frown left his face only to be replaced by an almost amused smirk.
"Why would I ever want to do that?"
John’s breath caught and he shifted his gaze to the wall over Sherlock’s shoulder.
"It scared you,” Sherlock continued when there was no retaliation. “I didn't think about it from your perspective--"
"You jumped off a roof, Sherlock! Again. How the fuck would that not affect me?"
John squeezed his eyes shut and Sherlock stayed, blessedly, silent. He waited for John’s anger to simmer down before he continued.
"I knew the other building was there. I knew exactly where I would land and how to do so without injury."
He leaned down and touched his forehead to John's.
"What I did not think about was how it would look to you."
"Chasing a criminal off a roof without a moment's hesitation... Yeah. It looked pretty fucking bad.” He tried, and failed, to push the image of Sherlock tumbling over the edge of the building from his mind.
“Damn it, Sherlock. I thought you were dead. Again. I could barely bring myself to step up to the ledge, to look and see if you were-"
He cut himself off and took in a deep breath, his lungs filling with the scent of London and rain and Sherlock.
"I'm sorry."
John sighed at the whispered words, his body finally settling down from the panic. He opened his eyes, but his gaze stuck to the lips only inches away from his. The ones that had been under his only moments ago.
He had barely taken in the breath, barely even thought the question before those lips were descending onto his own.
Sherlock's hands moved to hold either side of his jaw and he held on tight to the fabric beneath his hands. He nipped at Sherlock's full bottom lip and heard a whimpering moan before the lips moved back.
"Of course you can, John. You've always been able to."
"Quit reading my mind," came the exasperated reply as he leaned back in.
He moved back, pulling Sherlock away from the wall and shoving the coat from his shoulders, not once losing the life-affirming contact until the garment was on the floor.
"Never, ever, do that again. Do you understand me? No jumping off ledges."
"But what if-"
"Never."
He felt Sherlock's huff against his face. He pressed a light kiss to the pouting lips then pulled back to meet the detective's eyes.
"Please, Sherlock. Don't do that to me again. Not when I can’t see the safe landing. Not when I can’t follow."
Sherlock studied his face for a moment, then sighed.
"Fine. I promise I won’t jump from one building to the next with you so far behind. Now can we get back to kissing?"
John huffed but accepted the conditions. Close enough, he thought as he tugged Sherlock down to meet him.
"Bloody git."