Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

John hated it. He utterly and truly hated it. He despised himself for it. It was going on his nerves. In fact it annoyed the fucking SHIT out of him.

That stupid, always present, torturing urge to be kissed!

It was plain out ridiculous. But he couldn't help it. He wanted- needed that kind of body contact. Where one was taller, the other smaller. Where one was the bold and made the decisive move. Where your heart stops and your breath catches and-

John put the tea pot down with too much force so the china chinked. He grabbed the newspaper off the table with an emphasis that really wasn't necessary and he walked over to his armchair with a frown on his face and heaviness in his steps.
He dropped into the chair and scowled at the news. He felt like a teenager, which dropped his mood even more.

"You're annoyed.", his flatmate Sherlock, eyes closed hands steepled under his chin, his legs half up half down, stated. And it made John even more grumpy. Because look at this arsehole! With his damn luxurious hair and annoyingly good looking face and surprisingly athletic body he wouldn't struggle AT ALL finding someone to kiss him. Not that he would care for such mundane things.

"Yes.", there was no point in denying it, John decided but hid his face behind the newspaper again.

"Why?"

Behind the safety of the newspaper John rolled his eyes. "I just am."

Sherlock opened his eyes and leaned forward, "That's ridiculous every human emotion has its origin in a deeper-"

"Oh for fuck's sake. You of all people lecturing me about human emotions is really not a to-do-point for today okay?!"

Sherlock sat up and John - even behind the paper - felt his studying gaze on him and the irritation inside him flamed up even more. "Stop staring.", he grumbled.

Sherlock tilted his head - eyes still fixed on his flatmate. He leaned forward, pushing the newspaper down and the sudden proximity made John uneasy.

"Ever heard of personal space?"

"Of course.", Sherlock said and invaded John's.

"Then why are you in mine?"

"Because you want it."

"I want- what?"

"You wanna be close to someone.", Sherlock said, both hands on either side of his armchair now.

"No.", John awkwardly fixed his sitting position. "I think I am good. Go back to your seat, Sherlo-"

But then Sherlock's lips were on his and John froze. It was just a hint of a kiss. It was nothing really. He could back off and then they could just-
He put his hand on the back of Sherlock's neck and his hand barely touched his side. He hesitantly kissed him back and then Sherlock's lips pecked John's lightly. Sherlock opened his mouth and John sucked on the lower lip. John - or more his libido - decided he'd go a bit further and used his teeth to tease. When Sherlock gasped, John pulled back quickly.

"Oh. Wow. I didn't- didn't expect that to happen.", he said, Sherlock still hovered above him. His eyes were fluttering open and then stared into John's. There was something in his gaze that made John wanna hug him tight. Or kiss him again, or...

Sherlock straightened up and fixed his perfectly cuffed cuffs on his shirt. That heated look was completely gone. There was no evidence of what had just happened, except, maybe, that John's trousers were a tad bit tighter than before.

Still uselessly fumbling with his cuffs (with elegant, slim fingers), Sherlock finally looked up. And with his look came a wall, being built brick by brick between them. "You needed stimulation. I gave you that. I hope you feel better now.", Sherlock said matter-of-factly, finally letting his cuffs alone, rolling his shoulders once. With four long strides he was at the hook with his belstaff, put it on with one swift movement and opened the door. "I'll be out. No need to wait up."

And John was being left behind. Completely stunned. He still felt lips on his own, still felt breath creeping over his jaw, still saw a heated look that John felt like had burnt him.

With a deep breath he heaved himself up, the newspaper which was on John's lap, flew to the ground. While the water boiled, John thought about what Sherlock had said. That he had offered him stimulation and that he hoped John felt better now. And he did - definitely - feel better but there was a tuck inside him that made him frown.

John grabbed a mug and put it down roughly. Then he remembered he already had made tea. He had completely forgotten. "Oh, I am so. fucked.", he realized and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Because John wanted to kiss his flat mate again.

Chapter Text

It's been thirteen days since Sherlock had kissed John. And it was fine. John had completely forgotten about that incident. He didn’t think about it. Ever. It has entirely disappeared from his mind. He didn’t remember how Sherlock’s sudden proximity had made him squirmy, or how his breath on his lips had given him goosebumps, or how full and and delicious his lip had felt between his teeth-

“Jesus Christ!”, John said, pulling his pillow over his head. He had turned into a… a… he didn’t even know what! Because he had NEVER felt like this! Never! Not in his teen years, not in his golden twenties nor in his actual adult years. So what the fuck was this?! Insanity. That’s what it was. He had completely lost his sanity over ONE damn two-seconds kiss!

Because who was he kidding? That darn kiss had sent him head over heels! It was the ONLY thing he could ever think about. When he woke up, the first thing he wondered was if he’d ever get the chance again to get this close to his flat mate again. When he was eating, he wondered how actual solid food suddenly seemed like dirt next to Sherlock’s lips. And when they were at crime scenes, Sherlock deducing away, John was wondering if he would ever not only see and hear but feel that mouth in action again. It was so fucking ridiculously insane!

He wanted, needed – no those are not the right words – craved Sherlock’s lips on his. Or at least… an arm around him. Or both.
That’s when John finally removed his pillow from his face. That was it! He couldn’t really ask for another kiss, but surely a hug would be alright, wouldn’t it? Just a platonic, best-friends, definitely very much hetero hug. That would be cool. That would be nice. No pressure, nothing romantic, nothing serious. Just a goddamn hug.
Alright. Determined John sat up and swung his legs over the edge of his bed. That was gonna be it then. A simple hug. That was all he needed. Just some human contact. Nothing more. Just arms around bodies, and heads on shoulders and heads on heads and hands on backs. Just. A. Hug.

John chuckled to himself, while he pulled on his jeans and buttoned up his shirt. He couldn’t quite believe how eagerly he wanted this now. And he was gonna get it. Today. A hug I mean, he thought while buttoning up his last button. Almost motivated for the day, John climbed down the stairs.

***

The day went by with John dropping subtle hints, so Sherlock would deduce John’s wishes. For example when he first came down this morning, he had stretched with exaggeration, trying to open his body for an oh-so-unexpected hug. That hadn’t worked. The only reaction John had gotten was a weird look at his tummy, that peeked out. Later he had told about that one time where he was a kid and Harry had angrily yelled at that unsolvable Lego-set. And at some point John has been so annoyed with her that he had just wrapped his arms around her. Harry had protested, even tried to push him away but in the end they somehow had ended up rolling on the floor, fighting their biggest laughing fit of their lives while John still hung on to her. Sherlock had only raised a single eyebrow at him and turned back to his experiment.

John had really tried, but nothing ever happened. Nothing! Finally John decided to drop all subtleness and planted himself in the door frame between kitchen (where Sherlock currently was) and the living room (where Sherlock wanted to go).
Sherlock walked over, busily typing into his phone and stopped, mere centimeters in front of John, as he realized his flat mate was not gonna move out of his way.

“You’re in my way.”, Sherlock pointed out.
“You would slaughter me for stating something so obvious.”, John countered, an eyebrow quirking up.
“Hm, too big of a mess. Drown you would be more subtle.”
The corners of John’s mouth quirked up. “Oh, would it?”
Sherlock sighed, looking like he fought an eye-ro- Oh, nope. There it was. “You have been edgy all day, John. What’s the matter?”

The matter are your fucking lips. Which are right there. But not on mine, John thought. Then remembered he actually just wanted to ask for a hug.
John scratched the back of his neck, “I was kinda wondering, you know, if- maybe…”, Stop babbling, Watson, John told himself. He looked back at the tall detective in front of him.
“I kinda wanna be higged.”
Sherlock frowned at him, “higged?”, he asked.
“Oh, uh… hugged!”, Fuck. He’d been staring at Sherlock’s lips. Which made his kiss-deprived mind mix up ‘hugged’ and ‘kissed’. Higged. “Hugged, I mean.”, he quickly added.
Sherlock’s frown deepened, “You want to be what now?”
John took a deep breath. “I want to be hugged now.”, he said steadily, but avoiding Sherlock’s eyes. He looked back at the detective and immediately regretted it. Judging by Sherlock’s emotionless face, John wouldn’t get a hug any time soon. Or ever. Never mind a kiss.
John made a frustrated noise. “You know what? Ignore what I just said.”, John waved dismissively with his hand. “It’s not important or anything. I’ll… get out of your way now.” With that he turned around to… he didn’t know what yet. Read? Watch telly? Go for a walk? Hide behind the couch? God, why had he thought this was a g-

Sherlock grabbed John’s wrist, spun him around and pulled him back into his arms. For a second John was caught off-guard with his face buried in Sherlock’s shirt and he couldn’t breathe. When he caught up on what was happening (Sherlock was hugging him!), he turned his head to the side and could hear Sherlock’s heartbeat. John felt Sherlock’s arms around him and laying on his back. With the perfect amount of pressure. At the same moment he realized, his arms were tightly hugging Sherlock’s thin frame too. When had that happened? Not that he was complaining of course. It felt as amazing as he had imagined it all day long. Now here he was in the embrace of his… friend and flatmate. Sherlock was tall and John was short. However the doctor has never been a man ashamed of his height. Especially right in this moment he felt like it couldn’t be better. To be honest, it was always weird to hug someone who was his height, after a while your neck started hurting, because you couldn’t lay it against their chest like he did right now, but had to settle for the shoulder. This was another experience: The height difference, the firm body, the flat chest… It was surprisingly comforting. John’s head rested where Sherlock’s chest met his neck. John could hear his heart and every beat made him feel more grounded. Ba-dum. Unconsciously John stepped closer. Ba-dum. He breathed in deeply with his nose. “You smell amazing”, he noted. Ba-dum-dum.
Sherlock didn’t respond, just squeezed John a bit tighter. John felt Sherlock’s breath on his cheek. It was warm. Calming even. Though there was an edge behind that ostensible calm. Just when John started to wonder what that edge meant, the other man’s fingers started playing with John’s hair in the back of his neck. One finger slowly trailed the hem of his shirt and John breathed in sharply. Goosebumps. Goosebumps all over. John’s whole body stiffened as he realized just how much he seemed to enjoy this proximity. So much for ‘totally hetero’ hug.

Feeling the twist of the atmosphere they both stepped back. A foot apart they caught each other’s eyes. Dark and hesitant, but also auspicious. For what, neither of them yet knew.
Finally John broke off their eye-contact. “I…”, he started, realized his voice was wavering and cleared his throat with a fist in front of his mouth. “Well, that…”, still croaky John tried compensating his insecure tone with a strong body posture. “That was nice. Thank you.” John laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.
Sherlock hadn’t moved at all since they parted. His eyes were fixed on his flatmate and John had no idea what was going on behind that intelligent gaze. Until Sherlock spoke up, “I agree”.
John’s eyes shot up at him. “What?”, he finally mustered.
“I suppose giving in to human urges is sometimes… satisfying… of sorts.”, the tall man stated, looking somewhat insecure.

John’s mouth dropped. As he realized this, he quickly pressed his lips together. Oh, and you don’t even know what kind of human urges I have, he thought. Staring at Sherlock, whose slim but strong body was clad in perfectly tailored clothes, it took all of John’s self control to not push him against the wall and snog the living hell out of him.

Oh god. And we only hugged, John thought, still staring at Sherlock.
“Indeed”, he finally managed to say. Involuntarily his eyes dropped lower. Onto Sherlock’s lips. John’s tongue subconsciously darted out for a millisecond. Then he gulped, as he realized where his mind had wandered...

Who knew his flatmate would be the root for his cravings?

Chapter Text

This was okay, right? An okay thing to do? Of course, it was! Why wouldn’t it be? They have done that a million times before! Nothing has changed! Except the kiss… and the hug, of course. And John’s no longer deniable attraction towards the detective.

That day, when Sherlock had kissed John, he had thought he had merely sought the closeness to any human being. No specific person. Of course, initially John Watson had wanted to be close to a woman, but it had turned out Sherlock was very good at – how had Sherlock called it? – satisfying his human urges. While still looking tense from the outside, internally he sighed thinking of the kiss and hug. Yeah, Sherlock was really good at it. It had just felt so right. Never had human contact felt this good - this comforting and overwhelming at the same time. Dear God, John was a lost case. For his flatmate! His male flatmate!

But now here John was on the couch, James Bond movie playing, Sherlock next to him and the doctor seemed to have forgotten where he usually put his arms on nights like this. Or his legs as a matter of fact. Did he put his hands in his lap? His arms on the back of the couch? On Sherlock?! Where did he put his legs? Did he pull them up on the couch? Leave them on the floor, slouching like a champion? John tried really hard, but it was like his brain had been swiped clean. There was this gaping distance between John and Sherlock, and it felt like it was eating him alive. Every fiber of his body was drawn towards the lanky, but damn gorgeous body next to him. Each of his braincells yelled at him ‘Don’t you dare getting too close to him and scare him away. He is the best thing that has ever happened to you, you cannot los- ‘

“Stop thinking so loud and relax, John.”, Sherlock interrupted John’s train of thoughts.

“Wha- I am not thinking. I am watching the- “

“Oh, for god’s sake, stop trying to convince me of some lame excuse. I can practically hear your thoughts and I don’t need to be a consulting detective for that, Watson.”

John shifted in his seat, unsure of how to respond to Sherlock’s (annoyingly) true statement. Sherlock averted his gaze from the telly and studied John. The intense stare made John even more uncomfortable. Finally, the detective raised his eyebrows, “If you desire more human contact, I would not be opposed.”

“Is this your weird way to say ‘I wanna cuddle’?”, John asked with incredulous amusement in his voice.

“John, I am not the one who is- “

The doctor interrupted Sherlock by clearing his throat, “Yeah, I would like to… do… that, if you’re okay with it.”

Sherlock was facing the TV again, arms crossed, “Yes. Good”. He changed exactly nothing about their position. Neither did John. For a few moments they were just sitting in awkward silence, waiting for the other to make a move.

“You wanna- “, John started.
“I could- “, Sherlock said at the same time. They looked each other in the eyes and chuckled. The air had gone tighter between them, even though they looked in each other’s eyes with a fondness neither of them was accustomed to yet.

“John, I- “, Sherlock started.

John just cocked his head and looked at him with patience.

“I am not- very… good… at… this.”

And just like that all of John’s nerves calmed down. He would have laughed if he weren’t scared Sherlock would be offended. John put his arm up, “Alright, come ‘ere.”

The great detective stared at him, then carefully laid his head on John’s shoulder. John put his arm around Sherlock’s shoulders, his hand resting on his biceps. He squeezed it once – a silent question if this was alright. Sherlock nodded against him.
They kept watching James Bond. It was comfortable. While it may have seemed a bit forced in the beginning they adjusted and now it felt more pleasant. So pleasant in fact, John dreaded the moment one of them would have to move eventually, and their comfortable ambience would switch into uncomfortable awkwardness.

As if he had forecasted it, John soon felt the blood not reaching his fingertips anymore, then the itch wandered up his hand, forearm, all the way up to his shoulder. He endured the dull pain, so he could keep Sherlock in his arms for as long as possible. However soon he let an involuntarily groan escape his mouth when he tried to move his hand.

Immediately Sherlock sat up straight. “What is it?” Was there actual panic in his voice?

“Nothing, nothing, I just- my arm fell asleep. Would you mind if I- “, John started changing his position.

“Oh, yes. Of course, John.”, Sherlock moved to get up, or get out of his way. Which then again, was something John definitely did not want.

“Where do you think you’re going- “, he grabbed Sherlock’s neck and pulled him down. This resulted in John laying on the couch and Sherlock hovering above him. Sherlock between John’s thighs. They both stared at each other, extremely aware of their body contact. Sherlock’s neck felt hot underneath John’s hand. John felt himself getting aroused.

“What are we doing, John?”, the tall man asked, under his breath.

“Originally, I thought we were cuddling, but right now- “, John made a pause, staring at those lush lips, his tongue darting out. “I really wanna kiss you.”, John said looking up at Sherlock. Had he gone too far? Was this a thing Sherlock would never want? Was that kiss they had shared about three weeks ago truly just about stimu-

But John’s thoughts stopped as Sherlock’s face came incredibly close to his. John felt him whisper against his lips, “Do it, then.”
And that’s all it took for John. Finally, Sherlock’s lips were caught between John’s teeth again, and it made him dizzy how good it felt. How often had he daydreamed about those lips ever since they kissed that one time? Too often to count… John let his tongue slide over them, asking for entry. Which he was granted with a quiet moan. John put his hand in Sherlock’s hair and stroked his scalp which made Sherlock squirm against him. The friction made John buckle up his hips. He groaned and gasped for air.

“Shit, Sherlo- “, Said man now let his lips wander over his jawline and down his throat. John has always been weak for neck kisses and Sherlock being the one giving them to him- it made John lose control. But John was used to being the controlling part in an intimate relationship. He was not gonna lose it to Sherlock of all people now. Grunting he pulled Sherlock away from his throat (although missing the contact immediately) and somehow managed to flip them around. John was on top now. Smirking he started kissing Sherlock, who had taken advantage of the position change and let his hand wander over John’s upper body. When the doctor let himself slowly lay on top of him, Sherlock gasped his name.
John’s lips were at Sherlock’s ear now. “You have no idea how much I wanted to do this, Sherlock.”

Sherlock smiled and let his hands wander over John’s back, down to his-
Then he stopped. John hadn’t realized and kept caressing Sherlock’s ear with his lips.

“No, John- wait!”

At that the doctor immediately sat up. Terrified he had, indeed, crossed all lines, he backed up. For a second he thought of grabbing a pillow to hide his desire, but quickly determined, it was too late for that.
“I- “, Sherlock untangled the last of his limps from John and stood up. “Need a moment, yeah?” Without waiting for an answer, the detective locked himself in the bathroom.

Leaving John behind, who immediately started cursing himself and his human urges.

Chapter Text

The bathroom was dark. Sounds were muffled through the wooden door. It smelled like John – shampoo, shower gel, deodorant. John had taken a shower right before they had decided on a movie night. Sherlock took a deep breath in. Tried to calm himself. Usually breathing in John’s smell felt soothing, but right now it was… too much. He could still smell John – the actual John, who was knocking on the door outside – his sweat, his breath, his neck. Oh, god that neck… And he felt him still too. Hands on him, tongue sliding along his teeth. Lips against his, the starting stubble against his cheeks… and neck… leaving a scratchy but somehow tingly sensation. His erection against… too much, too much! Restlessly he paced the bathroom up and down. It wasn’t big and his strides were long: Two steps to the tub, two steps back to the door. One and a half to the right. He stopped and held on to the sink and breathed. John, was the only thing he could think of. Breathe, breathe, breathe. He willed his arousal away. Stupid. It was all so- breathe, Sherlock, breathe.

“Sherlock? Are you alright?”, John’s voice sounded far away and somehow still too close.
Sherlock stood up shakily. For some illogical reason, his chest hurt. “Leave me alone, John.”, he said and his voice sounded sharp, rude. He instantly regretted saying anything at all.
“I was just-“
“Give me a minute, yeah?”, Sherlock interrupted him, but sounding much softer now. He was surprised, how much his voice had changed. He knew it was because of John. Because of his concern. Then again, his voice had been sharp just a moment ago, because of John.
John, always because of John.

Said man outside the door hesitated, took a step away, looked back (Sherlock could tell from the shadow through the door crack) and finally sat down on the couch. Sherlock listened to John outside, categorising his movements, while he thought.

Fact was… Sherlock has never felt like this before. (John sits down on the couch. Wants to be patient.) This… physical attraction towards anyone. (John stands up, after seven seconds. Restless.) Not like this. Not this intense. Not with all of him. (John walks up and down the living room. Impatient.) With his entire brain, even. He’s been used to this now. He had known he had been extremely raptured by John for a very long time now. (John sits down on his armchair. Stomped his foot once. Psychosomatic itch?) But with his body too? No, that was new. (John grabs the newspaper. Wants to distract himself.) He had kept his distance from John. The kiss had thrown him off. (The newspaper rustles. Can’t find a topic interesting enough to capture his attention.) It was like it had turned a light on in a darkened room. A sudden realisation that, maybe this fondness of John was more after all. (John clicks his pen. Tries to solve the crossword puzzle, can’t concentrate.) That he might actually have a crush on him. Sherlock makes a face at thinking this word. He didn’t have- didn’t do crushes. And yet... (John’s leg has started to bounce. Leg is definitely bothering him.) When John had hugged him a few days ago… There has been a moment, where… something had changed. Something had made him scream inside to let go of him while at the same time he just wanted to bury his nose in John’s hair forever. More than that: pull him in, hold him tight. Tighter than necessary. Chest to chest, legs crossing boundaries, that had turned invisible. No, not invisible. Conquerable. Maybe Sherlock’s been in lo- (John stands up abruptly, almost knocking the tea on his coffee-table over. He is wondering what Sherlock is doing.) Focus. So, what would that mean? Being in love? Was it actually something Sherlock experienced? He looked down at his crotch. He couldn’t believe his body had betrayed him in such obvious ways. But… hadn’t he always known? That it was John and only John? If anyone, it was gonna be John. (John crosses the living room, heads towards the bathroom. Wants to talk about what happened.) Sherlock started breathing too quickly again. (John stops. Maybe he senses it is too early.) And this moment earlier – specifically John grabbing his neck and pulling Sherlock on top of him – it had flipped Sherlock’s stomach around. Slowed his brain down. Quickened his heartbeat. (John turns around, walks to the cabinet with his whiskey in it. Overwhelmed, wants to dull down his emotions.) And he had wanted this. He knew they were gonna kiss, and he had wanted it. (John opens the cabinet, closes it, opens it again. Closes it again with more force. Feels guilty, probably thinks of his sister. Decides alcohol is a bad coping mechanism.) His body had wanted it. In some inexplicable way even his brain had wanted it. (John stands up. Settles for a cup of water. Downs it. Fills up his glass again. Doesn’t drink all of it, judging by the noise it made when John put it on the counter again. Probably staring at the corridor towards the bathroom. He is nervous. Tries to decide on his next move.) Sherlock had wanted this to happen between them. But that was his problem, wasn’t it? That he had wanted it. Because not only his body and brain wanted it. But his heart too. And John… he didn’t want this. Not with his heart. He just had human urges.

Sherlock opened the door with dash. John stood in front of him, his arm raised, as if he was about to knock. Sherlock looked directly into dark, worried, blue eyes. And his emotions took over. He grabbed John’s neck and pushed him against the wall opposite of him. He invaded his personal space and pressed his lips against John’s. The doctor was too thrown off to react. Sherlock crowded in on John even more and pressed a thigh between John’s legs. His lips captured John’s again. Sucked on them. Pushed his body closer into John. His tongue swiped over John’s lower lip. The man groaned. Sherlock took advantage of this and stuck his tongue further between open lips. And John gasped. And then something – just like before on the couch – switched between them. John grabbed Sherlock’s nape and before he even knew what was happening, he found himself pressed against the wall. John’s right hand was underneath his shirt. His left was pulling on the detective’s hair. A noise, low, deep, coming from the depths of Sherlock’s gut (or maybe groin, he couldn’t tell) traveled into John’s mouth. The doctor stepped closer, pushed - Sherlock’s entire back was pressed against the wall now. Sherlock heard his own voice say something, try to say something at least. It sounded somewhat like ‘John’. The kiss turned rougher. Teeth were involved now, scraping over lips. Tongues flirting, dancing, fighting. At some point John sucked hard on Sherlock’s lower lip then biting down on it and it came so sudden, the detective feared, his knees would give in. He gasped, pulled back. “John, as much as I-“
“Shut up and keep kissing me.”, the blogger demanded, and well? Who was Sherlock to resist a well-intended order. They started kissing again but soon it became slower, and Sherlock could finally categorise a few things again. (Tastes like tea, with milk, no sugar).
When they finally parted, both out of breath, but at ease somehow, Sherlock said, “We need to talk.”
“No shit, Sherlock.” The blogger replied, staring at something on Sherlock’s neck. The doctor licked his lips, and seemed to pull his gaze from that spot on his neck by pure willpower. He took Sherlock’s hand and pulled him towards the couch.

They sat next to each other and for a few minutes neither said anything. It made Sherlock extremely uncomfortable, he started kneading his hands.
John – wonderful, attentive, kind John – of course, noticed and took them in his own. He squeezed them, then held on to Sherlock’s left hand with his right. John smiled at him. There was confusion tinted with patience and just pure kindness in his eyes. It made Sherlock’s heart ache. With horror he realised, his eyes were welling up with tears. Quickly he looked away. Lord, who would have known one man could rewire the detective’s whole system from the ground up?
“Sherlock”, a hand squeeze, “What’s wrong?”
“You!”, Sherlock blurted out. You, because you drive me crazy with your bloody human urges. You, with your lips that I feel drawn to like we are opposite poles of a magnet. You, with your perfect short stature against my body, your strong arms wrapped around me. You, who wants to cuddle with me and ends up pulling me on top of you and kisses me and your hands all over me. When I can never actually have you. When I am only here to satisfy those idiotic, mundane hu-

“Me?”, slowly but surely John withdrew his hand from Sherlock’s and that’s when Sherlock realised that he had messed up. “I am sorry, Sherlock. If I was too forward. If you didn’t- don’t- if you don’t feel the same way. I- I am truly sorry. I will- just-“, John was about to stand up. And leave Sherlock, maybe leave him forever. And that sharp pain in Sherlock's chest stabbed at him again, like it was gonna cut him open, starting from somewhere far within.
“John.”, the detective said and it was the only thing he could think of. John. (Don’t leave.) John. (Please stay.) John. (I want more.) John. John. John.
“I- it’s not- that.”
“No? Whatever. Sorry to have bothered you-“
“JOHN.” There was so much agony in this word, in this name. There were so many hidden meanings, so many hidden feelings, so much more behind it. Sherlock had to get a grip of himself. Had to tell John. Now or never. John will leave either way. Better to get it out of his system.
“I don’t want you like that.”
“Yeah. I got that.”, John spat. So much pain in his words. Wrong. So Wrong. Get this right. I need to get this right.
“No, John. I don’t- Oh, god. I don’t want you like a one time thing, John. I don’t wanna just be the subject to satisfy your human urges, because I happen to be there. I want- I want more. I want you to be my forever. I want- you, that.”, Sherlock looked away. Couldn’t look at perfect, wonderful John. John, who wouldn’t want him as his forever.
The silence was full of tension. Time of truth. Time for apologies. Time for saying their goodbyes.

But John didn’t say anything. He just gaped. And Sherlock thought he might as well have a heart attack, if this heartache didn’t stop soon. But then John leaned forward and kissed him. Kissed him hard. And the pain went away, and Sherlock’s brain went offline. There was only John’s lips, John’s tongue, John’s teeth. John’s nose, brushing his cheek. John’s hand in his hair. John’s breath in his mouth, John, John, John.
When the blogger pulled back, Sherlock gasped, leaning forward. Chasing, asking for, wanting another kiss. He could kiss John forever. Forever and ever. But John looked at him with amusement in his eyes, his eyebrows raised.
“You’re such a massive idiot. Well, we both are, I suppose.”, John said.
Sherlock’s brain still wasn’t back online all the way. He stared at John’s lips without any restraint. They were so red, so soft, so inviting.
“I want you as my forever, too, you utter jerk.”
That woke Sherlock from his trance. “But- but, we only- we only did this-”, Sherlock gestured between them, “-because of your human urges.” (Well, it woke him a little bit from his trance.)
The amusement had turned into a giant grin. “Yeah, well, turns out you are the reason for my ‘human urges’.”
“I- I am?”
“Yes and now come here, you big softie.”
“I’m not-“, but Sherlock was shut up with yet another kiss. He wasn’t gonna complain. He just gave in. And he had a feeling he always would. John was quite a talented kisser.

When they parted again, Sherlock wondered how his shirt was suddenly half way unbuttoned. Then he looked at John and noticed his jumper was gone.
“John, you seem to strip me from my ability to think straight.”
The blogger stared at him, and started laughing. Loudly.
“What? What is it?”, Sherlock questioned.
“Nothing. Just… I am thinking all kinds of not very straight things right now.”, John smirked, then let his gaze drop to Sherlock’s exposed chest and licked his lips.
Oh, Sherlock realised. He grinned, “Well, in that case, I must say I am rather grateful for your human urges.”
John smirked. “Yeah, me too.”
With that John pulled him back to the couch. Soon, Sherlock lost all sense of were he ended and where John began. Maybe we are not meant to be separated, he reckoned. He liked that thought and smiled. Then that smile was repainted with yet another kiss.