Note: I couldn't resist - when you get to the point in the story where you're saying "Oh my God I wish I could hear that," follow this link: www dot youtube dot com/watch?v=lvJ9Hd0f-tw. (Possibly a few times - you know, just to make sure you caught everything. Ahem.)

There were two more blow jobs over the course of the day, and another hand job first thing the next morning. John's cock was getting more of a workout than it had ever had before, even including his multiple-wanks-a-day teenage years. Sherlock was always very gentle, though, and other than the strange feeling of his libido actually being satisfied, John felt no ill effects.

It left him more brainpower to study Sherlock. John wasn't naive enough to assume Sherlock was being entirely altruistic, frequent blow jobs notwithstanding. Sherlock was never without ulterior motives, often ulterior motives which were completely inexplicable even after repeated attempts on his part to explain them. (John figures he might never completely forgive him for the attempted drugging-slash-poisoning of his tea at Baskerville - Sherlock's excuses basically boiled down to "because experiments.") It was possible that he really did enjoy making John happy, of course, but was that it? Or was there something more to it?

John had a sneaking suspicion there was something more. Yes, having their relationship tip over from platonic to sexual was a bit strange. It was somehow surprisingly comfortable, though, if a bit one-sided on the surface. Sherlock claimed he was enjoying the deducing, but what if he was really more entranced by the service aspect? Inspiration struck.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock popped his head around the doorway from the kitchen. "Finished your book already? You'll be suddenly realizing you're a bit cold, then - let me grab the afghan."

"No. I mean, yes, I suppose I am a bit chilly, but that's not what I was asking. Would you come read to me?"

Sherlock suddenly looked lost. "Read? I - fine?"

John waved vaguely in the direction of his laptop. "See if you can find some Shakespeare monologues on there or something. They're all on the internet - shouldn't be hard to find."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John and frowned. "It doesn't really count if you tell me, does it?"

"Pardon?"

"I mean, it's not like I deduced that you love Shakespeare. It doesn't count."

"I don't care about Shakespeare one way or the other, honestly," John replied. "I just want to hear your voice as you read it."

Sherlock flushed a lovely shade of pink, but did go pick up the laptop and start poking at it. "Anything in particular?"

"Not really."

"Right then." He cleared his throat. "I'll just pick something. From . . . here, someone pulled out a section already from a work called 'As You Like It.' Ahem. All the world's a stage . . ."

John closed his eyes and let his mind drift as Sherlock read. It wasn't just the deducing, then - Sherlock was enjoying this even though John directly told him what to do. And even though, strictly speaking, Shakespeare wasn't something he'd ever considered himself needing. Appreciating, yes, but only in that vague way you feel obligated to do because it's Great Art and only complete philistines don't appreciate Shakespeare. There was absolutely no way Sherlock could have "deduced" John would want this - and yet he was still reading. A sonnet, now, one John didn't recognize. It probably shouldn't have been surprising that Sherlock had excellent dramatic timing for this sort of thing.

"Sherlock."

Sherlock broke off and looked up from the screen.

"Come over here and lean your head against my leg." John patted his thigh. "I want to run my fingers through your hair for a few minutes."

Sherlock swallowed hard, but obediently put the laptop aside and came to sit on the floor at John's feet. John carded his fingers through Sherlock's dark curls, making Sherlock moan.

"I love seeing you like this," John said quietly. "Not just the deducing part - you've been a lot more in the present over the course of the last two days than I think I've ever seen you."

Sherlock nuzzled against the outside of John's thigh with his cheek. "I don't know why - it's vexing to not have a reason for my own behavior. And yet it's helping, definitely."

"Please know that I like you just fine when you're manic and too enthusiastic by half, too," John felt compelled to add. "But this feels different. You're being nice for the sake of being nice."

Sherlock's gaze drifted up to John's face. "You didn't want me going back to cocaine - wait. This is about something else. You're concerned."

John bit his lip and nodded. "You're being altruistic."

"I'm never altruistic."

John looked pointedly at his hand, which was still tracing through the fine curls at Sherlock's temples.

"I -" Sherlock's eyes lost their focus for a moment. "No, I've been stupid. I'm not being altruistic. I'm finding this whole thing enjoyable, not just necessary to keep myself from reverting to previous behavior."

"You've found something that fires up your libido."

Sherlock's eyes and mouth both widened, and he looked up at John with a mixture of horror and desire.

"Nothing to worry about," John assured him. "As relationships go, it's a rather nice quirk to have. And you're particularly good at it, with the whole deducing thing."

Sherlock shut his mouth with an audible snap. "I - thank you."

"I think it's pretty clear this is an actual relationship now, though, don't you think?"

The look on Sherlock's face was priceless - awed and a bit hesitant. "I've never . . ." He stopped and swallowed. "I've never been in anything I'd call a 'relationship' before. I'm fairly sure that's not really my area."

"You're doing fine so far."

'I don't - I can't be this attentive to your needs all the time, John. Once the next case hits, I'm going to go back to brooding and talking to myself and playing the violin at all hours and forgetting to pick up after myself."

John leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Sherlock's forehead. "I'm not asking you to change. Hell, I don't want you to change - these last few days have been fantastic, don't get me wrong, but it would be a bit creepy if you were like this all the time."

Sherlock drew back. "You find it creepy?"

"Bad choice of words." John slid out of his chair so he and Sherlock were both seated on the floor, facing each other. Slowly - ever so slowly - he reached out and palmed the nape of Sherlock's neck, then drew him in for a long kiss. Sherlock hesitated only an instant before melting into the connection, mouth opening on a sigh. John didn't hesitate to take advantage. When they broke apart an eternity later, Sherlock's eyes were wide and full of wonder.

"I don't find this creepy at all, Sherlock," John whispered. "I just mean that I want it all - when you're manic, when you're quiet, when you're bored, when you're turned on and aching for release. I want all of you."

Sherlock's tongue darted out to moisten his lower lip. "I - can I ask for that too? From you?"

John felt a sweeping sense of relief he didn't even realize he was waiting for. "Of course." He scrambled to his feet, then offered Sherlock a hand up. "First, though, we're going to go into your bedroom and celebrate by letting me pay you back for all that attention you've been lavishing on me."

"Oh." Sherlock accepted the hand up, then paused. "You do mean sex, right?"

John let out a small laugh. "Yes, Sherlock, I mean sex."

"Good."

Satisfyingly sweet, I hope :-) I'm marking this one as finished, mostly because I'm eager to get on to my next idea. I may yet come back and add a final chapter (well, lemon) at the end, though, so feel free to favorite/follow/whatever and you'll get an email if and when I do.