The expression on Sherlock's face was uncanny - a perfect replication of the ecstatic excitement, the rush which brought colour on his features at the face of an intriguing crime.

Unrushed, diligent, he explored John from within a distance, a distance which John yearned to weld shut, now. But he was powerless under the scrutiny of the detecting eyes, as they swept over John's shoulders, making a mark of the old wound, the look given promising wonderful things to come.

Lying on their bed, John shuffled his legs restlessly, long since lost the feeling of unexplained shame of being so openly, so thoroughly on view. John had learned to treasure this. This…

Tension which grew by the fraction of seconds, each passing fleck of time adding to the pressure and to the heat pooling in John's stomach, calculated, honed to perfection, and at last.

Sherlock did not touch John. Not. Yet.

Only the heat of his body caressed Johns side as Sherlock lowered himself on the bed, while even the determination of the most determinant creature began to crumble.

Raising himself, laying across John, holding his arms on each side of John's head, the first contact came from Sherlock brushing his nose to the side of John's.

Open-mouthed gasps filled the air, as both the men tried to restrain themselves, as if tied up, restricted by only their own will to see this through.

To John's surprise, it was Sherlock who pressed his cock against John's thigh, sliding softly, pleasuring himself to the soft skin covered with scarce, downy hairs.

It became too much to bare. Sherlock's scent flowing into John's nostrils, the warmth, the excruciating feeling of being so close, yet, worlds apart.

Looking into John's eyes, Sherlock decided to have mercy.

With a cunning smile, he never released his gaze as he rose to give lick over the scar, the pale, smooth skin contrasting pleasure with vividly remembered pain. Pain, which Sherlock took away, kissing, brushing his lips over the nigh glassy dermis, rejoicing in each bit of taste flooding into his mouth as the slight sheen of sweat of Sherlock's John was enjoyed like a feast.

Adding weight on John, rewarded with John's arms wrapping around Sherlock's back, his legs trapping the man sweetly, Sherlock let his chest touch John's.

A slight movement, and a hardened nipple met another's, ensuing in sighs, in demands in the form of John's cock leaking against Sherlock's abdomen.

Biting down on John's skin, Sherlock smirked, eyes fluttering shut as the arousal from John's bodily reactions stormed in his brain. Every detail making his heart pound harder.

"Tell me what you want." It was part of the game.

"You," said John, eyes wide in unbidden estrus, unable to help himself as he nudged his hips upwards. "Give me all of you."

"Ah, the command of a soldier…" Sherlock leaned down, closing John's mouth with his own, languishing in their kiss, giving out a small mewl as John bit his lower lip, precisely the way Sherlock liked it.

The slight tang of blood was shared like ambrosia, John sucking Sherlock's lip into his mouth, licking his tongue over the tender flesh, concentrating wholly on this one detail the fullness of his lover's mouth. John had never tasted anything as arousing as the mix of himself an the sharp, exquisite tang of Sherlock's lifeblood.

Panting, John let go, seeking confirmation from Sherlock's eyes, from the pace of his breath, the pulse he could see on the side of his throat.

Fumbling, with a shaking hand, when it became too much to bear, Sherlock's patience infuriating when all John wanted was to fuck the man into oblivion. But the absolute knowledge of this being their perfect gift, steadied John's reach as he grabbed the lubricant from the side table.

Holding John's hand briefly, tangling his fingers with John's, Sherlock accepted the offer, sealing the accord with another kiss, an everlasting shiver running down his spine when John drew a single finger down the cleft of Sherlock's arse.

Releasing his hold, Sherlock bereft John of the bottle, opening it swiftly.

Pouring the liquid on his palm abundantly, Sherlock raised himself, resting on his lean sheens, sitting on John's thighs, relishing the light stretch he felt in his hole.

Spreading his legs further apart, Sherlock warmed the lube between his hands, added more, and took a firm hold of the base of John's cock.

Finger sliding down, lower, caressing John's perineum with one hand, Sherlock slicked John's arousal thoroughly, making a note of each sound emanating from the depths of John's chest, repeating the twist which created the musical sound of John's long, throaty moan.

Their eyes did not once part.

Pleased with his handiwork, Sherlock stood up on his knees, slicked his fingers again, tossing the bottle aside.

Leaning back to rest on his palm, he reached to slide in a finger into himself, his mouth falling open, his bright gaze endlessly fixed on John's through lowered lids.

Sighing deeply, then drawing a long, pleasured breath, Sherlock gasped with audacity in his voice as he shook his head with a sarcastic grin; "There was a time when this was enough…"

"You have no shame." The thickness of John's voice belayed any true embarrassment. What his mind roiled with, was the urge to turn Sherlock around and see.

"And what use is shame, John?" The lewd, slow touch of Sherlock's tongue on his upper lip declared clearly that he could see straight into John's enamored, lust-filled mind.

The sudden change in Sherlock's features matched the predatory craze in John.

Furiously, John pulled Sherlock out of balance, dying, if not to have the taste of Sherlock renewed on his tongue, his cock throbbing as he adjusted himself to Sherlock's hole.

Blissfully, Sherlock felt nothing but beatific, inexplicable fulfillment as he was taken, in the arms, in the soul, in the ultimate realism of his one true companion.

In these moments, John belonged to Sherlock. Body and soul. Sherlock's heaven.