Three Months Later

John could hardly concentrate on his work, mainly because Sherlock wouldn't let him. His phone was buzzing every five minutes with a new text. John wanted to be annoyed but mostly he just found it endearing. Sherlock was acting like a little kid who had just gotten his favorite toy back, which in a way he was. It wasn't how John liked to think of his relationship with Sherlock but he supposed it applied.

It had been quite a challenge to get to this point and there were some times that John was sure he was going to kill Sherlock. Somehow adding sex into the mix had made Sherlock even more insufferable because he loved to use it to get his way. Not that they'd actually had sex since John had gotten shot. They'd done other things of course. That first few weeks after John moved back in, they couldn't keep their hands off each other.

But living with Sherlock was difficult even on a good day. Cleaning up the flat from Sherlock's time alone was quite the chore. Getting rid of all those papers had taken awhile and there had been one terrifying incident involving some black stuff that was stuck to the wall. John was pretty sure it was the baked beans he had burned that one time. It seemed as though Sherlock had flung them at the wall. John didn't even want to know why but getting them off had been difficult.

One thing John could say was Sherlock had been extremely accommodating the last three months. Any time John so much as thought about having something, Sherlock would be out of his seat getting it as if he could read John's mind. It was nice having Sherlock be the one to make the tea for once. Sherlock was also big on bringing John breakfast in bed and he hardly ever burned it anymore.

When will you be home?

SH

John rolled his eyes even though Sherlock wasn't around to see it. He was home the same time every day and he said so in his returned text.

Can't you hurry?

SH

He smiled to himself. As much as he wanted to be annoyed with Sherlock, he had to admit it was very flattering. John couldn't remember anyone wanting him as badly as Sherlock seemed to. Getting shot in the leg was actually something of a blessing. It meant John had a reason to keep Sherlock at arms length until he knew he could trust him again. But he was done doing that, starting with tonight.

XXXXX

Sherlock couldn't concentrate. There was a dead body lying in front of him and he couldn't even tell you what gender it was. What had John done to him? He thought occupying his time with an investigation would be a better use of his time than sitting at home waiting for John. It turned out it was not.

Sherlock closed his eyes to pull himself together and made himself focus on the task at hand. But then his phone dinged with John's reply to his text and it was gone again. Three months without sex had turned him into a horny teenager. This was what he had been reduced to, a libido in a suit.

Honestly he blamed the whole thing on John. It wouldn't be this bad if John didn't insist they sleep in separate beds. It was, he had to admit, partly his fault. He'd rolled onto John's leg in his sleep, causing him agonizing pain. After that John slept in his own bed. It was why Sherlock was fond of making him breakfast in bed. It was a reason to slip into John's bed and lie with him while he ate. It was usually over too quickly as John got up to go to work or Sherlock got called away to a case.

Sundays, which Sherlock had usually found dull, were now his favorite days. It meant John didn't have work and it was rare for Sherlock to get a case. They'd spent the whole day on the couch kissing and watching crap telly. Well, John watched telly. Sherlock usually watched John.

Anderson made some snide comment and Sherlock glared at him before slipping his phone back into his pocket. The faster he concentrated, the sooner he could get home and sit there in agony until John got home. John would get out of work at four, then go right to physical therapy before coming home exactly at five like he always did. It was going to be a long day.

XXXXXX

The moment John entered the flat, Sherlock attacked him, grabbing him on either side of his face and devouring his lips with his. Sherlock kicked the door closed with one foot and then pressed John up against it. John's hands trailed down Sherlock's back before grabbing his magnificent arse. Sherlock was already hard against him and John was glad he was having such an affect.

"Bedroom." Sherlock said, his voice low and husky. He turned and headed in that direction, leaving a trail of clothes as he went. John took off his sock and shoes and followed him, resisting the urge to pick up the clothes.

John entered the bedroom to find a very naked Sherlock already on the bed. Sherlock's eyes flicked up and looked him up and down. "John, you're wearing entirely too much clothes."

John didn't move, instead shuffled his feet. Sherlock was off the bed in seconds and standing in front of John. "What's wrong?"

"How could you possibly find me attractive?" John asked quietly. "My body is twisted, mangled and full of scars. How could anyone want that?"

"John." Sherlock said cupping John's face with his hands and gently stroking his cheek with his thumb. "Have I not made it perfectly obvious how badly I want you? You have nothing to feel self-conscious about. The scars and bullet wounds show what kind of a man you truly are. You're an idiot for feeling ashamed of them."

"Well it doesn't exactly help with you standing there looking like that." John said motioning to Sherlock's very naked body in front of him.

"John, if I assume correctly that you do not wish that I were in any way different, why would I wish you to be different? If either of us were not fully satisfied, we wouldn't be here."

"Are you just trying to appease me so we can get on with it?" John cocked an eyebrow.

"Perhaps." Sherlock's lips twitched into a smile. "After three months of waiting, you can hardly blame me."

John responded by tilting his head upwards and finding Sherlock's lips. Sherlock's hands left his face and began unbuttoning his shirt. When he'd reached the last button, he untucked it from John's trousers and slipped it off his shoulders. Sherlock kissed along John's jawline and down his neck, finally settling at the wound on his shoulder. Sherlock ran his hand along the scar, his fingers tracing it before pressing his lips to it.

John stood very still, watching Sherlock and letting him do whatever he wanted. John would get involved soon enough but for the moment he was enjoying Sherlock's attentive touch. He began undoing John's pants and tugged them down, following them so he was on his knees. He kissed John's freshest wound, the one on his upper thigh, which had just finished healing.

John knew Sherlock was doing this for his benefit. In case John didn't believe what he said, he was going to show him. John couldn't imagine anyone doing more for him. And even though he'd suspected for a long time that he was in love with Sherlock, this was the first time he truly felt it without a shadow of a doubt. He was about to say something when Sherlock tugged down his underwear and with that John's brain forgot how to function.

Sherlock's tongue ran along the underside of John's cock from base to tip before pressing his lips against the head. Then he gracefully got to his feet and took John's hand, leading him to the bed, stepping out of pants as he went. Sherlock lied down on the bed and pulled John to him. Skin made contact with skin as their bodies rubbed together, their lips finding each other's.

John reached into the bedside table and grabbed the handcuffs, quickly shutting it around Sherlock's wrist and the bedpost just like Sherlock had done to him. Sherlock looked surprised. "I thought the rule was you always asked."

"Consider it karma." John shrugged before bending down to lightly bite Sherlock's bottom lip, pulling it slightly.

"Don't be ridiculous, there's no such thing." John relocated to Sherlock's collarbone, running his tongue along it.

"Then consider it revenge." John smiled against Sherlock's skin and then went back to kissing it. He brushed his thumbs over Sherlock's nipples, making him jump a bit from the sensation. Switching it up, he rolled them between thumb and finger, pinching them slightly until they were hard. Sherlock was moaning rather loudly and John wondered if he could make him scream again.

John went back into the bedside table to grab the lube. He positioned a pillow under Sherlock and began slicking up his fingers. He slipped one finger in, being gentle, after all it had been awhile. "John, you can do better than that." Sherlock growled impatiently.

John slipped two more fingers inside his arse, pushing all three deep inside Sherlock and then back out. He repeated the motion a few times and then inserted them as far as they would go. His other hand reached up and began stroking Sherlock's cock in time to the rhythm his fingers were moving in.

"John, would you just fuck me already?" Sherlock huffed, hitting his fist against a pillow in frustration. John twisted his fingers up in response, making Sherlock cry out with pleasure.

"I'm having quite the influence on your vocabulary." John snorted, pulling his fingers out. He brought his lips to Sherlock's, giving him a quick kiss and then going down his chest leaving love bites as he went.

"Such words are necessary when you're being so aggravating." Sherlock whined impetuously. John ignored him and continued making his way down. He trailed his tongue from Sherlock's navel down to his cock. Enjoying teasing Sherlock, he swirled his tongue around the tip of his cock before sucking the head and the precome that was there.

"John." Sherlock growled, his voice low in almost a purr. John licked the tip one last time before deciding to give Sherlock what he wanted. He sat up and began applying lube to his own cock.

John eased into Sherlock gradually, holding his hips to brace himself as he went in. His slick erection was throbbing inside Sherlock's perfect arse as he began rolling his hips, pushing in deeper. He moved slowly, keeping his pace even and controlled. He savored the feeling of Sherlock's muscles contracting around him as he drove himself out and then back in.

Sherlock wrapped his legs around John and began pushing against him, trying to speed up the thrusts. John compensated by shifting up and in, finding Sherlock's prostate and forcing a moan from the man's lips.

"Faster John." Sherlock begged, wrapping his fingers around the chain between the handcuffs, his other grabbing a fistful of the sheets. John did one quick, sharp thrust that issued a loud indescribable noise from his partner.

Sherlock released the sheets and grabbed his own cock. His movements were erratic as he wanked himself off. John watched him, the sight of Sherlock partly handcuffed to the bed, completely at John's mercy was so erotic. He felt even more aroused, if such a thing was possible. He stopped worrying about making his movements deliberate and just worried about going as fast and deep as possible.

"John. Fuck. Oh fuck. John." Sherlock said, his voice gruff. He bit down on his lip.

"No, I want to hear it." John said gripping Sherlock's hips, his fingers digging in.

"Faster John, please." Sherlock pleaded.

John started moving Sherlock's hips against him to meet his thrusts, pushing himself even deeper inside than he thought possible. Soon Sherlock took over, his hips grinding against John over and over.

"John. Oh God. Just like that. Oh fuck. John."

"Come for me." John requested watching Sherlock's long slender fingers stroke his own cock. He could feel he was close but he wanted Sherlock to come first.

"John, I, Oh God." Sherlock arched his back and wrapped his legs even tighter around John's middle as hot liquid erupted from his cock.

"Fuck." John yelled overcome and within a few more thrusts he came hard inside Sherlock, his body convulsing with a powerful orgasm as if it was losing control.

They panted together as John collapsed on top of Sherlock. He pulled himself out and let Sherlock hold him close. "Aren't you going to let me out now?" Sherlock asked jiggling the handcuffs.

"Do I have to?" John asked giving him a quick kiss. "Now that I've finally got you here, I'm not sure I want to let you out."

"I assure you these are not necessary. I have no plans to go anywhere."

"Good.' John said smiling approvingly. "You seem to be back to normal. No more one syllable words."

"Yes, well, you seem to have this ability to make my head go all fuzzy."

"That's quite the bragging rights." John gloated, reaching under the bedside table and grabbing the key from where it was taped. "The only person in the world who can derail Sherlock Holmes's brain."

He unlocked the cuffs and Sherlock dropped his hand. There were red marks from where Sherlock had pulled against the restraints. John pressed his lips to them, feeling somewhat guilty. They weren't deep, they would probably be done by the next day or so but still. It hadn't been his intention to cause Sherlock pain.

"I'm quite alright." Sherlock said as if he could read John's mind.

"You're sure?"

"I couldn't be better. How is your leg?"

"Surprisingly fine."

XXXXXX

Sherlock was sitting in his usual chair, his face stoic, his hands tented under his chin. John was in the kitchen making tea. He knew he would never be able to keep up with Sherlock's brain but he still didn't like when Sherlock got like this. Who knew what crazy notions were rolling around in that beautiful mind of his?

John placed a cup of tea near Sherlock in case he came out of his head and wanted it. John sat across from Sherlock, sipping his tea and waiting. He wanted to ask but if he interrupted Sherlock's thought process he would get cranky and John really wasn't up to dealing with that. He had just put his hands on the armrest to pull himself up when Sherlock spoke.

"John." Sherlock looked as if he was choosing his words carefully. "Do you remember a few months ago when you were going to tell me something but I stopped you?"

"Yes." John nodded. He was all too aware of what Sherlock was referring. He'd been about to tell Sherlock he loved him when Sherlock stopped him. At the time he was confused as to why Sherlock had done that but it turned out to be a blessing. Their time apart would have been even harder if he had said it. It would have been something else to fret over and hate himself for. So in the end Sherlock had done him a favor. Although he had no idea why Sherlock was bringing it up now.

"John, I'd like you to say it. Of course only if you mean it but I'm ready to hear it now."

"Well that's big of you." John rolled his eyes. "You want me to say those three little words but it never occurred to you to say them first."

"No it didn't." Sherlock confessed. Well at least he was being honest. "Would you prefer that I say it first?"

"I don't think either of us should feel obligated to say it until we feel it."

"Right, of course." Sherlock nodded and stared off into space for a moment before refocusing on John. "So you don't love me?"

"I didn't say that." John said suddenly feeling like he had dug himself a hole he couldn't get out of.

"You said you shouldn't say it until you feel it, which means you haven't felt it." Sherlock concluded.

"Well it's not exactly something you blurt out over afternoon tea, is it?" John responded, running his fingers through his hair, not sure how he was ever going to explain this.

"So it requires a special occasion?" he asked making an assumption.

"No." John shook his head. "It should just feel right. A moment where you don't have to say it but you want to, you need to because you want that person to know what they mean to you. It should be instinctive and impulsive to the point where you just can't hold it in any longer."

"Yes, of course." Sherlock mumbled mostly to himself and as he got up out of his seat. John watched him as he disappeared into the bedroom and wondered if he had made things better or worse. Only time would tell.

XXXXXXX

Sherlock tried several times over the next few weeks to tell John he loved him. Each time he held back, not sure if he was being impulsive enough. There was a few occasions where he almost blurted it out during sex but he bit his lip to hold it in. He knew the rule was that saying it during sex didn't really count. He would just have to think of something else.

He knew he shouldn't be planning it out. John had said it should be instinctive, but Sherlock didn't know any other way. He wasn't the type to just speak without thinking and that seemed to be how it was done. Why did it have to be so complicated? Things would be so much easier if John would just say it first. For whatever reason he wasn't and it was unbelievably frustrating.

Sherlock considered taking John out to Angelo's and telling him there. Or maybe he would take him to meet Tom the bartender. At least then maybe Sherlock could have a few drinks; loosen up enough to be spontaneous like John wanted. As it turned out, Sherlock never got a chance to do either of those things.

A case came up at the most opportune time to take Sherlock's mind off of things. Although John came with him, so it was still running through the back of his mind. It was like John had taken up a permanent residence in his brain. Even when he was thinking about seven different things, at least one of them was John,

They were in a parking garage, a woman lying dead next to an empty spot where presumably her car had been. Lestrade, Sally and Anderson were already there along with other members of the forensics team. Sherlock crouched down by the body, John doing the same on the other side. He was kneeling on his good leg, trying to keep the weight off his bad one. As much as he liked to pretend it didn't hurt anymore, Sherlock knew he was putting on a brave face. The leg still gave him pain on occasion but John would never admit it.

"Blunt force trauma." John said examining the body. "Someone attacked her from the back, hit her in the head. She hit the ground pretty hard considering the amount of gravel embedded in her face."

"It looks like a carjacker." Anderson interjected.

"Of course it's not." John scoffed before Sherlock could. Everyone's eyes fixated on John as he went on. "She's still got her purse. Why would someone steal her car but leave all her credit cards and cash? Also there's no tire marks anywhere in the vicinity. If someone had just murdered this woman and drove off in her car, they would have been in a hurry. Whoever did this just pulled out and left like it was nothing, which would suggest they probably knew her and wouldn't look suspicious driving her car."

Everyone looked somewhat dumbfounded, their eyes wide and blinking as they stared at John. He stood and so did Sherlock. Then before he knew what he was doing, he grabbed John by the front of his coat and kissed him, over the dead woman no less. "I love you." Sherlock breathed, resting his forehead against John's.

"Um, come here." John said looking over at the other three whose mouths were hanging open. John took Sherlock's hand and led him away from the crime scene. They went a few rows over, away from any of the police officers.

"Did I do it wrong?" Sherlock asked, feeling uncharacteristically nervous.

"No, I mean I would have preferred less of an audience..."

"You haven't said it back." Sherlock pointed out.

"I'm just not sure this is the best place to get in to this." John said looking around.

"John, do you love me or not?" Sherlock demanded.

"Can't we do this later?"

"It's a fairly simple question John."

"Alright!" John cried out in frustration. "I bloody love you. I love you! Are you happy now?"

"Yes." Sherlock smiled in satisfaction before grabbing John and pulling him in for another kiss. Sherlock pressed John against a random car and slipped his tongue into his mouth. It was amazing what a weight had been lifted now that he'd finally said it. Now he could just concentrate on loving John.

Someone coughed and the two of them turned to see Lestrade standing there looking uncomfortable. "Hi. So we're all very happy for you two but could you maybe finish this after you help me solve the murder?"

"Piss off." Sherlock said.

"Of course." John said at the same time. He gently pushed Sherlock away and Sherlock clenched his jaw in irritation.

"Thank you." Lestrade said turning and heading back to the crime scene.

"So how much did I get wrong?" John asked as they followed Lestrade back to the body.

"Nothing."

"Seriously?" John asked surprised.

"Well, you missed everything important but nothing you said was actually wrong. You're improving." Sherlock said feeling a strange sense of pride.

"Thanks." John said sarcastically.

"You know John, I think we should get married." Sherlock said coming to a decision.

"Oh for fuck's sake. This is not the time to discuss this."

"So there is a later time when you'd be open to discussing it." Sherlock concluded.

"Yes. I mean no. I don't know. God, you're bloody impossible, do you know that?" John sighed shaking his head.

"You still love me though, right?" Sherlock asked concerned.

"Yes. I still love you." John said taking his hand and smiling. "Because I'm an idiot."

End

Author's Note:

This is, for the time being, the end of this fic. I have however left it as incomplete in case I decide to come back to it and add an epilogue. I don't have any immediate plans to do this but might be so inclined in the near future.

Because someone asked, Tom the Bartender was not alluding to any Harry Potter characters. However if you choose to believe it is, who am I to stop you?

Thank you to anyone who read and reviewed. It is appreciated.