SO GUIZ. This is my first Johnlock (John/Sherlock) porn.

I know. My first Johnlock porn. There is something broken in me. *shakes head*

Title: At This Moment You Mean Everything To Me

Pairing: Sherlock/John

Rated: R? NC-17? M? Whatever is your red alert, they fuck each other, kay?

Summary: Look guiz, Sherlock comes back. Ok. And they have sex and talk. It's...it sucks actually. It's not very good. But it was my stress reliever during the week and I just finished it. SO.

Song title taken from Come On Eileen, by Save Ferris. This song. THIS SONG. Has been stuck in my head since Monday. WTF guiz?

Current Song: Come On Eileen by Save Ferris (ok, who's surprised? not me...*grumblegrumble*)

Current Thought: I AM STARVING.

At This Moment, You Mean Everything To Me

The first thing John does when he sees Sherlock again is punch him.

The second thing he does is sit him down in his favorite chair and kneel in front of him, checking him for injury besides the split lip John had given him.

"John," Sherlock says softly as the other man tilts his head to the side, runs dexterous fingers through his hair. "John what are you doing?"

"Checking you," John says, his voice tight, his soldier persona firmly in place.

"For what?" Sherlock asks incredulously.

"For anything," John says, still swallowing, still running his fingers everywhere. "Because the last time I saw you, you're skull was cracked open on the sidewalk and you had no pulse and-" John's voice hitches. "God, you cannotbe real." His hands are still wandering and he's ripping Sherlock's heart to shreds. "God, Sherlock-" John starts.

But Sherlock drags John off the floor and onto his lap, placing a hand behind his neck. He pulls John in for a kiss that makes the other man start to cry.

"Tell me that's not real," Sherlock says against John's mouth. John's crying now, ends their second kiss and wraps his arms around Sherlock's neck in a hug, burying his face in the other man's shoulder.

"Why?" is all he asks. Not how; heknows Sherlock is capable of anything. It's thewhy that's getting to him.

Sherlock stands, holding John to him, and moves them to the long couch, laying John down under him, straddling the other man's waist with his legs and running his hands all over John. He's stronger, John's noticed. Sherlock had picked him up, literally without breaking a sweat and his biceps are more defined. Sherlock had been putting his spare time to good use.

"You were gone," John says, his hands going up Sherlock's chest. "For so long and - and I- why?" He's choking on his own sobs.

"I had to, I'm sorry," Sherlock whispers in a broken voice, holding one of John's hands over his heart. "I'm sorry John, I'm sosorry John."

John feels Sherlock's heart beat this time, right there under his fingers, and it breaks him all over again. He needs Sherlock, that much is true, but he needs himright nowand he yanks the man down by the curls, kisses his mouth again because he needs to know that this man is here.

Sherlock knows though, because Sherlock always knows,and he's making his way under John's jumper, letting John rip away the windbreaker he was wearing in place of the Belstaff. And it's a relief, like they've both regrown a missing limb that had been hacked off.

"Needed to protect you," Sherlock murmurs desperately against John's stomach where his face is pressed. "Needed to protect you all." Sherlock doesn't say anything after that, just gives a sigh of relief as they both lose their tops and Sherlock presses their bare chests together. John's tears wet his face and Sherlock kiss them away. "John," he finally whispers, making quick work of their trousers.

"Sherlock," John says, gasping as the cold air hits his already hardening, exposed cock. "She-Sherlock," John almost sobs. "Say something, deduce something." John needs to know this is real, it doesn't feel real. He's afraid to trust himself after wanting this so badly, wanting Sherlock alive and well, wanting... this. Sherlock shucks off his pants. "Anything," John almost begs, his eyes squeezed shut. Sherlock presses down, now as naked as John, and John keens up into his body, clutching onto him, taking in all the new and old scars that splatter Sherlock's pale skin.

"You've been living here along," Sherlock starts, his voice a low rumble. "Haven't taken a new flat-mate, several failed relationships. You still talk to your therapist." Sherlock kisses John's shaking body as he makes his way down it.

"You missed me," Sherlock says, his voice full of unheard-of emotion, cracking on the last work. "You've been in pain, all of this time." Sherlock smoothly lifts John's legs onto his shoulders, so careful, so reverent. He slicks up his fingers with his own spit and slowly works them into John's entrance, the latter crying out and pushing back down on the long, pale digits.

"You were alone," Sherlock says, as he wrecks John, totally takes him apart. He scissors his fingers so John opens wide, wide enough for him to fit, wide enough that he can fit three fingers inside of him. Sherlock pulls them out then, when John is loose and slick with Sherlock's spit. John looks down to see why he's stopped and stares as Sherlock spits on his own erection to slick himself up.

He stares because this is happening, Sherlock is really here and yet... and yet he can't quite believe it still.

"You must have hated me," Sherlock says and he slowly, gradually pushes his way into John, sinking into the velvety-soft muscles of John's insides. "John," Sherlock mewls as he starts to snap his hips in and out, "John, I'm sorry." It's rough and gritty and it hurts and John loves it because he's finally feeling something after being hollow and empty for so long.

"No," John says, gripping Sherlock's arms and holding him closer as he slams into him. "Not hate, God no, neverhate," he sighs out. Sherlock moves faster, the word 'sorry' falling from his lips and onto John's skin in the form of kisses. "It's not hate," John gasps, his cock stuck between their moving bodies, Sherlock filling him up, splitting him open. John unexpectedly comes in a rush of emotion, seeing white for a moment, clamping down around Sherlock's prick, his come squirting between them.

Sherlock starts to get erratic with his thrusts and then John says breathlessly, "Love, I lovedyou, stilllove you. That's why it - hurt so much." Sherlock seizes then, his whole body rocking, and then he comes inside of John with a shout.

They lay there, panting into each other's faces, until Sherlock groans and slowly pulls out of John before arranging their lax bodies on the couch so that John is mostly on top of him, his body pillowed by Sherlock's, and they're lying flat.

John clings to him, still breathing heavily, presses his ear over Sherlock's chest right over his heart, and listens to its erratic beat as it slows, and tries to convince himself that this is real, that the warm skin beneath him is really there and full of life. He dazedly traces patterns into the skin of Sherlock's chest with his finger and then he looks up sharply and says, "Why?"

Sherlock stills, takes in a deep breath, buries the fingers of one hand into John's hair and then he speaks. "Moriarty," and he hasn't said that name in so long, "he...he threatened to kill you. All of you. Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade...you." he sounds terrified before he clears his throat and continues in a steadier voice. "i was going to find a way to stop him; he had a code to call off his people and-"

Sherlock coughs, trying to hide the sob that is trying to break free. "John," he says in a whisper, "John, he had a sniper on you. A military snipe. Moran. Colonel Sebastian Moran. Best sniper around, bit of a dirty player. Dishonorably discharged."

John freezes. He'd known Moran. He's looked up to the man at a point in his life. That he was the man sent to end John's life... it doesn't bear thinking about.

"Moriarty killed himself before I could use his own flaw against him. The only thing that would stop you all from getting killed would be for-"

"For you to die," John finishes in a whisper.

But Sherlock tilts John's chin up with a hand and says, "No. For them to think I was dead. And the only way to do that securely and sincerely would be-"

"To have me believe it," John says in revelation. "To have the tabloids pick it up."

"To stay away until I could clear my name and make sure you were safe," Sherlock says quietly back.

John realizes the implications with this statement and looks up. "So...you've found a way, then?" Because if Sherlock hasn't, if he'd had a moment of weakness and had just needed to see John, but is going to leave right after...

John's heart can't take that. It just...can't.

But Sherlock breathes the word, "Yes," and all of John's fears melt away. "Yes. And Moran and the others are taken care of. Mycroft has made sure of it that."

"He knew?" John asks, a but hurt by that.

"He helped," Sherlock says a bit more gently. "You weren't the only one who he had to keep it a secret from. Imagine being Mycroft and having to keep this sort of thing from Lestrade."

John feels sympathy take hold of him immediately. "Poor Greg. His entire career went down the drain after...the incident." He won't call it by name. He won't even think about it.

Sherlock stops stroking John's back. "He'll be restored to his former...glory," he says dryly. "Don't you worry. When I officially 'come back', we're letting him 'catch' Moran and 'expose' Moriarty." He pauses now and says delicately, "And that's not quite what I mean. About Mycroft and Lestrade."

John looks up at him. "What then?"

Sherlock stares and then he laughs. He flat-out laughs. "My, my Dr. Watson. you have been alone and isolate toolong." He takes a minute to parse out the words and then says, "Mycroft and Lestrade have a...thing."

John makes a face. "A thing? What'd you mean a th- Oh." John presses closer to Sherlock and he smiles. "Really?"

"Quite disturbing, I know," Sherlock admits. "I've been away too long. You would have already noticed a while back if I had been around, then." His voice is wistful regretful. "I am sorry, John."

But John has had enough of apologies. He needs to get a few things straight, now. "So you're really here?" he asks.

"Oh, most definitely," Sherlock responds.

"And you're staying? For good?"

"Yes." His hold on John tightens. "Always."

John starts to laugh then. "And you're name will be cleared?"

"Within the week, I presume," Sherlock says, smiling. "Whatis it exactly that you find so amusing, John Watson?" John shakes his head against Sherlock's chest, then sits up.

"Did we just have sex?" he asks, giggling. "Did we just have sex...and on the couch of all places?"

Sherlock freezes, and then when he realizes that John isn't mad, just happy and giddy, he sits up too and nods. "Yes. We just had sex. on the couch."

John shakes his head, trying to suppress the giggles and failing. "The first thing we do when you come back. We don't go and tell Mrs. Hudson. We have sex." John sobers then, looks at Sherlock from under his lashes. "I've...uh...I've always wanted to do that...with you."

Sherlock's eyes widen. "You...have?"

John looks at him straight on now, frowning. "Sherlock, it wasn't just the throes of ecstasy talking. I meant what I said when I said that i loved you."

It's quiet for a moment as Sherlock just stares at this man, at this man that's made such a difference in everything.

And then Sherlock leans in and kisses him.

"And I you, John," he answers in return against John's lips. When he leans back, there's a child-like grin on his face. "Now let's take this to the bedroom. There's something I saw in Romania that I want to try on you."

And Sherlock hops off the couch bare-arse naked and walks over to his room. after a minute, he pokes his head out to ask, "Coming?" John snaps out of his daze as Sherlock disappears around the corner once again.

And all he can do is follow.

~FIN~

So guiz. Any thoughts? Questions? Comments? Concerns ( i have plenty of those...mostly for my mental health)?

REVIEWS ARE LOVED AND WELCOME AND PREFERRED AND UH... ok, enough caps lock. I got it.

Review?