(This is NOT WORKSAFE.)

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John made some attempt to squirm his wrist out of Sherlock's grip, but it was like a vice. "Sherlock, we're dripping water everywhere!" They were still quite nude and Sherlock was pulling him straight…to his bedroom. John had been in there often enough for various reasons, but somehow it didn't seem as immense before as it did now.

"So?" Sherlock tugged him into the bedroom and closed the door before, before all but attacking John's lips.

It seemed like such a simple action, but all it did was short-circuit his brain. He found himself kissing back just as passionately, one hand easing up to rub the back of his neck and the other around a slim waist. Their tongues touched and he brought his not inconsiderable talent onto that mouth, only noticing when their mouths abruptly broke apart that Sherlock had pushed them to the bed in that time. "Your bed is going to get wet," he warned.

The tall detective eased him to lie on his back, following him, and he nipped at his ear. "Then we'll actually sleep in yours."

John laughed a little and it turned into a breathy moan as Sherlock intently kissed down from his ear to his neck. "Sherlock," he groaned just as those lips found and nudged at his nipples. "You said…you never did this…before!"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him, leaving just a light bite behind to see his reaction. "Research."

"You did not watch…gay porn for this…" At the man's silence, he groaned at the occasional stupidity of such a smart man. "Sherlock, that—"

"Do you really think I'd choose such an inaccurate method as porn?"

"Then what—"

"Much as I love to explain things to you, stop asking questions and do shut up." To accentuate his words, Sherlock's slim and supple fingers stroked along his shaft.

Well that was one way to get what he wanted. John's whole body seemed to tingle in pure desire and he gasped, arching just a little into the surprisingly soft touch. For a moment, the sensations of pleasure that Sherlock was giving him made it impossible to concentrate on anything else. He shook himself mentally, not willing to be a passive participant. He nudged his partner, rolling them over until the man was beneath him.

"What are you doing?"

"Just watch," he told the skeptical, almost suspicious man. Despite not having done this before, John was determined and he kissed his way down a surprisingly toned stomach. By then understanding had crossed Sherlock's face and if he wasn't mistaken, did the man just squirm in anticipation? He only had one moment of hesitation before he brushed his lips over the engorged head of his partner and he heard an immediate groan.

Taking his time, he licked and cautiously tasted, inwardly smirking at the reaction he was getting out of Sherlock. It was one thing to know something mentally, but another to experience it. There were no smart comments or commentary, thankfully, and emboldened by the silence, he explored further. His fingers brushed along Sherlock's sack and he had to lean back quickly as those hips shifted up into the touch.

"Stop teasing."

John raised an eyebrow at the almost petulant complaint from a breathless Sherlock, but his mind just wasn't wired for witty replies back in this situation, so instead he just leaned down and finally pulled the man's arousal into his mouth. There was a reluctant groan above him, as if Sherlock was doing everything he could to make sure his sounds weren't heard. Well that wouldn't do at all. If Sherlock was going to encourage him to make noise, then it was only right that he do the same. So despite John's inexperience in doing this with a man, he worked along that length with his tongue and focusing on all the sensitive spots his hands had found a few minutes ago in the shower.

"John… John!" His eyes flicked up and Sherlock made a vague gesture with his hand that he didn't understand. After a second, his lover rolled his eyes. "Turn around."

Despite taking a minute to consider it, he shifted his position, letting his rear face Sherlock and went back to what he was doing. The slim hands that touched his thighs was almost soothing in a way as they caressed, exploring with that same single-minded focus that he put into his cases. They stroked along his arousal, touching just a little harder in response to the pleasure that John gave him before easing up to his rear. In truth, he didn't care what position he was in. He was completely unflustered about it, willing to go with whatever Sherlock wanted just because it didn't matter to him so long as he had the man somehow.

Fingers pushed in and he moaned as Sherlock's memory hadn't failed him. They went right for his prostate and pressed hard. The pleasure rocketed through him and he whimpered around that hard length in his mouth. He lifted his head, looking over his shoulder, but before he could say a word, he saw Sherlock grab a bottle of lotion. "…How long have you been planning this?" he asked with narrowed eyes.

Sherlock coated his fingers in the lotion and replaced him, his fingers in a scissor-like motion to loosen him. "Since Mycroft left."

"What…exactly…did he say to you?"

His lover growled instead of answering and slipped a third finger inside. A shiver went down John's spine and licked at Sherlock's tip again before Sherlock eased himself away. He looked over his shoulder, seeing his partner on his knees behind him. Carefully those fingers were thrusting in and out, a pale imitation to what would be happening in a few minutes. Seeing the question in his eyes, Sherlock leaned down and kissed his shoulder, seeming to grudgingly admit, "I can't concentrate when you do that."

"I thought," John muttered as those fingers seemed intent to abuse his prostate, "that you could concentrate no matter what."

"You're a distraction!"

He hesitated, not sure if he should apologize for that. He knew how much Sherlock absolutely hated distractions and he was torn between feeling pleased that he alone made such an impact in his life and feeling guilty that he had. As if divining his thoughts, there was an elegant twist of Sherlock's fingers and he shouted in pleasure. "Stop thinking, you'll get yourself in trouble. You're even more of a distraction if you're not here."

John couldn't take much more, fingers gripping the sheets tightly and he muttered, "That's…enough, Sherlock. I'm…ready."

"No, you're not. If I enter now, you'll be in pain."

"I'll be in pain anyway, just do it!" he argued, desperately trying to convince his heated body to calm down a bit so he didn't lose it early. He bit his lip and gave in, begging, "Please, I need it, Sherlock…"

There was a pause, fingers freezing. He could feel Sherlock staring at him and John didn't have it in him to say it again. If he was going to try to make him… No, even Sherlock wasn't that cruel and those fingers left him immediately. Thin, almost spindly arms, wrapped around his chest as his lover leaned down over his back. "No complaining later."

"No complaining later," he agreed.

It was only when Sherlock thrust in, in one smooth motion, that John cursed. Liar! Sherlock had not been as calm as he'd appeared; the detective would have broken just as quickly as he had, perhaps in the next moment, if he hadn't started begging! There was pain yes, but he had endured far worse, and when Sherlock shifted and hit his prostate, the pangs were suddenly worth it.

Almost politely, there was no movement and he took what he had to get used to the sensation. This was his first time with a man and in some ways, it was just a little scary. This change in their relationship was completely unknown and he had absolutely no idea how they were going to fit the now-romantic part of their lives in with what had been before. On one hand, it was entirely natural, like breathing; just like an extension of how close they actually were. They had always been closer, more important, to each other than family or even lovers. Doing this physically was almost like an afterthought. Yet at the same time, it was frightening because John had never been good with relationships. Thanks to the very same thing that made this so natural was the very thing that had caused him to fail on almost all of his previous relationships in the past four years.

As if sensing the turmoil in his thoughts, Sherlock's hand abruptly landed over his clenched one. John's eyes slid open—when had they closed?—and stared before he shifted his. He let go of the sheet and turned his hand around until their palms met and he twined their fingers together slowly, giving Sherlock time to pull away if he didn't like it. Sherlock didn't. Instead, his elegant fingers closed with his and squeezed tightly. It was as good a declaration of love as John would ever get, because he knew the simple words of 'I love you' would never pass his partner's lips.

Taking their hands as consent that it was all right, Sherlock began to move. He almost mourned the loss as he began to pull out, only to bite his lip when there was a slightly rough push in. It had probably taken all of Sherlock's considerable control over himself to remain still. The slow movements gradually sped up and he finally let out a soft shout when his lover's free hand slid sensually over his abdomen and down between his legs, lightly touching his arousal.

"Sher…lock," he groaned and he could almost feel the smile, or smirk, behind him. Well, he wouldn't quibble if this swelled Sherlock's already massive ego.

His name was whispered right against his ear as the measured thrusts began to falter and speed up. John could sympathize because he didn't know how much longer he could withhold his release if Sherlock kept abusing his prostate and stroking him. He rested his forehead against the bed, moaning as his nerves sung with pleasure. Though he hadn't expected it, Sherlock was a surprisingly attentive lover, kissing along his shoulders and in his hair. Their entwined fingers never wavered.

"Sherlock…not…much longer," he warned with a gasp.

"Yes," was the hissed moan and suddenly he was gripping the bed and his lover's hand fiercely as the dam broke and Sherlock took him roughly and quickly, no finesse, just seeking their climax. John did yell this time, much to his embarrassment, as his orgasm hit him. He spasmed in Sherlock's hand and onto the sheets beneath him shuddering, and instinctively clenched fiercely around his lover. There was a silent grunt above him as Sherlock thrust in one last time and he felt wetness in a place he never had before.

Sherlock, in a rare display of decency, pulled them over to land on their sides so that John didn't just fall forward into the wet spot he'd made. They were still connected and much to his surprise, he felt that elegant face nuzzling into the back of his neck. The only sound in the bedroom was their panting and he could feel the idle exploration that Sherlock's hand was doing on his body.

His eyes shifted to their still combined fingers in front of him and he squeezed softly. There was a moment's hesitation, pleasure no longer clouding Sherlock's mind, but he returned the motion softly. He smiled and turned a little, enough to look at the man's face. It was deceptively blank and with a rare moment of clarity, John realized that he was waiting, waiting to hear how he performed.

If he hadn't known that Sherlock would take it badly, the opposite way he would intend it, he would have laughed at the silliness of even questioning it. "It…was fantastic, Sherlock," he whispered. "I've never felt anything like it."

The blank look eased, the shutters on his eyes reopened. There was that same superior look on his face that everyone hated, as if to say 'of course it was', but John knew the truth: Sherlock had needed the reassurance. He had never realized just how much his opinion of his lover mattered to him and it made his heart so happy it could burst. Irene Adler might have been a fascination on Sherlock's part, but he knew that he had captured something that no one else in the world could: Sherlock's heart.

"What stupid thing are you thinking now?" Sherlock asked with narrowed eyes.

"Since you'd just scoff at me, I'm not going to tell you," John replied with a smile.

Sherlock's lips twisted and he moved his hips without warning, earning a shocked but pleased gasp. "Tell me."

"No."

"I can make you."

"No you can't," he said, finally letting out a laugh. In revenge, that free hand gripped his hip, holding him still, and he made a deliberate motion with his hips that caused John to moan softly. "Still…not…telling."

"Then I think it's time for an interrogation," Sherlock whispered right in his ear. "If it takes all night, then so be it."

"You have to sleep…at some point," he argued.

"Says who?"

He blinked, a sixth sense like a deer had when it knew it was in the crosshairs. "Sherlock…what are you doing?" he asked as he felt the man pull out. Their hands slipped apart as the detective eased him onto his back and spread his legs.

"There will be no sleep for you tonight, John Watson."

Seeing that insufferable smile, John shuddered with both anticipation and dread.

-0-

"So where's John?"

Sherlock looked up from his newspaper at Lestrade. It was noon by now and he could see why someone might make the observation because John was always up just after dawn. Sherlock had assured that wouldn't happen because he hadn't let his lover sleep until the sun had just started to rise and while he would never admit it aloud, he did think that perhaps he had overdid it. His thighs were still protesting all the activity from yesterday, yet he found himself remarkably relaxed, enough that he lounged bonelessly on the sofa instead of pacing for a case.

"Still sleeping, I expect," he said, only to lift his head a little when he heard movement from his bedroom. He frowned and stood up. "Stay here."

"What—I'm not a dog, Sherlock!"

Sherlock ignored the comment and headed to his room to find John standing, but he had to hold onto the headboard to do it. "What are you doing?" he asked, not bothering to close the door. It wasn't as if Lestrade could see anything and trying to ignore a sudden thought of 'like hell would Sherlock ever allow anyone to even glance at his naked partner'.

"What does it look like?"

"I'm surprised you can even sit up, much less stand," he admitted.

"Well that was certainly your intent last night. Too bad for you I'm used to dealing with pain."

Sherlock frowned at that. Yes, he had let John talk him into entering early when he hadn't been sure that he was completely prepared, and yes, maybe his passions had been a little too much to continue all night. John glanced up at him and smiled, reaching over and grabbing his dressing gown, pulling him closer.

"Don't look like that, I loved it." Their lips met in a kiss and he would be damned before he admitted that that simple action was so soothing for his worries. His arms immediately wrapped around John as he shifted his head into the kiss, tongue sliding in and plundering that hot mouth of its riches. John was moaning in his arms and Sherlock really had to wonder why he hadn't just done this before three years ago.

The only thing that broke his intent to just ravage John for another few hours was the fact that his lover physically couldn't take it right then. So he forced himself to pull back. "If you insist on being up, get dressed. I will not let Lestrade see you nude."

John squeaked in a very amusing way, color draining from his face. "Lestrade is here?"

"Yes," he said bluntly and headed back to the living room, dropping down on the sofa again.

"Sherlock, what was that about?"

"Nothing," he said, trying to hide his self-satisfied smirk, but he didn't think he did it very well.

A few minutes later John joined them and Sherlock noted that he used walls and other objects to surreptitiously steady himself. He headed straight for the tea in the kitchen that Sherlock had left for him. "Morning, Greg."

"Morning? It's afternoon, John. What, did you go on a bender last night?"

There was a suspicious flush on John's cheeks that Sherlock found an unreasonable sense of jealousy that Lestrade was there to see…even if he didn't think the detective observant enough to notice it at the distance between the kitchen and living space. This was why he disapproved of love: it brought so many complications and emotions that he didn't need. Despite knowing this, he had done a stupid thing anyway by falling in love with John.

"So how are things with you two? Last time you met, I seem to recall it took several people to stop John from killing you and then he wouldn't talk to you for months."

John looked at Sherlock in surprise and he shifted. So he had told Lestrade that John had been giving him the silent treatment; Lestrade had asked and he had told the truth…albeit a tad grudgingly. "We're fine now," John said after a minute as he warmed up the tea that had gone cold.

"Well, come sit down then."

There was a heavy pause and Sherlock looked over with interest in how John was going to deal with that question. His lover had paused and he smiled in an almost strained fashion. "I'm fine standing."

"What's his problem?" Lestrade asked in an undertone to Sherlock.

As he saw no reason not to, Sherlock answered truthfully, "He can't sit."

"Sherlock!"

He blinked at the outraged voice of his partner in the kitchen. "What?" he asked.

"He can't sit? Why not?"

He opened his mouth to respond, but John beat him to it, "Sherlock, if you answer that question the way I think you are, so help me god…"

Sherlock tried not to look wounded. Why was John refusing to tell Lestrade? Yes, John had always had a problem with others assuming they were lovers long before they actually were, but he hadn't thought that John would care if it had become truth. Sulkily he watched as John slowly made his way into the living room with as much dignity as he could. He paused at his chair, seeming to take a breath, then continued over to the sofa where Sherlock was reclining, much to his surprise.

"Sherlock and I…discussed some things the other day and…" John paused and Sherlock refused to look at him even when he touched his shoulder. "One thing kind of led to another."

He blinked as Lestrade looked between them and finally managed to make the connection. He gasped a little and said, "Wait, are you two dating now?!"

"…Yes."

"Well it's about time! Even I was starting to have my doubts!"

"…What?" John said after a pause and Sherlock could only start laughing. Apparently the only one that hadn't known of John's feelings had been John himself.

"Wait, so the reason you can't sit down…" He eyed the two of them.

"You assumed our positions would be reversed," Sherlock supplied and Lestrade had the grace to shrug in admittance. "I suppose I shall be hearing that a lot."

"So…you don't have a problem with it?"

Lestrade shrugged at John's words. "Everyone had already put you two together anyway, just without the sex with the way you denied it. It didn't help that there was a running tally of how many women you dated and broke up with. It was almost going to reach the twenties. It does explain the trouble sitting…but you're up late, John. Sherlock was up before you."

John shifted in embarrassment. "Well…"

"As a doctor he should know he shouldn't even be standing," Sherlock interrupted. "Or awake."

"Awake… When did he go to sleep?"

"Sherlock…" John warned with a dangerous tone in his voice.

"Dawn." Sherlock ignored him.

"You kept him up all night?"

"Yes."

Even as Lestrade whistled in shock, he ignored his habitually outraged, "Sherlock!" Somehow, he couldn't be more content.

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