A\N: Hello there guys! So, I was just pondering what to do because obviously I have no life and some things get really boring, so I decided to whip up a quick one-shot in the middle of being super tired and not really all in there. xD I hope it doesn't sound to terrible and I think I really overdid the emotions and sex scene in this fic, but eh, everybody makes mistakes. Mine are jsut bigger than others. xD

I hope you enjoy anyway though. I literally did this in thirty minutes and I understand if you think it is terrible, but please leave a review telling me what I could do better or what I had done well! x3 So, please and thank you!

Heat and Love

One Shot: Fear of Love and Burning Needs

~oOo~

Third Person POV

"And John? I love you. I love you so much it has become a physical pain, so biting and grating that some days I find it almost impossible to get out of bed and start the day. There are cases that I am so terrified for your life that I simply cannot risk a plan or two, because I know you will be right behind me in the crossfire. And it is insane. It shuts my mind off of every outside force other than you when I think about how much I love you – and as your flatmate I don't think I would be able to keep on as it were feeling the same way I do now,"

John Watson felt like he was suffocating. The words spoken felt so branded into his mind that he, too, couldn't think of anything else. Sherlock bloody Holmes was – was in love with him. Sherlock openly and readily admitted that he finally felt an emotion that he had never allowed himself of before – but…where does that leave him?

John didn't want to be loved.

He didn't want to love.

Could he love?

John had always thought that every sort of love he felt was strictly platonic. Sure, he had his girlfriends and his one night stands – but…he didn't know if he was capable of what Sherlock was speaking of. Love? Love was such a strong word for such a strong version of emotions – he wouldn't be able to give Sherlock what he wanted. He wouldn't be able to open up completely; John was a strict man with a lot of secrets that not even Sherlock knew about and – and would that drive a wedge in between them?

"Sherlock…."

John stood, petrified, in the middle of 221B Baker Street. His fingers were clenched in a tight ball and his eyes were wild – staring at Sherlock but not staring at him. His breath was elevated as well – all of which he was sure the dark-haired man had already picked up on.

John's best friend of four years let out a sharp exhale. He glanced away. "I just…I felt as if you had the right to know. I do not expect a response – and quite frankly, I wouldn't like one, but I had just wished for you to know so I know that I won't be terribly alarmed when you sneak off with a woman someday and fall in love," Sherlock explained quickly and frankly, not using any words to decorate his speech most likely for John's sake.

John's breath felt knocked out of them. Find someone else and fall in love? No, never. That wasn't possible. It was definitely clear that John was mostly unable to live without Sherlock after that three-year absence. John wouldn't be able to live like that again, that was for sure. But…he wouldn't be able to love like that.

He was too much of a private man. What would he do once Sherlock began to ask more questions?

He couldn't.

No.

He really couldn't.

Not…not like that.

"I…." John started again. He choked up on his words, letting out a bitter laugh. "I always thought we were both weren't capable of love. No, I'm sorry, I can't. I can't let someone in like that – no, my privacy, I would be suffocated. I love you, Sherlock, I really do, but I cannot allow myself to love you non-platonically. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," John hurriedly said while not being able to look the other man in the eye.

John could feel the gaze on him. Burning, scalding, testing, wondering what he was saying. John was too. He couldn't explain it. But he couldn't love. He couldn't allow someone to get hurt because of him. He couldn't.

"John…." It was Sherlock's turn to be a loss for words. The doctor didn't blame him. He hadn't been like this since the first week of Sherlock's return – when he was such a mess he was unable to hold a full conversation with him in fear of the hallucination running away from him.

"I….oh, I'm so sorry, Sherlock. I can't – I can't –." John stopped as a sob tore through his features, telling him that it was finally time for him to stop talking and stop explaining himself. Sherlock, briefly panicked at the turn of this conversation, forgot all of his notions of rejection and hurriedly made it to John's side to comfort him.

"John? John, what do you mean? You don't have to, no, no. Of course you don't have to open up to me, John. But I am here. I will always be your emotional outlet, platonic or not. Shhh, John. Please count on me to be your anchor. You don't have to let me in, John. It's fine, right? It's all fine," Sherlock rushed to get out, trying to wipe away the alligator tears that were falling down his cheeks.

John listened, but he didn't listen. He knew it wasn't possible. He promised himself. He wouldn't love like that. He wouldn't.

He couldn't.

Right?

"John? Please elaborate. Why can't you love?" Sherlock asked this time, looking strangely strangled as he spoke. John blinked away the blurriness and bit his lip impatiently, shaking his head.

"No, nope. Sorry. I can't love. I just can't. I can love you, but I can't be in love with you. It's impossible. I'm a terrible lover. I wouldn't be able to give you everything you want. I wouldn't be able to talk properly; god, there are things about me that no one knows and that no one will ever know and I can't let you feel responsible for not telling you. I can't. It's impossible," John repeated as he looked past the left side of Sherlock's forehead, towards the small kitchen.

How would he escape? Where would he go? John didn't want to move out, this would all blow over soon. He would be able to go about normal days. But he was suffocating now – too many thoughts, too many emotions – was this how Sherlock felt?

"Shhh," Sherlock hushed the smaller army doctor. "You're not saying you can't fall in love with me, John. You're saying that you're unwilling to give up private information. And that's fine. I know you, John. I know the ins and outs of you and whatever you're holding back I don't ever need to know unless you want to tell me. But John – if you are even in the slightest capability to fall in love with me, I would like for you to tell me. If you didn't have to explain anything, it would be all fine. I've lived with you for over three years and it's all fine," Sherlock persisted, his voice soft and velvety with coercion that burned into the depths of John's soul.

"Sherlock…no. I can't. I…can't," John shook his head to rid himself of ponder. Nope. Impossible. He wouldn't be able to give Sherlock that satisfaction, even if he desperately wished to.

"John, I think you can," Sherlock bit back. "I know it's so foreign to love; I've thought it's always been impossible for me as well. But you are a dirty exception to this rule. So John, I love you. I love you so much I ache on a daily basis to touch you and hold you like you belong to me – John, I crave the nights that I'm terrified that my own addictions, years later, will come back and you tuck me in bed like a child, waiting for me to fall asleep while you hum childhood tunes. I love that. I love how you are so selfless and –,"

"Stop," John's soft voice peeked through the speech. Sherlock continued.

"I love how you buy the milk and put me in my place when I am being a complete arsehole, or when you praise me for my intelligence when everyone else thinks I'm a certified freak. I love how you make dinner and make me eat because you care – I hate to love knowing that living without me has such a physical reaction – it's so painful. Possibly even more psychosomatic than your leg. I used to fear the day you knew someone so messed up loved you – but John –,"

"No, I don't want to listen. Don't make me –,"

"You are singlehandedly the most honorable man that I have ever met. And I don't care if it's because you are trying to atone for your sins – I care that it's you. I care that you are all right from every passing day come night. I care when you have those dreams of yours that make your body fluctuate with cold sweat. I care when –,"

"Don't, please. Don't care. I don't deserve – I –,"

"You deserve the world John Hamish Watson, and I will give it to you. I will give you everything you want. I will be there if you want to talk and if not, I will still be here knowing that you have secrets and not giving a damn. I'm strong, John, and I won't break from your love. Please, let me love you."

"Don't…."

"I will love you, John. Please,"

Sherlock didn't beg. Sherlock never begged. Sherlock never spoke like this. Sherlock was never this emotional. Who was this? This wasn't Sherlock. Was this a twisted game? Was this Moriarty? Was he hallucinating? Was Sherlock really dead? He could feel Sherlock – maybe he was lucid dreaming. Maybe he was….

John could feel Sherlock, though. He could feel the cold fingers on his cheek wiping away the wetness on his face. He could feel the heat resonating of his friend and holding him captive.

He was there, wasn't he?"

"S-Sherlock…." John murmured quietly. He shook his head. "I-I don't – I don't know if I can. I could hurt you and I can – oh god, I can mess everything up and –,"

"That would be my fault, John. But no. You can. I know you can. Let me love you," Sherlock repeated again. John gulped. "Please."

"I…." John felt the suffocation gradually lift. The words were becoming clear; still jumbled up, but clearer. He would…he would mess things up. John was sure of it. But…Sherlock was quite possibly the most resistant man he had ever met. Could he handle it? Could John…'allow' himself to love? He wasn't sure. But he had to try. It was Sherlock. He had to.

"Then…." John bit his lip and sniffled, trying to clear his head enough to think properly. "T-Teach me like you do everything else. Teach me how to love. Teach me how to care enough. Teach me how to make love, teach me how to love you," the blonde responded equally as emotional, not quite understanding what he was doing. He shouldn't let Sherlock feel this way. He shouldn't let himself fall as well – would John be able to build himself back up once he falls?

The question was, though; would he fall?

Or would Sherlock catch him?

Sherlock's breath caught at John's permission. John gulped, realizing that he had no time to think about it – he had no time to feel any more doubt, any more fear, because in the next waking moment there were lips on him and he was being shoved into the nearest wall available. John had stumbled back when pressed into the wall, but there was a quick recovery when Sherlock lifted the blonde's hands above his head and forced him into submission.

The lips on his were hot and heavy. They were wet. John felt and electric shiver pass down his frame as he felt Sherlock all over him – comforting him and asserting his dominance in one motion. The kiss was slanted and hot, and soon enough there was a tongue seeping its way in between John's frantically moving, hot, chapped lips. When their tongues touched, John felt and overwhelming feeling of privacy being invaded – but it was Sherlock.

Sherlock was allowed this privacy.

John moaned into the kiss. He heard it. It was embarrassing. That left him to feel hot all over, not just his face or his wrists. His chest was hot. Sherlock's chest was pressed against his, breathing heavily, pushing out breath into John's mouth that he swore he could taste. Sherlock was…bitterly sweet. He tasted of mint and tea, along with a spicy tinge that John could feel mixing with his taste buds.

A leg was placed in between John's slightly open, immensely strong legs. His head ached from hitting the back of the wall, but he quickly ignored that with the feeling of their relationship changing so quickly. It was hard to catch up to.

Just this morning, John thought this was a normal day.

How wrong he was.

The army doctor could feel a toned, ivory leg pressing into his crotch, giving the automatic pleasure to his quickly growing erection an even bigger jolt. His cock was aching already – was Sherlock's? Was Sherlock so hot and bothered from kissing him as well? Was Sherlock feeling this beautiful pain as much as he was?

Women didn't feel like this. Only Sherlock.

"A-Ahn…." John groaned out in a higher voice than he imagined he could make. Sherlock's lips were taken off of his desperate kiss and before he knew it, that same sinful skin was sucking on his neck, right above his jumper collar and almost on his clavicle. The spot being sucked was sensitive – hot, sensitive, and delicious, and his cock ached all the more.

The fast erection John received left him dizzy. No one could make him feel like this. No one but Sherlock. And he didn't even know he could be attracted to Sherlock like this. Not only in the physical way – Sherlock was always and attractive man – but emotionally. It may not be love, no, not yet, but John cared so much about the other he would torture himself for days just to assure that the dark-haired consulting detective would be all right.

"John…" Sherlock whispered huskily as he brought his face up to his ear and nibbled on it. He let out another helpless groan. "Oh, my John…You have no idea how much I've thought about you these past few months. How much I've wanted to be buried so deep inside of you that you can feel me in your stomach – how much I've wanted to screw you restless and find out what type of face you wear when you cum screaming my name," Sherlock hummed softly and John could feel his ear vibrate.

Despite the cold sweat that broke out on his body, John gathered up enough thought to respond, "T-That's physically impossible, you prat. Who are you, and w-where has my logical S-Sherlock gone?" John stumbled over a few words as he ground down into the knee pressed onto him.

"Hmmm…." Sherlock thought for a moment. "Overrun by arousal, I presume. Either way, he's gone for now, don't you think?" Sherlock teased back, suddenly in a lot better mood than he has ever seen the other. John gulped, but nodded, focusing on keeping his head turned while Sherlock continued to move down on him.

A blush arose on his face, but neither mentioned it.

Sherlock, almost instantly, dropped to his knees, letting go of John's wrists. Shocked, John's arms threw themselves by his sides, and now all the blonde could do was stare down in shock at the crystal blue eyes staring up at him. "I've always wondered what you cock would look like, taste like. Would it be musky? Would I choke while trying to take you in my mouth? How do you like being sucked off? Rough? Fragile? So many possibilities," Sherlock spoke normally as he grinned up at the blurry man above him.

John's breath hitched as the words went directly to his cock. "Sherlock…."

"God, I want to touch you John. I want you to feel me all over you, I want to claim you as mine so no other girl will ever have the pleasure of being penetrated by you. I want to fuck you so badly, get you to the brink of ecstasy, and then stop," Sherlock muttered out then while taking his hands and pulling down the rim of his pajama pants, releasing his cock into the cold air.

"Mmmgnnnn…."

John's drawn out moan only made Sherlock smile. Embarrassed, John turned his head back to the side, and simply stared at nothing while Sherlock admired his dick.

"You're so big, John…." Sherlock curled his left hand over the base of John. His long fingers barely wrapped around the thick girth. "I wonder what it would feel like if you were inside me instead. I would be so full, wouldn't I? Begging for more while you thrust into me like I'm your personal whore," Sherlock explained. "I would want you to fill me up you your ejaculate, and I would clench around you so tight that –,"

"Fuckin' suck my cock, Sherlock, or so help me god…." John interrupted, feeling all too aroused to deal with a lot of conversation right now.

Sherlock smiled. "Your wish is my command."

Then, John felt like he was in his own personal heaven.

Unlike most people, Sherlock started sucking hard upon command. There was no working up to a climax – Sherlock made it to that you were already there, and you were trying to hold yourself back enough to release a little later. The tongue that belonged to the detective worked expertly – John imagined it had something to do with being able to roll his tongue while speaking multiple languages and big words – and it curled around his cock midway, licking at it like it was a prize.

Subconsciously, John's hand slipped into Sherlock's hair and pushed him further.

Sherlock didn't choke much – but the erection also wasn't all taken in. Sherlock hummed around the erection and smirked as well as he could. The blonde groaned his fingers clenching, pulling the hair. John felt so good, so hot. The mouth on him was working at insanely quick speeds – pushing him to his limits within a couple of minutes.

With another groan that John was sure didn't belong to him, he glanced down, his sky blue eyes curious.

There he met with a sight so erotic he almost came on the spot.

Sherlock had his eyes closed and his face was sweating, glistening with heat, making his lips look irresistibly abused and beautiful. His hair bounced on his forehead, so dark and mysteriously curly while being wrapped around his fist. But that wasn't the biggest deal, even though it was quite a big one. While watching his cock disappear and reappear, he was drawn to something else.

While he was being sucked off, Sherlock had pulled out his own aching member and was in the process of fisting it with ferocity. John's eyes could have rolled to the back of his head.

He had never imagined Sherlock so sexual, so erotic, until now. John wasn't sure how to take it, really. He had always thought the man was asexual and – ahn – that led him to believe that the man had no experience. Either he actually did have experience or he had watched enough porn to be able to mimic the hottest porn star – because that was Sherlock right now.

Dirty, filthy, love but used.

John felt like he was using Sherlock; that was true. What they were doing was so messy and frantic he had little time to think.

But it felt so good.

So bloody hot.

Sherlock continued to lick and suck, humming every once in a while, and that left John to not being able to think. He couldn't. He promised himself he couldn't love, but to be honest he didn't love anything as much as he had ever loved Sherlock. And that was a fact. Not a thought, a fact.

"S-Sherlock, mmgh…mmn, Sherlock, god, I –…." John forgot to think.

"Hmmm?" Sherlock hummed around his cock. The blonde shivered.

"O-Oh, gawwwd…." John hissed. "I – god, love you, Sherlock. Love you so much, god. I can't – I –."

And all feeling was gone.

Shocked, for a moment John thought he had come and the feeling was already gone. Blinking away his confusion, John noticed just in time that Sherlock had simply pulled away from him and stared up at him with something akin to shock. His lips were still swollen and his cheeks were red – it was beautiful. John groaned in submission.

Sherlock scrambled up from his knees and pressed onto John immediately, a rough kiss resonating from almost nothing. This time, there was no tongue, but John could taste himself on Sherlock's lips. And, he dared say, it tasted delicious.

Sherlock pulled away momentarily to catch his breath, but John spoke before Sherlock could continue. "Please, Sherlock," John whimpered. "Please, do what you said you would, turn me around, bend me over, and fill me up. Rough, hot, please. I want you," John spoke huskily this time, using his "Three Continents Watson" tone that could always hook someone in bed with him.

Sherlock was no different.

Well, maybe a little.

Upon begging, the blonde heard the other growl hysterically and turn him around so fast he felt the backlash. He didn't have time to think, though, because his face was promptly forced into the wall and the trousers he was wearing fell the remainder was of pooling by his feet. He felt exposed. But hot. He felt so hot. He needed to be touched. Now.

Reading his mind, Sherlock did his best to wet a finger before pressing it up to John's entrance. John stiffened, but forced his breathing to regulate and his body to relax with what would be an intrusion. "You're mine, John," Sherlock muttered as he pressed his face into the small of John neck while pressing a finger inside. John groaned. "You will always be mine."

John had never felt owned so well.

"Please," John managed to respond in a whimper, wiggling his ass to get used to the feeling of something inside of him. "I'm a virgin here for you, Sherlock. Only you," John informed in another whimper, as Sherlock stuck in another finger.

Carefully, this time, the fingers spread inside of him. It felt so odd he wasn't quite sure how to take it. It was slightly painful, but John didn't mind that. Sherlock groaned into his ear, causing him to groan. Hot, wet air was blown into his ear and onto his right cheek. Sherlock worked him, loosening him up enough to take him, and John could feel his erection pressing onto the cold wall with a forgotten need. His release was so close but so far away now, having been rejected before.

"I'm going to make you scream, John. Our neighbors will be wondering how horrid their sex lives are because I'm going to show you pleasure imaginable. They won't know how to take it. They won't be able to take it like you, John," Sherlock rambled as another finger entered, causing a bit more pain than the last two. John started muttering incoherently, miscellaneous things strewing from his mouth that not even he remembered.

"I love you, John. I love you so much, and I will make you love me and not care about what you won't tell me. I don't need to know, and I will never need to know. All I need is you," Sherlock uttered quickly as he pulled out his fingers.

John whimpered.

His fists clenched above him on the wall while they bent and ached at being pressed down. The consulting detective wrapped his left arm around John's waist and pulled his arse out backwards, causing John to bend over even more. He was almost at ninety degrees right now, and he had never felt so deliciously exposed.

John knew he was attractive. He knew that. His body was fit from staying around Sherlock all the time, and he still had a prominent six back from his days in the army. His dog tags that were almost always tucked under his shirt were free now, handing down his neck and looking inviting. His powerful legs were spread and handled – and he was one of those uptight men that didn't like a lot of hair on his body, so he shaved most of it. His chest, his legs, his face, sometimes even his arms – it was all different depending on his mood.

"You look so beautiful, John," Sherlock murmured quietly as his cock rubbed in between the creases of John's arse. "So inviting. Are you ready? Do you want me, John, like how I so desperately want you?" He asked, the head of his erection pressing on John's entrance so he knew Sherlock was there.

John hissed and threw his head into the curvature of one arm, groaning heavily into it. The muscles on his pectorals tightened, and that caused his back to do the same. "Y-Yes, Sherlock, please. Oh god, I love you. I want you. I need you."

And he did. He needed Sherlock like the most addictive, illegal drug possible. He needed Sherlock like he needed breath, and at that moment he didn't care if he promised himself not to love – it could hurt Sherlock and he would never want to, but as said, Sherlock wash is drug.

"As I you," Sherlock whispered quietly, before his hips jolted, not wasting any time and burying himself deep within his lover. John didn't quite scream, but he yelled, the feeling of being full inside bringing tears to his eyes once more. It was painful – god, was it painful, and that left his legs shaking, but the pleasure was so heavy and immense that John couldn't help but push back and wiggle his ass invitingly.

While trying to catch his breath, Sherlock had pulled out and trust back in, this time a little bit slower than the first. John groaned into him arm, eyes closed and brow furrowed.

His legs became jelly and his abdominals burned with the rough breathing, but he couldn't feel any better than he did then.

Sherlock bloody Holmes started out a rough pace after that, not bothering with letting John adjust. That was fine. He couldn't wait either. By the time the ivory-skinned man pushing inside him, he was already weeping for him, his cock dripped with his need and droplets of pre-cum sliding down his legs in a wet mess. Now Sherlock's own juices acted as a lubricant.

It was so hot. Literally hot. His skin burned; Sherlock was eloping all around him, arm wrapped around his chest and other on his hip, hips acting like an overheated piston and pushing in and out at an impossible pace. Over ninety degrees of heat was inside him and all around him, and the sweat only gathered as John was thoroughly fucked into a wall.

"Sherlock, g-god, Sherlock, please, Sherlock," John chanted as his nails dug into his fists.

Sherlock growled and bit into the side of John's neck, obviously going to leave a mark. John cried out upon intrusion of the canines, and he could feel the warm, copious substance of blood trailing down his neck. Broke the skin, John briefly thought, but then disregarded it. He didn't care. Instead, he kept crying out his lover's name, tears of arousal and heat pooling down his face as the pleasure overwhelmed him.

He could almost feel Sherlock in his stomach. He was so full and his arse ached, but he never felt so good. Even better than moments before, actually.

"John, so tight. So unbelievably tight, god, John, you feel so good," Sherlock chanted in his ear. If possible, he thrust faster, and John's eyes snapped over when he felt the quick feeling of his erection straining for release.

"A-Ah, Sherlock, god, Sherlock!" John screamed into his arm, having it muffled just enough to cry out afterwards. The heat was unbearable to him, he was being worked in and out so good he couldn't contain his pleasure. "Oh, god, Sherlock, I'm gonna – please, faster! Fuck me, Sherlock, fuck me like your dirty little whore, g-god, f-fuck, bloody hell," John rambled on and on and his climax washed over him.

With one last thrust and one last cry, John gave up trying to think and released all over the wall, immediately feeling the waves of pleasure roll over and off of him. He would have fallen had not Sherlock held him up, still thrusting and moaning into his ear. John whimpered with every thrust, still feeling the fullness and the heat along with his post-high.

It felt so good, and his mind was blank.

The next thing he knew Sherlock was growling his name and burying himself deep inside John, the sticky while fluid flowing out of his lover in pumps that caused him to shiver. He could feel Sherlock pulse inside of him.

Panting harshly, John held his position as best as he could, a euphoric feeling becoming lethargic. He felt totally out of it, but he felt so nice that he couldn't remember a time when he had ever had better sex. Never.

"John…." Sherlock murmured, also tired. He pulled out carefully, leaving John to scrunch up his nose when feeling the come falling out of his entrance and sliding down his leg. It was nasty, but John felt claimed, and it felt good. "John, can you hear me? Let's go to bed," Sherlock murmured as he held the blonde up.

Slowly, John nodded. He hummed contently, forgetting about all of his fears and simply focusing on Sherlock. He didn't need anything else. He doubt he would ever need anything else again. And regardless about his phobia of love, how he never wanted to, he reluctantly realized that he had always loved Sherlock.

From the moment he met him, John knew he loved Sherlock. There was now no doubt. He wondered briefly why there ever was.

"O-Okay," John murmured, his legs feeling wobbly. He held onto Sherlock for dear life as he walked. Sherlock bent down a bit for the shorter man to wrap his arms around his neck.

Sherlock pecked John on the lips and hummed. "Love you, John."

John smiled a bit.

He had his flaws, of course he did. He had done a lot of terrible things in his past that he would never mention again – but now, he felt as if all of that didn't matter.

He could make it all up with Sherlock.

"I love you too, Sherlock."

And he was sure.