Prompt originally arrived 2014-08-19.

Cross-posted from AO3 on time.

The first, and thus far the only, time Sherlock displayed what others perceived as sentiment for another person was at Christmas. He knew it was still a sore spot for some, and he was determined to override that and replace it with a memory far more preferable for all involved.

Greg and Molly were sitting on the couch, the former in a ridiculous sweater, and the latter in something a bit less revealing than the last party, both leaning closer than societal etiquette dictated was proper as they conversed. Mrs Hudson was in her prime, chattering as she plied both mortician and Detective Inspector with hearty amounts of homemade eggnog, encouraging the pairing with little prods. John was silent, and blessedly dateless, in his chair, temple propped on his fist as he watched the violinist play the composition he wasn't sure the doctor recognised as the piece he'd composed specifically for him. He was smiling that soft smile that only Sherlock was lucky enough to witness, the one that not even John's previous and numerous girlfriends had been gifted.

As the piece neared its end, Sherlock's heart began to beat faster and faster as he walked slowly towards John. Lestrade and Molly and Mrs Hudson continued to chatter on off to the side, somehow oblivious to his change in location. He felt like every step was screaming his intention, and his fingers began to tremble on the neck of his instrument, creating a vibrato in the piece where none was to occur. John seemed just as ignorant, but as the consulting detective neared, the ex-soldier seemed to subconsciously sit back in his chair, laying both of his arms on the chair's. It wasn't until Sherlock was right between the man's spread knees that said man seemed to catch on to what was about to happen.

Careful to keep his composition going until the end, Sherlock carefully angled his instrument high and to the side as he lifted one knee and settled it on the outside of John's hip. Bright blue irises disappeared in the wake of rapid pupil expansion and chapped pink lips parted with a shaky inhale as the lanky man settled his other knee on the outside of the smaller man's other hip. Sherlock's heart was a pounding drum beat, oddly fitting to the ending of his song, his fingers flying over the neck and his bow zipping from his strings with a final flourish.

There were several tense moments after the notes faded in the quiet air where neither of them moved, where Sherlock's heart did its best to remove itself from his chest as he waited for his flatmate's reaction. Then, in a flash, John's arms were around him and there was a hand in his hair, tugging him down to meet eager lips.

Sherlock's entire body melted into the embrace and the kiss, his heart calming with his relief as he wrapped his arms around the man's neck, only vaguely worried about the state of his violin as it knocked against the back of the chair. John's expert tongue was slick and steady around his, dancing around his mouth and igniting arousal in his veins with every intentional barely-there brush. Below his pelvis, he could feel an erection growing against his own and he whimpered into the doctor's mouth, grinding down.

"We'll just see ourselves out." Mrs Hudson's voice barely penetrated the fog of lust around the genius' mind, but as soon as 221B's door closed, John was wrapping solid hands around the back of Sherlock's thighs and holding the taller man tightly to him as he lurched them towards the floor.

His violin and his bow clattered against the hardwood, but lips and teeth were at his neck before he could worry about them, sucking his mind out through his skin. Sherlock cried out and bucked up as his hands found their way into short hair, his fingers tugging the new sensation away as much as they were trying to get more of it.

"God, the way you sound," John groaned into his neck, rutting a thick, hard erection into Sherlock's own, grinding against him through denim and silk.

"Faster!" Sherlock begged as he tried to wrap his legs around the ex-soldier's waist, whimpering when the bespoke cut of his trousers prevented the movement.

"Fuck. Yesss," the shorter man hissed, nipping around the detective's neck until he settled in to suck another dark mark into his pale skin. His hips began to grind down hard and faster, the same way Sherlock imagined the man would fuck him. As soon as the thought entered his mind, he was coming, almost sobbing with the unexpected explosion of pleasure through his veins. John started to pull away and Sherlock dug in with his nails, unconcerned with the pain he might cause if it meant the man he loved would just stay through his first orgasm with another person.

"I'm not leaving, love," John panted, his hands scrambling at the zip and button of his jeans. "I just need-" In seconds, his cock was free of his pants and he was stroking the beautifully flushed, uncircumcised erection with quick, efficient strokes. In seconds, John was turning his face into where a bony knee was hovering by his head and he cursed colourfully as his cock spurted come all over the damp spot from Sherlock's own fading orgasm. The sensation of warm liquid against his sensitive glans had the genius shuddering and whimpering as John sagged between his legs.

One bleary blue eye cracked open to look at him, and Sherlock felt suddenly and oddly hyper-aware of his flushed and rumpled state, the way he was laid across the floor with his legs raised and spread like a whore. It seemed like something he should view as degrading, but the hungry look in his flatmate's eyes made him feel more like a five star buffet, and he was only a refractory period away from being consumed whole.

Slowly, his doctor lowered and straightened Sherlock's legs before climbing over one and moving to put the the thinner man between him and the fire. After some brief, confused shuffling, the virgin was facing the fire that had been set before their guests had arrived and John was curled around his back, an arm tight around his waist.

"You know," John said suddenly startling Sherlock into a wakefulness he didn't even know he needed to be startled into. "I can't help but think that every Christmas from now on is going to be just a little bit terrible."

Sherlock bristled and stiffened in the man's hold. "Why not?" he demanded, voice stiff.

A laugh huffed across the back of his neck, stirring his hair. "Because there's no present that could measure up to getting you."

"Oh," he replied simply feeling his face heat in a way that had nothing to do with the fire in front of them.

"Oh," John agreed, nuzzling into his curls as his shirt was tugged from the waistband of his trousers. A calloused palm slid up his belly, hot and heavy, making him feel like an anchor had been attached to his navel and John was the ocean floor. The fire was making him drowsy and he began to hum John's composition, surprised when the chest at his back began to vibrate with accompaniment. He couldn't help but smile lazily as he faded away, letting his lover take over the soft song with a greater familiarity that the most recent play through could have provided. Perhaps his doctor did observe a little bit after all.

FIN

Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you thought, good or bad, in the Comments, and if bad, please be constructive so that I may better my writing! :3 Also, if you liked the story enough to want to promote/rec it on tumblr, instead of creating a new post, please reblog either the original prompt fill (themadkatter13fanfiction tumblr, post/106930122918) or the typical story info post (themadkatter13fanfiction tumblr, post/106930131323)! Thank you so much! You are, of course, also more than welcome to follow me on tumblr as well! :3 Tschüß~