When Sherlock regained consciousness, he was in his bed again. However, this time he was not alone. John was lying next to him, a significant grin plastered across his face.

John watched Sherlock blink hazily as he wrenched himself out of post-orgasm coma. His lithe body stretched out on the bed (naked - John had just let Sherlock's clothes fall off when he had carried him to his bedroom) every muscle relaxed. John had never seen Sherlock let his defences fall away so completely. Even in the times when Sherlock passed out post-case, there was still a tenseness, some sort of alertness about him that went right down to the subconscious. Those times, he was sleeping because it was a physical imperative; a necessary evil. Now though, he was the very picture of peace. John was equal parts puzzled and elated with how Sherlock looked right in that moment. A benign smile (since when was Sherlock benign? - Well, since he just had his first and bloody amazing sexual experience, I suppose) settled into his features, and his hand fumbled across the sheets to find John's. When he found it, he let his eyes fall closed and a deep chuckle, genuinely warm, rumbled through his chest.

"Feeling alright?" John rubbed his thumb over the skin of Sherlock's hand.

"Mmm. Endorphins, John, this is excellent."

"You're acting positively human, you know."

"Do forgive me, I'm sure it's just a temporary glitch," Sherlock chuckled again and managed to shuffle himself higher onto the pillows. "John, that was unlike anything I've ever experienced. I don't yet have the words to describe it."

"I have a few words," John's face broke into a predatory grin, and he saw the apprehension in Sherlock's eyes. He came in close to whisper in Sherlock's ear, his hand resting on his navel.

"The way you moan when I'm at your neck -," he moved down to place a platonic kiss on Sherlock's throat, and felt the detective swallow hard, "- luscious."

John came up to face-level again, and Sherlock couldn't tear his eyes away from the dark pools of lust that were John's. He felt John's fingers trace, ever-so-softly, up his ribcage, and his skin prickled.

"How soft your skin is under my fingers? Divine." Sherlock felt the fingertips slide up to his left pectoral, stopping just shy of the nipple.

"The way you react when I do this?" Sherlock felt his body go rigid as John squeezed his nipple, and couldn't suppress a gasp. John glanced down to Sherlock's cock, which was already beginning to fill out again. "Electrifying."

Sherlock's breathing rate was rising, colour beginning to tinge his cheeks.

"Oh, and the way you tasted when you came?" John pulled Sherlock's hand to his face and sucked the detective's index finger into his mouth while his own hand travelled southwards to grasp Sherlock's cock and squeeze, and the feeling made Sherlock's head spin, it was hot and wet and slick, and God, he couldn't help but moan -

John let Sherlock's finger fall out of his mouth, and returned to Sherlock's ear, his breath hot and heavy.

"Really fucking delicious. But you know what was the best? The bit I really loved most," his fingers tightened their grip, pulling Sherlock's foreskin in a way that extracted an actual, gasping, yell, "Is the way you begged for me. And I hadn't even been at you for seven minutes."

Sherlock couldn't take any more, and the temptation of a challenge was just too much to resist. He pushed John back, and rolled so that he was straddling the doctor's thighs (still clad in those jeans - he would take care of that in a moment). He leaned low, mimicking the position that John had been in just moments before.

"John," he was panting already, and could barely hold himself back. "I hope you don't mind," his right hand reached to John's jeans, and deftly popped open the button, "but I need to run an experiment," he pulled down John's jeans, and threw them aside, leaving just a pair of black pants between him and the doctor's straining erection. John's eyes flickered with concern.

"An experiment? Jesus Sherlock, now's not really the time-" but he was silenced by a single, slender finger on his lips.

"Not that kind of experiment, John. I need to test a theory. My theory," he continued, his lips against John's jawline and his voice a silken rumble, "is that I can get you begging for me to touch your cock in under six minutes. What do you think?"

John tried desperately to clear the fog that deep baritone voice left in his mind.

"Oh, God, maybe that's not such a bad idea," his fingers were already curling into Sherlock's hair, pulling him up to his mouth for a kiss. Sherlock chuckled again, his lips just brushing against John's and his pupils blown wide.

"Not yet, John. I've got some variables to test first."

He started with a kiss to John's neck, and a lick from his jawline to his earlobe. Then, he let his teeth scrape gently up the length of John's ear, and oh that got a response. John shivered at the sensation. Sherlock moved on to John's chest, kissing and sucking. John was well-muscled, and Sherlock enjoyed the gentle tickle of chest hair on his lips as he explored, worshipping with his tongue. He kissed and licked John's scars from the bullet wound, which elicited another shiver, this time accompanied by a slight moan. That sound sent even more heat to Sherlock's erection, aching for attention, but he ignored it. He had a game to win.

John's pulse was rising rapidly with every new place Sherlock explored. From his chest, the detective had moved on to his stomach, thighs, his knees, all the time ratcheting up John's arousal with his precise nips, sucks, licks. Then Sherlock had flipped him over onto his stomach, and begun kissing and licking John's lower back, his long-fingered hands pulling John's pants down and massaging and kneading his arse cheeks. The fact that Sherlock was focusing all of his being into John's pleasure was enough to make him half-giddy with lust. However, feeling the hot wetness of Sherlock's lush mouth on the top of John's arse crack was the point at which he emitted a loud, helpless whimper, his breathing rate through the roof and his hands grabbing on to the sheets in desperation.

Sherlock immediately flipped him over onto his back again and pulled back, his fingertip tracing ever-so-gently around the base of the doctor's cock. His body was suspended so that his own erection, beginning to drip with precome, was barely an inch away from John's. John's breath was so heavy he thought he may pass out and he was making some very undignified noises, but when Sherlock leaned down to bite his bottom lip and pull, he cracked.

"Oh God Sherlock, please, I need to feel you!" John's mouth was desperate on Sherlock's and he felt what he was sure was a smug smile on the detective's lips. He didn't care if he had given in, if Sherlock had won, if it meant the detective would put him out of this blessed misery. He was about ready to plunge his to tongue into Sherlock's mouth, but all of a sudden, he was straining but kissing only air.

Sherlock kneeled between John's knees, both his hands running through John's pubic hair before coming together to wrap around the base of John's cock. Thumbs upward and centre, he slid his palms up the sensitive underside in a long, languid stroke. John's eyes rolled back in his head at the relief of contact. Sherlock wrapped one delicate hand around the shaft, and leant down to run to run the tip of his nose up the length, inhaling John's scent. The smell was oh, so erotic, and the skin so soft and God - he needed to taste it. First, he just darted his tongue out to run between John's bollocks, but then he couldn't resist a long, wet, hungry lave up John's length. The sound John made was extraordinary, somewhere between a gasp and a sob. The sound flicked some kind of internal primal switch and Sherlock couldn't restrain himself any further. He placed his hands on John's hips, and swallowed him down as far as he could. It was glorious. He could feel every moan, every shudder, and when John grabbed his hair and pulled tight, he couldn't help but moan lustfully around John's cock, low and dirty and hungry. He picked up his pace, forming a rhythm of sliding his mouth up and over the very tip before swallowing John deeply again and again. John was shuddering and gasping and he was surely only seconds away -

"Oh, Jesus Sherlock, oh God, just wait, just wait -," and Sherlock was being pulled from John's cock up to face level again. John held Sherlock's face gently, despite his own clear lack of composure.

"Together," John tried to settle his breathing rate before his hand took Sherlock's and guided it between their bodies. John took both their erections in hand and both men gasped at the sensation. Sherlock's hand joined John's, holding their cocks securely together. John's cock was slick and wet with Sherlock's saliva, and the feeling was just too luxurious. He finally lost control of his hips and began to thrust, the feeling of both their hands wrapped around and John's hot, slick erection sliding against his making his head spin. He found himself biting down onto John's shoulder, his eyes closed tight as their bodies moved more and more urgently together, his moans becoming higher and higher in pitch with every thrust, and John's hand was anchored in his hair like he was about to fall off the edge of the planet, and he was saying Sherlock's name over and over, like a curse - or a prayer? The sweat, the heat, the hunger, the need, that hot sweetness between their bodies that was so much pleasure and pain at the same time, it's too much, John, I can't -

For the second time, Sherlock Holmes broke. He shuddered as wave after wave of release washed over him, his choked sobs mingling with John's as together they painted their stomachs with hot, slick come. He could feel John's body arching up into his, he could feel every twitch and shiver, he could feel John's fingers in his hair and John's thighs quivering on his, John's breath settling as he regained control. He could feel John's satisfied sigh as he reached for a flannel and cleaned off the mess they'd made between them, and John's arm settling back over his own shoulders. He realised he was still biting rather hard into the doctor's shoulder, and let go, instead just burying his face into John's warm, soft neck. It was comfortable, as though this crook of John's neck had been made just for him. Here he was safe.

He was taken by surprise when he was overcome by enormous, shuddering sobs, the tears spilling freely and obscuring his vision. What was this, what is happening? He could hear John's concern, the worry in his voice, feel him try to pull away to look at Sherlock, but Sherlock just hung on tighter, keeping John close, his own shuddering breaths shaking through both their bodies and his tears soaking John's shoulder.

"Jesus, Sherlock, what's wrong? Are you okay?" Sherlock tried to answer several times before choking out "Good. 'S good."

He had never cried like this before. He had been beyond consolation when Redbeard had died, but this was different. His tears for Redbeard had fallen out of heartbreak. This was something else. He felt whole. He had somewhere to belong - or rather, someone to belong with. John was his doctor, his friend, his home.

This was dangerous territory, he knew - how many times had he said himself that love was a dangerous disadvantage? John was now his weak point and a potential target for anybody trying to manipulate Sherlock - Moriarty came immediately to mind. But if he was choosing this path, he knew that he was most likely the best equipped person in the world to deal with whatever threat may come. Vigilance was a small price to pay for John's protection. Mycroft, of course, could be made to cooperate. He already had John under protection surveillance, but Sherlock would pull some strings to ensure it was increased. It wouldn't be difficult. With this comforting thought in mind, his breathing settled to a normal rate.

John, clearly encouraged by the return to calm, tentatively tried again.

"You alright?" His fingers stroked through Sherlock's hair. It was a comforting feeling.

"Mm. Sorry. Had an epiphany."

"And what did you realise?"

"That I am capable of loving another human."

John's fingers slowed in Sherlock's hair.

"What? Sorry?" His voice was affectionately goading, but gentle. He knew it was difficult for Sherlock to express such emotions, and directed the flow of conversation to banter: a mode of communication he knew the detective was much more comfortable with. Sherlock huffed, quietly pleased that their dynamic was unaffected by this new realm of their relationship.

"You heard me perfectly, John, I'm not saying it again."

John smiled at that. "I love you too, you berk."

He finally extricated himself from Sherlock's grasp, and came to face him, head on the pillow. The tenderness with which he held Sherlock's face was in contrast to his gruff words moments before, as was the kiss he bestowed upon his lips. When he pulled away, Sherlock held John's hand to his cheek, his eyes closed.

"Will you sleep with me tonight, John? Apparently, people enjoy sharing their beds with their lovers. I'm somewhat dubious, as your snores frequently wake me even with our usual sleeping arrangements, but I like to think I have an open mind."

John rolled his eyes in jest.

"Yeah, alright. Guess I could oblige." He rolled over to turn the lamp off, and returned to lie on his back. His hand reached out and his fingers intertwined with Sherlock's, comfortably linking the two men. He could get used to this.

"Goodnight, Sherlock."

"Goodnight, John."

Thank you everybody who commented, faved and followed during the writing of this - your encouragement is lovely! I hope everybody enjoyed my take on the story. I'm sure there'll be more to come! x