Sherlock lifted his head and pressed his warm lips against John's cheek. His lips trailed to John's mouth, and they started kissing in earnest again. His lips were insistent, but the breaths from his nose were shallow.

"I don't know how to process this," he admitted, barely detaching himself from John's lips in order to get the words out. "I still don't. Every time we start kissing, I feel like my brain is overloaded."

"I know it's hard, but you don't have to think about what we're doing. Just-"

"Feel?" Sherlock asked. "Were you going to tell me to just feel?"

"Yeah?"

"Oh, John," his eyebrows furrowed, "why must you sound like a hero from a romance novel?"

He's just nervous, John knew. Make him laugh. "Because I'm your hero in shining armor, ready to sweep you off your feet?"

His lips wobbled, caught between a scowl and a grin. "First of all, I didn't realize blue cardigans qualified as shining armor now. Secondly, you couldn't pick me up if you tried, and you know it."

"Don't try me, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked at him, and it seemed like his eyes were scanning John's arms. "Hm. Maybe you could. Don't."

As tempted as John was, he dropped it. For now. "I was serious before, though. I know it's hard for you. You've thought your way through everything your whole life. But, there's nothing to think about here. I'm not going to leave you, or laugh at you, or mock you, or whatever it is you're afraid of once you lose control. You don't have to do anything if you don't want to," he clarified, "but I have a feeling you do."

Sherlock sighed through his nose. "Since when were you able to read me so well?"

"Since I became a hero from a romance novel," he dismissed.

Sherlock lowered his gaze to the floor. "I want to do something-intimate." The difficulty he had in getting the words out was audible. His face slowly turned pink. "I don't know exactly what, I don't care exactly what." He swallowed, his mouth set in a hard line. "I want to be close. Just-do it, John. Something. I can't get it out."

John cupped his cheek and spared him further discomfort, running his thumb over his pink lips. "You don't have to say anymore, okay?" His heart lurched when Sherlock's soft eyes gazed straight into his, unwavering, unblinking. He knew how much Sherlock held himself back from intimacy and why. He wouldn't bring any of that up now (or ever, since he figured Sherlock should tell him on his own one day, on his terms), but it was definitely something he had to take into consideration. But maybe, John had to rip the band-aid off. If he went all in for their first time, maybe Sherlock would feel significantly less uncomfortable after that, unlike the other Sherlock, who was shy until the end (not that it was a problem for him, but it clearly seemed to be a problem for this Sherlock).

John knew what he wanted to do, so he kissing Sherlock again, hard. As their mouths moved together, he slowly backed Sherlock up until they reached the sofa.

Sherlock seemed surprised that they'd moved. "Hm? Want me to sit down?"

"Mhm."

They were on the sofa together, and John remembered how much Sherlock liked his neck kissed and sucked. He had the same reaction in this world, trembling and struggling to hold back his groans, clinging to John. His mouth opened in a gasp when John bit his neck, and he grew hard in his trousers. His lips were moist and swollen from kisses, eyes black with arousal.

John started to feel himself get hard. "Let's take off each other's clothes," he whispered in his ear, "so we're equal, yeah?"

"Mmmph," Sherlock whined behind his lips, which were pressed together until he bit the bottom one nervously. He nodded, reaching a hesitant hand up to John's collar.

John brought their lips together again, figuring it would be easier for Sherlock if both of their eyes were closed (and although this wasn't exactly his first time with Sherlock, he wasn't exactly calm, either. How could he be?). He felt warm hands tugging and pulling at his clothes are their lips glided together wetly. He teased and pulled at Sherlock's bottom lip gently, sucking it, his hand running over his broad chest. Sherlock was starting to pick up the idea of open-mouthed kissing, and was tentatively trying it, meeting John's lips with soft kisses. John breathed deeply, feeling the familiar tingle of arousal in his abdomen, sending shivers down his body. He was nibbling Sherlock's lower lip when he realized he was being tapped on the shoulder.

"Hm?" he opened his eyes.

"I can't get your shirt off like this," Sherlock said, a little out of breath, but seemingly less apprehensive.

"Oh, yeah." John sat up and removed his cardigan and shirt underneath, tossing it on the cushion behind them. "There."

Sherlock reached up and touched John's chest with his hand. "Hm."

"Hm?"

"For some reason, I expected you to have more chest hair."

John snickered. "Really? Are you disappointed?"

"Only in my false deduction," he said with a small grin.

John went back to kissing him, hoping to keep him more or less at ease. He pressed wet kisses to his jaw, knowing he would like it, and the low sound of Sherlock's grunt made John's cock pulse in his pants. His kisses turned into sucks, and then Sherlock's hands were on his bare back and shoulders, smoothing up and down, and then, suddenly, their hips were grinding together. When did that happen? John's thought came in fuzzy through his growing haze of lust. He stopped kissing (biting) Sherlock's jaw to look at him.

Sherlock's lips were parted and his eyes were shut tightly, his face red, his fringe starting to stick to his forehead from sweat. His hips were moving against John's. Did he even know he was doing this? It felt good, and it was difficult for John to hold back a moan as he reached full hardness.

He wanted to check in, though. "You good?" John rasped. He cleared his throat. "You all right?"

Sherlock didn't open his eyes and the movement of his hips slowed, but he nodded jerkily. But then, he covered his face with his hands. Before John could ask him again, he removed his hands. "John." He gulped, and opened his eyes. They were shiny, and slightly frightened. It reminded John of the other Sherlock. "Please, hurry," he mumbled, his words dripping with embarrassment. "I can't do this much longer."

"But you don't want to stop?" John asked, brushing the soft curls away from his forehead. (He realized Sherlock was lying on his back, and he was kneeling. When the fuck had that happened, too?)

"No," he said, and inhaled shakily. "I feel like I'm going to burst," he turned his head to the side, hips shifting underneath John's, "and I'm not used to this, so relieve it." He turned his head to look at John with timid eyes. "Please, I need, something," he said, frowning, "this feeling is unbearable to drag out."

"We can work on your patience later," John smoothed his hair back from his forehead again, tenderly.

"I need you now," Sherlock admitted in a small voice. He grasped John's arm gently. "Now that we're together, I feel like I'm falling," his fingers tightened, voice ragged, "it's so much. John, I love you." His voice was cracking, and he noticed it. "Why am I doing this? Why-John?"

"Shhh," John stroked his thumb over his red cheek, his chest heavy, pulse pounding. "I love you, too, Sherlock. You'll be okay. I'll take care of you right now, okay? Trust me, and I'll make you feel better." His voice sounded deep and husky in his ears, but it was hoarse more from emotion than arousal.

"Okay," Sherlock let out a breath, lifting his head and kissing him soundly.

John had been right in that Sherlock basically needed the band-aid ripped off, so he had to get to work right away. He tugged at Sherlock's belt as they kissed. Sherlock got the idea and with fumbling hands, undid his belt and lifted his hips. They got his belt off, and started pulling his pants and trousers down.

Sherlock whimpered into John's mouth, and he wrapped his arms tightly around his neck, his kisses turning into open-mouthed pants.

"Lift up so we can get these off all the way," John whispered in his ear, "and I'll make you feel so good."

Sherlock complied, his blush down his neck, and likely on his chest. It was then that John realized his shirt and dressing down were still on, although the latter was untied and half hanging off the sofa.

"Want to take your shirt off? Are you hot?" John asked.

"A little," he said, and sat up to shimmy out of the dressing gown and take off his shirt. Since he was already feeling vulnerable, John undressed completely, too. He didn't think he was exactly succeeding in making Sherlock feel calm, but if he were honest with himself, freeing his cock from the constraints of his jeans and pants was a relief.

Sherlock was lying beneath him, red from his cheekbones to his heaving chest, arms folded over his flat stomach. He averted his eyes and tossed his head to the side, squeezing his eyes shut. "Oh god, John, please-touch me," his voice grew quiet with his command.

John bit his bottom lip when he looked down at the length of his cock, almost fully hard. The other Sherlock didn't last long with their first time, only needing a small amount of physical contact to come. John knew how to bring him to bliss quickly. He ran his hands down Sherlock's strong, creamy thighs, watching his cock twitch. John slid his hands underneath Sherlock's knees, and lifted his legs.

"What?" Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at him.

Heart pounding, John knelt down as far as he could, and gripped Sherlock's hips. He lifted Sherlock's pelvis so that his legs were hooked over his shoulders. Nearly shaking with anticipation, John pressed his mouth against Sherlock's hole, and licked the sensitive skin. Cock throbbing at the sound of Sherlock's startled moan, John licked at him, into him, taking his tongue out and then sliding it back in.

John began thrusting his tongue in and out of his body, his own cock leaking due to Sherlock's gasping moans. His inner walls felt hot and tight around John's tongue, and he couldn't help but imagine what it would feel like around his cock. Sherlock's thighs were trembling over John's shoulders, letting out a moan with each harsh breath. John lapped at Sherlock's entrance, teasing, and shoved his tongue back into the hot, tight opening, sliding in as far as he could go.

"Uhh! Nngh!" Sherlock cried. His hand flew down to his cock, desperately tugging and whimpering John's name. He jerked himself off furiously, and with only a few more thrusts from John's tongue, he was coming, biting his lip to muffle his loud moan into a stifled groan.

John sat up slightly, still holding Sherlock's legs over his shoulder, and watched his cock spurt the last of his release on his stomach and chest. Sherlock's arm was thrown over his face, and he was breathing hard out of his mouth. His curls were wet and splayed out against the throw pillow, looking like a halo around his head.

John gently lowered his shaking legs onto the sofa cushions. He was rock hard, but he pushed it aside for a moment. "Sherlock?" John cleared his throat, and wiped the excess saliva from his mouth. "Sherlock, you okay?"

He took in more deep breaths through his mouth, and then nodded slowly. He lowered his arm onto his chest, and his eyes were glassy with his afterglow. He sat up, a little unsteady, and threw his arms around John's neck, hiding his in his shoulder.

"Did you like it?" John asked, genuinely curious. Personally, he loved that Sherlock lost control so quickly.

Sherlock nodded. "Oh," he said suddenly, and looked down. "You need to…"

John licked his lips, his cock so hard it was aching. "It won't take much," he said with a sheepish grin.

With a curious, hesitant gaze which didn't leave John's eyes, Sherlock wrapped his large, warm hand, a little moist with sweat, around his cock. He started stroking. "Is this okay?" he asked genuinely.

John's mouth dropped open and he threw his head back, desperately needing more. "Yeah j-just a little more pressure." Sherlock tightened his grip slightly, squeezing and stroking quicker. John was still kneeling, and his legs were feeling a little unsteady. He grasped Sherlock's shoulders. "Mmmph, like that," he grunted through his clenched teeth.

Sherlock pressed a kiss to the top of his head, a surprisingly chaste gesture and juxtaposition with what his hand was doing. John ducked his head and smeared kisses across his collarbone and the wave of pleasure grew. He bucked into Sherlock's hand, unable to control the movement of his hips.

John sucked in a breath. "Can you-?" Even though he had sex with Sherlock before, he felt a little self-conscious asking this. "Can you touch the tip?"

Sherlock ran his thumb over the tip. "Like this."

"Oh, god, yeah," John shivered, feeling intense pleasure gather where Sherlock's thumb was circling, and in his bollocks, which started to pull up. John bit Sherlock's pale shoulder with a groan, and fucked his hand. The pleasure peaked, and John came hard with a moan into Sherlock's shoulder. His legs felt wobbly from kneeling, so after Sherlock let go of him, he sat upright against the back of the sofa, legs spread and feet on the floor. He rubbed his face, breathing deeply and shivering as the last sensations of his orgasm pulsed throughout his body. It occurred to him how fast he came, and he started laughing.

"What?" Sherlock asked.

John lowered his hands from his face, smiling at him. "I usually last longer than that, that's all."

Sherlock looked breathtaking. He was still red from cheeks to chest, sweaty, eyes glossy, and his right hand and abdomen were wet with semen. "Oh," he said, frowning a little. "I didn't last much longer. I felt like I couldn't" His voice sounded slightly raspy from moaning.

John bit his lip, and he was sure that if he hadn't just come, he would be getting hard again. "I did that to you because I wanted to give you relief as soon as possible. It's okay, we've both waited too long for this, right?"

Sherlock licked his lips, eyes flickering down. "Right," he said wistfully. Then, he looked down at himself. "Oh god, look at me," he gasped, half in disgust, and half in what sounded like awe, like he never believed he would be like this.

"Maybe you should wipe off," John chuckled, "and I need to rinse my mouth out before I can kiss you again."

"There's mouthwash in the loo."

"Let's go."

They cleaned up in the loo and decided to talk on Sherlock's (their) bed. Sherlock got under the covers, even though it was only a quarter to noon. John shrugged to himself and got under the blankets with him, holding out his arms.

Sherlock went into his arms willingly, but shyly, his hands curled over John's chest. He took a deep breath, which turned into a deep, soft chuckle. "We really didn't last long, did we?"

"Not really," John laughed, too. "But none of that rubbish matters. It felt good, yeah?"

"Yeah," Sherlock confirmed, smiling bashfully. "I feel like a weight was lifted off my shoulders. Does that normally happen after sex?"

"When you've waited this long? I think so. I'm glad you liked it. It felt risky just diving in like that-no pun intended-"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and shook his head, covering his face.

"But it looks like that made you feel more comfortable, hm?" John held his hands and lowered them.

"It did," he said. "I think I needed to get over the initial apprehension. You really do know me well."

"I try," John said honestly, relieved he made the right choice. He would have felt awful if he'd done that and it had been too much for Sherlock to handle. "I'm glad you trusted me enough to do that, and to see you liked that," he said honestly. "I know no one's ever seen you like that before."

His smile dimmed a little, but his eyes were still soft as ever. "And no one else ever will." His right hand was curled over John's heart now, and his forefinger was stroking softly. "I'd trust you with anything, John."

John sighed a little. "I still think you're too forgiving of me."

"And I think you're a moron," Sherlock mumbled and kissed his chest. "An utter imbecile."

John's heart beat beneath his hand. "Kiss me."

Sherlock tilted his head up and kissed him gently, emitting a soft, rumbling hum.

God, John loved him. Their kisses were now growing slow and lazy, tender and without a purpose other than showing pure affection. John was so happy to be here with him. "I love you," he whispered against his lips between small pecks, "I never wanna be apart from you."

He cupped his jaw and looked straight into his eyes. "I'm never going to hurt you again, okay? I want to make you happy," his voice shook.

Sherlock swallowed hard and shook his head, and they were so close that their noses brushed together. "You do, John, you do." He kissed his cheek. "It's still a bit shocking this is happening, because I've dreamt of this so much, even though I told myself not to." He blinked slowly, and placed a deliberate, but soft kiss to the center of his forehead. "Don't doubt how much I adore you," he murmured, voice like honey.

His words went straight to John's heart, and he embraced him. "C'mere," he said thickly into his hair. "Lemme hold you."

"John." Sherlock tangled their legs together and hugged him around his middle. His head was on the same pillow as John's, and up this close, John could see the small brown dot right above the pupil of his left eye. "You don't know how much your love means to me." His voice lowered to a whisper, "I never thought anyone would want to be close to me like this."

"I've always wanted this," John told him sincerely. "Always." Heart aching with fondness, he started to stroke through Sherlock's thick, damp curls.

Sherlock's eyelids fluttered shut and he breathed deeply through his nose. "Mmm, I know."

They fell into silence after that, although John didn't stop caressing him. It was warm and comfortable in their bed, and soon, John noticed how slow and deep Sherlock's breathing was turning. He wanted to let Sherlock sleep (it had been an emotionally and physically exhausting morning, after all), but he really didn't want to fall asleep for several hours and make Mrs. Hudson babysit Rosie for that long without prior notice. Besides, as much as he loved Sherlock, he needed to spend more time with the daughter he almost lost.

"Hey," John whispered, nudging him awake.

"What?" Sherlock looked at him fuzzily.

"Sorry to ruin the peaceful moment, but I just sort of showed up on Mrs. H's doorstep with Rosie and came up here, and I should really go get her."

"You're right," Sherlock turned onto his back with a yawn. "We should get dressed first."

"Probably," John smirked, "it would be a bit of a shock if I knocked on her door like this."

Sherlock smiled, rubbing his eye with his knuckle. He sat up and stretched his arms over his head.

It was then that John actually saw his bare back, and his stomach churned. There were scars, as he predicted in the other world. Swallowing past the tightness in his throat, John reached out and traced one gently.

Sherlock instantly knew what he was doing. He released a long sigh. "Don't, John, not now."

John sat up, too. "I just wish I'd been there to help you," he said with regret.

Sherlock looked at him. "I never told you about these; how do you know this was from a time we were apart?"

At this point, John was used to evading these questions which were impossible to answer truthfully. "I saw you shirtless around the flat before, you know, your time away. I figured all of this had to have happened then."

"A sound deduction," Sherlock said, but his voice was hollow.

John pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. "We don't have to talk about it now, but I want to do one thing."

"What's that?"

"Thank you for the sacrifice you made."

Sherlock blinked rapidly. "You...I hurt you back then. I don't-"

"Sherlock," John held his hand. "Don't dwell on it, okay? I just needed to tell you that."

"Okay," he nodded, squeezing John's hand. "I'll tell you about it all one day, I promise."

"Whenever you're ready," John ran his thumb over his knuckles. "We'll take things one step at a time."

"Sounds good," Sherlock said, relieved they were dropping the subject.

They went back into the sitting room where their clothes were spread out on the sofa and floor. John got fully dressed, but Sherlock only wrapped himself in his red dressing gown. His hair was a mess from sex and John's fingers, and he had a happy, sleepy smile playing at his lips.

John placed a hand on his hip with a smirk. "You have no idea how sexy you are, do you?"

"Well," Sherlock cleared his throat politely, "it's come to my attention that people have found me attractive in the past, and I suspected you thought so, too, but it's nice actually hearing it from you."

John licked his lips, chucking lowly. "Is it? Then I should tell you more often." He lifted his free hand and stroked Sherlock's lower lip with the pad of his thumb. "You're breathtaking right now."

Sherlock blushed, lip quivering against John's thumb. His dressing gown was open enough for some of his chest to show. John wanted to spread his blush down to his pale chest again, but shook his head.

"If I stare at you any longer, I'll never go downstairs and get Rosie," John said, somewhat reluctantly pulling away from him.

Sherlock rubbed the back of his neck with a lopsided grin, the one that always tugged at John's heartstrings. "Go get her, John."

John did, happily taking Rosie into his arms and stuffing her purple cat plushie as much as he could into his jeans pocket. The sparkle that lit up her eyes when she saw him made his chest feel warm.

"You were up there for quite some time," Mrs. Hudson commented.

"Yeah, well," he cleared his throat, "Sherlock and I are together now, so."

The squawk of joy Mrs. Hudson let out startled Rosie.

"What? John, you have to tell me more! I can watch Rosie for the rest of the night; surely you two want some alone time! I remember when I first got together with my husband-"

"We already took care of that," John said with an awkward cough. "We're really fine for now, thank you. Besides, I feel like I haven't been there enough for her," John shifted and put his forearm under Rosie's bum and his hand on her back.

"You will tell me what happened," Mrs. Hudson wagged her finger at him, "but tomorrow."

"Thanks," John smiled. "I promise I'll come downstairs and chat tomorrow."

John brought Rosie upstairs, kissing her temple.

"Shuh," Rosie said when she saw Sherlock. "Shuh, shuh-ra."

"Close enough," Sherlock smiled, and took her small hand and kissed the top of it. "It's been awhile since I've seen you."

"That changes now," John said. "Hey, um, this is a sudden question," he laughed a little, "but can we live here now? Can I move back."

Sherlock released a long sigh. "Oh, John, why are you such an imbecile? Of course you're living here again."

If he weren't holding Rosie, he would have slapped his arm. "You worried me for a second, you wanker!"

"Don't swear in front of the baby," Sherlock scolded. "She's beginning to acquire language."

"Then you can't talk about dissecting bodies in front of her," John countered.

Sherlock pursed his lips. "Deal."

John snorted. "You're a d-dumb person."

"You were about to call me a derogatory name referring to genitalia, weren't you?"

"That's the most complicated way of saying d-i-c-k I've ever heard."

"You can't do that once she starts spelling, either."

"Sherlock, she's only one!" John laughed. "You're acting like a mother hen."

Rosie made a sound, like she knew they were talking about her, but didn't have the words or comprehension to join in.

"You're going to learn a lot of interesting words in this flat," John said to her, walking over to his red armchair and sitting down with her on his lap.

"She'll receive an excellent array of knowledge in this flat," Sherlock corrected, sitting down in his chair. He stretched his legs and nudged John's foot.

John looked down, and started snickering. "Hey, you might want to close your legs if you're not wearing pants, sweetheart."

Sherlock scrambled, sitting up straight and crossing his legs, pulling his dressing gown down.

John couldn't tell if the scandalized expression on his face was from being flustered, or from the term of endearment.

Sherlock got up, stomped to the pile of his discarded clothes, and pulled his pants up under his robe. He stomped back to his chair and sat down, spreading his legs. "There, is that better?" he pouted.

"Hmm, better for Rosie, and worse for me," John winked.

Sherlock made a disgusted sound and brought his legs up onto his chair, curling into a ball on his side and pulling his robe over himself like a blanket.

John laughed, and turned his attention to Rosie. He played with the ears on her pink bunny onesie, making her giggle. "Want your kitty?" He fished into his pocket and took out her toy, which was hanging half out of his pocket to begin with.

"Ca," she smiled.

"That's right, it's a cat," John booped her nose with the nose of the stuffed toy.

She erupted into giggles, grabbing the cat from his hand and hugging it.

John was laughing with her, and he felt Sherlock's eyes on him.

Sherlock was, indeed, watching them, head on the arm of his chair, curled up as tightly as possible to fit into the chair.

"Yeah? What is it?" John asked.

He shrugged the shoulder that wasn't squished into the chair. "Nothing. I'm just happy."

John and Rosie moved into 221B as quickly as possible. They made John's old bedroom her own, and started sharing a bed immediately. It was a bit of a whirlwind when they told everyone they were together (the reactions they received ranged from joy to Lestrade's "oh god, it's about fucking time!"), but they were glad they decided to share their news with their friends.

"It's funny, I never thought I'd have friends to share good news with before I met you," Sherlock mused.

"You act as if I was Mr. Sociable before you," John teased.

Things were just...good. Genuinely good, and with no threats looming to take their happiness away. Mary was gone, Moriarty was long gone, and the obstacle of misunderstandings between them disappeared. Sherlock's parents, absolutely delighted at the idea of their son having a family of his own, readily agreed to babysit Rosie when they were busy with a case that would take several days, and Mrs. Hudson was glad to watch her when they were only gone for the night. It felt like, after years of nothing working out, things fell into place.

In time, Sherlock did tell him about his time away. John didn't need to fake his reaction; he would always shed tears at the thought of how much Sherlock went through. He listened patiently when Sherlock eventually told him about his childhood, about the friends he never let go. John held him as he cried bitter tears from old wounds, assuring him his pain was real and valid, and shouldn't be locked away.

"I wish I'd been there for you, to stop you from shutting yourself down," John told him.

"Me too," Sherlock sniffed.

"But you've opened up to me, and I promise to cherish that and never let you go down that path again."

To his surprise, Sherlock smiled and chuckled softly, wiping his tears away. "I know, John. I know."

They still argued at times, but it was about insignificant, domestic rubbish. The animosity that had been there, lingering under the surface since the fall, was gone. As John sat on the sofa one night with Rosie sleeping on his chest and Sherlock sleeping against his shoulder, it occurred to him that this was the happiest period of his life, full stop, and he hoped it never ended. It won't, thought. They were going to be together, and watch Rosie grow into a beautiful girl, and no one was going to stop them.

"I love you, Sherlock," he whispered to him.

Sherlock snuffled. "Mmm, love you, too," he mumbled into John's T-shirt.

John didn't know why he was given a second chance, and he never would. He would never speak of his time in the other world, but he always remembered it, and was eternally grateful for whatever reason the universe decided to have mercy on him, of all people.

And sometimes, John had dreams. He dreamt of a version of himself and Sherlock noticeably a few years younger than he and his Sherlock actually were. That version of himself and Sherlock didn't have a baby, but they were always smiling and embracing in his dreams. They kissed, and they laughed.

John always felt good after he woke up from his dreams because he knew that finally, finally, he made every wrong in their lives right. He was a good father. He made Sherlock Holmes a happy man who received all the love his tender heart deserved.

At last, John was at peace.