Hello everyone, it's been a while... I decided to do a follow-up to what was supposed to just be a one-shot... So down the rabbit-hole I suppose

It had been 2 months. 2 months of happiness and joy and Sherlock. John didn't know how he'd gotten so lucky. A man his age, with his past and his looks didn't deserve a beautiful and insatiable boyfriend. Sherlock was still Sherlock, but he did seem less frigid and distant, at least when it was only him and John.

It still amazed Sherlock that John, your boyfriend his brain kept reminding him, managed to keep his tattoo a secret for so long. Sherlock wondered what other secrets John had. Sherlock knew that he loved John, had done since their first case together, but love was something he'd convinced himself he didn't need. His hurt expression on that day, when he said that no one understood his tattoo and John kissing him on the cheek had made something snap inside of him. He'd realized in that moment that he needed John.

John and Sherlock were lying on the couch, their arms around each other. They'd just finished watching a Bond movie, because John insisted that Sherlock had to watch at least one. John had his shirt off, as per Sherlock's request, but other than that they were fully clothed. Sherlock stroked John's back, sometimes he liked to think that he could feel the ink under John's skin or that the ink on John's chest would bleed while the were pressed chest to chest and Sherlock would end up with the mirror image of the gun's strap across his chest. Sentiment, his mind scoffed, but he kept the feeling around a few seconds longer than he used to before dismissing.

"Whatcha thinking about?" John mumbled sleepily, having very nearly fallen asleep during the movie. He knew by that look that his boyfriend was deep in thought.

"Your tattoo." Sherlock replied honestly, not ashamed of his fixation.

John chuckled, "What about it?"

"Who has seen it?"

"Why? Are you jealous?" John teased.

"No, curious."

"You and the tattoo artist. I got it almost immediately after coming back from Afghanistan. It had only just healed when we met."

"What about..." Sherlock started.

"You may find this hard to believe but I never slept with any of my girlfriends since I met you. You kept scaring them off before I got a chance to." John interrupted.

Sherlock smiled lightly, prompting John to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

"Come on," John said, standing up and stretching, "Let's go to bed."

"Now there's an offer." Sherlock replied cheekily, kissing John.

"Joooooooohn. I'm bored!" Sherlock complained loudly from his position on the couch.

"Do you want me to go murder someone?" John asked lightly.

"No, then I'd know who'd commit the murder and it wouldn't be fun," Sherlock replied, not catching the sarcasm, "Plus then you'd have to go to jail."

John knew that that was Sherlock way of expressing love. Except in certain cases, Sherlock didn't do sentiment, so John learned that "Then you'd have to go to jail" really meant "Then you'd have to go to jail and I don't want that because I love you and I'd miss you." Not that Sherlock would ever admit that, of course.

"So what can I do?" John asked, going over to sit beside Sherlock on the couch.

Sherlock quickly arranged himself so that he was lying on his side on the edge of the couch facing the room. John knew this meant that he wanted to be the little spoon. John sighed, quickly took off his shoes, socks, and after a moment of pause, his shirt. Sherlock would probably want him to take it off eventually. John then settled behind Sherlock on the couch.

There was a long moment of silence. Long enough that John wondered if this was all that Sherlock needed from him.

"Tell me a story." Sherlock said quietly.

"What about?"

"Anything. How did you decide on that specific tattoo?"

John smiled, he knew how much Sherlock liked his tattoo, and he never made much of an effort to hide his fixation.

"When I came back from the war. I was so broken and desperate and lonely. Though, I suppose you already knew that. I'd seen so much pain and loss and suffering. I'd even seen some that I'd caused. I needed to feel some of my own. Some that I decided to feel instead of some that someone else decided that I would feel. I didn't want to self harm. I had enough scars already. Instead, I decided to get something beautiful. Turn my pain into something constructive. I'd originally thought of just the gun, but it didn't feel right. I somehow didn't feel like I was honouring the ones that I'd saved. So I decided to add the wings. Not only to honour the patients I had that survived, but I'd always loved the idea of flight. Except, I never got to go on an aeroplane as a child, the first time I ever flew anywhere was when I went to Afghanistan. I liked the idea because it was honouring everyone I affected over there, including myself."

Sherlock shifted so that he was facing John. John was almost in tears, even though he didn't know why. Sherlock pressed a kiss to his forehead, then his temple, his cheek and finally his lips.

He pulled away when he needed to breathe, "Thank you for telling me." He said softly.

John smiled a small, slightly watery smile, "Glad I could help, but weren't you kissing me a second ago?"

Sherlock smiled back and pressed a kiss to the black line across John's chest before recapturing his lips.

It was about a month later, when during the pursuit of a culprit, John had his shirt torn while tackling the culprit to the ground. It wasn't a huge tear, just a little on his shoulder, but enough to see the black ink in his skin through the hole.

Lestrade and the rest of his team arrived shortly after. Sherlock was explaining to Sally and the others how this man was obviously guilty when Lestrade looked over at John.

"What's that?" He asked, pointing to John's shoulder.

"Oh, my shirt was torn when I tackled the bastard." John chuckled.

"No, I mean why is your skin black there?"

"Oh, it's my tattoo." He stated casually.

"Since when do you have a tattoo?" Greg asked, shocked.

"As long as you've known me." John replied.

"Well, let's see then."

John looked at Greg like he was crazy.

"I'm not taking my shirt of in the middle of London while you're arresting someone."

"Fine." Greg replied, slightly put out, "I'm gonna need you and Sherlock to come down to the yard and make statements today though.

Sherlock suddenly materialized next to John, "Fine. We'll take a cab."

Later, in Lestrade's office, once John and Sherlock had given statements and they were free to leave, Greg brought up John's tattoo again, "Can we see it now?"

"No." John replied fondly.

"See what?" Sherlock asked.

"My tattoo. He noticed it were my shirt is torn."

"We all did, actually." Greg interjected.

"We?" John asked, confused.

"The entire team, we're all curious."

"You get to stay curious then." John replied cheekily.

"John. I think you should show him." Sherlock said.

"Why?"

"Because he might understand."

"What might I understand?"

"Fine, but you're buying me chinese after this." John said, pointing an accusing finger at Sherlock.

John undid the buttons on his shirt and slipped it off.

Greg's surprise and confusion were clearly written across his face, "It's a... line."

John nodded, "From the front." He turned.

Lestrade was silent for a few seconds, "Well that's mighty impressive. Let me guess, the whole soldier and doctor thing?"

John turned back around and nodded. He made to put his shirt back on, but before he could Sally came into Lestrade's office.

"Oi, freak what're you still doing here?" She sneered. She then caught sight of John's back, "What the actual fuck? Why would you get that tattooed on yourself?"

John tensed and quickly put his shirt on and buttoned it up.

"Sally, get out of my office"

"Alright."

Sherlock went over and hugged John. He whispered in his ear, "It's ok, she's an idiot. She wouldn't understand even if you explained it to her."

John gratefully hugged his boyfriend back, and forgetting that Greg was in the room, leaned up and kissed him. It was a chaste kiss, but when they broke apart, Greg was looking at them like they'd just had sex in front of him.

"Since when has that been a thing?!" He demanded.

Sherlock looked at John, "You didn't tell him?"

"No? Was I supposed to?"

"I suppose not, but I kinda assumed you would."

John shook his head fondly, turned to Greg, "We've been dating about 3 months..."

Sherlock interrupted him, "3 months, 4 days, 7 hours and..." Sherlock checked his watch, "11 minutes."

John just rolled his eyes and kissed Sherlock on the cheek.

So thanks for reading guys (and girls, or non-binary persons [I'm trying out being politically correct, how am I doing?]) I also want to thank the people who suggested listening to Angel With a Shotgun by The Cab. It actually gave me the inspiration for this continuation :) See ya later and have a nice day. Also this chapter is about two times longer than the last one... Oops