Title: Rules (9/9) + Epilog
Words: 9 + Epilog/4283

Rating: PG-17
Pairings: Sherlock/John
Warnings: Graphic sex, angst
Disclaimer: Unfortunately not mine.

See the end of the chapter for more notes.

Chapter 9

Fortunately, Sherlock recovered once again quite quickly. After the fever had gone, he was stuck for several days on a drip. Then he could finally gain solid food again. However, this time the doctors insisted that he remained longer in the Hospital, so they could keep an eye on him.

Mrs. Hudson brought freshly cooked food, cakes and other goodies for Sherlock to the hospital, so he ate properly.

Especially John was very grateful to her, because Sherlock had barely touched the food in the hospital. He felt responsible for ensuring that Sherlock was eating enough, and with the good food from their landlady it was much easier to get him there.

They spoke little with each other. Sherlock was too quiet, nagging hardly around; and he never once asked when he could go home. John was almost always there, he even stayed during the first nights. When Sherlock was better he went home late at night, just to be there again in the morning before reveille. The nurses and doctors had given up on send him away, Sherlock was also much more relaxed and easier to deal with when John was in the vicinity.

Mycroft came by every day, what was almost disconcerting, and Lestrade visited him a couple of times, Mrs. Hudson, of course anyway, and even Molly passed by a few times. But even when they finally were alone, they hardly spoke, and then it came to that it was only trivial stuff: there was a strange, tense atmosphere between them. Sometimes John felt like living on a volcano, and one day it would explode, the only question was when.

Finally the day of discharge was there. John grabbed Sherlock's things, put them into the small travel bag he had previously taken to the hotel, which seemed to be like a lifetime away. After his conversation with Mycroft one of his errand boys picked up John's stuff from the hotel and brought it back to Baker Street. Sake of simplicity John had merely dumped his clothes later and repacked the bag with Sherlock's things.

Sherlock looked at the bag and frowned. He wondered why John hadn't taken one of his own bags, the one he had with him the last time in hospital, for example, but he didn't say anything.

John just wanted to go home. Maybe then he could finally talk to Sherlock without having constantly to be on guard who would be the next to burst into the room. There had always been visitors, there had always been nurses or doctors doing something with Sherlock, and if they only controlled his temperature or blood pressure. It was annoying.

Moreover he hadn't slept properly for more than a week; and if so, he usually had woken up a short time later with nightmares. That was the reason why he had remained in the evening as long as possible with Sherlock, and was back at the hospital early in the morning. Gradually, tiredness and fatigue became noticeable.

Mycroft had sent a car to bring them back to Baker Street; and once Mrs. Hudson had welcomed them extensively, they were finally, finally alone. And it felt strange, awkward; nothing was right.

For a moment they stood in the living room, indecisively, until John grabbed the bag. He was restless, almost nervous, just had to do something.

"I'm gonna go unpack that stuff, also have to do the laundry urgently", he muttered and walked away to the bathroom.

Sherlock stayed alone and somehow lost in the middle of the room. John's bag, he remembered, not his. Why? John wanted to show something to him? What? He sat down in his chair and put his palms together, fingertips placed under his chin, and he was deep in thoughts, when John came back.

"Want a cuppa tea? The stuff in the hospital was inedible. And then I'll have to do some shopping, I think the fridge is empty, well, except for a few remnants of your last experiment." He opened the refrigerator door, "Uhhh, the milk is sour, I'll better go first."

He was almost out of the door, his coat in his hand, when Sherlock's voice, quiet and cold as ice, froze him in mid-motion. "You wanted to leave. No, you had left. You had packed your bag in a hurry and were gone. Why are you here again? What do you want anymore? I'm fine; you needn't have to feel guilty."

John had turned ashen. Slowly he turned to Sherlock. "What? That's what you think? That the guilty conscience has pushed me to the hospital and now here? I am surprised that you've even solved one of your cases, if that's what you had deduced." His voice grew louder. His teeth gritted, his lips only a thin line, his hands clenched into fists, he stood in the doorway, the symbol of laboriously suppressed rage. His nerves were already wrecked and this ... this bloody idiot actually imputed …

Suddenly everything went black around him, and a moment later he found himself on the floor. Oh shit, he squeezed his eyes briefly before he opened them again and tried to get up. Sherlock was already beside him and held him by the arm, which was just fine, because John was still dizzy. Sherlock pushed him gently to the couch and they sat down.

"I'm all right, all right", John grumbled, still angry and annoyed. "I have to eat something, that's all. Nothing you have to worry about." He wanted to get up, but a renewed attack of vertigo left him sink back into the sofa. Totally frustrated, he shouted. "Oh, damn it!" Then he simply remained sitting on the sofa, his face buried in his hands. He was so exhausted, completely drained and empty.

Sherlock jerked back, startled; then he took John in his arms, a little awkward at first, then more firmly. And very, very slowly, he could feel how the tension eased from John's body, he leaned into Sherlock and finally returned the embrace. They sat there for a long time, holding each other in silence.

"When did you eat the last time?" Sherlock asked, as he stroked John's back gently.

"Dunno, yesterday afternoon I think," John murmured against Sherlock's chest.

"A very good doctor, whom I happen to know, has told me once that regular meals are important," Sherlock smiled and brushed John's hair with his lips.

"Oh, yeah? Do I know him?" John didn't want to move his head away from Sherlock's chest, snuggled more to it. It was the first time in about two weeks, he felt that he probably could relax. He didn't want to leave now. Never again.

Sherlock continued stroking him, playing with his hair. He himself was completely confused; too many conflicting emotions in much too short a time. He had thought John wanted to leave him and that had quite rip him; and now he was sitting there, holding him in his arms and he couldn't get the stupid grin off his face.

When he didn't answer John turned a little, so that he could watch him. Surprised, he looked at Sherlock's grin. "Are you okay?"

Sherlock could only nod, his throat was tight and he couldn't get out any sound.

And slowly, very slowly, John gave him a soft kiss, barely touching his lips. It was more of a swiping as a real kiss. Sherlock closed his eyes and gave in entirely to his feelings, felt the feather-light touch of John's lips on his own, on his jaw, his cheeks, his ear. A shudder shook him and goose bumps covered his arms and his torso, as John kissed him behind his ear, and then slid down along his neck.

"Oh God, John, please."

John pulled back slightly. "Please stop, or please go ahead?" he asked playfully.

Sherlock took a deep breath, steeling himself: "Seriously John, you have to eat something. I know what I am talking about, I have been fainting because I haven't eaten for too long. And I remember exactly all of what you have told me on such occasions."

"Ok, you're right. Chinese?" John sighed eventually.

Sherlock had the phone already in his hand and ordered for both of them, while John's head rested on his chest again.

"Will you to tell me what happened after you have sent me away in that cab?" Sherlock's long fingers caressed John's neck, playing with his hair again. "You didn't came home that night, I've been waiting in your room for you", he blushed, "I wanted to talk to you if you would come back. At some point I must have fallen asleep yet. - I've dreamed of you", he added quietly.

John sighed again. "I needed to be alone, at least I wanted to try to think about us. But I was always turning around in circles. At 6 am I sat at a bench over a coffee, I thought that it would be best if I would stay in the hotel for a few days, only two or three, until I would know what to do. So I wanted to get some clothes, if possible, without running into you. When I got to my room I was so fixated on being as quickly and quietly as possible, that I only saw you on my bed when you were shaken by a nightmare. I could calm you down a bit until you've slept quietly again."

"Then you were really there, it wasn't a dream!?"

"Seems so. And you looked actually quite healthy, just a little exhausted."

"As I said, I was afr ... worried to miss you, so I've just stayed in your bed. And because Mrs. Hudson was at her sister's …"

John sat up and looked sternly into Sherlock's eyes. "... no one has noticed, and you were up there, almost kicked the bucket. Don't do such a thing ever again, promised?

Sherlock nodded, he had a lump in his throat, could barely speak. "Promised."

John took Sherlock's face in his hands and gave him a kiss on the forehead, "Ok."

Then he let him go again, quite a bit more relaxed than before he sank back into the sofa and looked at Sherlock as he continued: "In the afternoon, I knew at least that I had to talk to someone, I got no further all alone. Neither Harry nor Greg were in question", Sherlock nodded sympathetically," so I finally called Mary."

"Mary? The woman you met in the pub the night before?" Sherlock frowned.

"Yes, exactly. I can't explain why, but ... it felt right. Though, she is a total stranger, I feel as if we've known each other for years. I trust her." He looked at Sherlock in surprise. "I trust her," he repeated amazed.

He thought for a moment. "I think you would like her. She detects connections, and she asks the right questions."

Sherlock's eyes had narrowed and he watched him closely. "Has she done that to you? Made the right connections?" he asked in a neutral tone.

Really? Was Sherlock jealous? John had to bite back a grin. "Yes. Actually, everything was there, but I haven't seen it until she pushed me." A wry smile crept across his face. "I know; I see, but I don't observe. But deductions aren't my specialty; I think I was a little bit distracted at that time, too. Well, whatever, I told her a little bit about us, our life, and first she was shocked. But then she merely said: He loves you, you love him, what's your problem?"

While he was speaking he took Sherlock's hand, painting with the thumb small circles in his palm. "And then I was baffled, why had I not see that? And I came here on the shortest route,... But you were already unconscious", he added in a whisper, holding his hand now tightly.

"There is one thing I realized", he raised his glance and looked straight into Sherlock's eyes, "I love you and I won't live one more day without you. But … not as your dom but rather than your partner. No cane, no whip and, above all, no punishments", he shuddered involuntarily and closed his eyes, as he visualised again the picture of a trembling Sherlock. It had stoved in his mind, he didn't know whether he ever again could bear to see Sherlock on his knees. When he continued, his voice was uncertain, "I've honestly tried, but I can't do that anymore, at least not the way it was." He stared at his hands, and waited with clenched teeth for Sherlock's reaction.

"Ok."

John's head jerked up. "Sorry, what? Ok?"

"Yes, of course." Sherlock looked at him seriously. "John, I love you. I will do whatever it takes to be with you. I'm sorry, I've required something, that you haven't wanted. I should have realised that earlier."

"I wanted to be as you wanted me, I wanted to be right for you."

"You are perfect the way you are."

I don't want any more rules."

"All right."

"But you wanted the rules."

"You are actually more important than any rules. What about games?"

"What do you mean? Handcuffs?"

"Yes, well, everything what you are willing to do."

"I like you tied up, but I will never beat you again."

"Just what you like. You determine the limits."

And that will be enough for you?"

"You are enough for me."

John blushed and a bright smile spread across his face. His fingers caressed Sherlock's cheek, clutched his neck and pulled him slowly nearer, but before he could kiss him the bell at the front door rang. Both of them winced startled, and then the pent-up tension was released in a shared giggle, which became a loud laughter soon. Their food was there.

After dinner they watched telly. John tried to watch a thriller, while Sherlock was mocking about the police and the forensic team in the film and knew after five minutes who the murderer was.

John's gaze wandered to Sherlock and his thoughts drifted. He watched Sherlock, how he gesticulated and moved. The flickering light of the TV cast shadows on his face, his shirt. John's eyes followed Sherlock's neckline, wandered to the open shirt collar, and then higher, remained on his seductive lips.

He didn't realise that he leaned over, John's hand was stroking Sherlock's thighs while he opened his lips slightly. Sherlock fell silent mid-sentence, he turned his head and looked at John, and then their lips met. First it was just a gentle caress, feather-light kisses, a nibble on the lower lip. Then the kisses became more intense, Sherlock lips parted, let in Johns tongue, they melted together, became one.

And it was gorgeous, almost as if they had never kissed before. Everything was so familiar and at the same time completely new. His fatigue was gone. For the first time John could let it go. Only feeling Sherlock's touches on his skin, his own lips on Sherlock's neck, his throat, his chest. Sherlock's naked warm skin under his own fingers, which moved further and further. Sherlock's hands on his back, his arms, and his face, everywhere. The world consisted of nothing but hands and mouth and teeth on his skin, it was incredible.

Somehow they managed to get rid of the shirts and John's jumper. John stood up, pulled Sherlock up with him.

"Come", he kissed Sherlock's collarbone as he pushed him toward the bedroom, "I want to feel you, everywhere, on me, over me and in me."

In response he received only a low rumble from Sherlock's chest, almost a growl. Sherlock pressed against him, gently caressing John's neck with his teeth, before he nibbled and sucked to his sensitive spot behind his ear. John was gasping until Sherlock stopped, leaving a mark that can't be ignored.

'My John' he thought, and the idea sent him a chill down the spine.

John looked at him. "You're all right?"

A whole new sensation crept into Sherlock's chest, spread through him until he's completely flooded. Possessive he took John firmly in his arms and looked into his eyes. This time he said it out loud, he needed to hear it to believe it. "My John."

And John saw it in his eyes, he felt it in his embrace, heard it in his words. The new obsession, the fire, the desire. John's face was beaming when he replied: "My Sherlock."

That was all they needed. All pieces of the puzzle suddenly matched; all the fears, all the uncertainties seemed to fall away from them as their mouths collided in a long, feverish kiss.

In the bedroom they continued to undress without haste or hurry, caressing each other's body, stroking, teasing. They enjoyed the unusual and wonderful feeling of discovering each other new. John pulled Sherlock down on the bed, so that Sherlock was on top of him. He could feel him from the toes up to the dark curls, in which he buried his hands as he kissed him.

Their bodies rubbed together, bare skin against bare skin, their erections touched and John stretched out his hips while Sherlock was leaning on his arms to enhance the touch. John finally reached between their bodies, covered them both with his hand and moved them together in a slow pulse up and down.

"Oh God, John." Sherlock closed his eyes and was biting his lower lip. This sight alone made John groan again.

"Sherlock, I want you to fuck me, I want to feel you, all of you, deep inside me, now, please."

A deep, throaty sound escaped Sherlock when he lowered his open mouth to John's face. He brushed his eyebrow and temple with his lips, then he moved on, let his tongue caressing John's ear before he made his way downward, licking and nibbling at John's jaw and throat to finally bite at the point where neck and shoulder merged. With a snarl he dug his teeth in John's soft, warm skin and sucked hard. John bucked slightly at the unexpected touch, and as Sherlock went on sucking and licking he turned his head to give Sherlock more access. He accepted the invitation immediately and let his tongue and teeth go over John's throat before he slipped deeper and dedicated to his nipples. He sucked and nibbled on them until they glowed dark and hard.

Eventually he knelt between Johns legs and warmed some lubricant between his palms. He started with one finger at John's tight opening; his other hand was playing with his balls while John stretched against him, moaning lustfully. It didn't take long until he could push the second finger into him, and he moved carefully searchingly until he was confirmed by a loud gasp that he had found John's prostate.

"Oh fuck, Sherlock, I need you ... wanna feel you … your cock … sliding into me … now ... hard." John squirmed under him and Sherlock growled, he pulled his fingers out, before he was back over him. Then he pushed a pillow beneath him, carefully bending John's good leg over his arm and pressing slowly into him.

John gasped and tried to push off with his feet in order to feel Sherlock deeper. "Sherlock ... I ... ohhh ... yeah ... more ... harder ... deeper!" He couldn't say anymore, shoved his hands into the linens, clenching it tightly.

Sherlock took John's leg and put it over his shoulder, then he held him by the waist, lifted him up a little and pushed hard. John's head fell back, a cry escaped him. "Ahhhhh ... yeahhhh... harder ... Sherlock ... more!"

How much he would like to delay this, but not today, today there're no games, no teasing. John needs this hard and fast today, and he will give him what he needs. After a few strokes he realised that he himself wouldn't last long this time. His fingers dug into John's flesh, where he held him at his hips. John grabbed his cock, pumping in time with every thrust of Sherlock's cock, hard and deep, hitting John's prostate every time. With each thrust he declared: "Mine. John. You. Are. Mine."

That was it. John's free hand was clawing in the sheets again, his body was taut as a tendon, only his shoulders and his head touched the bed as the orgasm rolled over him. He cried out Sherlock's name, bucked and was shaken wildly, before everything went white. A moment later he could see again, just when Sherlock collapsed on him, breathing heavily.

Only gradually they both came back to full consciousness, Sherlock pulled cautiously back from John. Then they lay on the bed juxtaposed, John had turned onto his side so that they could look at each other. It was the first time that John had let go, without a plan, without orders, without rules. And the first time that Sherlock had taken the lead, claiming his newly discovered possession. It had been so incredibly intense.

John tenderly brushed a few curls from Sherlocks forehead, kissing him again and again, his face, his neck, his chest, his shoulders, whatever he could reach without moving too much. "I love you." Kiss. "I love you." Kiss. Kiss. "I love you." Kiss. So he continued, until finally Sherlock took John's face in his hands and shut his mouth with a long kiss.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Epilogue

John met with Mary at Angelo's. After she had been left alone so suddenly at their first meeting, he wanted to do better this time. To be honest, he had quite forgotten her at first. The shock finding Sherlock unconscious, then the hospital stay and the whole chaos of his feelings ... . But she wasn't resentful, and when she finally knew the whole story, she understood perfectly that John was occupied with other thoughts.

It was a nice evening, Angelo had outdone himself in cooking and John was happy that he could merely enjoy a normal meal with a perfectly normal human being. Also, he was amused to talk with Mary about their cases, she was an avid listener.

As they got the dessert John's phone rang and he rolled his eyes when he cast a glance on it.

"Something bad?" Mary asked a little worried.

"No," John was grinning now. "Only an underemployed, inquisitive and obviously jealous consulting detective who would like to join our table, if you don't mind."

Mary smiled in amusement. "But no, of course not. Quite the contrary, I very much want to meet the man who makes you smile like the sun."

John noticed that he blushed, but she was right. He looked around and finally he discovered Sherlock half hidden behind a room divider and nodded at him. Sherlock immediately got up, took his glass of wine and came to their table.

John presented them to each other: "Mary, may I introduce Sherlock to you; Sherlock, this is Mary." Pride crept into his voice. He was proud of both, his fantastic flatmate / partner / significant other (whatever, they have to clarify later), and on his wonderful new friend. And he watched contentedly how both shook hands.

Sherlock indicated a bow and watched Mary with his pervading gaze. For a moment the time seemed to stand still, and then Sherlock's mouth twitched for a split second. If John hadn't known him so well, he probably wouldn't have seen it, but there wasn't much Sherlock could escape with when it comes to John. With a charming "Hello Mary" he shook her hand before he released it.

Mary normally had the gift of the gab, but now she was speechless for a moment. She had seen Sherlock already in the pub, that night she met John the first time, but at that time he was only a shadow of himself. Now, here, pierced by his inquiring gaze, that was something completely different.

Then she took herself together and gave him a bright smile. And Sherlock - smiled back. Whatever he had expected, whatever he had searched for in her eyes, her face, he seemed to have found it, because it was a real, genuine smile. Not the one he had reserved for John, of course, that smile he hadn't shown anyone else yet, and he would never do. But John realised that he had lifted his mask a little.

John let escape the breath he had been holding unconsciously. Yes, the chemistry between Sherlock and Mary was just right. There weren't many people who Sherlock accepted, maybe even liked, but John had been sure with Mary from the very beginning. Maybe because he himself had trusted her instantly.

Before he sat down Sherlock leaned down. John looked up in surprise, was there something else? But Sherlock merely pressed a kiss on his mouth, nothing special, just a quick hello, as was common among couples. Only that Sherlock had previously rejected any confidentiality, every holding hand, in public. With raised eyebrows, he looked at him, what was that up to?

"I had plenty of opportunity to watch the social behavior of couples tonight," Sherlock explained. "It seems to me perfectly reasonable and acceptable, if I give you a kiss in greeting." He sat down with an elegant sweep.

Mary grinned at him. "And it clarifies who belongs to whom."

Sherlock nodded, "Exactly."

Meanwhile, John wondered what others 'social behaviors among couples' Sherlock had probably seen yet and what he would transpose - and in what situations. He pulled such a comical face that Mary and Sherlock had to laugh spontaneously, and after a moment of amazement John joined in the laughter.

THE END

A/N: So, this was the last chapter. Thank you for reading, for staying with me, even if my grammar is horrible some times. (I'm working on that. ;)) I hope you enjoyed my story and I'm greatful for feedback.

Oh, a box for reviews, how convenient! Please, use it, write down your thoughts. I would be happy anyway!