John was heavy. Immensely so. Sherlock had to fight hard to pull him up the stairs and drag him over to the couch. The smell of beer and whiskey surrounded John like an aura that made Sherlock fear he might get drunk just by inhaling too deeply. He dropped John on the couch, his usual grace vanishing with the effort. He stumbled a bit, almost toppling over and joining his completely wasted flatmate. After finding his balance again, Sherlock stared down, deducing everything that had happened to John that night.

Went to the pub early/ 4 pints, 3 whiskey/ turned down by at least two women/ tried to sleep on the stairs/ sexual identity crisis in full progress-

Sherlock heaved a big sigh and sat down on the coffee table folding his hands under his chin.

5 hours earlier….

John had had enough. Enough of runny noses, yelling parents, complaining colleagues and chatty nurses. And the best was yet to come. A bored Sherlock. John squared his shoulders before opening the door to 221b and taking the stairs two at a time while he made his way to their living room.

Sherlock had been unpleasant for quite some time now and it didn't look like that was going to change soon. It didn't matter what John did or said, Sherlock's reactions varied just slightly between annoyed and utterly pissed off. It was even worse than his usual boredom induced moods and John definitely did not know what to make of it.

Opening the door to the living room, John took one deep breath before he stopped breathing at all. The room was almost empty. All that was left was John's laptop, his mug, his medical journals, his…..Well….His. Everything that didn't belong to him was gone. Even Yorrick. He just stood in the doorway staring at the few things he owned, shaking his head in disbelief.

He heard a rattling noise coming from the kitchen that shook him out of his numbness.

"Sherlock?" John hurried into the kitchen while he was still struggling to breathe again. Sherlock was there packing things into boxes and obviously refusing to acknowledge John's existence.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" Panic started to creep into John's body. His fingertips tingled while cold shivers ran over his neck. "Sherlock, please answer me!" He was almost shouting now but he just couldn't stop himself. Sherlock had still not shown any reaction. "SHERLOCK!"

Slowly, Sherlock put down the box he was currently filling with his lab equipment. He let his fingers rest on it for a few seconds, his head hanging down in a way that felt very wrong to John. Eventually, he turned to face his friend, his expression blank and detached.

"What is it, Sherlock? Did I do something to cause this?" John's voice was pleading now but he didn't care.

"You didn't do anything. At least, I think you didn't intend to. I have made a mistake and I am going to face the consequences by moving out before it affects you and our friendship." Sherlock's body betrayed his calm voice. There was a certain tension in his features. His hands were balled into fists and his eyes were locked on John's.

"I don't understand. That's a nice speech you've just given but I don't give a bloody fuck about your mistake. Not as long as you don't tell me a bit more about it. Don't you think I might have a say if you just move out leaving me pay the full rent?" John wasn't interested in that damn rent but he needed a valid argument to get Sherlock to talk to him or at least stay a bit longer if not forever.

A pained expression crossed Sherlock's face as he looked through the kitchen searching for words. John had a clear advantage standing in the middle of the doorway. Sherlock had to answer him or John wouldn't let him pass and they both knew it.

"John, you should clearly know by now that I don't burden myself with emotions or attachments. I obviously failed to do so regarding my newly developed feelings towards my straight colleague and flat mate. The last few weeks have made it clear that it already affects our cohabitation and I don't wish it to do the same with our working relationship. If you would excuse me now, I am almost done packing and wish to finish as soon as possible." Stoically, he turned around and peeked into the box as if to make sure that none of it's content had magically vanished during his short occupation with something else.

John tried to process Sherlock's words but he was feeling as if a train had hit him. He was still staring at Sherlock who appeared to be frozen in place, not moving a muscle and certainly not looking at John. Silence stretched between them as the words started to make their way into the brain of a very confused army doctor. Within the blink of an eye, John crossed the kitchen to stand behind Sherlock, softly embracing the taller man around his waist and resting his head between his shoulder blades.

"Don't go." was all John managed to say.

They stood there for a long while, both of them processing what just happened, before Sherlock turned in John's embrace and hugged him tight to his chest.

"John. I don't want to pressure you but….There is only one possibility that would make me want to stay in a shared flat with you and it would only require one bedroom." John tensed against his chest, his pulse starting to pound against his neck while he tried to pretend that he had not heard Sherlock.

"John? I…" Sherlock was silenced by soft but insistent lips on his. He knew John just wanted to end the conversation but the sudden leap in his chest made it impossible for him to care.

Slowly, John drew back and looked up into Sherlock's widened eyes. For a short moment, they both studied the other's dilated pupils before John just repeated "Don't go!" and took a step back, breaking their contact.

Sherlock just watched him, obviously deducing John's innermost feelings and trying to find out what he would do next.

His conclusion was proven to be right when John started fidgeting, muttering "I have to think for a while." and turned to leave. Stepping out of the kitchen, John cast a last glance at Sherlock, giving him an uncertain smile.

When the door to 221b closed, Sherlock sent a text to Mycroft, telling him to let his stuff return to Baker Street.

Present

The sun was already going down when John awoke the next day and was greeted by an epic hangover. His head felt several sizes too big and every movement caused dizziness followed by the urgent feeling of sickness. It took him an estimated 20 minutes to sit up and when he managed to do so he was rewarded with memories of the last evening. Shit.

He cast a look around only to find the living room looking as if nothing happened at all. Everything was back in it's place and Yorrick stared accusingly into the kitchen. Just as John started to doubt his memories, he saw two aspirin and a glass of water on the couch table, right beside a folded note with his name written on it. With trembling hands, he took the pain killers, spilling some water in the process. Cautiously, he eyed the note before lifting it to his eyes. His vision was still blurred by alcohol but the message was clear to him anyway.

Choose.

He groaned in desperation before making his way to the bathroom for a cold shower and probably a deep look into the toilet bowl for good measure.

Under the shower, John made a mental list of the things he had surprised himself with. The list was short but rather intense.

- Hugging Sherlock.

- Kissing Sherlock.

- Being completely lost without Sherlock.

- Being emotionally attracted to a person with a penis. (Hopefully a not too frightening one.)

John had known for a long while that his relationship to Sherlock was different to every other friendship or working relationship he'd had before. He admired Sherlock's intellect and couldn't fool himself into believing that he never thought of Sherlock as beautiful or even gorgeous. Still…. It was a huge step between fantasy and the first physical gay experience of his life. But he had to admit that the kiss was way too sensual to pretend it didn't mean anything to him. And, thinking about it, he knew he wanted the kiss to mean something. He had indulged in his sexual identity crisis yesterday. Enough of that. Time to soldier on and do what felt right. But how far was he willing to go? And more important, how far was he able to go?

He dried himself efficiently while he worked out a bulletproof plan.

Need more information. – JW

Granted. – SH

How long? – JW

Unclear. Probably from the beginning. – SH

Expectations? – JW

Exclusivity. Sharing a bed. Don't expect more physical contact than comfortable with. – SH

Honest feelings on your side. – SH

John, always the thorough doctor, spent the next 2 hours looking up everything that could possibly come in handy concerning gay sex. To his surprise, the concept didn't frighten him when it was related to Sherlock. It even sounded… stimulating.

1 hour, Baker Street. Choice made. – JW

Time to prepare everything.

Sherlock was loud on purpose when he took the seventeen stairs up to their flat. Clearly, John had wanted to prepare something requiring the requested hour. Sherlock just hoped that it didn't include John moving out, needing one hour to gather his belongings. He stopped in front of the living room door, uncertain if he should knock or just step in. He knocked once and opened the door while calling John's name.

"Here." Kitchen. The crime scene. Well then.

John sat at the kitchen table looking up, expectantly. In front of him were various small bowls, containing a selection of their favorite Thai food, and a candle. Lit. Sherlock walked slowly to the other chair, still uncertain about John's intentions.

"Please, sit down" John smiled at him reassuringly, making Sherlock's heart flutter.

Forcing himself to smile, Sherlock sat down, noticing how close the chairs were positioned to each other.

"Let's eat, first. I think we have to talk about some things." John started scattering the food on both their plates, looking utterly calm. Sherlock wasn't in the mood to eat but he didn't know what else to do and poked around in his curry chicken, stirring it under the rice he usually enjoyed. That John was watching him was the only reason to take a fork full every now and then. Apparently, John was satisfied with the amount of food Sherlock had consumed after ten minutes and put down his silverware, taking a deep breath. Sherlock mirrored him and waited for the inevitable.

"I'll be straight forward, ok?"

Sherlock managed to nod, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

"Are you a virgin, Sherlock?"

A deep blush appeared on the detective's cheekbones making him look adorably young and giving John his answer in advance, while Sherlock preferred to stare at the candle.

"Alright...I.." John wanted to calm Sherlock's embarrassment but he was too slow.

"John, I assure you I know everything there is to know about intercourse but if you are just searching for a reason to turn me down…"

"Sherlock! Let me finish! There are a few other questions I want to discuss." John had raised his voice but there was no rage in it, he just wanted to be heard over Sherlock's screaming insecurity.

"Proceed." Sherlock almost whispered.

"Did you imagine us having sex?"

Sherlock nodded tightly and blushed crimson again.

"How did you imagine it?" John's voice was deeper than usual and his eyes were intensely focused on Sherlock's. The consulting detective straightened his back and held John's gaze before bending forward, closer to John's ear. Sherlock's words were a low rumble that were tickling John's earlobe and sending shivers down his neck and arms.

"I imagined sitting on top of you, your cock buried deep inside of me. I would be riding you, moving in small waves, while you are touching me all over, moaning my name, begging me not to stop, begging me to go on forever. Oh, John. You would feel so good inside me!"

John couldn't help the whimper escaping him. He turned his head slightly to the side and captured Sherlock's mouth in one quick movement, startling the detective for a second. He buried his hand in Sherlock's dark curls pulling him impossibly closer while his other hand slowly wandered over the other man's thigh. Eventually, John pulled away catching his breath and resting his forehead against Sherlock's.

"Would you like to make that happen, Sherlock? Erm…Now, I mean." The doctor still fought to calm his heartbeat when Sherlock took hold of his hand and pulled him out of his chair, leading him toward his bedroom. He stopped dead. Still holding John's hand, he turned around to look at him.

Insecurity flashed over John's face.

"I thought you might want to use the other bedroom for your experiments so I….moved in. Is that ok?" The words were said cautiously and hurried.

Warmth spread through Sherlock's chest and he started feeling light headed. In a surge of emotion, he pushed John against the door frame and kissed him urgently, pressing as close as possible against the doctor. His doctor.

"I want you. Right now." He whispered in between their kisses. John's answer was a deep growl and a hand wandering to Sherlock's arse, while the other one was busy trying to get rid of Sherlock's ridiculously tight shirt. Their combined groping made that task impossible and John cursed under his breath. He pushed Sherlock a few inches away, trying to find his composure.

"On the bed! Naked! Now." His voice was hoarse but determined and Sherlock hurried to obey with pupils blown dark with arousal. He undressed faster than John would have thought possible. John watched him positioning himself on his knees in the middle of the bed before he undressed just slightly slower.

John stood in the middle of the room looking at Sherlock in awe. So beautiful. His Consulting Detective. He wanted to be what Sherlock deserved but he couldn't be sure that he was capable. This would be Sherlock's first time and he would make it a wonderful one if he could.

Slowly, John made his way on the bed, kneeling beside Sherlock and taking his hands in his own. He had to say something first.

"I choose you. Not because you pressured me, not because I need your half of the rent. I choose you because I want you. I want to do this the right way. Do you still want this…me?" He held Sherlock's hands tight, looking into his eyes.

"I wanted you for so long!" Sherlock stated with all the emotions he'd had to suppress for so long. It was all the confirmation John needed. He ran his hands over Sherlock's chest, savoring the feel of that pale soft skin under his fingers. Goosebumps, affecting John almost as much as Sherlock's ragged breathing, spread over the milky torso.

John pushed Sherlock on his back, pressing their straining erections together while he sucked at that gloriously long neck to mark it as his own. They moaned simultaneously as Sherlock started to move his hips in rhythmic motions crossing his legs around John's waist.

"You should start preparing me, John." Urgent need made his voice low and husky.

John started to fumble with the lube that he had placed on the bedside table, earlier. His own throbbing cock made his movements more clumsy while Sherlock still rubbed himself against his thigh, moaning his name as a demand to hurry.

"Oh God, Sherlock!" John looked down at his new lover. Sherlock looked debauched and was probably the most erotic sight in his life. Unselfconsciously basking in his pleasure, virgin was the last word that seemed to apply to him. John positioned himself between Sherlock's legs, coating his fingers with a generous amount of lube. He began rubbing his thumb against Sherlock's entrance in soft small circles to loosen the rigid muscle. Sherlock moaned even louder, growling impatiently after a few minutes. Carefully, John inserted his index finger in tiny thrusting motions. Sherlock started writhing beneath him and pushing against his finger which John took as a hint to add another digit.

"Oh, fuck!" John's self control began to falter with every needy sound Sherlock was uttering. He pushed a third finger inside the tight entrance, busying his other hand by rubbing his thumb up and down Sherlock's length. 3 fingers had to be enough, he presumed. They just had to be. Sherlock was close already with the added stimulation to his shaft.

"Sherlock." He needed permission.

"Yes. God, yes. Please, John!" Agonizingly slow, John removed his fingers before he tried to regain the lost time by rolling on a condom hurriedly and coating his cock in a handful of lube.

He took a deep breath and gently, oh so gently, pushed into Sherlock. The tight heat that engulfed him suddenly was even more intensive than he had expected. Sherlock was laying very still trying to get used to the sensation. He opened his eyes and met John's.

"I love you, John." He said, sliding his hands down John's chest until he touched the point of their connection. "I want you to make me yours. Take me, John."

Arousal spiked in John's gut and he pulled almost all the way out before thrusting in forcefully. Quickly, he established a rhythm that seemed to suit both of them. Knowing very well that he wouldn't last long, he took hold of Sherlocks leaking member with one hand and entwined fingers with Sherlock's.

"Mine! You. Are. Mine." Every word was emphasized by a thrust of his hips. Sweat was building on Sherlock's chest and neck while the Detective's moans grew louder and louder.

"John! So close….Please!" Sherlock threw his head back into the pillow pressing their entwined fingers tightly together. John let go of his cock just to bend down and push his belly out so that Sherlock felt every thrust against his throbbing member and got enough of the so desperately needed friction. Now, John finally dared to let go. With Sherlock so close, he started to thrust in earnest pushing in as deep as possible. He felt his climax build just as Sherlock started to clench around him, moaning his name constantly.

"Oh God, Sherlock, you are amazing, beautiful, wonderful, gorgeous…." John muttered under his breath as his thrusts turned more and more erratic and he finally came, buried deep in his lover.

Sherlock was still panting but looking up at him in wonder. John tried to kiss the expression away but when he opened his eyes again, Sherlock still looked astounded. Smiling, John cocked a questioning brow.

"I said I love you and you're still here. We had amazing sex and you're still here." John grinned at him while he slowly pulled out of Sherlock and rolled on his side. He threw the condom on the floor before he turned to look at Sherlock trying to convey as much with his face as with his words that he meant what he was about to say. He slung one arm around Sherlock's narrow waist before he cuddled up against his chest. He didn't dare to look up now. Then the words would have to be enough.

"We should sleep now!" Coward. Sherlock was straddling his hair and cuddled closer, so close that John could hear his heartbeat when he found his bravery again.

"I love you, too, Sherlock!" The heart beneath John's head picked up pace but Sherlock just kissed his head tightening his arms around him.

"Good night, John."

"Good night."