He Meant It - Chapter 4

A BBC Sherlock fanfiction by Linda/Linables

Rated: M for THIS CHAPTER, Johnlock everywhere! SEXYTIMES AHEAD. Don't say I didn't warn ya.

So sorry for the wait on this chapter. I've been busy with family commitments and some projects that I've been doing under a deadline. Hope this longer chapter makes up for it! Enjoy!

The next few weeks were consumed by new cases that Lestrade needed help on - desperately, according to Sherlock. The man really did seem to have the most uncanny timing, often to the dismay of both the detective and the doctor. It seemed that not minutes after John had made his last confession in the kitchen, pulling his flat mate down for a desperate and beautiful kiss, said man's cell phone had rung. Sherlock had initially ignored it in favour of giving his attention to John, but by the third time it rang within ten minutes, he couldn't ignore it anymore.

That had eventually led to the two now being at the scene of an apparent murder-suicide incident, Sherlock pulling on his gloves to examine the body of a woman with no apparent wounds but a distinct blueish colour to her face. She also seemed to have been twitching violently and uncontrollably before death, if the disarray of the rug and other objects around her were of any indication. There was also a man sitting in a chair nearby, arched unnaturally over the chair back and frothing slightly at the mouth. In his spasming he seemed to have knocked over the table he had been sitting at. This had interested Sherlock greatly, and he had spent an uncharacteristically long period of time studying him.

A few minutes into his examination of the woman, the detective heard his phone's text alert. Hiding his face, he rolled his eyes slightly and cracked a hint of a smile while pretending to be absorbed in the examination of the victim before him. He knew who was texting him, as it had only been one person ever since he had arrived on scene. Sherlock finished with the body quickly, slipping his phone out of his pocket and taking a fast glance at the text. He was just a bit mortified with how much his face heated up in reaction, and he tried to shake it off but got called on it by Lestrade anyway. Pestering git. Luckily, Sherlock managed to pass it off as "still feeling a bit feverish".

Glancing again at the message after cooling his head, Sherlock chuckled quietly. The messages just kept getting more forward...this was going to be a distraction if it kept up in the future.

Just letting you know I appreciate you bending over to examine that body. Your arse looks fantastic.

JW

Sherlock quickly fired back a reply, glancing at John all the while. The army doctor had been discussing the case with on scene police, but had apparently been able to sneak a moment to text the man at the other end of the large dining room. And if the content of the message was any indication, he'd also had time to stare rather shamelessly.

Getting into dangerous territory, watch out now, Doctor Watson.

SH

Admittedly the time spent on crime scenes these past few weeks had made both men quite restless and anxious, which came as a shock to Sherlock, who had always been at his best while on the case. As much as he hated to admit it, it seemed that he was not immune to the ever-so-human ailments of attraction and lust. He and John loved each other - an idea which was still so mind-bendingly incredible, in the best way possible - but they had been restricted to quick kisses and touches while the investigations pressed on. They had either been too busy, too tired, or on unfortunate occasions, both. It seemed perfectly understandable that the longer they were denied their desires, the greater those desires grew. An idea which was obvious from the next text that Sherlock received. He looked up at John as he fetched his phone, seeing a flash of a wicked grin on the doctor's face.

That's what I'm aiming for.

JW

Sherlock would later deny choking up a bit upon reading this, but he still had to answer to a questioning Lestrade, who approached him then to ask for facts about the case. Quickly, Sherlock rattled off his observations, already starting to walk towards John.

"Strychnine poisoning. Explains the muscle spasms, cyanosis, frothing and the position of the man. He died later than she did, probably by a couple of hours. He killed her, then accidentally killed himself later when he grabbed the wrong vodka bottle, having put the poison into one from his stash that we saw in the liquor cabinet earlier. The bottle is on the floor, it fell off the table that he knocked over. Might want to get poison control here immediately. Goodbye."

With that, the detective strode over to John, the man immediately falling into step beside him as they exited the crime scene.

In the seconds following the closing of their flat's door, the temperature seemed to rise by several degrees. Sherlock scrambled to grab John by his collar, bending down to push their lips together. John responded in earnest, angling his head and parting his lips to deepen the kiss. They parted for a scant second, giving John the opportunity to take control and place his hands flat against Sherlock's chest, pushing him towards the nearest wall. The taller man's back hit the wall, and he grabbed onto the doctor with more vigour, hands wrapping around his torso.

It hadn't taken many times for kissing to become second nature to them, and it now happened just about as naturally as breathing. Perhaps the newness of the experience just ignited their instincts in a major way, fuelled by adrenaline, or perhaps they both had skills that they hadn't paid heed to until now. Whatever, neither gave it any thought right now, all that mattered was that it felt oh so good when their lips parted against the others' and their tongues brushed together and everything was so warm.

It had surprised him greatly, but Sherlock found that he secretly loved letting John take control when they came together for sessions like these. Being who he was, always in control of the situation and acting as the alpha for all those around him, this was an exhilarating change. Of course he would sometimes take the reins himself (he had picked up quite a few skills over the past few weeks, as John would attest), as he had done when he initiated the kiss minutes earlier. But still, he couldn't deny that it opened a whole new world of experiences when he allowed John to do things like push him up against the wall and hold him there, hands never leaving his body as he was snogged senseless.

John felt Sherlock smile against his lips, and he pulled away with a smile of his own. One hand was fisted in the detective's coat, which had yet to come off in the hurry, and the other was tangled in his dark curls, holding him down. Panting from the exertion, John started working on the coat, undoing the buttons and hanging it haphazardly on whatever he could reach. Looking up at Sherlock, whose brilliant eyes were glowing with a rare kind of fire, John chuckled softly.

"What's happened to us? Weren't we just flat mates the other day, and now we're snogging in the foyer like a couple of teenagers."

Sherlock grinned, running his hands down the wooly sleeves of John's jumper.

"For once, I really don't know. But it's...enticing, and quite wonderful, and I'd like it to continue."

Hearing those words meant so much to John. He replied sincerely.

"And so would I."

Words became superfluous at that time, and the men started towards Sherlock's room, shoes and John's jumper being shed on the way. It was true that this had all happened quickly, like both parties had been overwound springs that were finally released. It had been initially surprising, but in no time they fell into a rhythm, and neither had any more desire to go slowly. They had lost each other before, had been distant both physically and emotionally, to the brink of collapse. They would not let that happen again. Now, they were adamant that they would come closer together than ever, to make up for the separations and turbulence that they'd experienced on their way to this point.

They stumbled as they stepped into Sherlock's bedroom, neither giving adequate attention to anything but kissing the other. They manoeuvred sideways through the open doorway, John kicking the door shut behind him. The next thing he knew, his back hit the duvet of his flatmate's bed and said man was kneeling above him, supporting his weight on all fours and breathing heavily. John pulled him down, also shuffling further up the bed so that his whole body was atop it. They kissed languidly for a time, enjoying the wetness and warmth of each other's eager mouths and tongues. Once the pace grew too slow, John lifted a hand up to start unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt.

The detective pulled away to shrug the garment off when he finished, and immediately returned the favour, pulling John's t-shirt over his head and tossing it aside. John's neck was then lavished by a series of tentative nips and licks, the actions growing bolder as the recipient let out a thankful groan. One of Sherlock's hands ran over John's chest, and the man shivered in pleasure. He was so distracted as the long, nimble fingers brushed against his nipples that he hardly noticed as the other hand started to undo his fly.

John gasped slightly as the act was completed, but offered no objections, instead leaning back and lifting his bum off of the bed so the trousers could be pulled down his legs. His pants were gone as well within what seemed like a few seconds, and only after he was completely naked was there any sort of pause in the action. Sherlock fixed his eyes on John's straining erection, just studying. A bit of heat rose to John's cheeks, hoping that the detective wasn't going to analyse every detail of the coming act, but his thoughts were quickly shooed away as a hand wrapped delicately around his shaft.

He couldn't stop the moan that escaped his lips, but far from minding, the sound only encouraged Sherlock to grip more firmly and begin to run his hand up and down. John cracked his eyes open – not having realized he'd closed them – and saw Sherlock smile, dispersing any remaining doubts John might have had. A few more strokes had John shuddering, and he knew this night would be embarrassingly short if he let this pace keep up. So with a burst of energy, he sat up, placing a hand on Sherlock's chest and pushing him to the bed, reversing their positions.

An inquisitive look crossed the detective's face, but was quickly extinguished as John set to work on his trousers, making quick work of them and his pants right after. He was quite good at upholding a calm, collected facade, but John could see that this was cracking, face flushed and mouth slightly open, breath falling heavy. His dark curls were in disarray against the white sheets, and his chest moved pointedly up and down as John's hands neared the erection laying on his pale stomach. John almost shuddered himself, truly having trouble remembering the last time he'd seen something so beautiful. Sherlock's body, always hidden under clothing, was so pale that it almost glowed, limbs lean and wiry but laced with surprisingly strong muscle. Damn if he wasn't exquisite, John thought as he leaned down to wrap a hand around the detective's shaft, his lips touching the head immediately after.

Sherlock groaned, breath quickening further and body trembling at the new sensation. John's lips slipped further down, taking in as much as he could, holding there and pulling up only to run his tongue deftly over the underside and swirl it around the tip. Drops of pearly liquid gathered at the slit as John's tongue skimmed it, and then his mouth engulfed Sherlock's cock again with way too much skill for his own good, the detective determined. He was beginning to feel a pressure pooling in his loins when John pulled up, smiling wickedly at his lover and crawling back up over his body. He quickly kissed Sherlock before trailing his lips to his ear.

"Have you...have you got that stuff we bought somewhere?"

Sherlock gestured towards his bedside drawer, and John immediately leaned over to rummage through the drawers. He pulled out a bottle of lube, a purchase that they had made some time ago before getting pulled into a maze of new cases. Opening the bottle, John squeezed some of the clear gel onto his fingers and his hand wandered into new territory, slipping between Sherlock's legs and brushing against the cleft of his arse.

"This alright?" he inquired, receiving a nod from the dark haired man lying beneath him. Despite the heat and urgency of the situation, John needed to know that he wasn't moving all too fast. Earlier conversations had revealed that Sherlock, though clearly not a saint, was indeed missing experience in this area. John was both nervous and exhilarated about the idea of being the one to take the man's virginity.

With his positive response, John pushed the first finger in, pausing afterwards to give Sherlock time to get used to the intrusion. It was slightly odd at first, just a bit uncomfortable, but this was brief and soon Sherlock bucked his hips experimentally. Taking the silent invitation to continue, John slipped in another finger and scissored them a few times to encourage the muscles to relax. When he was quite sure Sherlock was ready for him, John withdrew his fingers and reached for the bottle of lube. He squeezed some more out and slicked it over his own cock, settling himself in between Sherlock's legs.

They shared a look that said everything which needed to be said. Sherlock's normally composed face was glazed with lust, begging for John to finish what he had started. The doctor was sure he looked very much the same, as consumed by want as he was. So he grabbed one of Sherlock's long legs and hoisted it over his shoulder, pulling him as close as possible as the tip of his prick breached the detective's entrance. He took care to sink in slowly, letting Sherlock adjust, but by the time he was fully in both were just about shaking.

As he gave his first thrust, Sherlock tried and failed to bite back a keening moan. John squeezed his eyes shut, letting the sensation wash over him, and he pushed in and out again. His hands gripped Sherlock's hips, and he began to build up a rhythm, encouraged by the sounds that Sherlock had resigned to making. They were quite exquisite and John promised himself to try and convince his lover to make as much of them as he wanted. He moaned himself as Sherlock's hips rocked against his own, making John sink deeper into the detective with every thrust. Then he managed to angle his thrusts and Sherlock's willing body just so, letting his member brush against the other's prostate with each thrust. The younger man gave his loudest moan yet, and it fuelled John until he started to feel his peak grow close.

Holding back as best he could, John wrapped one hand around Sherlock's own throbbing erection, feeling it pulse against his hand as he stoked vehemently. When he saw the detective's perfect cupid's bow lips squeeze shut, face slipping into an enraptured expression, John knew the man was reaching his own climax. With a few more hard thrusts, John let himself go, calling out Sherlock's name and hearing it mix with his own as they reached their first mutual orgasm.

John emptied himself into the tight channel clenching around him, feeling Sherlock's come slick his stroking hand and the man's own stomach. As he came down from the high, John tumbled down onto the bed, pulling out of Sherlock and instead gathering the panting detective up in his arms. For a time they just looked at each other while catching their breaths, content to lie there and forget everything that didn't involve the two of them. When he deemed himself capable of speech, John broke the silence.

"Well, that was...even better than I'd imagined."

Sherlock nodded, smiling a very rare, gentle smile that John felt privileged to witness.

"It was wonderful. How many times have you imagined that, then?"

John blushed a bit.

"Er...well, I haven't counted. Every now and again...for quite a few months."

"So, 'not gay', correct?"

John laughed, playfully rolling his eyes.

"Yes, well, what will your work say? Aren't you married to it?"

"It's an open marriage."

In reply, John only pulled Sherlock in for a kiss, which he willingly accepted and returned. The last of his energy exerted, John flopped back onto the bed.

"Well, I'm beat. You don't mind if I...if I stay here, do you?"

Sherlock smiled.

"I'd have it no other way, Doctor Watson."

Well there you have it. Don't know if there'll be another chapter to tie things together or not, depends on what my muse allows me (or doesn't allow me) to do. If not, have a nice, smutty, happy ending. :)