Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

John set his coffee down on the table, pulling his computer closer and sighing as his fingers hovered above the keyboard, hesitant. They had just solved a rather difficult case, and with the the lack of updates on the blog in weeks, he was certain their readers would be happy to finally have some news. Taking a careful sip of his still too hot drink, he cracked his fingers and stretched his neck, but just as he was about to begin typing, Sherlock's voice filled the room.

“John,” he called, sounding all too serious considering what he said next, “Gavin needs us to kiss.”

"You mean Greg,” John corrected him, still processing what the bloody hell Sherlock just said. 

Sherlock huffed, waving a dismissive hand in the air, and continued, “Yes, sure.”

John waited, too many questions buzzing inside his head and yet none breaching his lips. Surely Sherlock was going to explain, he couldn’t declare they needed to kiss, for Greg’s sake apparently, and expect him to just agree without trying to make sense of it first. But Sherlock remained silent, eyes fixed on the ceiling as he lay still on the sofa, and John sighed again, “And why does Greg need us to kiss?”

“He’s having financial issues,” Sherlock replied, as if it was the only explanation John needed on that matter.

John closed his computer, all thoughts of their previous case now gone, and leant back against his chair. “Sorry, I don’t see the correlation between these two pieces of information.”

Sherlock shifted, turning his head to look at him, and John couldn’t help but smile. There were some pillow's marks on his cheeks and John felt the irresistible urge to touch. “Of course you don’t,” Sherlock said, forcing John’s eyes back up, “You never notice anything.”

John didn’t flinch, having heard Sherlock call him an idiot too many times now to take it personally, and knowing perfectly that he didn’t actually meant it. “Tell me then, what should have I noticed?”

Sherlock sat back on the sofa, his open dressing gown hanging loose on his shoulders and John had to look away again. He grabbed his coffee, hoping it would help him focus on something else, and waited for Sherlock to continue.

“He’s been working extra hours for the past two months,” Sherlock began, eyes still fixed on him. “For once it has nothing to do with his wife’s affair, but more because both of his kids decided they needed to start learning how to play some instruments. They’re probably going to give up soon if you ask me, but still, he has to pay for the lessons and surely you must know how expensive it is.” He stopped and John nodded, his smile growing wider by the second. “Adding in the recent flooding in London and the state of his roof, let’s just say Lestrade will need some money. Soon.”

John finished his coffee, placing the mug back on the table and leant forward, “So Greg needs money, ok. I still don’t see why he needs us to kiss.” He even managed not to glance down at Sherlock’s lips as the mere words made his entire body crave to do just so. 

“You know very well the Yard has been keeping a Pool about us since you moved in,” Sherlock replied, sounding resigned, and John couldn’t hold back a laugh. “You don't believe me," he added, now glaring at him.

“Sorry,” John said quickly, “Isn’t that just a rumor? Something Greg said to annoy you?”

“I assure you, John, the Pool is very real and it’s actually worth 2308 pounds.”

John choked on air, “How much?!”

“2308 pounds,” Sherlock sighed, “Please, do listen.”

“That can’t be true,” John replied, shaking his head. Greg had mentioned the Pool a couple of times at the pub, asking John when he was finally going to kiss Sherlock and let him win his money back, but John had been certain he had been joking. “Are you seriously telling me the entire Yard has been betting money on when you and I are going to kiss?”

Sherlock nodded, “Not only kiss, but, I believe they say, become a couple, John.”

John fell silent. This was ridiculous. He didn’t want to kiss Sherlock- No, scratch that. He didn’t want to kiss Sherlock because they needed to help Greg fix his roof and pay his kids’ music lessons. John wanted to kiss him because he had finally gather the courage to tell him he's been dying to for years. “Sherlock, I don’t know-”

“It’ll only be for a few days, John,” Sherlock cut in, standing up and walking to the kitchen. “We kiss, act like we’re together and then pretend it didn’t work out.”

That’s even worse , John wanted to say but kept his lips sealed. Of course they would work out, beautifully even. John wanted nothing more than to wake up to Sherlock’s sleeping face next to his, to his body close and his adventurous hands on him. He already loved all of him, and if there was one thing he was certain about, it was just how perfect they would fit together.

“I thought Lestrade was your friend,” Sherlock called from the kitchen and John closed his eyes. He couldn’t say no. It would only take a few seconds and some easy deductions for Sherlock to understand the reasons why, and that was the last thing John needed right now. “It could actually be fun, you know.”

Of course , John thought bitterly, a game to keep his mind occupied. Getting to his feet, John grabbed his mug and head for the kitchen too. Sherlock was already engrossed in a new experiment but John caught him glancing up for a second before focusing back on whatever he was working on. He knew Sherlock was still waiting for an answer, and probably already assumed he was going to say yes, but he remained silent anyway. He placed his mug in the sink and leant back against the counter, lost in thoughts of all the could be.

He could only see Sherlock’s nape from here, the curls he imagined soft too many times right there, and it took all of John’s will power not to reach and stroke. Could he play this charade? Could he fake being in a relationship with Sherlock Holmes and then pretend it had never happened? Could he taste Sherlock’s lips, feel his body close and his breath against his skin, and know it was only a trick? John shook his head, letting out a quiet sigh. Of course I can’t, this is insane, bloody dangerous even. But still, he thought, this could be the only chance he’d get to actually know .

“I knew you'd agree eventually,” Sherlock said, startling him.

“I didn’t say I had,” John replied, unable to repress a smile, and certain Sherlock could hear it in his voice anyway. Sherlock remained still, obviously thinking it was now decided and John wondered what the hell he had just agreed to. “I’m guessing you have a plan, then.”

That seemed to trigger Sherlock’s interest, and he stood up to face him again, “Of course. I’ve deduced the time and the place where Lestrade thinks we’re going to kiss-”

“You mean you’ve searched Greg’s office and found the Pool?” John cut in, his smile growing wider by the second.

“That’s not the point, John,” Sherlock replied, rolling his eyes and John chuckled softly. “The last time he placed a bet, he planned for us to kiss after a case, or in his words “John will find Sherlock injured after a case and finally kiss the bloody idiot.” So, obviously, I need to get injured.”

“Wait a second,” John stopped him, “You didn't said anything about you getting injured!”

“I am now,” Sherlock sighed, “I have to, or it won’t fit Lestrade’s bet.” He stopped, staring at him for several seconds before saying, “Would you say this is something you could see yourself do?”

John frowned, already lost in fantasies of what this kiss would turn out to be like. “What?”

“Kiss me because I’ve been injured and you got scared?” Sherlock replied, talking about the two of them kissing as he would have talked about the weather. 

“I- I guess yes.” John stuttered, and definitely not telling him he almost did a thousand times already.

“Good,” Sherlock asserted, “It will only make it more believable.”

They stared at each other for long seconds, neither of them moving, and for a moment John thought Sherlock had stopped breathing entirely. If he were to be honest with himself, there had been times, before and after Mary, where John had thought he’d seen something in his friend’s eyes, something that had made him wonder if, maybe, Sherlock felt it too. This need to be closer, to touch, to know.

“We’ll have to wait for a new case, obviously,” Sherlock finally said, his voice much lower now, and a small shiver ran down John’s spine. “And of course, you’ll have to wait for Lestrade to be there before kissing me.”

John nodded, not sure he could speak anyway. Somehow, between coffee and experiment, they had just planned a kiss, their first kiss, and John was going to need more time to wrap his head around the idea. He was going to kiss Sherlock Holmes, that much was certain. What would happen after that remained a complete mystery.

Chapter Text

The Pool - Gregory Lestrade’s bets

February 2010 - Since everyone is talking about it but not doing a thing, I’m starting this. I’m betting £50 we’ll find these two full snogging in some closet or toilets by the end of the week.

July 2010 - Ok, this is starting to take too long. £60 on them kissing after one of John’s “amazing”

November 2010 - They’re going to ruin me, I swear. This time is the right one, £100 they’re already together and will make it official during the Christmas Party (No, you’re not invited Anderson!)

March 2011 - Leaving now for Baskerville, £70 I’ll get to witness them kiss there and all of you won’t (and will therefore lose!)

June 2011 - Fuck. I really hope they weren’t together.

---

May 2015 - It feels weird to do this again. But I guess it’s still a possibility. Since I was the first one to make a bet back then, let’s start over the same way. £100 John will find Sherlock injured after a case and finally kiss the bloody idiot.

Chapter Text

“Lestrade just called with a new case,” Sherlock announced two days later, leaning against John’s bedroom doorway.

“Interesting one?” John asked, continuing to fold his clothes. He could feel Sherlock’s eyes on him, following his every movement.

“We should kiss today,” Sherlock declared and that made John stop dead, looking up at him.

Sherlock’s face was deadly serious, and John clenched his hand. “Alright,” he replied carefully and went to place his clothes inside his drawer. Sherlock wasn’t moving. “You want to go over your plan?”

Sherlock shook his head, “Better to be spontaneous.” He trailed off. “It’s just a kiss after all.”

“Right,” John breathed out, glad he could turn his back to Sherlock at the moment.

Just a kiss. 

“John,” Sherlock called again and his softer tone forced John to turn around. “I know I didn’t ask, but, this is ok, right?”

John smiled, “Of course, yes. Tell Lestrade we’re on our way.” Sherlock studied him for a long minute before nodding and heading back downstairs without another word. John let out a loud sigh and closed his eyes, sitting down on the bed. He could do this. They went over the plan a dozen times already, going through every details. In the end, it seemed almost too simple, Sherlock faking being seriously injured and himself having just to act scared and kiss him.

Kiss Sherlock. “Fuck.”

They both remained silent during the cab ride and John couldn’t help but wonder what was going through Sherlock's head right now. Had he imagined the two of them kissing before, did he wonder what it would feel like, if their mouths would fit together? Or was he only trying to figure out how he should react, how they should stand to make sure everyone could see? Probably the latter, John thought and looked back out the window. He tried not to picture it too much, not to overthink the whole thing, but at the same time, he was unable to stop this breathtaking fear from creeping over him. Sherlock was clever, he would notice how natural the kiss would be for him, how easily John would seal their lips together and melt into the touch.

He needed to remain in control, not to let his feelings take over and ruin everything. Sherlock had said this would only be for a few days, and for God's sake, he had fought a bloody war, he could hold back for few days.

“We’re here,” the driver announced and Sherlock was out before John could say anything.

He paid the man quickly and followed Sherlock toward the building, forcing himself to breath in and out slowly. He greeted some of the officers in the hallway but made sure not to lose sight of Sherlock as he made his way to the right hotel room. Greg was already there and he barely had the time to say hello before Sherlock was looking down at the two bodies on the floor. Smiling, John glanced back at Greg, “You look tired.”

“Tell me about it,” Greg sighed, and John couldn’t help but notice the marks under his eyes and the way his entire body seemed to scream for sleep. Somehow, John felt better about the whole thing. “I was still asleep when I got the call.”

“You should take a holiday,” John said and Greg laughed.

“I can’t, I really can’t.”

“John,” Sherlock called, “Come see this.”

John cast a apologizing look at Greg and kneeled beside Sherlock, “What is it?”

Sherlock leant closer and for a second all John could think about was the faint smell of Sherlock’s shampoo making its way toward him. “The owner clearly did this, he’s been in love with the woman for years and became jealous when she visited with someone else this time.”

“We’ve been here two minutes, how could know all that with just one look?” John asked, not sure he would never not be amazed by Sherlock’s abilities.

“That’s not the point, John,” Sherlock sighed. “The owner is the only witness, I don’t know if he thought it would be a smart move or if he’s just an idiot, but this works perfectly for our plan.”

John glanced at the crying man standing next to an officer, “What do we do?”

“I make him go nearer to the door, do some deductions, and when I’m certain he’ll be able to run away, I accuse him,” Sherlock explained, “Of course, I run after him and you need to give him enough time to try something. Then I only need to fake an injury and you kiss me.”

“Right,” John whispered, suddenly finding it harder to breath. “Make sure to take him out before.”

“Obviously,” Sherlock sighed and John’s eyes found his lips, realising he was going to kiss the man in less than five minutes now. “You make sure Lestrade sees you.”

John nodded and Sherlock immediately stood up. Greg was already asking him what he’d got and without raising any suspicion, Sherlock made sure their killer was getting closer and closer to the only exit in the room. John kept a sharp eye on him, after all the man could try anything at any moment, but Sherlock was almost done with his deductions now and he glanced one last time at John before saying, “Which can only mean Mr. Humer here was the one who killed them, out of jealousy.”

“No,” the man breathed out, “This is insane.”

“I’m certain you’ll find traces of gunpowder on his hands, Lestrade,” Sherlock continued, John not quite missing the small smile on his lips. “And the gun mustn't be too far.”

The man remained still for another second before darting out of the room, Sherlock following quickly behind him. Greg immediately yelled for back up but John didn’t stay long, not caring if Sherlock had asked to give him a head start. Sherlock was chasing after a murderer right now, and no matter how stupid the man may be, John wasn’t going to let Sherlock out of his sight. He heard a door slamming shut and he hurried toward the sound, Greg and two officers following him. The killer had taken the stairs, and John only had the time to catch sight of Sherlock's coat before they were disappearing into another hallway.

“Fuck,” he cursed and increased his speed. His lungs were burning already and the moment he opened the stairway door and heard the distinct noise of glass breaking, and his heart stopped. “Sherlock!”

There was glass all over the floor next to the nearest window and John found it harder and harder to function properly. Sherlock couldn’t have jumped, even for their stupid plan, he knew better, he knew-

“John, look, there,” Greg said, pointing to the two figures farther down, and John recognized Sherlock’s curls as he made his way out of some dumpster. “Let’s go!”

John was back in the stairs in a second, not caring about Greg or their stupid plan anymore. Sherlock had just fallen from the second floor and John was going to kill him. He was already out of breath when he made it outside but he ran to the back alley anyway. Sherlock was holding on to the dumpster to remain standing and he looked up at him, “Ah John, where is-”

“What were you thinking?” John practically yelled, his heart pounding and the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. “You jumped from a window!”

“He jumped first,” Sherlock replied, nodding toward their killer, unconscious in the middle of the trash.

“I don’t bloody care who jumped first, Sherlock!” He was close enough know to notice the few scratches on Sherlock's face and the blood stain on his shirt, “Fuck, you’re bleeding!”

“I’m fine, remember we nee-”

John cut him off before he could say more, backing him against the dumpster and crashing their mouths together. He didn’t think, didn’t care about their plan, about Lestrade or the Pool. He only cared about Sherlock, breathing and alive against him, and that was all that mattered. It took him another second to realise he was actually kissing the man, and that Sherlock was completely still against him, and John eased the pressure just a little. Sherlock’s lips were softer than he had imagined and a low sound escaped him. Finally Sherlock’s arms came alive and he slid both around his waist, his lips moving against John’s and his face titling to the side.

John got lost in his taste entirely.

He was licking at Sherlock’s lower lip before he could stop himself, tracing each lip slowly before pulling away. He didn’t open his eyes, not yet ready to let Sherlock go, and brought their mouths together again, much softer this time. Sherlock’s breath was hot against his face, and he let John part his lips and slide his tongue inside his mouth with a quiet moan. John’s entire body shivered at the first touch of their tongues and it occurred to him he had no idea if Sherlock had already kissed anyone like this before.

It didn’t matter. John was the one kissing him, he was the one tasting him, making him his, his, his.

“I hate to be this person,” Greg said, much closer than John had thought, “But our killer is waking up.”

John pulled away quickly, stepping backward and looking down at the ground, breath coming short and his heart beating much too fast.

“Donovan, Miller,” Lestrade called, “take care of Mr. Humer.”

John hadn’t even noticed Donovan was here and when he looked up, he found her smiling. Not sure what to make of it, John took a deep breath before looking back at Sherlock. His cheeks were flushed, his lips swollen and his eyes still closed, and John found him breathtakingly beautiful.

“Christ,” Greg laughed, patting John’s shoulder, “Took you long enough!” John forced himself to smile but kept his eyes on Sherlock. “I think you broke him.”

Sherlock’s eyes snapped open, finding John’s immediately. The three of them fell silent, and John wanted nothing more but to close the distance and kiss Sherlock again. “We should head home,” Sherlock finally said.

“Yes, yes, go home,” Greg smiled at them both, “Do more of that or whatever, I don’t want to know.” He squeezed John’s shoulder one last time, sighing happily before letting go of him and walking away. “I’ll need your deposition Sherlock!”

Sherlock didn’t bother replying and soon they were alone.

“That-” Sherlock began but stopped, stepping away from the dumpster, “That was good. He believed it”

Yes, right, the Pool.

John waited until he was certain he could speak properly before saying, “You’re still bleeding, we should go home so I can take a look at it.”

“It’s superficial,” Sherlock assured him, his eyes not quite meeting his.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” John replied before walking toward the street. It took another minute for Sherlock to follow him.

They found a cab quickly and once again they didn’t exchange a word for the entire ride. John could still remember the way Sherlock had moaned, the way his body had felt against his just minutes ago, and he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to forget. Surely Sherlock would delete the entire thing, or maybe keep it as new data, but John’s brain didn’t work that way. He had kissed Sherlock Holmes, and it would stick with him for a very, very long time.

John got out of the cab first and headed up to their flat quickly, letting Sherlock take care of the cabbie for once. He vaguely heard Mrs. Hudson call his name but didn’t reply, letting Sherlock deal with it too. He needed to think, to sort things out and, somehow, regain control.

“You said you didn’t mind," Sherlock declared as soon as he was inside the flat. 

“I don’t,” John hurried to reply, hating how his voice sound weak even to him. “I’m just worried about your injuries, that's all.”

He wasn’t sure if Sherlock believed him or not, but he remained silent, eyes studying him for a long moment before walking to the bathroom. John followed after a second or so, and then only to find Sherlock sitting on the bathtub edge, just about to remove his shirt. His phone beeping with an incoming text made them both jump, “It’s Lestrade,” Sherlock said before giving the phone to him.

received / 8h56

I didn’t even say congratulations, so congrats!

I’m throwing a party

(yes, this needs a celebration party, Sherlock)

not this sunday, but the one next week.

Be there or I’ll bring the party to you!

Cheers!

“A party,” John said, unable to repress a smile.

“Boring,” Sherlock, replied, “But at least we’re certain he believed us.”

“That much was obvious, yes,” John replied, already focusing back on Sherlock’s chest. There was a small cut on his chest but nothing too alarming. “Just a scratch.”

“Told you,” Sherlock replied and John glanced up at him, getting lost for a moment. “We can end this after the party.”

John nodded, not sure exactly what he was supposed to say anyway.

“By then Lestrade will have collected the money,” Sherlock continued, “and no one will care anymore.”

I would, John thought but didn’t say anything. He took care of Sherlock’s injuries and placed the bandages back in the emergency kit. Sherlock put his shirt back on but remained sitting, obviously about to say something, and John waited.

“I’d like to keep pretending even when we’re here, just the two of us,” he finally said. “That way we will get used to each other and it will feel even more natural at the party.”

“I thought we were supposed to break up,” John replied, unable to keep out the bitterness of his voice.

“We will, yes, but until then people will expect us to act a certain way around each other and it needs to feel real.”

“You’re right,” John conceded, wondering how he was supposed to get used to being close to Sherlock for thirteen days and then stop entirely.

“I think we should keep kissing too,” Sherlock said after a moment.

“Why, do you plan on kissing me in front of everyone again?” John asked, certain that  kissing when it was just the two of them was a very bad idea.

“Isn’t what couples do?”

“Not all of them, no,” John replied honestly.

Sherlock seemed to consider his answer, “But if we kiss in front of other people, it will make it more believable, right?”

“I guess it will, yes.”

“I stand by it then,” Sherlock said, looking back at him, “We should keep kissing too, just to make sure it will look natural during the party.”

John looked away, “Right, ok.”

Sherlock remained still for another long moment before standing up and walking out of the room without a word. 

Thirteen days .

Chapter Text

The Pool - Sally Donovan’s bet

February 2010 - This is ridiculous. The freak doesn’t do relationships and this John Watson better get the hell away now.

March 2010 - Alright, this is becoming too obvious to ignore. £20 on the kiss happening when John decides to shut up Holmes.

May 2015 - Just noticed this is still going around, so I’m still betting £40 Holmes gets kissed when he’s being too annoying.

Chapter Text

Day 1

John woke early the next day, not remembering falling asleep after endless hours spent playing the events of the day over and over again. It felt as if he had stared at the ceiling all night, trying to remember the exact feeling of Sherlock’s lips against his own and at the same time, wondering if he could somehow forget about it entirely. Sherlock had seem so certain, so cold saying they needed to continue practicing kissing each other, and John was beginning to fear it would never be like that first kiss. He hadn’t thought about their plan at all when he had pushed Sherlock against that dumpster, and even less when he had kissed him. It had been beyond his control. All of it. He had needed to kiss the man like he needed air, and a “practiced kiss” would never feel the same.

That had possibly been the only “real” kiss he would ever share with Sherlock Holmes, and it ached just to think about it.

Sherlock was already awake, of course, and currently working in the kitchen judging by the noises making their way up to his bedroom. John sighed, rolling and closing his eyes. He was supposed to be in a relationship with Sherlock, was supposed to have slept in his bed the night before and pretend it all came easy today. That was what everyone would be expecting now, and John had to somehow give it to them for the next thirteen days.

“John,” Sherlock called from downstairs, startling him, “I know you’re awake." Another sigh and John got to his feet. “We need to talk some more about the next thirteen days,” Sherlock continued, “Hurry.”

“Coming,” John called back, putting on a shirt and some pajama pants before heading downstairs. As expected Sherlock was sitting at the kitchen table, still working on the same experiment as the day before but he looked up as soon as John entered the room.

“You didn’t sleep well,” he remarked.

“You can say that, yeah,” John replied, pouring himself a mug of coffee. “Did you sleep at all?”

“Maybe a hour or two,” Sherlock said, taking one last look at his experiment before standing up and moving to the sitting room. “We need to talk.”

John repressed a laugh and followed him, sitting in his chair as Sherlock took his violin and played with the strings absently. He was nervous, John noticed, and he smiled into his mug. They stayed silent for another minute or two, John waking up properly as he watched Sherlock’s fingers pulling at the strings.

“You said you wanted to go over what we’re going to do next?” He finally asked, his mug empty and feeling just a little more ready to face the day.

“We have thirteen days to make everyone believe we’re together. If we mess it up, Lestrade will lose his money and the Pool will start again.” Sherlock stopped, looking at him for several long seconds before glancing down at his violin again. “I’m not sure we can pull this off a second time without raising any suspicions.”

“That’s probably true, yes.”

Greg would be mad, having being played like this, and they would all expect much more if Sherlock tried this again. This was already dangerous enough, and John wasn’t sure he’d be up to do it again.

“Which means we need to be very convincing,” Sherlock said, reaching for a notebook next to him. “Better think of every detail.”

John breathed out slowly, “You know, I’m not sure we can plan anything at all. Who knows what will happen during the next few days.”

“I know that,” Sherlock remarked, rolling his eyes. “It doesn’t mean we can’t be prepared.”

John smiled, “Alright, what do we need to be prepared for?”

“The party will most likely last about four hours, but we might get away after two and a half. This means we have to convince them all during this entire time.” Sherlock wrote down something on the paper and looked back at him, “They’ll be expecting intimacy, some touching, some kissing too.”

John swallowed with difficulty, forcing his eyes up to meet Sherlock’s and not linger on his lips.

“It’s highly probable we will have to act as a couple during the next thirteen days as well,” Sherlock continued, “People will come and go, we might work new cases and go outside.”

“Were you planning on hiding inside the flat this entire time?” John asked, laughing slowly, “You?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes again, “Of course not, that’s why we need to talk about this.”

“Ok, ok,” John smiled and settled back more comfortably against his chair. “Go on.”

“So there's intimacy,” Sherlock said, writing down the word at the same time, “Touching and kissing.” He looked down at his own writing. “Can you think of anything else, you do have more experience in this matter, afterall.”

John considered the question for a long time. There was so much more to a relationship than just intimacy but he kept his mouth shut. It was for the best if Sherlock didn’t know more than what he had researched, at least it would be easier for John to keep his personal feelings at bay this way, “That’s good enough.”

“I still need to think about this,” Sherlock declared. “You’re about to read the papers so lets both sit on the sofa and experience closeness at the same time.”

John felt waves of adoration roll over him at Sherlock’s serious face talking about such a soft subject, and he nodded, “Let’s do that, ok.”

Sherlock handed him the papers and got to his feet, waiting for John before going to the sofa. John sat first, resting his arm on the armrest and Sherlock sat next to him, their thighs and sides touching. They remained still for several moments before John opened the papers and Sherlock closed his eyes. It took less than five seconds for Sherlock to move again, putting his arm around John’s shoulders before taking it off, mumbling something too fast for John to understand.

“Why don’t you just-,” John lifted his papers, tapping his lap with his other hand, hoping Sherlock would get it without him having to actually say anything. Sherlock’s face lit up as he caught on, and he quickly lay down on the sofa, his head coming to rest on John’s lap and he sighed before closing his eyes again. “Close enough?”

“Yes,” Sherlock murmured, “Perfect.”

John smiled, staring down at Sherlock’s face and taking advantage of his closed eyes to look at him properly. He seemed much more relaxed than usual, and before he could think twice about it, John’s eyes found his mouth again, the tempting cupid bow right there, and he licked his own lips. It would be so easy to just lean down and lock them together again. John shrugged, placing the papers back down and by doing so, hiding Sherlock’s face, and tried not to think about the warmth radiating from Sherlock’s body.

Day 2

Mrs. Hudson found them early the next afternoon, John busying himself with writing down their latest case (finally) and Sherlock talking to himself about the decomposition of human skin. The previous day hadn’t been as challenging as John had feared, the two of them going about their usual habits except Sherlock had sat closer and touched him more, and by the time he had gone to bed, John had thought he could actually make it to the party without any incidents. Today had begun just the same, but as soon as John caught sight of their landlady’s smile, he knew things were going to get just a little harder.

“Oh boys,” he sighed, her smile growing wider, “I’ve heard the news!”

Sherlock stopped mid-sentence, glancing at John before turning to face Mrs. Hudson, “What news?”

“Oh, Sherlock, you don’t have to pretend,” she replied, coming closer and hugging him, “I’m so happy for you two.”

John chuckled softly as Sherlock rolled his eyes but hugged her back, “Thank you, I guess.”

“After everything the two of you have been through, oh, boys,” she sighed again before letting go of Sherlock, “I’m so very happy.”

“We got that, yes,” he replied and she hit his shoulder gently.

“John,” she walked to him and John got up, welcoming her into his arms, “I always knew you were the one for him, thank you so much.”

John didn’t know what to say, and felt a pang of guilt at the thought of Mrs. Hudson hearing of their future break-up. “Thanks, Mrs. Hudson.”

She stepped back, looking at him for another second before saying, “Let’s have a cuppa and celebrate.”

John was about to say it really wasn’t necessary when he caught Sherlock’s eyes on him, shaking his head enthusiastically. Practice, right. Clenching his hand, John went to the kitchen and turned on the kettle. Sherlock was right, of course, Mrs. Hudson was the perfect person to practice on. She knew them too well and she would be able to catch onto anything remotely off. Still, John couldn’t help but worry.

“Do you have any biscuits in here?” Mrs. Hudson asked, making him jump.

“I’m not sure we have anything safe to eat in these cupboards, sorry.”

She laughed, patting his shoulder, “I’ll be right back.”

Sherlock was next to him immediately, “This is a brilliant opportunity, John.”

“Isn’t it too soon?” John asked, pouring tea in their cups.

“No, it’s perfect, she’s too happy to notice anything,” Sherlock replied, sounding way too excited.

“Sherlock, we should tell her or she’ll be devastated,” John said carefully, turning to face him, and Sherlock frowned.

“She’ll understand.”

John shook his head, “You’ve seen her.”

This seemed to make Sherlock think for a moment, “She might be sad for a few days, but she’ll get over it.”

John stared at him, resisting the urge to thread his fingers through the rebellious curls on his forehead and smiled softly, “If you’re certain.”

“Boys, is tea ready?” Mrs. Hudson called from the stairs.

“Remember,” Sherlock whispered, “Intimacy.”

John brought the tea into the sitting room and went to sit next to Sherlock, not missing the way Mrs. Hudson’s entire face lit up at the sight. “Oh boys, I always knew you two were meant for each other. From the moment you moved in, John, it was so obvious.” She sighed, “I’m surprised it look you that long to realise it.”

“A lot happened,” John replied, considering his words carefully.

“I know,” Mrs. Hudson replied, shaking her head sadly. “I can still remember the weeks after Sherlock’s jumped, oh John, you were like a ghost living in memories only.”

John clenched his jaw, feeling the familiar ache spread over his chest at the mention of Sherlock’s fake suicide. It still hurt after all this time, and he felt Sherlock shift closer next to him.

“And then Mary,” Mrs. Hudson continued, “and that awful wedding, that speech. So beautiful.”

John glanced at Sherlock, finding him staring down at his cup. He had thought about that speech so many times now, Sherlock’s words still engraved in his memory, and once more he wished they had found the time to actually talk about it. It had gone too fast after that, Magnussen, the drugs, Moriarty’s threat and Mary’s true identity. The last four months had been like an endless nightmare, one John had just woken up from.

“But it doesn't matter now,” Mrs. Hudson smiled, taking a sip of her tea while watching them both, “You’ve found each other finally.”

“Yes,” John smiled, lacing Sherlock’s fingers with his own, “We did.”

Sherlock’s thumb caressed his palm slowly, almost tentatively, and John turned to smile at him. He hadn’t expected to find Sherlock’s face so close, and once again the urge to kiss him overwhelmed him. He forced himself to focus on the feeling of Sherlock’s hand in his and reached for his cup again. They drank their tea in silence for several seconds, before Mrs. Hudson sighed again.

“I was so afraid for the two of you, you know,” she smiled at them, a much sadder smile this time. “After living together for so many years and not taking the next step, I don’t know, I think I had given up at some point. It was so painful to watch.”

John was about to let go of Sherlock’s hand but Sherlock squeezed it tighter, “I think we all had given up, Mrs. Hudson.”

John turned back to him sharply, not liking the sad edge in his voice but Sherlock still wasn’t looking at him. John fought the need to get up and walk out of here. He couldn’t listen to Mrs. Hudson anymore, couldn’t listen to her point out just how miserable he was without Sherlock in his life and knowing just how true it was. Sherlock was playing this perfectly, and there was no doubt Mrs. Hudson believed their charade at this point. Still, John felt as if the years spent keeping it all inside were crashing down on his shoulders.

Day 3

“Today I’d like to practice holding hands some more,” Sherlock declared the next morning, causing John to choke on his coffee.

He coughed for several seconds, trying to catch his breath, “Holding hands?”

“Yes,” Sherlock replied, sitting in front of him, “Yesterday you took my hand while Mrs. Hudson was here and I did some research during the night. It is something couples do, often, as a sign of affection and love. Therefore, people will expect us to do the same.”

“You’ve researched about holding hands all night?” John asked, not quite believing what he just heard.

“That’s what I just said, John, do keep up.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he smiled before clearing his throat, “So what else did you find out?”

“There many different ways of holding someone’s hand, and also many different meanings to the act.” Sherlock opened the notebook next to him and John recognized it as the one he had used that first day.

“You wrote a lot more in there,” he remarked, curiosity creeping through his mind.  

“I’m keeping track of everything, John,” Sherlock replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the word, which it probably was to him right now.

“Right, a new experiment,” John said, hoping his disappointment wouldn’t show in his voice.

“Better make the best out of it,” Sherlock continued.

John stood up, putting his plate and mug in the sink and heading for the bathroom, “I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Wait, we have to practice,” Sherlock interrupted him, standing up and following him.

“Are you going to hold my hand while I shower?” John asked, realising how bitter he sounded and hating the way Sherlock’s face closed at the words.

“Obviously not,” he replied, his tone as neutral as possible. “Tell me when you’ll be ready to begin.”

He stormed out of the kitchen, leaving John alone and even more frustrated. He hadn’t wanted to upset him in any way, and had actually hoped today would be a good day. He had decided last night, lying awake in the dark, that he was to make the best out of this situation. He could take whatever Sherlock would gave him and make it his, keep it for as long as he could and hold on to it. He had thirteen days to get to know Sherlock in a whole new way, and he was already messing it up.

He stayed longer than usual in the shower, letting the hot water wash away his tension. He knew all too well that Sherlock was doing this the only way he knew how. It was his first relationship, no matter how fake it was, and of course he would try to make the best out of it. He must have been planing this for a long time and probably already had different criteria written down. One for each aspect of this brand new experiment. John only had to play his role, and everything would be fine.

Sherlock was sulking when John emerged from the bathroom and he didn’t reply when he called his name, so John sat in his chair and opened the book he had begun a week ago. He couldn’t remember much about the story, but he wasn’t paying any attention to it anyway. Sherlock was right there, lying on the sofa, and John knew he could go and place Sherlock’s head on his lap and get away with it. He wondered for a moment if Sherlock would let him play with his hair, let him thread his fingers through them and feel the soft curls unfold between them.

“Are you ready now?” Sherlock suddenly asked, John blushing as he realised Sherlock had been watching him the entire time.

He cleared his throat, putting his book aside and taking a deep breath before answering, “Yes. What do you want to do?”

Sherlock got this his feet and walked toward him, sitting on John’s armchair and taking his hand right away. The angle was awkward and John was forced to shift on his chair so they could hold to each other properly, but Sherlock didn’t seem to care. “I’ve read that while holding hands, couples tend to feel more connected.” he looked pensive, staring at their joined hands. “Do you feel more connected to me?”

“I guess,” John replied, his fingertips pressed against Sherlock’s skin and he couldn’t resist the gentle stroke.

“You’ll have to be more precise than that, John,” Sherlock said with a sigh, and John smiled, tightening his hold on him.

“Yes,” he corrected himself, “I feel more connected to you.”

“Good,” Sherlock replied, eyes not leaving their hands, “I do too.”

John’s smile grew wider.

After that, Sherlock refused to let go of his hand all day. They held hands as they ate, read and watched TV. Sherlock even managed to hold his hand while John did the dishes, talking about his experiment the entire time, and it had taken several minutes for John to realise he had been stroking his thumb over Sherlock’s wrist all along. At some point, Sherlock reached for his notebook again and asked John various question about the different ways they had held hands, how he had felt and what he thought about the whole process. All of that without letting go of him, of course.

“You know,” John said late in the afternoon, both them enjoying some quiet time on the sofa, their joined hands resting between them, “If we’re going to hold hands all day, it's better to do it while taking a walk.”

Sherlock frowned at him, “Why?”

“That’s what most people do,” John replied, putting down his book to look at him, “Hold hands while walking together.”

“That’s something I’ve noticed, yes,” Sherlock remarked, probably going through his mind Palace, “That’s a good idea, John.”

“I do have some of those from time to time,” John replied and Sherlock’s lips stretched into a smile. “Let’s go then?”

They made their way to John’s favorite park in London in less than twenty minutes, and it was already starting to feel natural to have Sherlock’s hand in his. John liked the comfortable weight, the warmth and the way Sherlock’s long fingers wrapped around his own. Sherlock seemed to like it too, that much was obvious by the way he kept squeezing John’s hand. John hid his smile as they entered the park and took the longest path, walking slowly. They hadn’t talked much since they’ve left the flat, but it was a good silence. One of these silences John had learned to enjoy with time.

A dog almost ran into them, and John had to let go of Sherlock to avoid him as the owner apologized, “It’s alright, don’t wo-,” John assured him but was interrupted by Sherlock tugging him back toward him and lacing their fingers together again quickly. “What’s the rush,” John couldn’t help but ask, smiling as Sherlock only shrugged and continued to walk.

They had made it half the way when John spoke again, “You said you had a dog when you were a child.”

“Is that a question or an affirmation, John?” Sherlock asked, not looking at him.

“A question.”

“Then, yes, I did.” He trailed off, looking around them and John waited patiently. He had known for a long while now that this was a difficult subject, and he was happy to let Sherlock decide if he wanted to talk about it or not. “His name was Redbead, my parents bought him when I was six. He died the day of my eleventh birthday, he was hit by a car.”

“I’m sorry,” John said, holding tighter onto his hand. “He was your dog?”

“He was mine, yes, more than my parent’s for sure. I think Mycroft liked him too, but he wasn’t good at showing his emotions, even back then.” Sherlock smiled, and John could see ghosts of past memory lie inside his smile. “Still, he’d agreed to play with us from time to time.”

“Play?”

“Pirates,” Sherlock replied and this time looked at him. They were closer than usual, much closer, and John only had to raise himself higher to seal their lips. He didn’t. “I was the captain, Redbeard was my second. Mycroft  was our prisoner.”

“I have a hard time picturing it,” John laughed and Sherlock’s own laugher filled the air.

“I’m sure he’ll deny it if you ask him,” he said, “But Mummy must still have some pictures.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me if Mycroft had managed to make them all disappear,” John remarked and Sherlock laughed again.

“Oh, she would never let him get near the photo album!”

Their laughter echoed in the park and John held on to him just a little tighter, finding himself hoping he could never let go.

Day 4

John met Greg outside the pub, getting out of cab just as Greg arrived. He waved at him as he paid the cabbie and Greg made his way toward him quickly, “I was wondering if Sherlock would let you come tonight,” he remarked.

“Why wouldn’t he?” John asked, frowning as they headed inside the pub.

“You two are like newlyweds right now,” Greg smiled, “I would have understood if you had something else in mind for the night!”

He winked at him and John rolled his eyes, already sitting at their usual table and waving to the waitress. She smiled at them and nodded, always knowing their order, and John focused back on his friend, “How have you been?”

“I’m good,” Greg replied, still smiling, “But I should be the one asking you that question!”

John shook his head but couldn’t help but smile, remembering the way Sherlock had clung to him earlier, assuring him he needed to mix their smells before John met Lestrade. It had taken John five minutes to get rid of him before Sherlock realised how his body was reacting to the prolonged contact, and even then, Sherlock had continued to give him advice for the night.

“I’m fine,” John replied honestly.

“Oh come on,” Greg sighed, “You can’t leave me hanging like this! I’ve been waiting for the two of you to get together for years, I deserve more than just “I’m fine!”

John laughed, feeling his cheeks heat, and realised this could be the only time he had someone to talk to about the true nature of his feelings toward Sherlock and get away with it.

“It’s really good,” he smiled. “He’s insane and as mad as always, but he’s Sherlock and I wouldn’t change him for anything.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Greg smiled, “Although, it seemed you’d found a good way to make him speechless!”

John grinned at him, “I did, didn’t I?”

“I’ve never seen him like this before,” Greg replied, his smile softening, “I’m really happy for the two of you, you know.”

“Thanks, mate.”

Their drinks arrived, and they drank in silence for several minutes. It had become a habit of theirs to meet up like this, one they had indulged in for years now, and John was happy they still managed to meet up even after the past three years. He knew Greg had been hurt when he had stopped calling, but for some time, John had thought the best way to continue on living was to forget entirely about his life with Sherlock.  

“So how is it,” Greg asked, “being in a relationship with Sherlock Holmes?”

“It’s pretty much the same, you know, he still ruins the kitchen and plays his violin in the middle of the night,” John laughed, “But at the same time, it changes everything.”

Greg nodded, taking another sip of his drink before saying, “I’ve watched you two pine for each other for years, and at some point, I thought maybe it would remain just that. That you were too stubborn to do anything about it.”

“Not stubborn,” John corrected him, “scared maybe.”

“Scared?” Greg frowned. “Of what?”

“Did you know that the day I met him, I asked him out, sort of.” Greg shook his head, encouraging him to continue. “He replied that despite being flattered by my interest, he considered himself married to his work.”

Greg snorted, “Of course he did, the bloody idiot.”

John smiled, “Yeah.” he sighed. “After that I reasoned with myself and settled for just being his friend. It worked fine at the beginning, but living with Sherlock Holmes makes you realise a lot of things about yourself, and when it became clear that I was still very much attracted to him and didn’t want to spend another day without being with him, I still had his refusal playing on a loop inside my head.”

“And you didn’t think he could have changed his mind?”

“You’ve seen the way he talks about relationships and romance,” John sighed, “He hates it.”

“Well, not anymore apparently,” Greg smiled and John forced himself to smile back. “I hate to bring this up again, but weren’t you glad you two weren’t a thing when he jumped?”

John’s entire body shivered at the mention of Sherlock fake suicide and he closed his eyes, “No, no I wasn’t.” He felt Greg’s questioning eyes on him, and he took a deep breath before replying. “For two years I told myself that Sherlock died without knowing just how much he was loved.”

“Oh.”

“But I guess you have a point,” John said, looking back at him. “I’m not sure I would have been able to forgive him if he had done that to me knowing how much it would destroy me.”

“It did destroy you, John,” Greg said, his voice sad and his eyes avoiding John’s own. “I’ve never seen you like that before. I felt so helpless, knowing it was my fault.”

“It was Moriarty’s fault and no one else’s,” John said quickly.

“Still, I had a part in it,” Greg replied, “and I will regret doubting him for the rest of my life.”

They fell silent, both of their drinks empty now. John wanted to run back home and hold Sherlock close, to feel him alive and warm in his arms. He had almost lost him too many times now, he wasn’t sure he could survive another.

“You know,” Greg said, his voice almost a whisper, “I think the moment I truly knew Sherlock loved you was at your wedding. Sure, his speech was pretty obvious, but you didn’t see him as he played that song for the both of you.” He stopped. “The way he looked at you, fuck, he was playing his goodbye in front of everyone.”

John remembered too well his first dance with Mary, Sherlock’s eyes afterward as he announced her pregnancy. For an instant John had been certain he had seen regret there, and now, with Greg’s words still hanging between them, John wondered once again if he had been right. Had Sherlock felt something for him back then? Did he still feel it today?

“I’m glad you two finally found each other,” Greg said, shaking his head and calling over the waitress for another round of drinks. “You both deserve some happiness after everything that happened.”

John drank to that. “We do, yes.”

“He didn’t mind much about the party?” Gref asked after a moment, making them both laugh.

“Actually, he didn’t,” John replied, “He’s already estimated than we can leave after two and half hours.”

Greg rolled his eyes, laughing again, “Of course he did.”

“You didn’t have to, you know,” John told him, “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It is,” Greg assured him. “Trust me, it is.”

John smiled at him, asking for another drink, and tried not to think of the moment Greg would hear about their break-up.

Day 5

Sherlock brought up kissing again five days after their first kiss. John had been wondering when they were going talk about it again. Sherlock seemed so decided on the two of them continuing to kiss that John had thought they’d be doing it again the very next day. Truth be told, he had hoped for it to happen sooner, the temptation to kiss Sherlock becoming harder and harder to ignore with every day that passed. They had continued to hold hands and touch and stay close, and somehow, it now felt familiar to have Sherlock pressed against him when he cooked, or Sherlock’s head on his lap when he was on the sofa. It felt like they’d been doing this for years, and it was all ending in eight days.

John was changing his bedsheets when Sherlock found him, his notebook in one hand and his teeth biting at his bottom lip. “What is it?”

“Kissing.”

John straightened up, his heart already beating faster, “What about it?”

“It’s time to practice some more,” Sherlock said, “I think.”

“You’re the one running this thing,” John replied, his voice much lower than usual and his eyes dropping to Sherlock’s lips. “You decide.”

“Exactly,” Sherlock replied before clearing his throat. “I’ll be waiting for you downstairs.”

John took advantage of the few minutes to himself to gather up some courage and clear his mind from any fantasies he might have about kissing Sherlock inside their home. If Sherlock was going to react the same way as he did with practicing holding hands, John was going to have to kiss him all day. “Fuck,” he cursed silently and shook his head. He finished changing the sheets quickly and took another deep breath before joining Sherlock.

The flat was strangely silent and John went to sit next to him without a word. “So,” he said tentatively, “How do you want to do this?”

“I’ve done some reasearch.”

Of course he has , John thought with a smile. “And?”

“There was too much information, none of it reliable enough,” Sherlock declared, glancing at him. “But you’ve kissed a lot of people-”

“I wouldn’t say a lot.”

Sherlock ignored him and continued, “So you might have to lead this time.”

John swallowed with difficulty, nodding. “Alright, yes.” He turned to face him properly and Sherlock did as well, both of them now staring at each other. “It’s quite simple actually, and we’ve done it before.”

“Only once,” Sherlock corrected him, “And it didn’t last long.”

“Right.” He stared at him for several seconds, “It’s all about trusting the other to know what to do. There is no magic trick or manual for this, Sherlock. Each kiss is different, and it takes two people to do it right.”

Sherlock nodded, shifting closer.

“Why don’t we keep it simple at first, get to know each other’s mouths and reactions.” Sherlock nodded again. John licked his lips, trying one last time, “You know, people won’t mind if we don’t kiss in front of them, they’ll understand.”

Sherlock remained silent for a long moment, his eyes studying John’s face. “I’ve told you already, people will expect kissing. It’s in our own interest to make it look believable.”

“Just making it clear,” John said, “that’s all.”

“Now that you’ve done that, can we do this?”

John nodded, taking a deep breath before taking Sherlock’s hand in his and bringing him even closer. “Softly,” he murmured before closing his eyes and brushing their lips together. He couldn’t help the shiver than ran through him, and felt Sherlock exhaled loudly through his nose. They weren’t quite kissing yet but it was already perfect. John nudged their noses together, applying more pressure to the touch and trapped Sherlock’s lower lip between his own.

Sherlock let out a small gasp and John smiled, nipping at his lower lip this time. It didn’t take long for Sherlock to catch up and soon he was kissing John back, their lips parting only to meet again gently. It was nothing like their first kiss, and John found he loved it even more. They pulled away at the same time but John refused to open his eyes yet. He could still feel Sherlock’s breath against his lips.

“John,” Sherlock breathed out and John took back his mouth quickly. It couldn’t be over yet. He needed more of this, more of Sherlock pressed against him, of his taste, of his breath. For a second John feared he might be pouring his own feelings into the kiss, but he pushed the thought away. It didn’t matter, as long as Sherlock kept kissing him.

John wasn’t sure how long they kissed, pulling away just long enough to breathe before kissing again, but Sherlock grew more and more confident, and soon he was playing with John’s lips. He sucked on his lower lip, making John moan silently and pressed in even more. Their legs were keeping them away from each other and John considered taking Sherlock on his lap, to press them together and take him apart.

The sound of Sherlock’s phone ringing broke them apart, and John’s eyes snapped open. He looked at the phone on the table, catching his breath and felt Sherlock’s own eyes fixed on him. “You should answer, it’s Molly.”

“I- Yes.”

Sherlock reached for his phone and went to the kitchen, already talking about some body parts Molly had saved for him. John closed his eyes again and cursed out loud, “Fuck.” Of course Sherlock had to be good at kissing, just as he was in everything else. Yes, it had been sloppy and clumsy at first, but John wanted nothing more but to kiss the man again and again.

“I have to go,” Sherlock said when he came back, his phone still in his hand and his eyes fixed on John’s. “Molly can’t keep the body parts much longer without raising more suspicion.”

“Yeah, you better go.”

Sherlock stared at him for another long minute before nodding and storming out of the flat.

Day 6

John let out a silent sigh.

They had been called to the case early this morning and this was the third time Sherlock had wanted to take a look at the body. It had been a while since he had last seemed this interested in a case, and John couldn’t help but smile despite feeling just as frustrated as the day before. He couldn’t believe he had kissed Sherlock again and then proceed to not talk about it all. It had taken two hours for Sherlock to come back from the morgue, and then he had worked on his experiment without a word to him.

John had waited all day, wondering if Sherlock would ask him to practice some more, but by the time they had both gone to bed, Sherlock hadn’t brought the subject up once. Surely he had felt something too. There was no way John had been the only one affected by just a few chaste kisses. Sherlock had told himself he had no experience in this, and these kind of first kisses were hard to forget, right?

God, for all I know he has already deleted the whole thing.

John had spent half the night fighting the urge to go downstairs and kiss Sherlock again, no matter what he might say or rather, didn’t say. This morning hadn’t been as awkward as John had expected, and when Greg had called with a case, Sherlock had fallen back into his usual self, not forgetting to remind John they needed to act like the couple they were supposed to be.

“You’re John Watson, right?”

John jumped with surprise, looking away from Sherlock's figure leaning over the dead body to focus on the woman next to him. She was new to Lestrade’s team and was smiling at him gently, “The John Watson?”

“I guess that’s me,” John replied, smiling.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” she glanced at Sherlock, “about you two.” She laughed and placed a lock of her hair behind her ear. “You’re quite famous around the Yard.”

“That’s his fault,” John replied and she laughed again.

“I’m Cassie,” she introduced herself, offering her hand and John shook it softly, “Nice to finally meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, Cassie.”

They both looked back at Sherlock, John trying not to stare too much, before Cassie spoke again, “What is he looking for?”

“He’s certain the killer is her husband, but he’s missing the final clue and we’ve been looking for it all day now.”

“And it’s on the body,” she asked, stepping closer.

“He seems to believe so,” John replied, “So it must be true.”

Cassie nodded, “I’ve heard he’s really good at this.”

“He’s amazing,” John replied, surprised by his own honesty.

Just as Cassie was about to say something else, Sherlock called his name and John apologized quickly before going over to him. Sherlock was just standing up when he joined him and he turned to face him, leaning into him more than usual, “I think I’ve found it, but we need to visit Mr. Jayson’s apartment first.”

“Does Greg have a warrant?”

Sherlock shrugged, “As if we need one. Let’s go.”

John caught him by the arm before he could go anywhere, “No, we’re asking Greg and doing this by the rules. No need to get in trouble for this.”

Sherlock sighed but in the end agreed to wait just two minutes for Greg to confirm they could pay a visit to the victim’s husband without breaking any law’s “But where’s the fun in that?” Sherlock asked and John itched to kiss his smile away.

They rode to the suspect’s flat in one of Greg’s cars and Sherlock kept going over each detail again and again, more talking to himself than at John, but John listened carefully anyway. He loved Sherlock like this, passionate and brilliant. Not able to resist any longer, he reached for his hand and laced their fingers together, Sherlock stopping for a second only to look down at their joined hands before continuing. John caught Greg’s smile on them and rolled his eyes before looking out his window, his thumb slowly stroking Sherlock’s soft skin.

“Remember,” Greg said when they arrived, “Don’t create trouble where there isn’t any.”

He was looking more at Sherlock than at him, but John nodded anyway. Sherlock was already climbing out of the car. “I’ll keep him out of trouble.”

“I’m more concerned about the trouble he might cause,” Greg sighed and they both got out of the car, promptly following Sherlock.

John noticed Cassie again when she entered the lift with them and he returned her small smile. It was obvious she was flirting with him. John had flirted with enough people in his life to know when he was being charmed, and he quickly adverted his eyes. He didn’t need to give her false hope. He had stopped dating women a long time ago, ever since Mary, and he wasn’t planning on ever going out again.

Sherlock was the only one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, no matter what he had to offer.

The lift’s doors opened and it all happened too fast. Before John could realise what was happening, their suspect was attempting to escape and Sherlock was chasing after him. John took off behind him immediately. Lucky for them their suspect wasn’t a good runner and John caught up to him quickly, tackling him to the ground before he could run down the stairs. Sherlock was breathing heavily next to him, and he kneeled down to help John secure the man’s hands.

“Almost too easy,” Sherlock breathed and they both burst into laughter, Sherlock’s fingers resting over his own against the man’s back.

Greg and his team were quick to join them and take the killer away, the man yelling his innocence all the way back to the car. John was still shaking from laughter when he felt a small hand on his arm, “John, I was wondering if you’d like to-”

Cassie didn’t have the time to finish before Sherlock was bringing John toward him and kissing him immediately, leaving no time for John to move or even reciprocate. Just as he was starting to relax into the touch, Sherlock pulled away and stared down at him for a second before saying, “Couldn’t she see we’re together?”

John frowned and looked at where Cassie had stood just a minute ago. “What?”

“Why didn’t she notice?” Sherlock continued, “Do we need to make it even more obvious?”

“I’m certain you just made it quite obvious,” John remarked but Sherlock wasn’t listening anymore, talking to himself as he walked back toward the car. John shook his head, licking at his lower lip and tasting Sherlock there before following him.

Chapter Text

Day 7

“It’s raining,” Sherlock declared as John made his way down the stairs, yawning and stretching.

“You’re quite observant in the morning,” John joked before smiling as he noticed the hot mug of coffee waiting for him on the table next to his chair. “Thanks,” he said as he sat down.

Sherlock huffed, stood up from his own chair and all but fell onto his lap, burying his head against John’s neck and murmuring, “Intimacy,” as the only explanation.

John remained still for a long moment, trying not to spill any coffee on both of them. Sherlock didn’t seem to be moving again and he carefully sipped at his drink, his free hand coming to rest on Sherlock’s lower back. They stayed like that for what seemed like hours, John’s coffee long finished and his eyes closing on their own. Sherlock was warm against him, and their chests rose and fell together, rocking John into sleep again.

He woke to the feeling of Sherlock’s lips moving against his skin, “You fell asleep.”

“Sorry,” John apologized in a murmur. Both of his arms were around Sherlock’s waist now, and Sherlock still had his head nuzzled in the crease of his neck. It felt like too much and not enough at the same time. “How long?”

“Twenty minutes,” Sherlock replied, “Or at least since I woke up.”

John smiled, “You stayed awake and didn’t move for twenty minutes?”

It took another minute before Sherlock replied, “I didn’t want to wake you up.”

John closed his eyes again, his nose finding Sherlock’s soft curls inhaling slowly. “You know, this what you call a perfect way to begin a rainy day at home.”

He felt more than he saw Sherlock smile, “And what is a rainy day at home?”

“I’m sure you’ll find it boring,” John replied, repressing the urge to either hold him tighter or tilt his head up and kiss him. “It involves a lot of nothing.”

“Try me,” Sherlock answered anyway.

John fell just a little bit more in love as he replied, “Why don’t I show you instead?”

To begin with, John made them both a proper breakfast which turned into a brunch as Sherlock stole food here and there, sitting at the kitchen table. John pretend to mind for about five minutes before rolling his eyes and making sure the jam was close enough for Sherlock to apply on his toast. He listened as Sherlock explained what he had worked on during the night, something about bees and their relationship to their Queen, and John promised himself to buy him the book he had seen the other day about apiology.

By the time they had settled everything on the coffee table and put a Bond movie on, Sherlock had almost eaten all of the toast. He sat close to John, lacing their fingers together despite the fact that it made it harder to eat, but John didn’t think about complaining once. He had seen the movie before so he didn’t mind Sherlock’s comments here and there, pointing out flaws in the script and scenery, and almost choked twice as they laughed together.

“I think I’m starting to see the point of rainy days at home,” Sherlock declared when the movie ended, both of them snuggled together. John felt like kissing him so he did. Softly, gently, and Sherlock smiled into the touch.

John made sure not to linger, knowing he was getting into dangerous water just by kissing Sherlock without any proper reason, and pretended they needed to push the dishes away to pull away. Sherlock decided to help him, and John realised he could get used to this. To the close intimacy.

“Is this something couples do?” Sherlock asked as John put the last plate away.

“Some, yes.”

Sherlock nodded, looking puzzled before asking, “Does it have to be raining every time?”

John laughed, “No, you can have a lazy day at home whenever you want, Sherlock.”

“I see. I was thinking I could play some violin, it’s been a while now.”

John stepped closer and leant into him, “That sounds perfect.”

Sherlock played for almost an hour, standing by the window while John sat in his chair and listened. It had been months since he had last properly listened to Sherlock playing music, not since he’d moved back for sure. They had been careful around each other for days and days, John not knowing what to expect now that Moriarty and Mary were both gone. Sherlock had been just as quiet and John wished they could have somehow talked about the things that mattered. He wanted to ask Sherlock about his time away, about Serbia, about the scars on his back. He wanted to ask him about the drugs, about the wedding, about the words he had spoken then. John wanted to ask him if he’d like this , what they had at this very moment, for real, for the long term.

“Are you supposed to be sad during rainy days at home?” Sherlock asked, startling him, and John looked up at him.

“I’m not sad.”

Sherlock remained silent, watching him before putting his violin back in his case, “Could we watch another movie?”

“You want to watch another movie?” John asked, surprised.

“Yes.”

John held Sherlock’s stare before saying, “Yeah, sure.”

Sherlock snuggled close as soon as John sat next to him and he slid one arm around his waist, keeping him even closer. Sherlock remained silent this time, and they both watched the film without saying a word. Still, John could feel Sherlock’s fingers playing with his shirt and after a moment, he laid his head on John’s shoulder. It took him some time to realise Sherlock had fallen asleep again. Being careful not to wake him up, John turned down the TV volume and buried his nose inside the soft curls, “I love you,” he whispered and closed his eyes.

John woke up for the second time with Sherlock against him, both of them half lying on each other on the sofa. His legs hurt and his arm was definitely not in the right position. Sherlock was still snoring softly, his head now against his chest, and John smiled down at him. Sherlock stirred as soon as John moved his arm, and he blinked awake slowly.

“What happened?” He asked, his voice still full with sleep.

“We fell asleep,” John replied in a whisper, “again.” Sherlock let his head fall back against his chest and yawned. “I guess we both needed the rest.”

Or maybe we just needed each other .

“It appears so, yes,” Sherlock replied, not showing any sign of moving. “The movie ended.”

“We slept for two hours,” John remarked, “it’s already getting dark outside.”

He felt Sherlock glance at the window, “Oh, I was supposed to check my experiment an hour ago.”

“It’s not too late.”

“No,” Sherlock whispered. “But I don’t feel like moving.”

John thought good but didn’t say a word.

“John,” Sherlock said after several minutes, “Would you say we behave like a normal couple?”

“When have we ever been normal?” John asked, smiling but Sherlock remained still. “If you’re concerned about how believable we are as a couple, I wouldn’t worry. Everyone is buying it.”

Sherlock hummed and John felt a familiar knot form in his stomach. He had almost forgotten they were just putting on an act, getting used to each other so they could fool others. He sighed but held Sherlock closer, breathing him in.

When he got up to his bedroom, hours later, John wished nothing more but to have followed Sherlock to his own bed and fell asleep in his arms again.

Day 8

John woke hard and panting, and he was honestly surprised it hadn’t happened earlier.

He couldn’t exactly remember the first time had woken up from a dream about Sherlock’s naked body under his own, but he was certain it had been early on, very early. He had grown used to those dreams with the years, and had even started to have recurrent ones. His favorite being the one where he made love to Sherlock slowly in some posh hotel room, Sherlock moaning in his ear and their bodies fitting together perfectly.

Today’s dream had been different and John could only remember the two of them lying on the sofa and Sherlock’s lips wrapped around his erection. John didn’t need to search far to know what had triggered this particular fantasy. It was doomed to happen after all the time they’d spent touching each other lately, Sherlock being closer to him than ever and the memory of the few kisses they had shared haunting John’s thoughts all day.

Rolling to his back, John closed his eyes again and let out deep sigh. He was still painfully hard and knew he needed to take care of it before he could go downstairs. It had been awhile since he last indulged in wanking while thinking about Sherlock, but as he rubbed his hand over his clothed erection, images of Sherlock’s lips invaded his mind. God, how he wanted him. Repressing a moan, John continued his slow teasing, refusing to touch himself yet. If he was going to do this, then he would do it properly.

He searched for his favorite fantasy, the one had masturbated to too often already, but also the one he liked too much to give up. It was ridiculous, really, having managed to store up favorite fantasies. Others would have done something about it earlier, he thought but chased the idea away quickly. He wasn’t going to think about how desperate he must look at the moment.

“Hmm,” he moaned, picturing himself waking up in Sherlock’s bed, their naked bodies pressed together and Sherlock’s erection nudged against his lower back. “Yes.”

He slid one hand inside his pants and rubbed at his balls, thrusting against his forearm. Morning sex had always been his favorite. Sherlock would be pliant first thing in the morning, and John would make love to him softly, slowly. “Oh, god,” he panted, his thumb rubbing at the head of his cock.

He stroked himself slowly, pushing his pants down his legs and imagining Sherlock was the one taking care of his morning erection. His hand would be much larger, stroking him just right, and John had no doubt he could come just from that. He placed both feet flat on the mattress and let the duvet fall down to his side. He wondered what he must look like, splayed naked on his bed, stroking himself while thinking about his best friend, but a sharp movement of his own hand made him bite his lower lip, a low moan echoing in the room.

“Oh fuck,” he breathed out and began to thrust into his fist.

He was pushing into Sherlock now, both of them kissing as he rocked into him. Sherlock would lie on his back, his heels digging into John’s lower back and his hands roaming over his hair and neck. John knew he’d love it, crave it even. “Yes, yes, god.”

He tightened his grip around his cock and thrusted harder, chasing his orgasm faster than anticipated. It had been too long, he had been too close. “Fuck, oh fuck.” He came all over his stomach and hand for several seconds, mouth hanging open in a silent moan, before falling boneless back on the mattress. He was sweaty and covered in semen but for the moment John didn’t care.

The fantasy had never felt so close, so real before, and he couldn’t help but fear it would only get worse.

Day 9

John spent most of the day trying not to stare at Sherlock, at his hands when they were closed around a flask, his lips when he was talking on the phone or his arse when he started to play his violin in the middle of the day. He tried really hard, and failed miserably. It seemed as if his dreams the day before had triggered something, made him realise that their new close proximity had many effects on him than he hadn’t anticipated, and John hoped it could all remain under control. He should have thought about this, really. He had dreamt and fantasized about Sherlock so many times since the day they met that it had became natural to crave him all the time.

Except now, John knew the exact feeling of Sherlock’s lips against his own, of his hands pressed against his body and his scent mixed with his own. John knew, and was certain he would never forget.

When Sherlock found him late that evening, hovering silently in front of him for a few seconds before inhaling deep. John knew perfectly what he was going to ask. “John, the party is in three days now. We should practice kissing one last time.” He stopped, looking past John’s shoulder. “Just to be sure.”

“If you think we should,” John replied, his heart already pounding inside his chest.

Sherlock nodded but remained still, biting his lower lip and John waited patiently for him to say what was making him so nervous.

“I’d like-” he started but stopped to clear his throat. “For my own personal experiment, I’d like to kiss while lying down this time.”

“Lying down?” John asked in a breath.

“Yes. We’ve kissed standing and sitting down before,” Sherlock explained, still not looking directly at him. “I’d like try something new. Of course, you don’t have to agree. This is for my personal interest only.”

“You’re experimenting on kissing?” John couldn’t help but ask, standing up from his chair and searching Sherlock’s eyes with his own.

Sherlock let out a soft sigh, glancing at him, “I thought it could be a good opportunity.”

It took another second for John to understand why he was so nervous. Sherlock knew how much he despised being the subject of his experiment without knowing, and clearly Sherlock had been collecting data about their previous kisses since the beginning. John smiled, the love he felt for this brilliant man threatening to overwhelm him, and said gently, “Yes, alright.”

Sherlock’s eyes found his, “Yes?”

John nodded, “The sofa,” he added, not sure he could survive kissing Sherlock in either of their beds, “We fit there.”

“Is now a good time for you?” Sherlock asked and John’s smile grew wider.

Anytime is good time for me when it comes to kissing you. “Yes.”

He let Sherlock lie down first, his back pressed against the sofa’s cushion and then John lay on his side, facing him. He hadn’t expected for them to be this close, the sofa having seemed much larger in his mind, but it was still a better option than any bed. Sherlock wasn’t moving, his eyes traveling over John’s face, and John slowly slid his hand up and down his arm, “Ok?”

Sherlock nodded, exhaling deeply and his breath tickled John’s lips. He brought his hand higher, tracing the pale lines of Sherlock’s neck before pressing it against his nape, bringing his face closer until their noses were brushing against one another. Sherlock seemed to have stopped breathing entirely and John slowly pressed their lips together. It was just like he remembered and he held back a moan. They remained like that for several seconds, the kiss just a touch of lips but John knew the moment Sherlock pressed just a little closer that this kiss wouldn’t be like the others.

He trapped Sherlock’s lower lip between his own and felt more than he heard Sherlock moaning before he was kissing John back. He teased for as long as Sherlock let him, but the first touch of his tongue against John’s lower lip made them both shiver. John had been dreaming about Sherlock’s tongue against his own since that first kiss, hungry and desperate, but this time he went slowly, parting Sherlock’s lips and sliding his tongue inside his mouth.

Another moan echoed in the room but John couldn’t be sure if it was his or Sherlock’s. It didn’t matter. Sherlock was welcoming him inside his mouth, letting him seek out his tongue and twirling them together. It was everything he had dreamt of and more. John sucked and licked, the hand on Sherlock’s nape pressing them closer and closer and it wasn’t long before Sherlock slid his own hand down John’s back.

“John, I-” Sherlock panted as they pulled away for air, but John took back his lips, not yet ready to let him go. Sherlock kissed him back immediately, chasing John’s tongue with his own this time and licking into his mouth. John knew they were going too fast, too far. This wasn’t just practice, not anymore, not for him. He couldn’t help but think he was somehow taking advantage of Sherlock’s inexperience in this. Obviously he enjoyed kissing, a lot, and as in any experiment of his, he would collect as much data as he could, and John knew how addicting kissing another person could be. He should tell him, should-

With another loud moan, Sherlock pressed their bodies together, locking one leg over John’s hip while sliding the other between John legs. All thoughts of stopping faded away and John pulled even closer, never breaking their kiss. Sherlock was shivering, his entire body warm and pliant in John’s arms. It was insane, dangerous and bloody brilliant. Before he could stop himself, John was pushing Sherlock back on the sofa, lying half on top of him and deepening their kiss even more. Both of Sherlock’s hands were on him now, gripping at his shirt and John let his own fingers thread inside his curls.

He needed to stop, this was too close.

Another deep moan from Sherlock made him pull away, staring down at Sherlock’s face, both of them panting against each other mouths. They remained like that for what seemed like hours, the words John had kept to himself for so long threatening to spill out. He could tell him, now, with Sherlock right there, his and beautiful. He could tell him.

“John,” Sherlock said in a whisper, loosening his grip on his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” John whispered, starting to pull away from him, “I shouldn’t have.”

Sherlock frowned, his lips swollen and his eyes still half closed, “What?”

“Did you gather enough data?” John asked, starting to realise what just had happened and the state they were in. “For your experiment?”

Sherlock froze, staring up at him for a long moment before nodding, the tiniest of movements.

“I was thinking we could get some takeaway tonight,” John said before he could say anything else. “Chinese. I can get it now.”

“John-”

“I’ll bring you some soup, ok?”

He didn’t wait for Sherlock’s answer and all but fled from the flat. By the time he came back, his mind still full of Sherlock’s lips and body, Sherlock had locked himself in his room and didn’t come out for the rest of the evening.

Day 10 & 11

Sherlock woke him early the next day, bursting into his room and talking about some case in the countryside, “Pack for the night, quickly,” he said in a hurry before storming back downstairs.

At least he’s still talking to me , John thought with a sigh before getting up. He threw some clothes into a bag, made sure he had his gun and joined him in the living room, “What happened?”

“A triple murder in some hotel,” Sherlock explained, putting on his coat. “Lestrade is already there and our train leaves in twenty minutes.”

“The train?” John asked, putting own his own jacket, “Why don’t we rent a car?”

“It’ll be faster,” Sherlock called from the stairs, already out on the street while John locked the door. “Hurry up, John!”

“Yes, yes,” he replied, taking Sherlock’s bag as well as his and hurrying down the stairs. The cab was waiting for them, Sherlock already engrossed on his phone and John repressed a smile as he let his head rest against the headrest.

He hadn’t slept much the previous night, thoughts of what might have happened if he’d told Sherlock he’d like to kiss him some more, a lot more even, if he’d asked him if he’d agreed to turn this stupid game into something real and beautiful and surely brilliant, keeping him awake. He had wondered what had drove Sherlock to stay in his room all evening, what data had had collected from the times they’d kissed ( six, six times ) and what he had felt lying there, trapped beneath John’s body.

“I need you to focus, John,” Sherlock said and John opened his eyes, turning to look at him.

“Focus?”

“Yes,” Sherlock sighed, looking up from his phone. “This case is at least an 8 and I need to be sure you’re here with me.”

“Of course I am,” John replied, unable to hide his smile. “You know I always am.”

Sherlock stared at him, silent, and nodded, looking back at his phone. John couldn’t help but notice he still hadn't touched him. Sherlock had taken the habit to at least brush a hand against his shoulder each morning, sometimes letting it slide up his neck and into his hair, and John waited for the touch from the moment he woke up. He glanced back at Sherlock, eyes traveling over his nose, cupid’s bow and lips. He closed his eyes, hands clenched on his lap and counted the minutes to the train station.

As soon as they were sitting in their compartiment, Sherlock put his phone away and reached for John’s hand, lacing their fingers together and shifting closer until their shoulders were touching. John held back a relieved sigh and squeezed his hand softly. He knew Sherlock was only doing this because of the people around them, a good opportunity to test their lie, but John forced himself not to think about it. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if Sherlock had chosen the train for that reason only.

“Are you going to explain the case now?” John asked, turning his head to properly look at him.

Sherlock had both eyes closed, his face much more relaxed than earlier, and he smiled before answering, “The owner called Lestrade saying that a ghost is haunting his hotel and killing his clients. He seems to take it very seriously, and so did Lestrade after the owner sent him the photos of the bodies.”

“A ghost?”

“Most likely someone who’s good at being invisible,” Sherlock replied, “it’s easy to start a rumor if you make sure to kill people and orchestrate the scene afterward.”

John hummed, “Why call Greg? Didn’t the local police already investigate the murders?”

“They did, but apparently everyone thinks it’s really a ghost.” Sherlock sighed, opening just one eye to look at him, “Idiots.”

John laughed, holding Sherlock’s hand just a little tighter.

• -

Greg was waiting for them at the station, a small and bold man next to him, and Sherlock went to shake his hand quickly, already asking for details about the bodies they’d found.

“Slow down,” Greg sighed, “I’ve kept them for you, they’re at the local morgue.”

“What are we waiting for then?” Sherlock snapped and walked past them to the police car.

Greg turned to look at John, “I really don’t know how you put up with him every day.”

“Call it love,” John replied before he could think about it, but Greg only smiled and patted his shoulder, mumbling something about love and blindness.

Sherlock was already deducing the local officer driving the car when they joined him, and John placed a warning hand on his leg, squeezing, “What?” Sherlock asked.

“Let’s try to avoid making enemies while we’re here.”

“I’m just pointing out his latent feelings for his coworker, that’s all. I’m helping, really.”

John resisted the urge to kiss him, “I know you are.” He kept his hand where it was. “But not everyone sees it that way.”

Sherlock murmured why should I care? before settling back and watching the landscape pass by the window. John turned to Greg, asking him how he’d been since the last time they met and he realised he had been stroking Sherlock’s thigh during the entire ride when he caught the DI eyes glancing at his hand. John considered removing his hand but Sherlock rested his own above it and Greg winked at him. “You two alright?” He mouthed and John nodded, the warmth of Sherlock’s hand on his warming his entire body.

The bodies looked as if the victims had just fallen asleep and never woken up again, not a single trace of struggling or any kind of weapon, and Sherlock breathed out a small “Fascinating” before going to the first victim. They stayed at the morgue for two hours, Sherlock moving from body to body while John wrote down everything he told him, taking pictures and samples for Sherlock to analyze. Greg left with the owner after the first hour after making sure Sherlock would come find him at the local police station before doing anything stupid, and John had assured him they would.

“Still a 8?” John asked as he watched Sherlock study the last body, and the smile he received in return made the warmth in his chest expand to his entire body.

He had to convince Sherlock for a good ten minutes that they really had to stop at the station first but they finally managed to get there, John grabbing a sandwich while Sherlock only glared at him when he asked him if he wanted one. Their next stop was the hotel, Sherlock having deduced that the victims had been killed with a rare poison but still having no idea how the killer had administered it into their bodies. They went through every room where someone had been killed, studied every furniture, door and windows and after another hour, Sherlock had proven to everyone that their ghost used the ventilation system to come and go.

“Are you certain, Mr. Holmes?” The owner asked, shaking and clearly having a hard time convincing himself this ghost wasn’t real.

“Obviously,” Sherlock snarled. “Now, I need a list of anyone who comes here regularly. Our killer knows his way around the hotel. I’ll need the staff list too.”

“The local police interrogated all the staff already,” Greg pointed out. “Do we really need to do it again?”

“Yes, we do.”

Greg looked at John, a silent plea in his eyes, and John shook his head before saying, “We’ll go through the hotel clients first, and if nothing comes up, we’ll go over the staff once more.” Greg thanked him with a smile while Sherlock only muttered something inaudible, but John ignored him entirely. “Why don’t I go with with Mr. Feist here and get that list of regulars?”

Sherlock didn’t reply, eyes closed and obviously lost to the world, “Tell him where I went,” he told Greg and followed the owner to his office.

It took John less than twenty minutes to realise there was something wrong with the list of names under his eyes and one minute more to notice Mr. Feist had been rather quiet all the sudden. John barely had the time to turn around and catch sight of his unconscious body on the floor before something hard hit the base of his skull and everything went dark.

• -

“John, John, wake up, John.”

His head hurt.

“John, come on, wake up.”

There were hands, lips, hair brushing his face.

“John.”

Sherlock’s voice.

“Sherlock?” He managed to ask, his throat dry and a pang of pain taking over him.

“Yes,” Sherlock replied, his voice close, “Yes, I’m here.” Another kiss on his cheek, “Can you open your eyes?”

John tried, “It hurts.”

“You’re alright,” Sherlock assured him, “You barely lost any blood, and it doesn’t look like you have a concussion, but it took us hours to find you.”

“The killer, he-”

Sherlock’s lips brushed his eyelid, trailing down his temple, “We arrested him. He was a regular, a dentist. He injected the poison directly in his victim’s gums, leaving no trace.”

“Clever,” John breathed out and Sherlock chuckled softly against his ear. He was starting to come back to his senses now, and could feel Sherlock’s chest pressed against his side. Kneeling? “Where am I?”

“We laid you down on one of the hallway sofas. He had hidden you in a closet on the top floor with the owner.”

John opened his mouth but Sherlock replied before he could say anything, “He’s fine too.”

He smiled and finally managed to open his eyes, looking at Sherlock above him. “Hi.”

“You scared me,” Sherlock breathed out and he closed one hand around John’s.

“I’m fine,” John said, smiling, “You told me so, remember?” Sherlock nodded, his hand still clutching at his. “Help me up?”

Sherlock slid one arm under his back and slowly helped him to sit, and only then did he realise Greg and two other officers were there.

“Good to have you back among us,” Greg smiled and John rolled his eyes, another sharp pain rolling over him. “Good thing I’ve booked you two a room!”

“Cheers,” John replied, holding onto Sherlock’s hand as he stood up. The world spinned around him and he leant for support against Sherlock.

“What’s the room number?” Sherlock asked quickly, the arm around his waist supporting John.

“221,” Greg replied with a smile and John couldn’t help but laugh, catching even Sherlock smiling. “I’ll see you tomorrow, try to get some rest.”

“Thank you, Greg,” John said before letting Sherlock lead them to the lift and down to their room. “I think I’ll take a shower now,” John said as soon as they were inside. He caught Sherlock’s worried eyes on him. “I’ll be fine. I’ll call you if I need any help, ok?”

Sherlock nodded and let go of him. John didn’t lock the door behind him, just in case, and undressed slowly. It felt as if every muscle was still asleep and he welcomed the hot water with a content sigh. Now that he was here and alone, he couldn’t help but think of the double bed waiting for them in the other room. Back when Sherlock had proposed this charade, John had set some self limits, and sharing a bed was definitely one of them. He couldn’t spend an entire night in the same bed as Sherlock, it was much too dangerous.

I don’t want to share a bed with Sherlock for the first time and not be able to hold him close as we fall asleep , John thought with a sad smile. He had imagined their first morning together so many times to let it be just a game, a facade.

“I’m going to call room service to ask for an extra bed,” He said as soon as he got out of the bathroom.

Sherlock had been already lying down on the bed, looking at his phone but he dropped it to his side as soon as John spoke, “Why?”

“I’d prefer to have my own bed,” John replied, not wanting to expand on the subject. Sherlock might come to any conclusion, he didn’t have the strength to care.

“This is ridiculous, we have a bed.”

John sighed, “Sherlock, please, I’m tired.”

Sherlock rose to his feet sharply, “Fine, do as you want.” He went into the bathroom and John heard him lock the door. Ignoring the knot in his chest, he dialed room service and less than ten minutes later they brought up a small extra bed.

Sherlock was still in the bathroom when sleep overtook him.

• -

Sherlock didn’t touch him once the next day.

John told himself it was better this way. This had always been temporary after all.

Better get used to it now.

Day 12

“The party is tomorrow,” Sherlock told him late that evening.

John was sitting on his chair, pretending to read a book but in fact trying to imagine what their life would be after their “break-up”. Even if Sherlock had began to touch him again, just brushes here and there, today still had felt like the end. He knew they’d had to play the act tomorrow, so there’s still that . One more night.

“Yes,” he simply replied, not certain what Sherlock was trying to say.

“We should go over the details again,” Sherlock continued, coming to sit in his chair. “Make sure we won’t ruin everything.”

“It’ll be a shame for sure,” John said, trying to smile but not having the heart to. “After these past few days.”

Sherlock stared at him, silent. John found himself hoping he would come and sit on his lap again, no matter if it was raining or not. He didn’t.

“We should arrive holding hands,” Sherlock finally said.

“Alright.”

“They’re throwing this party for us, so our story needs to match.” John realised they hadn’t talked about this yet, and it occurred to him he might have said too much to Greg during their latest night at the pub. “There will be questions.”

“Probably, yes.” He considered his next words carefully. “I’d say we stick with the truth and add the necessary elements to our story.”

“Necessary elements?” Sherlock asked and somehow, John was certain he knew exactly what he was talking about.

Still, he replied, “How long we’ve felt like this, why now, what changed.”

Sherlock nodded and John was glad he didn’t push more. At least that lie wouldn’t really be one. They remained like that for a long moment, not exchanging a word but keeping their eyes on each other. It felt almost as intimate as having Sherlock snuggled against him, and John forced himself to hold Sherlock’s stare.

“There will be music.”

Sherlock’s voice was so low, it made John shiver.

“As in every party, yes.”

“People will expect us to dance.”

Since when do you care so much about what people might or might not expect? John almost asked but bit his tongue. “That’s a possibility.”

“We haven’t practiced dancing.”

Yes, we have . Right here, with closed curtains and the melody of his violin echoing in the room. John could remember every second of each lesson with a frightening accuracy. “Do you want to?”

Sherlock stood up as an answer and went to the stereo, going through the music on his phone. “My research shows that romantic songs are often played at gatherings, giving a chance for couples to dance with each other between more rhythmic songs.” He pressed play and a soft melody filled the air. John recognized the song immediately. “This particular one came up in most playlists.”

“It’s a classic,” John said, his heart pounding in his ears.

Wise men say

Only fools rush in

“It would be better if you stood up,” Sherlock remarked and John got to his feet slowly.

Sherlock was standing in the middle of the sitting room and he offered his hand to John as he got closer, pressing their chests together. “This is nothing like a waltz, John.” John smiled, of course he remembered too. “Remember, intimacy.”

But I can't help falling in love with you

They remained standing still for another second before Sherlock began to sway them together. He had slid both arms around John’s shoulders, letting John put his own around his waist, and for a moment, John was back in high school.

Shall I stay?

Would it be a sin

John closed his eyes, trying to regulate his own breathing as they continued their slow dance. Sherlock was looking at something behind him, and John tried not to stare up at him. Their height difference had never bothered him really, it was something he had gotten used to with time, but right now it felt as if a world stood between them.

But I can't help falling in love with you

The need for more took him by surprise and before he could think twice about it, John rest his head against Sherlock’s shoulder, his nose brushing the soft skin of his neck and he closed his eyes. He could smell Sherlock, feel him breathe against him. He tightened his grip around Sherlock’s waist.

Like a river flows

Surely to the sea

Darling, so it goes

Some things are meant to be

John almost smiled at the thought of Mrs. Hudson finding them like this. She wouldn’t be surprised, wouldn’t wonder what they were doing. She would only see a couple sharing a dance late at night, just because they could. John shut his eyes tighter, chasing the thoughts away. He needed to remember this, to engrave this moment to his memory, the mirage of a dance.

Take my hand,

Take my whole life, too

For I can't help falling in love with you

He felt Sherlock’s breath against his forehead and for a moment thought he was going to kiss him, but Sherlock’s lips only brushed his skin before they were gone. The song ended. Neither of them moved.

John breathed him in and thought, I love you, I love you, I love you.

Chapter Text

The Pool - Philipp Anderson’s bet

February 2010 -  Do I look like I want to bet on the freak’s love life?

(added in the Pool after Sherlock’s death) December 2012 - When he comes back, £100 on when he comes back.

Chapter Text

John spent their last day as couple trying to commit every detail to memory.

He woke up later than usual, listening to Sherlock walking around the flat downstairs and staring at his ceiling. Today would be his last chance to do something, anything. He could take that last step, upset their world entirely and risk everything they had. He only had to ask, only had to find Sherlock and tell him he’d like to continue kissing him, to continue sitting close to him on the sofa and play with his hair while he’s thinking, to continue being his.

It sounded easy, almost too easy and yet the knot in his stomach turned and twisted, forcing John to close his eyes and breathe out slowly. How could he have been brave enough to run into battle to rescue his fellow soldiers but couldn’t find the courage to speak to Sherlock.

You know why, Watson. Telling him means knowing what you’ll lose if he says no. It had been good while it lasted, more than good, but now it’s time to forget about it.

John gripped at his duvet, got ready to face the day and got out of bed. Sherlock was sitting on the sofa when he arrived downstairs and John resisted the urge to go to him. “Morning,” he said, pouring himself a cup of coffee and sitting in his chair. As he took the first sip of his drink, John prepared himself for his last day as Sherlock Holmes’ boyfriend.

Without even realising he was doing it, John spent the day making sure he’d get a “one last time” at everything. Having Sherlock caress his nape and hair as a quiet good morning one last time. Having Sherlock rest his head on his lap while thinking one last time. Taking Sherlock’s hand in his while watching the news one last time. Sherlock, his , one last time.

It wasn’t until they were leaving 221B to head to the party that John became aware that all their training was coming to an end. This was it.

“I should thank you for agreeing to this,” Sherlock said when they entered the cab. “You didn’t have to.”

John swallowed back the knot forming in his throat, “Greg needed the money, yeah?”

Sherlock turned toward him, “He did, yes.”

“Then we did a good thing,” John said.

They were already late to their own party, but John wished he could stop time just for a moment. Where thirteen days had felt like an eternity at first, it now felt as if the days had passed in a blast.

“Still, you could have said no.”

When have I ever been able to say no to you?

“It’ll be over tonight,” he replied and hoped Sherlock would stop talking about this. He wasn’t ready to face the fact yet. But Sherlock seemed to fall silent again and John looked back out the window.

For once, John hated their silence.

“If there’s gifts, I’m leaving,” Sherlock said after what seemed an eternity and John laughed.

“Why would they give us gifts?” he asked and was assaulted by images of possible bad joke gifts they actually could receive. “Oh god.”

“Yes,” Sherlock said, his smile obvious. “My point exactly.”

“We don’t open them, that’s all.”

“Or we leave,” Sherlock offered again, looking at him and for a moment, John found himself hoping they could return home so he could kiss Sherlock’s smile and make it his. “We’re there.”

John looked away quickly, “Right, yeah. Do not open anything.”

He heard Sherlock chuckle softly before they were both getting out of the cab and taking each other hands before entering the pub. Greg had reserved the place for the evening and it seemed that he had invited the entire Yard to celebrate.

“Greg, what the h-” John started but was cut off by a rather joyful DI.

“They all placed a bet at some point,” Greg explained, taking their coats and handing them to the bartender.

“All of them?”

“Yes,” Greg smiled, “You two made me a lot of money!”

John remembered he wasn’t supposed to know and exclaimed, “You won?!”

“Seems fair since I was the first one to bet! Donovan argued she deserved some of the money too but in the end we all agreed my bet was the closest one!” He clapped John’s back, “Come on, there’s drinks and music, let’s have fun.”

Sherlock laced their fingers together again as he replied, “Not sure about that.”

“Enjoy Sherlock! This is for you!”

Greg cast them one last wide smile before getting lost in the crowd again. John held on just a little tighter to Sherlock’s hand, “Let’s do this.”

They met officer after officer, hearing congratulations after congratulations, and by the time they finally saw a familiar face, Donovan greeted them with a small smile. “So,” she said when they were close enough, “good thing you didn’t listen to my advice.”

“Good thing indeed,” John replied, still having trouble being around her even after all this time. He knew she felt guilty and had apologized many times, but John couldn’t help but think Sherlock would have maybe never jumped if she hadn’t fallen for Moriarty’s trap.

“Who would have thought,” she continued, “Sherlock Holmes in a relationship.”

“Who would have thought you’d finally realise Anderson is an idiot,” Sherlock replied and they stared at each other for several seconds before smiling. “Didn’t keep you from betting on us.”

She sighed but didn’t lose her smile, “I had to, you two were so obvious it would have been an affront to my observational skills to ignore it.”

John cleared his throat, glad the music was loud enough to cover it.

“I actually got you a gift. The entire Yard has,” she continued with a grin. “I hope you’ll like it.”

Sherlock glanced at him, I told you so , and John rolled his eyes. “Thank you,” he replied but already planned on forgetting all of their gifts here when they left. Donovan was soon joined by two other officers who after congratulating them began to test their own bets, asking to know if they could have ever won. John almost choked on air as one of them declared that he had bet Sherlock would kiss him at the wedding reception, and he didn’t miss the way Sherlock seemed to tense next to him.

“These are all stupid bets,” Sherlock said when they were finished, “You two should think harder before gambling away money.”

Somehow the two men didn’t appear to be taken aback by Sherlock’s reaction and they only laughed as they left. Donovan didn’t linger long either and soon they were alone again. People all around them were either dancing or laughing, and John felt the need for a drink getting stronger.

“Do you want something?” He asked as he let go of Sherlock, having almost forgotten they had been holding hands this entire time.

Sherlock shook his head and John headed to the bar quickly. He was starting to realise how right Sherlock had been to make them practice during the past few days. It all felt natural, leaning closer to Sherlock to tell him something, taking his hand, whispering in his ear, all of it familiar now. Anyone watching them wouldn’t have a hard time believing they were together, that much was certain.

“Sorry it took so long,” John said when he found him again, “I’ve forgotten how much officers liked to dr-”

Sherlock cut him off with a kiss, his lips lingering against his for several seconds. John eased into the touch, adding just a little more pressure to the kiss before Sherlock pulled away. “Have you been smoking?” he asked, licking his lower lip.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sherlock replied and went to the nearest available table.

“Like hell you don’t,” John said, taking a sip of his drink before sitting next to him, “I thought I’d hidden all of your cigarettes.”

“You do know they sell these, right?”

“Maybe if I asked Mycroft, he could find a way to prevent anyone selling you some,” John smiled, leaning closer to nudge Sherlock’s shoulder with his own.

“Don’t you dare,” Sherlock replied with a smile and John was kissing him again, acting on an impulse.

Sherlock let out a small gasp of surprise before placing his hand on John’s nape and preventing him from pulling away. Not that the thought had occurred to him anyway. John shifted closer, resting his hand just under Sherlock’s heart, and was now sitting on the edge of his chair as he traced Sherlock’s lips with his tongue, feeling him smile before he was parting them. The noise around them covered both of their moans, but John felt the rumble of Sherlock’s chest against his hand and wondered how he was supposed to live without ever feeling like this again.

Who knew how long they could have remained like that if Greg’s voice hadn’t forced them apart, “Promise me I won’t have to find you like that on crime scenes.”

John would have laughed if he could, but the realisation that Greg would actually never have to worry about that took all the words out of him. He watched silently as Sherlock glared at Greg before saying, “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

“It’s your party,” Greg cheered, “You’re the main attraction!”

“And who’s fault is that?” Sherlock asked, barely hiding the amusement from his voice and Greg patted his shoulder.

“Ah, Sherlock, I can still remember the days where I thought you’d be a pain in my arse for the rest of my career,” he smiled, “Thank god for John!”

Sherlock looked down at the floor, “Yes.”

After that they got dragged everywhere, Greg pulling them from group to group, and for some unknown reason Sherlock hadn’t yet tried to escape the party discreetly. He remained next to him, not talking much, but there anyway, and John made sure to leave each conversation when he felt him get more and more annoyed. John was surprised it took Sherlock so long to suggest they should watch out for the next romantic song and dance at least once before they left.

John made sure to remain in control this time, standing close enough to Sherlock but not too close either. Sherlock kept talking during their entire dance, deducing the officers dancing around them and John had to hide his smile into his shoulder. Another “one last time”, breathing Sherlock in. Greg joined them on the dance floor with Sally in his arms and winked at John every time he caught his eyes, making Sherlock sigh and complain about the idiocy of some drunk DI’s, but John didn’t miss his smile and caught it between his lips softly.

“Boys,” a voice came from behind them and John let go of Sherlock’s lips with a gasp of surprise.

“Mrs. Hudson? What are you doing here?”

They landlady winked at them before smiling, “That dear Inspector informed me of their Pool a while ago and he agreed to let me place my own bet.”

John glanced at Sherlock who seemed much less surprised than he was, simply returning Mrs. Hudson’s gentle smile, “You knew?”

“I suspected,” Sherlock replied.

“It’s too bad I didn’t win, but then, I only placed one bet,” she continued, her eyes traveling from their joined hands to their shoulders brushing against one another’s, “You two looked lovely, dancing.”

John felt Sherlock squeeze his hands, “Thank you.”

“Sherlock, dear, “I was wondering if I could borrow your date for a dance,” she asked with a smile.

“Or course,” Sherlock replied, letting go of his hand, “I’ll go get us something to drink.”

“Thanks, dear.”

Mrs. Hudson remained silent for the beginning of their dance but soon she was looking up at John and saying in a soft voice, “John, you must know better than anyone how Sherlock doesn’t know how to ask for what he really wants.” John frowned, but she smiled as she continued. “He always has the weirdest way of doing things, and he struggles without letting anyone see, but you know better, dear. I hope you realise that much.”

“What do you mean?” John asked, wondering for a moment if she knew.

“I think you know, John,” she replied before looking around them, “He’s taking rather a long time, don’t you think?”

John looked over at the bar and felt the first tremor of worry when he didn’t see Sherlock anywhere near. He excused himself to Mrs. Hudson quickly and went to the bar but the bartender assured him he hadn’t seen him since they’d arrived and that his coat was still here, but it didn’t prevent John from worrying. He found Greg who hadn’t seen Sherlock other than with him and soon John was searching the entire place.

“Sherlock,” John sighed as in relief as he finally found him in the men’s restroom, “I was looking for you everywhere.” Sherlock remained still, leaning against the wall and John walked to him. “What are you doing he-”

Sherlock looked up at him and his eyes pinned John to the floor, the rest of his sentence dying in his throat. Sherlock pushed himself off the wall and took the last step separating them, his eyes not leaving John’s. He stopped close enough for John to feel his breath against his lips and another second passed without either of them moving. “Sherlock,” John breathed out but then there was Sherlock’s mouth against his own and John forgot about anything else.  

He immediately pushed him back against the wall and all but crashed their mouths together. Sherlock’s hands were roaming all over his back, bringing him closer as he kissed John back hungrily. It resembled more their first kiss than any others they had shared since, and John realised he had missed this, the adrenaline pumping through his veins and the realisation it could all end at any moment. He sucked on Sherlock’s tongue, swallowing down his moans and gasps before diving back in to tease and lick at his lips.

“John,” Sherlock panted when they parted for air, and for the first time, John allowed himself to taste him all over. His chin, his jaw, his neck, anywhere, all of Sherlock belonged to him and him only. “John,” Sherlock gasped again and recaptured his lips, his tongue invading John’s mouth.

John felt his own body starting to react, his every sense coming alive under Sherlock’s touch, and an alarm sounded in his head, reminding him this was too dangerous. They had no logical reason to be kissing right now, and waves of hope ran through him. What if, what if.

What if.

Sherlock hooked one leg around his waist and John got lost into the kiss again. He slid his hand up Sherlock’s thigh and kept him there, locked into him. The wet sound of their kisses was echoing in the room and John was getting drunk on it, on Sherlock’s moans, on his shivering body, on his hungry lips.

The door opened, “Oh, shit, sorry.”

It closed again.

John let go of Sherlock’s leg, resting his forehead against the wall. Sherlock was panting in his ear, his chest rising heavily against his, and John realised what he had been close to doing just seconds ago.

“John?” Sherlock asked in a whisper.

“We should go,” John replied, closing his eyes. “We’ve stayed long enough.”

Sherlock nodded next to him, his curls tickling John’s cheeks, “Yes, let’s go home.”

John pulled away from him, looking down at the floor before going to the sink and turning the water on. He splashed some on his face, aware Sherlock still hadn’t moved, and sighed before saying, “I think we call tonight a success. Your plan worked perfectly. They all bought it.”

“They-” Sherlock breathed out before murmuring a quiet, “Oh.”

John glanced at him just in time to see Sherlock’s face close up, “What is it?”

“I just-” he inhaled deeply, “I just remember I need to go check the fingers in the fridge.” He looked up at him one last time before heading for the door, “I’ll wait for you outside.”

John listened as the door closed behind him. “Fuck.” He exited the restroom quickly, going directly for his coat and heading outside. Greg would think they’d eloped discreetly, and to be honest, John didn’t care at the moment what anyone thought.

Sherlock was finishing a cigarette but John said nothing and waited for him inside the cab. They drove back home in silence, the kiss playing on a loop inside John’s head. They didn’t exchange a word as they entered 211B, Sherlock going to the kitchen and John remaining frozen in the sitting room. What was he supposed to do now?

He waited until he heard Sherlock get up again, walking around the kitchen before stopping entirely. Silence filled the flat, and then Sherlock’s voice, almost a whisper, “Goodnight, John.”

Wait. I didn’t know. I hadn’t realised that last kiss was actually the last time I would feel your lips against mine. It can’t be. I didn’t know.

“Good night, Sherlock.”

Chapter Text

The Pool - DI Dimock’s bet

February 2010 - Apparently this is THE thing to do around here, and I’m doing this bet based only on what I heard about Holmes and Watson, but let’s go with £30 on the kiss happening inside their home. In private, as all first kisses should.

April 2010 - Ok. I’ve met them. Still standing by my bet, only rising it to £60.

January 2011 - Seriously. They’re just- ok. £90

Chapter Text

John turned to look at the sun rising through his window.

He hadn’t slept all night but that wasn’t really a surprise. He had expected the feeling would be an crushing one, taking all the air out of him and making every cell of his body hurt. How could it not? He had spent the night trying to figure out how to go downstairs in the morning and pretend everything was fine. Pretend he didn’t crave for Sherlock again, even more than before, and just go on with his life. As if nothing had happened. Nothing had changed.

The solution had presented himself around 4 a.m. It made everything in him ache even more but there wasn’t any more time for illusion. He couldn’t spend an entire day in the same flat as Sherlock and not once reach for him, pull him close and breathe him in. He couldn’t, and so, his only choice was to leave. He tried to reassure himself, to convince himself Sherlock would say something, make him stay if there was even the minimal chance he felt the same. He could not let him go. Right?

John closed his eyes, the hollow feeling in his chest spreading throughout his entire body. He hated this. Hated this situation with all his being. He wanted to rush downstairs, slide into Sherlock’s bed and whisper his love against his pale skin. He wanted- god.

With a deep breath, John got to his feet and reached for his suitcase above his wardrobe. He threw clothes into it absently, getting dressed immediately afterward and leaving his room before he could change his mind. The flat was quiet. Sherlock had to still be in his room, and after picking up his toothbrush and towel, John set the suitcase down. He walked to Sherlock’s door and stopped.

“Sherlock?” He asked in a breath. He could hear the familiar sound of someone typing on a computer. “Sherlock, I know you’re awake.” No answer. “Fine.” He inhaled deeply. “I’m going, just for a few days.” Nothing. “I just need to think, to get things in order. I-” He placed one hand against the door, shaking. “Since we’re supposed to have just broken up, people won’t ask questions. It’s all fine.”

A beat.

“Sherlock, are you even listening to me?” John swallowed down his disappointment and picked up his suitcase. “I’m leaving a note just in case, I don’t know yet where I’ll go but I’ll send you a message.” He waited for another second, two, three. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone, alright?”

John lingered a little longer in the flat, taking more time than necessary to write down what he had just told Sherlock on paper, before placing it on the kitchen table. He glanced one last time at Sherlock’s bedroom door, hoping to see it opening and Sherlock coming out to stop him, but not a sound echoed. This is ridiculous. What was I expecting?

“Bye, Sherlock,” he whispered and walked out the flat without looking back. He barely had the time to reach the front door before he heard Mrs. Hudson’s door opening.

“Oh John, I was just- John, where are you going?”

John closed his eyes, hand already on the door handle, “I’m just leaving for a few days.”

“What? Why? Did something hap-”

“Ask Sherlock.” He couldn’t do this now. “I have to go.”

He opened the door and left before she could say anything and hailed the first cab he saw. “The hotel, I don’t care which one,” he told the driver and refused to watch as 221B faded away behind him. They drove for less than ten minutes before the cab stopped in front of some small but somehow welcoming hotel, and John paid the cabbie quickly before getting out.

There is still time. I could take a cab back home and force Sherlock out his room and-

John shook his head and went inside the hotel, refusing to think of Sherlock alone in their flat. He had brought this on himself, with this stupid bet and plan.

“Hi, sir,” the receptionist greeted him, “A room?”

“Yes,” John took out his wallet.

“How long?”

“I don’t know yet,” he replied, ignoring the spark of pain at the thought.

“That’s alright, I have the room 34 available, would that be ok with you?”

“Yes, fine.”

John filled out the papers quickly and grabbed his key before making his way to his room. He barely took the time to see it, placing his suitcase by the door and falling flat on the bed. What the hell was he doing here?  

Three sharp knocks echoed in the room and John’s eyes snapped open. Sherlock.

“Police, open the door.”

“Greg?” John frowned, a sudden panic taking over him and he rushed to the door. “What happened?”

“John? What are you doing here?”

Greg looked surprised at him and John let him in, relief washing over him as he realised his friend hadn’t come to announce that Sherlock had somehow managed to get hurt in the thirty minutes since he had left. “How did you find me?”

“Sherlock’s brother called me, saying it was urgent and that I needed to arrest the person in room 34,” Greg explained, looking around him, “He said Sherlock needed hel- Is that a suitcase?”

John looked down at the baggage at his feet, “Yes.”

Greg’s eyes found his, “What is going on here?”

John cleared his throat, “Sherlock and I, it- it didn’t work out.”

Greg burst into laughter, “Seriously, what are you doing here?”

“After the party,” John breathed out, “We’ve talked and it became clear this wasn’t going to work, so I left.”

Greg stared at him for several seconds, mouth hanging open. “What the hell are you talking about? This is some serious bullshit!”

John felt the first sign of anger over take him and he replied harshly, “What do you want me to say? It happens, people break up!”

“Like hell it happens, not to you two!”

John let out a loud sigh, “Well, it did.” He walked to the adjoining bathroom, hoping Greg would get the message and leave, but the DI followed him and stopped him from closing the door.

“Oh no, you’re not getting away,” he exclaimed, “You have some explaining to do.”

“Just go Greg. I’m fine, Sherlock is fine, everything is FINE.”

Greg shook his head, looking a lot sadder all the sudden, “John, let me help you.”

“We were never together, alright!” John said before he could think twice about it. “Never.”

“What do you mean, never to-” Greg dragged him back to the room, forcing him to sit down and John realised he didn’t have the strength to fight back anymore. “Explain.”

“It’s Sherlock, he deduced your financial issues and then talked about this Pool you kept at the Yard.” John glanced at him, watching as Greg began to understand. “He told me we needed to kiss so you could win, and then you threw us that party so we had to pretend until then, making sure you’d get the money.” John let out a shaky, nervous laugh, “See. Never together.”

Greg remained speechless for a long, long moment, before saying in a breath, “This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“Tell me about it,” John mumbled.

“You two are such idiots sometimes.” Greg shook his head, rubbing his face, “I can’t believe Sherlock is clever enough to solve a crime in less than a minute but can’t figure out how to be fucking happy!”

John’s head snapped up, “Happy?”

Greg stood up and began to pace in the room, still shaking his head, “I can’t fucking believe this. You two will be the end of me, I swear. After everything, after these past few days how ca-” He stopped, looking back at him. “Christ, John, what you told me that night. You’re in love with him.”

John opened his mouth but the words got stuck.

“And you still left? You didn’t tell him?”

“He doesn’t-”

Greg laughed, a laugh John found he didn’t like, “Oh no, don’t start again with this. Have you not seen him this past week? For God’s sake, I can’t-”

He looked at John for another second before walking to the door, “Where are you-” He left before John could finish his sentence, the sound of the door slamming echoing in the room for several seconds.

John stood up and ran to the door but stopped himself before opening it. He had no idea where Greg was going, it would be impossible to find him out there. At least Greg knew where he was. He’d be back. It was normal for him to be upset, god knew John would be too. Christ, he was. Looking around him, he quickly found what he was looking for and headed for the mini-bar and poured himself a drink.

The first of many.

• -

John woke up to the feeling of a firm hand shaking him. He groaned, his head spinning as he blinked awake. It took him a while to remember where he was, and a minute more to properly discern Sherlock looking down at him.

“You weren’t answering your door,” he said as he let go of him.

John rolled onto his back, still feeling the last effects of the alcohol, and growled, “I’m pretty sure I locked that door.”

He saw the ghost of a smile pass over Sherlock’s face before it was gone. “You’ve been drinking.”

“Brilliant deduction,” John snapped.

“Do you need some water?” Sherlock continued, ignoring him.

“I’m fine.”

Sherlock made a sound between a laugh and a snort, and John watched as he went to the bathroom and came back with a glass of water. He placed it on the nightstand and removed his coat before sitting on the chair facing the bed. John closed his eyes, starting to think a bit clearer and sighed loudly before sitting up. Sherlock was looking at him, silent.

“You can go, now,” John said, hating the way his entire body craved for Sherlock to come closer again.

“If I were to ask you to kiss me again,” Sherlock replied, “Would you do it?”

John snorted, “I don’t know, depends who needs some money this time.” He closed his eyes as he realised what he just said, cursing himself for the two extra drinks, “Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“I’ve hated each and every one of the past thirteen days,” Sherlock blurted out, not looking away from him and John shut his eyes again.

“Ok. Right.”

“And at the same time,” Sherlock continued, “I wish I could relive them again, and again.”

“Sherlock, I'm really not in the mood for your riddles right now,” John sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

He heard Sherlock breathe out softly, his body shifting on the chair before he spoke again, “I deduced that you were in love with me months before I jumped.”

John’s eyes snapped back open, his heart pounding as he looked up at him, “You what-”

Sherlock looked away, biting his lower lip before continuing, “During the case with the Woman. She made me realise the true nature of your feelings toward me.” Sherlock glanced back at him, looking suddenly much more tired.

John swallowed, his throat dry, and he reached for the glass of water. His head was spinning again. “You never said anything,” he breathed out.

“There was still Moriarty’s threat hanging above us, and I was-” Sherlock inhaled deeply. “Afraid.”

“Afraid?” John asked carefully, his hands shaking around the glass.

“I've always been in control, John. Ever since I was a child, I could regulate my emotions, push them aside and put the work first.” He shook his head. “But you- you changed all of that.”

John felt his heart miss a beat, his blood pumping in his ears, “Bakersville, that evening by the fire, you were shaking with fear.”

Sherlock let out a small laugh, “Yes. A glimpse of the chaos happening inside my head at that time.”

John wanted to crawl over his lap and kiss him for years and years.

“Sherlock,” he whispered, “are you telling me that-” he stopped, the words too heavy to be spoken.

Sherlock smiled at him, a sad smile that made John’s chest ache, “Yes. Yes I am.”

John stood up, the distance between them becoming unbearable to stand any longer. Sherlock rose to his feet as well, but remained where he was.

“You were in love with me,” John said in a breath.

Sherlock shook his head, taking a step closer. “No, John. I am in love with you.”

John felt his legs buckle and a light giggle escape him, the words echoing in his head. He laughed again and all but crashed into Sherlock, burying his head against his chest and gripping at his shirt tightly. Sherlock hugged him back immediately, and John felt him brush his nose in his hair.

“John,” he murmured, “If I were to ask you to kiss me again, would you do it?”

John smiled, pulling away just enough to look up at him, “A real kiss?”

Sherlock smiled, a brilliant smile, “Each and every one of our kisses were real, John.”

“Good,” John smiled back and sealed their lips, Sherlock moaning as soon as they were pressed together.

He was right, of course. This kiss was just as real, just as breathtaking as all those they had shared and John couldn't help but smile into it. He laughed again, the sound being captured by Sherlock’s mouth. He felt Sherlock’s hand move to cup his face, long fingers caressing his cheeks. John felt deliriously happy.

“Christ, Sherlock, I never thought you could feel this way,” he breathed out against Sherlock’s lips, apparently unable to stop smiling.

“After these past thirteen days?” Sherlock whispered, kissing him softly. “John, I went to bed each night wondering if I could somehow convince Lestrade to delay his party.”

John chuckled, “You did?”

Sherlock nodded, the movement making their lips brush again and again and John captured his lower lip between his own, teasing for several seconds. Sherlock tightened his grip around his waist, pressing them ever closer, and moaned softly. They kissed and kissed again, parting only to crash together again, and John felt himself grow bolder and bolder, realising he could now have what he had been dreaming for all this time.

“I love you,” he breathed. “God, I love you.”

Sherlock stilled, pulling away to look at him and asked in a murmur, “Still?”

John’s smile softened, his fingers playing with Sherlock’s curls as he whispered against his lips, “Yes, still,” he kissed him, “so much I don’t know how I managed not to make it obvious these past two weeks.”

“I couldn’t trust any of my observations,” Sherlock confessed, “They were too biased.”

“I think we can say we were both idiots,” John smiled.

“Well...” Sherlock began, frowning but with a sparkle of amusement in his eyes, and John laughed, shaking his head before kissing him again.

“Let's go home.” John said. “I should have never left in the first place.” Sherlock hummed against his lips, still not letting go of him and John grinned as he kissed him again. He let his hands slide down Sherlock’s back, slowly, until he reached the curve of his arse, and with a loud moan, he finally slid them lower.

“John,” Sherlock panted, just a whisper, and John took back his mouth hungrily.

If the past two weeks had allowed him to know Sherlock in a completely different way, there was still so much to discover about him. A long shiver rushed over him, his hands getting more and more adventurous and soon Sherlock was rocking against him. “God, Sherlock,” John moaned as he pulled away from his lips, “Home. We need to go home.”

“We have all we need here,” Sherlock remarked, raising an eyebrow and heat pooled down John’s belly.

“As much as I want you at this very moment,” he all but groaned, Sherlock’s eyes darkening, “I really, really want to have you in home, in your bed.”

John watched as Sherlock swallowed slowly, “Ok,” he replied, his breathing already ragged, “Home.”

Chapter Text

John pressed them together one last time, feeling the first sign of Sherlock’s arousal against his leg, and reluctantly let go of him. “Good thing I didn’t unpack,” he joked but the sexual tension was still palpable in the room, and Sherlock only nodded in response. “Come on,” John continued, taking his hand and they almost ran past the door and into the lift. John took advantage of the few seconds they had to themselves to push Sherlock against the lift’s wall and kiss him breathless again.

Sherlock used his mysterious way of always getting a cab quickly as soon as they were outside and John only allowed himself to rest his hand on his thigh during the ride. They didn’t need to get thrown out and search for another cab, not now. Sherlock couldn’t seem to stop moving, his fingers tracing the lines of John’s hand, his teeth biting at his lips again and again, and all John could do was watch and, oh god, want.

They barely had the time to open the front door of 221B before Mrs. Hudson’s voice made its way from her flat, “Sherlock Holmes, you listen to me now, you go get John back, right this inst-” She stopped as she finally made it out of her flat and into the hall, her eyes moving from Sherlock to John. “Oh.”

Silence fell upon them, and John wondered what Sherlock had told her this morning.

“I’m guessing you put an end to all this nonsense,” she said, looking down at John’s suitcase. John nodded, taking Sherlock’s hand in his and Mrs. Hudson sighed before smiling at them. “I swear, you two will be the death of me.”

“Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock said, already dragging John upstairs by the hand, “You might want to leave for a few hours.”

“Sherlock!” John said, feeling himself blush as Mrs. Hudson’s smile grew wider.

“You know, I’ve wondered about that all this time. The walls are thin as air and yet, I’ve never heard a thing.”

Sherlock stopped, looking back at her and John couldn’t help but laugh at his confused face, “You were listening?”

“Of course I wasn’t,” she replied, shaking her head. “I was just pointing it out. Now go!”

John pushed Sherlock up the few last steps and into their flat before Mrs. Hudson could say anything else, and they both burst into laughter as soon as the door was closed. “Can you believe that?” John asked, removing his jacket quickly and kissing Sherlock’s jaw.

“I’m actually not that surprised,” Sherlock replied, throwing his head back and offering his neck to him, John exploring the stretched skin. “She’s a very clever woman, you kno- Oh, god, John.”

John smiled before continuing to suck at Sherlock’s pulse point, walking him backward until his back hit the nearest wall. He immediately pushed his groin against Sherlock’s and thrust slowly, feeling an answering hardness there. Sherlock moaned again, his hands on John’s arse, adding more pressure to the touch. John licked and sucked at his neck for several minutes before pulling away and staring into Sherlock’s eyes, “We should ta-”

Sherlock crashed their mouths together before he could finish, and really, how could John resist him. He let Sherlock suck at his lips, let him part them and invade his mouth, moaning and rocking against him. It was already so much more than John had ever hoped for, and yet, not enough at the same time. He slid both hands down Sherlock’s sides, imagining the naked skin beneath his shirt and grabbed at his hips. Pulling up one of his legs, John let Sherlock lock it around his waist, “Hold on,” he murmured and pulled up the other.

Sherlock whimpered as both of his legs were now around John’s waist, their clothed erections sliding perfectly against one another’s, and John placed his hands back on his arse. He knew this was going too fast, and despite what Sherlock could do or say, John had every intention of taking it slow. He pushed Sherlock away from the wall and walked them both to the sofa, sitting down while keeping Sherlock in his arms. They manoeuvred themselves quickly, Sherlock straddling his lap, and kissed for another long minute before John cupped his face and pulled away.

“We really need to talk,” he whispered.

“Why?” Sherlock asked, his fingers roaming over John’s still clothed chest.

“Sherlock, you told me not ten days ago that you hadn’t any experience in kissing. I’m guessing it is the same about this,” John smiled and he felt Sherlock tense, going still on top of him. John kissed him softly before continuing, “I don’t want to rush things.”

“It is just sex, John,” Sherlock remarked, his eyes now avoiding his.

John brought him closer, “It’s so much more than just sex, Sherlock.” He kissed his cheek, nose and corner of his lips. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve imagined this many times now, and I would hate myself if I were to ruin it.”

“You can’t ruin it,” Sherlock said in a breath.

“I can. I really can,” John said. “A first time can turn monstrous quite quickly.”

Sherlock looked at him, puzzled. “Not with you.” John felt his chest expand with the love he felt for Sherlock at this very moment, and he kissed him again, trying to somehow pour it inside the kiss. Sherlock relaxed again, resting his forehead against John’s when they parted, eyes still closed. “I thought about it too,” he whispered. “Many times. More than you can imagine.” John felt him exhale deeply. “But I’m-”

Sherlock started to pull away but John kept him close, “It’s alright to feel nervous, love.” He smiled as Sherlock shivered. “We will take things slow and see where it takes us. Alright?”

Sherlock remained silent for several seconds before breathing out a quiet, “Yes.”

“Why don’t you tell me what you thought about when you imagined this?” John said after a few more soft kisses, Sherlock nuzzling his face against his neck. John kissed his temple, “Do you want me to start?”

Sherlock nodded.

“Whenever I imagined myself taking you to bed,” he started, keeping his lips close to Sherlock’s ear, “I pictured the both of us undressing slowly and kissing each new inch of skin revealed.” He let his hands travel over Sherlock’s back and arse. “Did you think about that too, love?”

Sherlock nodded again, letting out a small “Yes.” before kissing his neck, sucking lightly, and John threw his head back.

“Tell me,” he asked in a moan.

Sherlock kissed up his neck and jaw before looking down at him, “I want to see all of you, to touch of all you.”

John swallowed, his throat dry and his heart pounding, “Yeah?”

Sherlock smiled, kissing his chin and lower lip, “I want to know you with my eyes closed, to trace each line of your body and know how you feel under my fingers, under my mouth.”

John crushed their mouths together again, swallowing down Sherlock’s surprised gasp and pressing them even closer. He was torn between the urge to have this brilliant man now and the need to make this moment last as long as possible.  He forced himself to slow down, pulling away just a little so Sherlock’s fingers could slide down from his neck and over his chest, pulling at the hem of his jumper and shirt. John grinned at him as he raised both arms and allowed him to push both garments up and then toss them on the floor.

“John,” Sherlock said in a breath, eyes fixed on his chest, and John inhaled deeply. He hadn’t had any lovers as observant as Sherlock before, and god knew what he would be able to read between his scar and his soft middle. Sherlock brushed one finger over his collarbone, descending ever so slowly toward his right nipple, only brushing it, and John gasped out loud. “Good?” Sherlock asked, his voice still a murmur and John nodded eagerly. Sherlock repeated the caress over and over again until both of John’s nipples were hard nubs, waiting to be touched or sucked, but Sherlock’s attention was already elsewhere, much lower now. He placed both hands on John’s stomach, his fingers sliding down his ribcage. Sherlock stopped just at the edge of his trousers, grinding his arse against John’s erection.

“Oh, god, Sherlock,” John moaned, his hands moving back to his arse. Sherlock smiled at him before starting to unbutton his own shirt, never stopping his torturous movements. “Let me, please,” John gasped before helping him undress. As soon as the clothing was out of the way, John couldn’t resist attaching his mouth to the tempting skin in front of his eyes. Sherlock placed both hands on his head, keeping him there, and John smiled as he continued to kiss his way down Sherlock’s chest, pausing to take Sherlock’s nipple between his lips.

“John, yes, yes,” Sherlock panted, having stopped moving above him, but John’s now aching erection was still pressed against his arse, and the sensation made his head spin just a little more. “I- Please, I-”

John sucked on his nipple for another second before pulling away and staring up at him, Sherlock’s pupils were blown and his lips were parted, breathing heavily. “Bedroom?” He offered and had to laugh as Sherlock locked his legs around his waist again. “You like this.”

Sherlock’s cheeks became redder and John couldn’t resist another kiss, pulling himself up with a groan and walking them both toward Sherlock’s bedroom. He stopped at the closed door, pushing Sherlock back against it and causing him to search for the door handle blindly. John took advantage of their current positions to thrust against Sherlock’s arse, enjoying the way Sherlock’s entire body tended to arch and shiver every time he did it. He couldn’t wait to have him naked and panting, beautiful, hell , breathtaking for sure.

“Finally,” John groaned into their kiss as Sherlock opened the door and he walked them to the bed, letting Sherlock fall first before lying on top of him. With their bodies perfectly aligned now, John could feel every inch of Sherlock, and he was purely delirious with desire. “God, I want you so much,” he breathed, kissing down Sherlock’s jaw and neck. “I can’t believe this is truly happening.”

“Trust me, John, it is,” Sherlock replied, arching against him, his voice turning into a deep moan as John sucked at his nipple again. He ground them together more firmly, their clothed erections brushing against one another’s with each movement, and he waited until Sherlock was all but gasping before sliding lower.

“We haven’t discussed cond-”

“No,” Sherlock cut in. “You’re clean, I’m clean.”

John laughed, blowing softly on Sherlock’s navel, “I guess that settles it.”

Sherlock let out a ragged breath beneath him before saying, “Condoms are for when you either don’t trust your partner to be clean, or when you’re only having sex with them outside the context of a proper relationship.” He stopped and John looked up at him. “Which isn’t true in our case.”

John hated the doubt in Sherlock’s eyes and he quickly crawled back on top of him, kissing him for several seconds, “Of course it isn’t. I plan on having sex you quite a lot and for a rather long time.” Sherlock smiled against his lips. “I love you,” John murmured.

Sherlock stared up at him for several seconds, time frozen around them, before saying, “You truly do.”

John smiled, hoping his face was for once not hiding a fragment of the love he felt for Sherlock and replied softly, “Yes. For a very long time now, and I plan on loving you for much longer.”

“You’re a romantic,” Sherlock smiled back. “I had deduced, but I’d never actually witnessed it before.

“You’re calling me the romantic one?” John grinned, “After making us dance to that song.” To his surprise Sherlock blushed and looked down at their joined bodies, his hands tightening on John’s back. “You knew, didn’t you,” John asked, leaning down to kiss him softly.

“I liked the lyrics,” Sherlock replied, eyes closed. “I’ve found them quite- relatable.”

John laughed, soon joined by Sherlock, and he marvelled at the feeling of Sherlock’s chest rumbling against his own. “You did ask me to take your hand, once.” A lifetime ago, it seems. Sherlock’s eyes lost their focus, probably lost in memories of a time they had been so close to the end that it had seemed unconquerable. “Hey,” John breathed out, kissing the corner of his eye, “Stay with me.”

“John, I-” Sherlock began but stopped, shaking his head and looking back at him with dark eyes. “I need you.”

John’s throat was suddenly much dryer and he swallowed with difficulty, his painful arousal making itself known again. He rolled his hips slowly and leant down to kiss at the offered neck as Sherlock threw his head backwards. They rocked together for several moments, neither of them able to stop. John couldn’t believe he had thought his fantasies were trustworthy. This was nothing like he had ever imagined. Sherlock was so responsive, so sensual it was almost painful to watch. John wanted to take, to make him his in every way possible, and at the same time, he wished he could somehow make this moment last forever.

“John, John, please,” Sherlock panted, thrusting up to meet his movements and starting to shake beneath him. “More.”

“Fuck, yes, yes,” John gasped,  straightening up so he could unzip Sherlock’s trousers before saying in a whimper, “Up.”

Sherlock lift his hips, allowing John to push down both trousers and pants and he threw them carelessly behind him, too focused on Sherlock’s arousal now bared in front of him. His erection was long and lean, already leaking at the slit and John licked his lips. “Has anyone ever touched you, love?” He asked and Sherlock shook his head, the peak of jealousy dying inside John’s head. “Have you ever touched yourself?”

Sherlock inhaled sharply and John looked back at him just in time to see him nod, his cheeks impossibly redder. John was suddenly assaulted by images of Sherlock’s long fingers wrapped around his cock and he let out a loud whimper, his own erection pulsing inside his pants. He didn’t miss the way Sherlock’s eyes seemed to be focused on his groin only. “Do you want to touch me?” John asked, placing one of Sherlock’s hands against the bulge.

Sherlock nodded again, sitting up on the bed, “Yes, please.” John kneeled between his open legs and  took advantage of their new position to kiss him again but Sherlock pulled away, looking down at his hands on John’s trousers, “Don’t distract me, John.”

John laughed, “I am the one distracting you?”

Sherlock grinned at him, “I could stop, you know.”

John cupped his face, tilting his head up, “Don’t you da-” The rest of his sentence got lost into a loud moan as Sherlock cupped his erection through his pants, palming it slowly. He repeated the movement for several seconds before finally, finally , undressing John. He slid just the trousers down at first and John looked down to see him blow against the head of his cock peeking over the waistband of his pants. “Oh, god, Sherlock.”

“You’re larger than I estimated,” Sherlock said, fingers sliding up and down his still clothed shaft. “But I was correct, you point to the right. It’s even more obvious when erect.”

“You made estimations about my cock?” John asked between two sharp inhales of breath.

“Obviously,” Sherlock replied, leaning forward and kissing the top of his cock quickly.

“Oh fuck!” John’s hips bucked forwards before he could stop it, and Sherlock backed away. “Shit, sorry.”

Sherlock hummed, licking his lips, “I like how you taste.”

John closed his eyes, biting his lower lip, “God, don’t say things like that.”

“Why?” Sherlock frowned, “Not good?”

“Oh no,” John replied, shaking his head, “Too good, too fucking good.” Sherlock seemed to understand and he slid John’s pants down to his knees. John let out a loud sigh, “I can’t stand up,” he said as he rolled next to Sherlock, lying on his back to remove both trousers and pants. He felt the mattress dip next to him as Sherlock lay back down again, turning on his side to face him.

They stared at each other, stark naked and already sweaty. “You’re beautiful,” John breathed and Sherlock smiled, one finger tracing the lines of John’s chest again. “I am a very lucky man.” Sherlock’s finger slid lower, much lower and they both moaned as it collected the bead of precome on John’s erection. In awe, John watched as Sherlock put his finger to his mouth and licked it, smiling. “I should apologize now for how short this is going to be.”

“We can do it again right after,” Sherlock replied, still sucking at his finger. “Can’t we?”

Somehow, John had no trouble believing him. He hadn’t had sex more than once in a night for years now, but the desire and love he felt for this brilliant man made it seem possible again. He reached for Sherlock, grasping him by the waist and after a few seconds of settling against one another, they were finally pressed from head to toe. John swallowed both of their moans as their erections slid together and began to rock against him, finding Sherlock already leaking.

“I hope you have lube here, because I’m not sure I can leave this bed right now,” John said when they parted.

“Drawer,” Sherlock replied and his entire body followed John’s as he reached for the bedside table, fumbling through the objects in the drawer until his fingers closed around the bottle.

“I don’t even want to know what else is in there,” he said as soon as he was lying back in front of Sherlock. He opened the bottle and poured some lube on his hand, Sherlock offering his hand to be slicked as well. “Eager?” John teased and Sherlock rolled his eyes before snaking his hands between their bodies and around John’s erection quickly. “Oh, god,” John gasped, throwing his head back. “Sherlock.”

“Tell me,” Sherlock said, his breath tickling John’s neck, “Tell me how to touch you.”

“Like this, just like this, yes,” John panted. Sherlock’s grip was firm, his fingers so long, and John was afraid he was going to come much sooner than anticipated. “Fuck, you’re brilliant.”

Sherlock moaned, starting to thrust against him again, and John closed his own hands around Sherlock’s erection. Sherlock froze entirely for a long second before shuddering, moaning John’s name in a way that was going to haunt John’s dreams for years and years. They explored each other like this, slowly and almost gently, but soon John was aching for more. He rolled Sherlock onto his back again, lying on top of him without letting go of his cock, and whispered, “Let me,” before taking them both in hand.

Sherlock arched on the bed, making their cocks slide even further in John’s hand. He watched, eyes wide and breath coming short, as Sherlock took his own pleasure from him, hands roaming over his own chest before sliding up John’s arms and gripping at his shoulders. He was beyond words, majestic in his own way, and John couldn’t take his eyes off him. “John, John.”

“What do you want,” John rasped, panting, “Please, tell me.”

“I- I- John .”

“Like this?” He asked, knowing it wouldn’t take long for both of them to come.

Sherlock seemed to regain some focus and he shook his head, tightening his grip around John’s shoulders, “More.”

“There’ll be time for more later, love, we don’t have to do that now.”

Sherlock threw his head back, stopping to rock into his hand and shivering beneath him, “I want more,” he breathed out, his chest rising heavily. “I’ve imagined this too many times, for too long.” He pulled John down for another kiss, tongues meeting and parting again and again. “Please.”

“Are you sure?” John asked against his lips.

“Yes,” Sherlock nodded, “Yes.”

“You need to tell me,” John continued, “As soon as it hurts, as soon as it becomes too much. Tell me.”

“I will,” Sherlock replied, smiling before kissing him again and canting his hips higher, John suddenly remembering he still had his hand closed around both of their erections, and they moaned into another kiss. John looked blindly for the bottle of lube again and let go of their cocks, swallowing down Sherlock’s whimper.

He pulled away, kneeling between Sherlock’s legs, opening the bottle again. “Have you ever tried it, alone?”

Sherlock breathed out deeply, “Once. It wasn’t- I didn’t manage to do it properly, I think.”

“You think?” John asked, warming the lube on his fingers.

“I wasn’t focused enough, not being able to find my prostate made me more frustrated than anything else,” Sherlock explained, planting both feet on the mattress and opening his legs a little wider.

“It can be challenging, yes,” John smiled, kissing Sherlock’s knee. “Especially when you’re using your own fingers. But with such fingers as yours, I’m sure if we tried again you’d be able to take your own pleasure without problem.”

“Why would I do that, I’ve got you.” Sherlock said, sounding so serious it made John chuckle. “Unless it is something you enjoy,” Sherlock suddenly said, “Watching me.” John didn’t try to hide his obvious approval. “Then, yes, we should try again,” Sherlock asserted,

“Maybe not today,” John replied, feeling himself grow harder at the thought. “I won’t be able to watch you and not come just from that.” Sherlock smiled back at him, lowering himself even more on the mattress, and John finally nudged his finger between his arse cheeks. He considered asking Sherlock to roll onto his front, but thought better of it. He wanted, no, he needed to be able to watch Sherlock as he did this, as he made him lose his mind and self control. “Yeah?” He asked one last time and Sherlock nodded again.

“Hmmm,” Sherlock moaned as John pushed just the tip of his finger inside him, stopping at the first knuckle. He gave Sherlock the time to relax before pulling out and in again, just as slowly, sliding inside him more and more. “Oh, this is-”

“What?” John asked in a breath.

“Good,” Sherlock finished, “This is good.”

John smiled, pushing his finger deeper until he was fully inside Sherlock. He remained still for a second before moving his finger, not yet looking for Sherlock’s prostate, but giving him time to get used to the feeling. He heard Sherlock exhale loudly before starting to grind his arse against his finger. John set aside his own painful arousal, focusing entirely on pleasuring Sherlock, and pulled out before sliding it entirely again. He repeated the movement a couple of times, Sherlock growing more and more bolder, and thrusting against it.

“More?” John asked, already pouring some lube directly against Sherlock’s arsehole.

“Please,” Sherlock moaned.

The second finger was strangely easier, Sherlock getting used to the stretch and asking for another quickly. John scissored them first anyway, Sherlock’s protests getting lost between moans and whimpers, before thrusting in another finger. He felt Sherlock tense, “Alright?”

“Yes, yes, I can feel them, inside me. Each knuckle, each fingertip.”

“Yeah?”

Sherlock hummed, “Can we- now?”

John smiled, kissing his knee again before saying, “First, let me-” He moved his fingers inside Sherlock, the need to watch as Sherlock’s prostate was stimulated for the first time growing stronger and stronger. The moment he found it, Sherlock’s entire body arched on the bed and his cry of pleasure echoed in the room for several seconds, John knew he would never, never , grow tired of witnessing such a stunning moment.

“John, John, again, pleas- Oh, god!”

John tugged on his own cock once, twice, before letting go as he brushed Sherlock’s prostate again. He was desperate for more, for anything, now, and seeing Sherlock like this was only making his arousal even more painful. “Fuck, Sherlock, I need-”

“Yes, yes, please,” Sherlock gasped, pulling him down for a kiss and John got lost into his taste again. He let his fingers slip out, Sherlock’s entire body shuddering. “Like this,” Sherlock said when they parted, “Stay like this.”

John pressed them even closer, “Yes, anything.” He lubed his own cock without looking away from Sherlock’s eyes. “I love you, god, I love you.”

“I love you t-”

Sherlock stopped, his mouth hanging open as John guided himself against his entrance and pushed in. He stilled when the head was completely inside him, forcing himself to keep his eyes open and fixed on Sherlock’s. He waited for several seconds before Sherlock gave him the tiniest nod and he slid further in, his pelvis soon pressed against Sherlock’s arse.

“Oh god, you feel so good,” he panted, threading his fingers in Sherlock’s hair. “So fucking good.”

“John,” Sherlock breathed out, almost in awe, “You’re inside me.”

John kissed him softly, gently, “I am, love.”

Sherlock held on to him tightly, pulling his legs around his waist and welcoming him in even deeper. John felt Sherlock’s heels dig into his lower back, and he tentatively pulled out before sliding back in quickly. Sherlock whimpered, biting his lower lip and John sucked it into his mouth, tongue licking at the bites. “I want to hear you,” he whispered before finding the right angle and hitting Sherlock’s prostate.

“ John, ” Sherlock cried out, loud.

John didn’t waste any more time, both of them having wait for too long already, and started to thrust into him. He kept a regular pace at first, making sure to stimulate Sherlock enough to make him arch and cry out, but keeping his orgasm still at bay. He needed him like this a little longer, just a little more.

“Sher-, fuck, you feel amazing. You’re amazing.”

“John, please, I’m-”

“Yes, yes,” John panted before sliding one hand between their bodies but Sherlock stopped him, trapping it between their chests.

“No, I don’t need- I’m going to-” he threw his head back, panting.

“Oh fuck,” John moaned, starting to lose his pace and all but pounding into Sherlock now. He watched, hungry for more, as Sherlock began to shake beneath him before going still and crying out his name, coming between them. His orgasm seemed to last for hours, and John nearly lost it right there. “Oh god, oh go-”

He drove into Sherlock fast and hard, getting lost in his pleasure and came with Sherlock’s name on his lips, buried to the tilt inside him. He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, Sherlock holding him close, his mouth murmuring something in his ear but John’s head was still spinning. It took him another minute before he could discern the words properly, and he felt his chest expand as he listened to Sherlock’s whispered I love you, I love you, I love you .

“I”m sorry I didn’t say something sooner,” John breathed against his skin, his nose buried against Sherlock’s neck.

“It doesn’t matter now,” Sherlock replied, kissing his temple over and over again.

“It does. We could have had this a long time ago.”

Sherlock forced him to look up, staring into his eyes before saying, “We will have it for a long time.”

John smiled, “I’m looking forward to it.” He pressed their lips together again, feeling his cock beginning to slide out but Sherlock tightened his grip around his waist.

“Not yet,” he whispered, “please.”

John kissed him again, trying his best to keep them locked together. He could understand what Sherlock was feeling, the fear of being empty, left alone again, so he tried his best to pour all of his love inside the kiss. They stayed like that for what could be an eternity or just seconds before John’s flaccid cock finally slipped out of Sherlock. They both shivered, their body temperature much lower now, and John kissed him once more  before saying, “Let me go get a flannel to clean us a bit.”

It took a lot more kissing and convincing before Sherlock let him go, and even then, he called John’s name seven times in the minute it took for him to fetch what he needed. John quickly crawled back into bed, snuggling close and cleaning Sherlock’s stomach, arse and thighs before dropping the flannel on the floor. “I don’t even know what time it is.”

“I’d say around half past noon,” Sherlock replied, eyes fluttering closed.

John kissed his closed eyelids, “Did you sleep at all last night?” Sherlock shook his head. “No. Me neither.”

Sherlock’s eyes blinked open again, looking at him intensely, “I heard you this morning.”

“I know.”

“You left,” Sherlock said. “Because of me.”

“Not really, no. I left because I couldn’t see myself spending an entire day here and not touching you, kissing you, or just being close to you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t hold you back,” Sherlock said, lacing his fingers with John’s in the space between their bodies.

“I imagine you must have been as scared as I was,” John smiled, not able to stop the memories of mere hours ago from coming back to him. He studied Sherlock’s face for several seconds before asking, “When you proposed this fake relationship, were you trying to see if I was still in love with you?”

Sherlock stayed silent, eyes traveling over his face, and John waited patiently.

“I’m not sure,” Sherlock finally replied. “I think in a way, yes. I had convinced myself you didn’t feel the same anymore, not after the fall, not after two years, not after Mary.” He stopped, raising their joined hands and placing them against his beating heart. “I’d convinced myself I had ruined every chance I ever got to be with you.”

“I don’t think you ever could do that,” John confessed. “I’ve been in love with you for so long I have forgotten how not to be.”

“But I’ve hurt you, John. I came back and you weren’t the same.”

John shifted closer, the need to be close stronger than ever. “Yes, you did. You said you knew how I felt when you jumped, right?” Sherlock nodded. “You choose not to tell me, Sherlock. You choose not the make us something more, something that would have destroyed me the moment you had taken that jump.” He closed his eyes, breathing out deeply. “You saved me by not telling me.”

“Did I really?” Sherlock asked, a sad edge to his voice. “I came back and everything was still a disaster.”

“But you came back, and I could breathe again,” John said, kissing Sherlock’s lips softly. “You came back, and saved me all over again. I could have lived with Mary for years and never suspected anything. She could still be alive, killing people and coming back home for dinner as if nothing had happened.” He took a deep breath. “I could still be wondering what I could have done differently, what I could have said to keep you from jumping, from leaving me.”

“I’m sorry, John. There won’t be a day when I will not regret leaving you behind.”

John smiled, “I know that now.” Sherlock kissed him again, lingering for several minutes. John tried not to think about the time he had thought Sherlock dead, the time where he had wandered alone and lost. “What changed your mind, this morning?” he asked after a moment.

“Lestrade came by,” Sherlock replied, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “Well, he stormed inside the flat yelling about how much of an idiot I was.”

“He did?”

Sherlock nodded, “He said he had just seen you and asked me what the hell I was still doing here.”

“He seemed pretty upset when he left the hotel.”

“I immediately deduced he had somehow heard about what we’d done but he didn’t give me the time to finish before he was dragging me out the bedroom and forcing me to sit down in the kitchen.” Sherlock trailed off, playing with John’s fingers. “He then told me about your last night at the pub.”

“Oh,” John breathed out. “I see.”

Sherlock hummed, “Yes.”

John rolled to his back, Sherlock following and resting his head against his chest, not letting go of his hand. John used his free hand to trace patterns on his back, asking, “There must have been a moment when you suspected. I mean, I wasn’t doing a good job keeping my feelings at bay.”

“They were times, yes, when I wondered. Especially when we kissed. I didn’t know much about it then, but it all felt so good and brilliantly new, and the way you looked at me afterward.” He stopped, tilting his head up to look at him. “But then you refused to share that bed, and I thought maybe I was just imagining everything.”

John held him tighter, “I’m sorry about that night. I just couldn’t share a bed with you and fall asleep without having you like this, in my arms, naked and warm and brilliant.”

“That’s actually quite close to what Lestrade told me when I exposed my argument,” Sherlock replied, smiling and John made it his with a kiss.

“Did he really?”

“Yep, even the naked part.”

John laughed, “We should apologize to him, and say thank you.”

“I guess we should, yes.” Sherlock sighed, closing his eyes again. “But not today.”

“Oh no, you’re not leaving this bed today,” John smiled and he felt Sherlock’s own smile against his skin. “You’re staying right where you are.”

Sherlock didn’t argue.

Chapter Text

John woke up to Sherlock’s back pressed against his chest, the sun shining over their naked bodies from the half open curtains. Unable to repress a smile, he snuggled closer, Sherlock’s curls tickling his nose and let out a content sigh. This . This is what he had been dreaming about all this time.

The day before had been a constant rush of emotions. John remembered falling asleep with Sherlock’s head still on his chest but waking up to soft lips wrapped around the head of his cock. John had gasped and moaned and let Sherlock take him apart with twirls of his tongue and the wetness of his mouth. Sherlock had been desperate for release afterwards and detailed to John everything from the taste of his semen to the weight of his cock inside his mouth before being reduced to moans and whimpers in John’s hands.

John wasn’t sure how long they stayed in bed, only remembering getting up once to fetch something to eat before being dragged back to bed by a very naked Sherlock Holmes. It had been beyond everything he had ever hoped, ever dared to imagine, and somehow, it still felt unreal. Yesterday he had been certain he would never know the feeling of Sherlock’s naked body against his own, and this morning, he found himself waking up to it’s warmth and softness.

John couldn’t help but kiss Sherlock’s nape, breathing him in. He was the luckiest man on earth, that much was certain. They had done so much, went through hell and back, but still, Sherlock had found him, had stayed and given himself to him. Sherlock Holmes, brilliant and breathtaking Sherlock Holmes had chosen him. John giggled, the sound loud in the quiet room and Sherlock stirred. John wanted to see him, to watch him wake up and realise that this was real.

“You’re thinking.”

John smiled, kissing Sherlock’s nape, “Morning, love.”

Sherlock rolled into his arms, nudging their noses together before smiling, “It’s distracting.”

“What is?” John asked, finding it hard to concentrate with Sherlock’s lips right there.

“You, thinking. When you should be doing something else entirely.”

John laughed, pressing them closer, “And tell me, what should I be doing?”

“I’ve heard that waking up with a loved one includes some kissing and, I believe the term is, lazy morning sex.”

“You’ve heard?” John asked, his smile growing wider as he brushed their lips together, “You mean, you researched this.”

Sherlock shrugged, “Maybe,” before kissing him and John forgot about anything else. He wondered if he would ever get used to the feeling of Sherlock’s lips against his own, and found himself hoping he never would. He wanted to get this warm  feeling, this shiver running down his spine every time. He laughed again as Sherlock forced his legs open so he could slide his own between them, his morning erection now pressed against John’s thigh.

“Lazy morning sex, hm?” John whispered, rolling his hips and moaning softly as his own erection slid against Sherlock’s leg.

“Very popular apparant- oh.”

John sucked at his lower lip, grinding them together again and Sherlock began to thrust against him, sliding both arms around his waist and on his arse. Rolling him to his back, John made sure Sherlock could thrust against him properly, the sweat pearling on their bodies making the friction easier. Sherlock was moaning, the sound filling the room and John’s head, and all he could do was watch him take his own pleasure. Sherlock was magnificent, absolutely stunning and John was hooked. He felt Sherlock starting to shake, his movements becoming more and more erratic and he felt his own orgasm approaching rapidly. God, how he loved this, loved him.

“John, John,” Sherlock panted against his lips. “I’m-”

“Yes, come on, I’ve got you,” John moaned, rocking faster. It took another minute before Sherlock’s entire body arched and shivered in his arms, his semen spurting between them. John growled, thrusting one, two, three times before he was coming too, his moans dying inside their kiss. “Oh god, Sherlock.”

He watched as Sherlock smiled, stretching as best as he could while remaining close and John’s breath caught once again.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Sherlock’s eyes fluttered open again, his hands coming up to cup his neck, “I can assure you the feeling is reciprocated.”

John’s laughter filled the room again.

It took them another twenty minutes before getting out of bed, Sherlock walking naked into the kitchen and John chasing after him with a sheet, rolling him up and kissing his nose as Sherlock rolled his eyes and asked him why they couldn't just live naked now. “I'm not sure Mrs. Hudson would approve,” John smiled.

“Oh, I'm not sure about that!”

John shook his head, “You know what, we can have naked days planned, telling everyone to stay the hell away from the flat.”

Sherlock looked at him, a surprised look on his face, “You’d really do this?”

“And get the chance to stare at you, naked and beautiful all day?” John kissed him again, “I wouldn't miss it for the world.”

“I'll make a plan,” Sherlock declared before sitting down at the kitchen table.

“Oh I'm sure you will,” John smiled before turning the coffee machine on and opening the fridge. “Hungry?”

“Actually, yes.”

“I can make us some eggs and to-”

John was interrupted by three sharp knocks on the door followed by Greg’s voice, “I’m coming in and you had better be naked!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes as John let out a small laugh, making sure Sherlock’s sheet was properly covering him before Greg arrived, a warm smile on his lips.

“He’s naked under there,” John told him immediately.

“He better be,” Greg laughed before sitting down. “You’re not faking anymore, right?”

“Obviously not,” Sherlock replied, glaring at him.

“I promise we’re not,” John said, coming to stand behind Sherlock and resting one hand on his nape. “I’m sorry about yesterday, I didn’t mean to be so rude.”

“It’s already forgotten, mate,” Greg said, shaking his head. “I just can’t believe you two pulled this off and still didn’t manage to realise what was happening.”

John felt Sherlock tense and he threaded his fingers through his curls, “We got there eventually, thanks to you.”

Greg smiled, “Well, you did win a lot of money, so I thought I’ll do something nice for you in return.”

John laughed and he even caught Sherlock’s smile before saying, “Seriously, thank you Greg.”

Greg nodded, silence falling over the three of them.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Sherlock asked suddenly. “John agreed to naked day around the flat and today is one of them.”

“Oh is it?” John asked at the same time Greg said, “I don’t want to know anything about this.” and they all laughed, the need to be close to Sherlock taking over John again.

“I”m going, I’m going,” Greg smiled. “Let’s not talk about this to anyone, ok? I quite liked the idea of winning that bet!”

“Do you know who actually won?” John asked before Greg could leave.

“Yeah,” he smiled at them, “Mrs. Hudson did.” He shook his head, still smiling, “She already told me to keep the money. That’s one hell of a landlady you’ve got there!”

“What did she bet?” Sherlock asked, the sheet falling over his shoulder and the urge to kiss overwhelmed John.

“You’ll have to ask her that,” Greg said. “Enjoy your naked day!”

He left as quick as he arrived and John leant down to kiss Sherlock’s neck and shoulder blade, “So, naked day today?”

Sherlock stood up, letting the sheet fall on the floor, “Apparently not,” he said, eyeing John’s dressing gown.

“And what are you going to do about it.” John grinned, taking a step back.

Sherlock’s laughter echoed in the room before he was pushing John against the nearest wall and removing the piece of clothing quickly.  

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The Pool - Mrs. Hudson’s bet

March 2010 - £100. Whenever they’re ready.