Waiting Up

John's eyes widened even more, "Lestrade?" he exclaimed, anger twisting his guts. "What the hell happened between you and Greg?" he seethed. He couldn't believe his ears, surely Sherlock would have never slept with the inspector, it was absurd, "He's bloody married," he thought out loud.

"You slept with that wanker??" he exclaimed again, falling silent right after, trying to put order in his mixed feelings and thoughts.
He had thought he knew Sherlock, but it clearly wasn't so, it was like a whole new chapter had opened up in front of him, and apparently, it was filled with sex.

The rest of Sherlock's words brought him back to reality, to the matter at hand.
"Well, sorry if I didn't know I was bloody gay until a few months ago!" he snapped, grabbing Sherlock's wrist so he would stop pacing, it was making him even more nervous.

"Don't you dare blaming me for this! You are far from open on any matter that regards yourself, how was I supposed to know that you cared for me? By the fact that you ignore me on a regular basis or that you call me stupid every time? Or by the fact that you said you were married to your work?" he ended with a groan.

"I am not going to agree to dating you until you are bloody clear about your bloody feelings!" he exclaimed, and looked at him challenging.

"Yes, Lestrade! Or 'Greg' as you so fondly call him." He rolled his eyes. "What do you think John? We had sex. A lot of sex, and they were separated at the time. It wasn't serious."

At least not at first.

He scoffed. "Funny how your opinion of the man changes after learning about his sex life."


He stopped pacing and turned to glare daggers at John. "And he's not a wanker." Despite the fact that it had been short lived Lestrade had helped Sherlock through some of his lowest moments, and although he would never admit it he was grateful. "You're obviously just jealous that he got to me before you even knew you wanted me."

Growling he tugged at his hair in frustration. "Don't be so petty! I'm not trying to blame you for anything. I'm frustrated and I'm angry. I'm not angry at you I'm angry at the time we lost. I'm frustrated that you didn't seem to notice that I insult you significantly less than anyone else, and I genuinely enjoy your company.

I'm angry that every time I interrupted your date, whether it was for a case or not, that you never, not once, stopped to think it may have been for more than one reason." His face began to soften as he took a deep breath and sighed. He had never admitted any of this out-loud before, and a lot of it he barely admitted to himself.

"I'm angry that I had to come home and pretend everything was fine. Pretend that it didn't matter to me what you did with your free time." He stared at the floor. "And I'm angry that I'd have to come home night after night and endure listening to you and your girlfriends. I hated waking up the next morning to see you walk them out looking so damned pleased with yourself when I knew they weren't enough. When I knew they could never be enough." Sighing he rubbed the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. This was giving him a headache.

"I never said anything other than an occasion quip here or there because you genuinely seemed to like them, for some unfathomable reason, and I wanted you to be happy."

Sherlock turned his head to the side and put his hands in his pockets. "Didn't you ever wonder why I always played Mendelssohn's Leider De Onne Worter when you brought them over? It wasn't just to drown you out. It," He swallowed and his blush was barely noticeable. "It gave me some comfort to know" He cleared his throat loudly "that when you were with them...that"

He hesitated as he felt he was crossing some kind of line. "that at least on some level...you were thinking of me as-well." He became intensely interested in the wall paper.

A lot of sex.

The words rang in John's head, he felt like someone was shouting in his head, making his heart clench in his chest.
Jealousy.
He couldn't believe them, he didn't want to believe them.
"Why have you never... told me?" he asked, oddly upset.
Why did he know nothing about Sherlock?
It was painful to realize he really knew nothing about him, while the detective could read him like a book.

He rubbed his hand over his frown as he listened to the rest of Sherlock's words, they confused him, they tortured him in a way, but at the end there was only one thing he could say.
"Couldn't you just flirt with me?" he exclaimed, and groaned in frustration. "You can't possibly think that I would guess you liked me by the fact you were slightly nicer to me! And to be honest, it is hardly visible... the only reason I thought you might like me as a friend was that you actually wanted me to come to the cases and you didn't kick me out of the apartment," he said, and looked straight at him, blue eyes restless on his face.

As he listened to Sherlock, he tried not to think about the pain in his chest, it was like a hand was gripping his heart, every word about Sherlock's pining making it worse. He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath, before he let himself talk.
"Why have you never said anything?" he protested, his voice shaking slightly. "Jesus Sherlock, how was I supposed to know? You're supposed to talk about things like that..."

He stepped closer again, his hand reaching out, fingers running down the detective's arm. "I... I didn't want to hurt you... I had no idea..."

"I didn't think you were exactly interested in my sex life John. You seemed to be a fairly private man with his own issues with sexuality and I didn't want to bother you with it. Besides, Lestrade ended it over a year ago now." That had hurt but Sherlock realized that in the long run their romantic relationship could only become more self destructive whereas their friendship could thrive. He respected Lestrade and was still quite close to him.

"Do I really seem like a flirting kind of man John? If I had done that it would've been an act on my part and I wanted to be closer to you, not to just make up some character that could seduce you but not hold himself up in a real relationship. Besides, with you always in denial I never could have flirted with you even if I tried!"

His eyes widened with surprise and slight hurt. "Did you really think I didn't care for you?...Did I truly come off as that cold?"

He looked at John directly and took his hands out of his pockets. Taking a hesitant step forward he said "I...I just always thought it was so obvious, John. I took your silence to be a...a rejection of sorts. I...I've never been very good at terms of endearment."

Feeling John's hand lightly caress his arm finally broke what little restraint Sherlock had left. He pulled John into a tight embrace. For the first time in his life, he didn't know what to say. What to make of this.

((Sorry if this isn't my best. It's 2:30am and I think I caught a stomach bug so if it doesn't make sense or is grammatically incorrect I'm going to blame that.))

"Of course I am interested, I am interested in everything that regards you, you are my friend Sherlock, my best friend," he muttered, almost pleading, wishing that the detective would understand what he felt. "I want to know everything about you..." he admitted. "I feel so stupid now, realizing there is a huge part of you that I do not know at all..." But /he/ didn't even know why it was so important that he knew. "I was a fool though, to think that just because it looked like you weren't interested in anyone then you actually had never been."

"Don't be silly, Sherlock, of course it wasn't obvious, otherwise I wouldn't have gone out to get a random guy, so that I could stop thinking about you," he muttered, shaking his head. "I am not as observant as you are, clearly... But you seem to be just as oblivious to my feelings..."

He sighed slightly as Sherlock hugged him, his own arms wrapping around him, squeezing him tighter as he took in his scent.
God, he had dreamed of this.
"I have never let myself entertain the possibility that you could be interested in someone like..."


((don't worry it was perfect ))

Sherlock scoffed. "Like you?...well, I suppose you never were very bright." He responded with a smile in his voice. “And, you’re supposed to be the one with the social skills remember? This…” He took a deep breath and tightened the embrace. Rubbing circles into John’s back he added “this really isn’t my area.”

Sex was all well and good, but sex in relationships was entirely different, and he really didn’t want to muck this up.

Sherlock pulled back to rest his forehead against John’s and bored into the other man’s eyes. This level of intimacy made him almost want to pull back, which was unexpected considering what they had been doing a moment ago, but he remained focused and schooled himself into staying where he was. Pulling back for just a second he moved to hug John under his shirt.

There. Physical. I can do physical.

“What’re we supposed to do now? What do you say after all that?”

John closed his eyes as their foreheads pressed together, Sherlock's hands on his skin were making it hard for him to find words.
"God, I have no idea..." He admitted honestly. "I don't know about you, Sherlock, but this is bloody scary for me..." He confessed, his hand caressing up the other's neck and burying into his hair. "I've never wanted anyone the way I want you, and I've never wanted a man before," he muttered, massaging his scalp. "The only reason I let that guy close was that he reminded me of you, I could close my eyes and pretend it was you who wanted me."

They were so close, they were practically breathing the same air, it was an intimacy they never had, and it was making John's heart beat like crazy.
He was scared of this, of the way Sherlock was making him feel, and his string of failed relationship was mining his confidence.
"God, Sherlock, I am better at ruining relationships than at making them last," blue eyes filled with concern. "And if I lost you, I don't think I could take it."

He took in a deep breath. "Tell me what you want, I will give you anything you want," he whispered against his lips, unable to move away.

He reminded me of you…

“Well, you should’ve just come to me. I may have turned you down before but that was the day we met and besides wouldn’t that have been better than last night even if I had rejected you?” Sighing he let his hands drop to John’s waist and pulled back slightly. “I just…I always get so damn jealous when you go out, and when you came home and I knew you were with another man I just…couldn’t keep it inside any longer…”

And if I lost you, I don't think I could take it

Sherlock laughed at that. “You won’t lose me John. You wouldn’t get two yards out the front door before I dragged you back in here by your ankles for god’s sake. I’m an arrogant show-off and that’s not going to change. But, I’m also very stubborn and incredibly possessive when I want something. I hope you know that.”

Leaning back in he ran a hand up John’s back and tangled the other in his hair. “The only thing you could give me right now is a murder and it wouldn’t be very much fun if I already knew who committed it...” Pausing for a moment he added, “I-I’m already in possession of anything else I could want at the moment.”

Sherlock leaned in for a kiss and pulled John towards the couch. He pushed John back until his knees hit the couch and they fell. Straddling his lap Sherlock ran his right hand over the other man’s chest. After teasing his nipples almost into hardness he stopped as his hand brushed raised and hairless flesh.

Scar tissue.

Pulling back he asked huskily, “Can…can I see it?” He’d seen glimpses of John's scar here and there but he’d never really had time to analyze it. See it for what it was. What it meant for john. For Sherlock something like that might as well have been a window into John’s time in the war and he knew John still had nightmares so it may be a bit preemptive to start out with it. Sherlock would take what he could get in whatever time John needed but he wanted to know everything. He just hoped it wasn't too much. For either of them.

John looked at him, a soft bitter laugh on his lips. "No, Sherlock, no, it would have not been better to be rejected by you... I... not... not you..." he whispered, realizing he was failing at words completely.
He was lost.

"Stubborn and possessive sound about right," he muttered, everything was much clearer now, but it didn't mean that he knew what to do. The way Sherlock was looking at him, the way he whispered that there was nothing else he wanted, John felt himself blush like he had not done in 20 years.

He let himself be lead to the sofa, he lied there, he closed his eyes to feel Sherlock against him, to memorize the feeling of his skin, to arch against his hands.
"Always so curious..." he whispered, and started undoing his shirt, because there was nothing Sherlock could ask him that he wouldn't do.
He couldn't say no to him.
He didn't want to say no to him.
Even though it meant he was showing the detective the only part of him that had managed to stay hidden till that moment.
It was pretty much like offering his soul.
"I would have thought you knew enough about me already..." he whispered as the fabric slid off his shoulders, baring the scar, his past, his nightmares.

"I can never know enough about you John." Sherlock kissed him deeply before pulling back to analyze his shoulder. He ran his fingers over the raised and mutilated flesh eyes alight.

"You weren't just shot...the wound extends all the way out to the axilla and down to the tip of your areolar tissue." He brushed his hands over tiny separate scars that radiated out from one central disturbance. “There was shrapnel…lots of it.” Looking up for a moment he realized John looked a bit tense. He obviously wasn’t used to anyone inquiring about his scar at all let alone anylizing it. Sherlock’s eyes softened and his voice quieted.

“You…you never told me you removed it yourself.”

He swallowed and after a moment kissed a trail from John’s nipple all the way up to his jaw. Sherlock looked him in the eye. “We can stop, you know. I really won’t mind. Go slower…You don’t seem entirely comfortable with all of this. Or,” He paused as he ran a hand over John’s scar. “at least not with this.” It was clearly a very painful memory and Sherlock didn’t want to risk sending John into a flashback.

John's heart was beating fast in his chest, his ears were ringing with the deafening resonance of it. He had never been this close to anyone since he had been back from the war, and he had never thought he was ever going to willingly submit himself to such piercing grey eyes.
Sherlock owned him completely though, amd John was ready to rip his heart out and offer it to him if the detective so much as asked for it.

"There are a lot of things I don't talk about, Sherlock," he whispered, his breath catching in his throat at the feeling of his scar being touched. "They thought I was going to die back then, I laid in bed for months with an infection fever, between life and death... what you are touching now is the memory of a time I want to forget... and it makes me the outcast I am..."

He took in a shaky breath again as Sherlock's lips travelled up his chest. "I do... want to take it slow... I do want... things to be proper and not a rebound of a one night stand..." he admitted, his eyes fluttering close. "But I cannot think straight when you are this close, and if you keep doing this, I doubt I'll be able to control myself much further..."

((I haven't forgotten about this, but I just started a summer English course, so it might be a while before I can respond.))

(okay XD )

"Okay. Okay...we don't-We can just" Sherlock sighed. As large as his vocabulary was there didn't seem to be enough words for this. He pulled John's shirt closed and laid his head against the doctor's chest, but he kept a hand oh John's scar.

Did he really think this was just because Sherlock was jealous about last night? He rolled his eyes. "I know your brain isn't getting its' usual amount of blood right now, but there's no way you could think this is a rebound." His voice softened. "...This started a long time ago."

He laid still for a moment before smoothing his hand along John's chest. "What happened out there John?" Sherlock could deduce it easily enough, but this seemed like something John was hesitant about for good reason. He didn't want to scare him away before this even got started.

"Did it?" he mumbled, wondering what Sherlock was really talking about, for how long had he been interested? He had never noticed him looking, he had never noticed any warmth in the other's words nor action, but the detective was always impossible to read. "I really thought you were... asexual..." he admitted with a chuckle, quite painfully aware of the other's body sensually pushed against him... definitely not asexual.

"Don't... humour me, Sherlock... you know what happened," he muttered with a sigh. "And it's better that way, because I hate to talk about it," he whispered, for once relieved Sherlock could read anything on him.

His hand moved along the back of Sherlock's neck, tracing the skin and then burying into his hair.
"I've always wanted to do this..." he whispered, grabbing his hair and pulling him in for a searing kiss.