Interruptions (John/Sherlock)

((Ok, so now John will probably be incredibly smug))

Sherlock just came- without John doing ANYTHING to manually stimulate him. Well [u]damn[/u], that made John feel incredibly flattered and skilled, even with cum on his face. He really needed to wipe that off, soon, before it started to dry- but he was still in a state of amazement.

"You actually just...I've never been able to do that to someone before..." John looks up at Sherlock, feeling incredibly foolish and embarrassed at the words coming out of his mouth, "You actually find me that sexy?"

He knows that Sherlock probably thinks it's idiotic that John even has to ask, after all the evidence was right on his face, but he honestly can't wrap his head around the idea that someone as gorgeous as Sherlock would be [i]that[/i] attracted to him.

Sherlock looked at John with a combination of a fond smile at John's disbelief, and the familiar "Obvious" eyeroll that he used whenever John asked a stupid question. This response made John smile like he had just won the lottery.

He stood up and went to the sink to wash off his face. When he turned back around he was struck by the sight of Sherlock- still standing there, breath still slightly ragged, body still wearing the left over flush from orgasm- the orgasm [i]he[/i] had caused. He was the only one who had ever seen Sherlock like this, hopefully the only person who ever would. He wanted to tell Sherlock he loved him. The realization hit John, he had known that he felt this way for a while, but this is the first time he had felt any desire to express this verbally- to take the risk and say those words. Still though, that was...dangerous. It put him at too much risk, even with Sherlock.

So instead, he just walked up and wrapped his arms gently around Sherlock, kissing him on the lips softly.

((So, I'm going to put my next idea below this, but if you don't want to move on yet, ignore it. I just have no other thoughts for where to go from here))

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***A Few Weeks Later***

John zipped up his travel bag and took one last look around Sherlock's room- his room too, as he was now totally moved into it, [i]their[/i] room. A room that, unfortunately, he would not see again for 10 days. He sighed, unkindly cursing social conventions that insisted that he attend the funeral of some uncle he hadn't spoken to in 10 years. Yes, the uncle was one of his few remaining relatives, and yes, it was very kind of him to include John in his will, but [i]10 days[/i]! Ten days away from Sherlock, ten days of Sherlock running about without John there to make sure he stayed safe. Ten days having to talk to people he didn't really know, and certainly didn't care for. It would be miserable.

He wished Sherlock was at least here to say goodbye. This also made John worry, it confirmed his suspicion that Sherlock had 'deleted' the multiple times John had told him he was going out of town. His guess, based off of the unhappy scowl and lack of reply he had gotten from Sherlock every time he brought it up, was that Sherlock didn't want him to go, and thought that if he didn't know about the trip, it wouldn't happen. Which meant that Sherlock would come back from the lab to find John gone, and have no idea about where he was. He had actually yelled at Sherlock about it the last night, frustrated at being ignored and stressed about the trip. It had ended up being him just screaming about Sherlock taking him for granted, then feeling bad and having extremely good make-up sex. He was fairly sure Sherlock hadn't even been listening when he was talking about the trip. Not good.

John sighed, rubbed his hand through his hair, and looked around again. There must be someway he could clue in Sherlock. He unconsciously fingered his dogtags through his shirt. That was it! Sherlock loved his dogtags, and he knew what they meant to John- they were a part of his identity, he wore them rather frequently now (always a risk of dying while running about with Sherlock, and he'd rather not end up an unidentified corpse in St. Barts). John placed the dogtags on top of the pillow Sherlock slept on- now Sherlock would know that John was planning on coming back, and hadn't gone anywhere dangerous.

John walked out to the kitchen and wrote a quick note telling Sherlock where he was going, what his flight times were, and when he would be back. He also texted Mycroft the information, and requested that he also try to make sure Sherlock knew where John was going.

John said goodbye to Mrs. Hudson, then went out to get his cab to the airport. He handed his bags to the driver, then climbed into the cab. He didn't see Sherlock standing just down the street, staring at the cab horrified.

Text
To: Sherlock
From: John

Hey, guess you didn't realize the flight was today. I'll miss you. Take care of yourself. Dinner's in the fridge. No shooting the walls, please. Left you a note explaining. -JW

John then looked at his battery. Shit, almost dead, he forgot to charge it last night because of the fight with Sherlock. Oh well, he would have it off during the flight anyways.

((So yeah, you can work with this if you like, or we can do something else. You can have Sherlock less clueless about the situation if you want, I just decided to try and create as much dramatic tension as possible.))

((wow. Long post is ENORMOUS and brilliant! I will write a response, but I'm planning on a long , decent post, which I am going to write tomorrow. If I do it, I want to do it good, so that's the reason for not updating ^^))

((Yeah, it was rather enormous. It's amazing the creativity that can be prompted by attempting to avoid a history essay XD ))

Sherlock came back from the lab in the late afternoon. He trotted upstairs, already looking forward to flop on the couch and take the time to think. And take time for John of course, not an unimportant activity of the evening. Yesterday's sex had been magnificent, though he was still asking himself why it had been so. He should ask John for that, an attempt to provoke more making out this evening.

But first he would think the case over. The experiments at the lab had been very useful and he longed for the moment that he could lie down and think. That moment would be very soon.

He opened the door to the living room and walked inside without halting. Somehow, he managed to climb out of his coat, dropping it somewhere, before finally flopping on the couch. In one trained movement, he kicked his shoes off, steepled his hands together and closed his eyes. The thinking session could begin.

Data data data. He couldn't make bricks without clay. Now he had the clay, he had to make bricks by gluing them together, one by one. The case had been interesting enough to go to the lab and do experiments, and now he was going over it all again, it appeared to be much more difficult that he had expected. Oh God, yes. He loved these kind of games.

Sherlock was buried so deep in his Mind Palace, that he didn't hear his phone chime. Or well, he did hear it, but gone over it with a quick thought that Lestrade shouldn't bother him when he was working so hard for him.

After uncountable hours, Sherlock opened his eyes with a sigh. He had nearly solved the case. He had to write his progress down or type it for Lestrade, but his computer, nor a pen and paper were nearby.

"John, pass me my laptop, will you?"

After half an hour, Sherlock noticed that John hadn't passed him his laptop nor the usual cup of tea. It was dark outside now, so normally, John would have tried to feed him by now. He grabbed his phone from his pocket with a sigh and opened a new text without looking at his inbox.

Text
to: John
Can you pass me my laptop? -SH

What Sherlock didn't know was that it was 2:30 at night. He swiftly went to the bathroom, because of the usual needs of a human, before entering their bedroom to change in something more comfortable. He walked over to their closet when he saw John's dogtags on his pillow. He thought quickly.

John left his dogtags on Sherlock's pillow. John had grown very fond of his dogtags, partly because he probably because of the risk of running through London with Sherlock, partly because of Sherlock's kink with them. That's weird. Why would John leave them here? He left them on purpose, not by accident.

Sherlock stroked the dogtags with his fingertips before grasping them. A terrible thought occured to him.

Would John leave them on purpose? Would John leave HIM on purpose? Was that why the sex was so good yesterday? Because it was a good-bye?

Sherlock suddenly felt sick. It couldn't be true, John would want to talk. But wasn't that what John tried to tell him yesterday? Sherlock honestly couldn't remember what their argument was about.

In a rush with a dazed head, Sherlock flung the closet doors open with a smash. He looked and felt through the clothes. Most of John's shirts and some of his trousers were gone along with pants, socks... even his favourite jumper...

Panic. Sheer bloody panic struck Sherlock in his pace. He hadn't felt this bad since that night. The night they gone to the club for a case. He had felt so bad then, he hoped to never feel such desperation again.

With trembling hands, he retrieved his phone from his pocket and started to type with great difficulty.

Text 1
To: John
John

He pressed the send button by mistake and started anew.

Text 2
To: John
John. What did I do wrong?

Text 3
To: John
Why did you leave me without notice

Text 4
To: John
What happened yesterday I can't remember

Sherlock completely forgot to use punctuation. It seemed unimportant and insignificant in his state of panic. He paused a moment before typing:

Text 5
To: John
Please come back

Sherlock took a deep breath. Apparently, he had held his breath. He didn't dare to think John would never come back. The thought only made him shudder and stiffen of fear. He clenched his phone in his fist and stared at it, waiting for a reply. Seconds ticked by, but Sherlock was sure it were uncountable hours.

((So, sensitive Sherlock is equal to panicking, unsure, unaware sweet Sherlock.))

The plane got in to the airport in Scotland at 8 in the evening. As much as John wanted to go straight to the hotel, he first had to get food, then deal with seeing his extended family. He really was dreading this.

When he was finally able to stumble into his hotel room and collapse with exhaustion, it was past midnight. John just lay on the bed for a while, head pounding with a stress headache, stomach queasy from being overtired, knee and shoulder still sore from being cramped on the plane. He suddenly remembered his phone, and hauled himself up to plug it in. He looked at his texts- one message from Mycroft replying to John’s request (“I am always looking out for Sherlock”) one message from Sherlock asking to pass him his laptop.

“Bloody man doesn’t even realize I’ve left,” John mutters in equal amounts of resigned fondness and mild irritation.

He leaves his phone on the dresser to charge and then falls back onto the bed and is taken by a deep sleep.

At some point John is woken by the shrill beeping of his phone- his Sherlock text tone, set so that he will hear it no matter what his surroundings are. The noise startles John so much he rolls off the bed and, for a few moments, panics as he attempts to place his surroundings. The phone continues it beeping insistently- apparently Sherlock is typing out as fast as he can. John stumbles over to the glowing phone, trying not to trip in his half-away state. He patiently waits until the beeping stops- no use trying to read until Sherlock is finished with all the messages, then picks up the phone.

“Better not be about the bloody case. What time is it anyway? Feels like I just went to sleep. Ah, I did just go to sleep…”

John reads the texts, and feels himself go cold inside.

“He didn’t see the note…shit, he must be falling apart! Why didn’t Mycroft call?? Dammit, I was hoping this wouldn’t happen…” John frets.

He opens the phone and begins a text:

Text:

Sherloaock is oj, domt pamix

“Dammit!” John cries out, frustrated with his sleep-clumsy fingers. He deletes the text and just calls Sherlock instead. He waits impatiently as the phone rings, Sherlock answers surprisingly quickly.

“Sherlock!” John cries out, as soon as he hears the phone click on, so happy that Sherlock actually answered, “Thank God you picked up! Didn’t you see my note? I left a note for you on the kitchen table telling you where I was so this wouldn’t happen. I had to go out of town for a funeral, remember? I’ve been telling you about it all week. I’m sorry, I would have called you when my plane got in, but my phone battery died. Anyways, I’m in Scotland, I’ll be here for 10 days. I would have offered to bring you with me, but…well my family drives me insane, so you would probably end up killing someone if you were here. God, I would consider killing someone myself, only then I would be stuck staying for two funerals.”

John realizes that he’s been talking so fast he hasn’t stopped for breath, “Sorry, didn’t mean to panic like that. I was just worried at your messages. Did you really think I would just leave without saying anything? I’m sorry you were confused. How are you doing? Are you ok? What were you doing all day that had you messaging me now?”

As Sherlock starts talking, John tries to make his way back over to the hotel bed. Part way there he trips over his shoes- which he had kicked off earlier, but never put away. He falls, swears, and his phone falls.

“Oh shit, sorry, I tripped. Where did that phone go? Sherlock, talk loudly, will you? I need to figure out where the phone is…ah! Got it! Thanks, it was under the bed.”

John stands back up and flops down onto the bed.

“Ok, go on, I’m stationary now, so no more interruptions,” John says with a yawn.

((Left it up to you to decide what Sherlock is talking about and whether he’s calmed down or not. Was definitely not going to torture him by having John sleep through the texts because…well I can’t be that mean, I was already wanting to give poor Sherlock a hug reading your post))

((Ah, good of you. That would have been absolute torture for precious Sherly. I believe he's a person of extremes. If he really has a problem, he can switch into a panic attack and if John isn't near to help him, he will be ravished. But luckily we saved him! Hurrah!))

Sherlock stared at the text. Was John drunk? Was he drunk without Sherlock being around? How odd is that?

Oh my. Sherlock was so relieved when John called him. He immediately accepted the call and brought the phone to his ear.

It was so good to hear John’s voice again, although it sounded rusty through the telephone. Sherlock had not realised how much he had missed it.

Note, what note? Sherlock suddenly felt fit to move and went for the kitchen. And indeed, there lay the note, saying everything he needed to know. Everything started clicking into place while Sherlock listened.

I’ll be here for 10 days.

Impossible. How would they survive that? Now they were in a relationship, they had never been longer apart than a few hours. How were they going to survive TEN DAYS!? Sherlock dreaded the foresight of it.

I had to go out of town for a funeral, remember? I’ve been telling you about it all week.

Sherlock remembered. He remembered that he wanted to forget, delete something huge very quickly, though he actually forgot what it was he wanted to forget. That was a good sign, indicating his Mind Palace was still fit and hard working as ever, but a bad sign for this actual situation. Everything cleared up now.

I would have offered to bring you with me, but…well my family drives me insane, so you would probably end up killing someone if you were here.

Sherlock’s insides grew cold at hearing that, though John had meant it kindly. And OK, Sherlock hadn’t listened, but in fact, Sherlock would be much rather be in Scotland, attending a boring funeral for 10 days with John, than being here without John.

“I was thinking, naturally. I’m ok now. How are you?” Sherlock answered quickly without really minding the content of his sentences. Though he was honestly interested in John’s wellbeing. Then he heard a thud, a fall of a phone and a painful grunt.

“John? John, where are you? You alright there?”

Sherlock sighed in relief again when John picked up again. He was so relieved that John wasn’t mad at him and hadn’t left him because of that kind of reasons. He sighed deeply and rubbed his forehead, suddenly tired of thinking and emotions. He went for the bedroom again and flopped on the bed, yawning too.

“So as an answer to your questions: When I got back home, I went straight to the couch and stayed there for hours, so that’s why I didn’t read your note. I saw your dogtags, which worried me. You are fond of them now, so why do you leave them here? I remember we had an argument last night and amazing sex, but I couldn’t remember why. I deleted the information. So you left a precious object after a fight on my pillow after I didn’t listen to you, which could also lead to a good-bye forever.”

Sherlock swallowed. He didn’t dare to think about it. He had ignored the fact John had yelled the information at him, hoping if he couldn’t remember it, it wouldn’t happen.

“Um... well. Yes. Anyway. Eh... Ten days!? Seriously? And I would have rather been there at a boring funeral than here. I suppose you would have more fun there when I was with you and vice versa. I would have said yes if you’d asked me.”

Sherlock hated talking about feelings, but he had learned John needed to hear what Sherlock felt at times like this, so he did it anyway.

John could still hear the traces of panic remaining in Sherlock's voice, so he tried to speak calmly to sooth Sherlock.

"Unfortunately, yes, it is ten days. I don't really want to be here, but the uncle who died actually payed my tuition for med school, so it would be very bad form not to show up. Also, I think he's made me one of the primary beneficiaries in his will...he always seemed to like me, which is strange because we very rarely saw him- he and my dad didn't get on well. In any case, that's very kind of you to say you would come with me, but honestly you'll have more fun back at Baker Street with your case.

John sighs, "I do miss you though, I can't stand most of the people here. It seems like the universe has conspired against me, the only relatives who showed up for the funeral are the ones I dislike. I've always thought them an idiotic lot, and now they seem even more so. Best part of the evening for me was imagining what you would have to say if you were here meeting them all."

"Still though, if I have my way you'll never have to suffer through meeting these people, they're annoying enough to make you think I was related to Anderson- loud, completely overbearing, always telling you what to do with your life, gossiping about each other, always telling crude jokes, completely ignorant and prejudiced...Ugh."

John sighs and shakes his head, getting out of ranting-mode.

"We'll both make it through this. I already can't wait to come to you, but we can do this. We can call and text as much as needed. Oh...umm...I hope you don't mind, but...I sort of...packed your red scarf. I know the blue one's your favorite, so I didn't take that, but...well it's cold here and the scarf reminded me of you...so I packed it. I wanted to...have something of yours with me on the trip."

John blushes, then grins.

"By the way, you did remember correctly that the sex last night was fantastic, well even more fantastic than just normal sex with you is- which is already amazing compared to any sex I've had with past partners."

John then plunges on to the serious topic he wants to address, before the adrenaline from his panic wears off and he's too tired to talk about it.

"Also, about the leaving thing," John can hear Sherlock tense up over the phone and rushes to keep Sherlock responsive before he totally closes off, "I know you'd rather not talk about it, but I have two things to tell you, and I really want you to hear them. This is important to me, so please pay attention,"

"Firstly, there has never been a point in the entire time we've lived together that I have considered leaving you- not since that very first day. There have been lots of times where you've made me incredibly pissed off, and I've needed to take a walk and spend an hour away from you, but I have always come back, and I will always come back- I can hardly even think about leaving you permanently, because it just...isn't something my brain can process as a real option. You mean far too much to me, I honestly cannot imagine a scenario that would bring me to that point. I will repeat this when you can see my face, so you know I'm being sincere, but I mean every word Sherlock."

"Secondly, if, in some crazy case I got to the point where I was thinking of moving out, I would talk to you. I know that being with you wouldn't be easy, I knew that going into this- I wouldn't just give up on it, I would work with you to fix whatever problem had come up. That's part of what makes a good relationship- sticking around to work through things, not just running away. That's how you know the person is right for you, if you care about them enough to want to fix things. I care about you that much Sherlock, please trust me when I say that."

John rolled onto his side, holding the phone against one ear and laying the other on the pillow, empty hand going under the pillow.

"It's so strange, I slept alone for years, and we've only been dating for about a month, but it already feels wrong to be in an empty bed...I miss you wrapping around me like some bloody octopus."

((I had to put in the scarf thing, especially because I don't picture John actually owning a scarf. I think if he ever needs one, he just takes one of Sherlock's back-up scarves.))

"John, I don't care a damn if you are related to idiots like Anderson, because I know you're not like them. Not at all."

"Which reminds me: Have you told them yet? About... us? That you're 'gay' all of a sudden? I suppose they know Harry is, so do they think it is a problem?"

Sherlock felt incredibly good after hearing John's loving words. He felt his cheeks glow and a smile breaking through. He also felt more than a little smug about the sex-compliment. It really had been mind-blowing.

Sometimes, he just needed to be reassured vocally. He envied him, because John could put emotions so well into words, a quality Sherlock didn't master. He loved the way John sometimes called him Lock and sometimes even let other nicknames slip. He loved the little moments John pressed his nose against Sherlock's ear while watching over his shoulder what Sherlock was working on. Sherlock wanted to let John know he did, though he didn't know how.

He pulled up his knees to his chest and tugged the covers over him. He felt himself blushing again. He knew he was an octopus in sleep and it was really nice to know that John missed that.

"Huh, I just wanted to say the same thing. I've been sleeping alone for ... thirty-three years, 5 months and 14 days. But now sleeping together seems the only logical option."

Sherlock paused. He wanted John to know that he missed John's chest to lie on. His steady heartbeat to listen to. His embrace under the covers. His fingers playing with his hair. Sherlock even missed the occasions that John kicked him out of bed after a nightmare. But he didn't know how to say it. He nervously played with John's dogtags while trying to find words. Eventually, he whispered.

"I miss you."

((Sensitive!Sherlock is the hardest to write >.< I think we should give Sherlock a lesson in saying lovely things, shouldn't we?))

((As for the coming out to the family, I actually have a scene planned for that, one that will hopefully take place with Sherlock on the phone. Also, I'm thinking that I might surprise Sherlock- though not you- by having John come home a day or two early because of coming out))

"No, it hasn't come up yet," John says, feeling guilty for some reason, "We spent most of the meal going over funeral arrangements."

If he's honest with himself, John knows why he feels guilty- because he could have brought it up, he just didn't feel like talking about it. There were actually a lot of his family members who wouldn't be ok with it. Harry had gotten absolute hell when she came out, that's why she refused to come to this. John didn't care what his idiotic relatives thought of his relationship, but he didn't want to listen to their poison words. So far the only people who knew about him and Sherlock were people who were supportive of them, and it made telling them a good thing, John wasn't eager to ruin that happy bubble.

John went all warm and fuzzy feeling at Sherlock's words, "now sleeping together seems the only logical option," he thought of all the things he missed right now- falling asleep to the sound of Sherlock playing violin out in the livingroom, feeling Sherlock slip into bed hours after he had gone to sleep and half waking as Sherlock curled around him, Sherlock's cold feet and cover-stealing habits, waking to find Sherlock staring at him with an impossible tender look on his face, waking to find Sherlock horny and already starting to kiss along his chest, the feeling of Sherlock burrowing his face into John's chest as he dreamed. He missed the way Sherlock would hold him after a nightmare and calmly talk about mundane things- the low voice soothing John, though normally this would be a long time after the nightmare, once John was calmed down to the point where he could be around people.

He could sense that Sherlock was thinking similar thoughts, trying to find words to say them, playing with the dogtags as he thought. He could picture how Sherlock looked, he had seen this so many times before and it always made his heart ache. He wanted to tell Sherlock that he didn't need to get frustrated trying to tell him, John knew what he was trying to say- he knew from the looks Sherlock gave him when they were just laying together in bed, Sherlock's head on his chest. He knew from the short kisses Sherlock would press to his cheek when he looked at something over Sherlock's shoulder. He knew from the small smile Sherlock didn't realize he made every time he called him Lock.

"I know. I know exactly what you mean, and I miss you too Lock, all of it, all of you," John mumbled, sleep making him less articulate than usual.

"As much as I want to keep talking Lock, I have to be up in 5 hours, and I didn't even get in until past midnight," John is so reluctant to hang up the phone, he doesn't want Sherlock to go away, "Sherlock, um...do you think...would you just talk about the case, just do that thing where you go through all your theories and observations out loud. I think...well, I want to hear your voice...so that it's a bit more like you're here with me. It will help me sleep better."

John turns the speaker phone on so he can lay it next to his pillow and listen to Sherlock as he falls asleep. He closes his eyes and is lulled by the steady sound of Sherlock's voice. At first he makes a few sleepy comments, and then just a sound here or there to show he is listening, and finally his breathing slows to a slow, steady pace as he drops off to sleep.

((Poor Sherlock, you don't have to say anything specific, your voice is so sexy you can just talk about anything and it's lovely))

((Fluffffffffffffffff <3 I love fluff!))
((Oh ok, I guess you can start with that scene then...?))

Oh he called him Lock again. Sherlock felt fuzzy and cuddly inside. The sad thing was that no one was there to cuddle with him, but that was forgiven by John's request which made Sherlock smile. He knew that they both were very responsive to vocal stimulation of any kind, so Sherlock began rambling about the case.

"But of course. A teacher is murdered on the campus. She was going home, when someone jumped her from behind, silenced her and dragged her inside. The perpetrator put her in the cabinet with the cleaning stuff and first raped her, then murdered her. The strange thing was that The room was locked from the inside and her boyfriend and boss, who have motives to murder her, both have iron alibis. You know how much I love iron alibis ánd locked rooms. So I went to the crime scene this morning to investigate and found out that she had an affair with the boss, which I assumed. So then I took a sample of-"

Sherlock paused when he noticed that John had obviously fallen asleep. Sherlock sighed and smiled at the dogtags.

"Goodnight, my John."

Sherlock slid the necklace attached to the dogtags over his head and ended the phonecall. He played a while with the dogtags while thinking the case over.

"Oh. OH!"

Rapidly, Sherlock got up and strolled to the living room. He got a sudden struck of insight, which opened doors to new perspectives and new motives. That was one of the biggest benefits of talking about his case to John. By saying his speculations out loud, he filtered the good and the ridiculous theories and got further on the case. The following two hours, he worked on the case, before deciding that he needed to visit the crime scene again. Unfortunately, it was around 5 o'clock, so that was unlucky. Instead, he picked up his violin and started playing.

By the time John was about to wake up, Sherlock stopped his activities and picked up his phone. He had thought about John all the time and it had been torturous not to have him here with him.

Text
To: John

Good morning, John -SH

((To be honest: I have no fucking idea who the killer would have been xDD I am so bad at making cases up :P))

((Oh my goodness, tell me about it. I always hate making up cases, I cannot think of what details would give clues.))
((Fluff is the best))

John is in the middle of shaving when his phone beeps. He smiles at the goodmorning text.

Text 1:
Goodmorning. You were in my dreams last night. We were working on a case and hiding in a closet. You got bored and had trouble keeping your hands to yourself. Somehow transitioned to Afghanistan- you pulled me out of the way of the bullet that would have hit my shoulder- you saved me. First time I've had the war in my dreams and not woken up screaming.

Sherlock was constantly on John's mind, no matter what he was doing, some part of his brain was thinking about Sherlock. This resulted in him randomly texting Sherlock, multiple times every day, about nothing important, just whenever something comes up that he feels like sharing.

Text 2:
I'd forgotten how interesting my uncle was, I wished I'd had the chance to get to know him better. You might have actually liked him.

Text 3:
Inherited cottage in Sussex Downs, supposedly for if I "ever decide that I'm to old to run around chasing criminals"

Text 4: You at home? I can't sleep. I really want to hear you play violin.

Text 5:
Family dinner- do you think Mycroft could create some national emergency that would prevent me from having to go to this?

Text 6:
I may have my own case here, wish me luck.

Text 7:
Just realized that I might have made you unfairly excited. This isn't even 3 on your scale, don't bother calling for details. The good news is, since it is so simple, I may actually be able to solve it.

Text 8:
I just solved a mystery- as in, I found someone's kid who had wandered off, but it's being treated as though I just solved a murder.

Text 9:
They actually wrote up the thing about the missing kid in the local paper...this is ridiculous, there clearly is not enough action around here if this is causing so much excitement. The kid wasn't even kidnapped, he just wandered off to go exploring and got lost. He was sitting in a barn playing with some kittens.

Text 10:
Did you wrap up your locked-door murder? I wish I was there for this one, it would make a good blog story, but I'm not going to have enough details to write it up.

Text 11:
Officially over halfway done with this trip!

Text 12:
I now understand why you find people so boring and frustrating. Stuck at a reception, think I'm losing my mind.

Text 13:
Contemplating the therapeutic benefits of banging one's forehead against a wall.

Text 14:
Ok, I can't take this anymore, being polite just isn't worth it. Walking outside onto the patio. Are you free to talk?

John calls up Sherlock.

"Thank God you were home, I swear I now get what you mean when you say you can feel your brain cells dying off. I think you've corrupted me, I can no longer talk to normal people."

Just then John spies a figure walking towards him- it's his least favorite cousin, Bertie.

"Oh shit, hold on, I'm going to attempt to hide from my cousin--

"Johnny!!!! My Johnny boy!! Little Cousin Johnny!!! Wha' you doing out here?"

"Oh, hey Bertie, yeah, didn't see you coming over. Look, I'm on the phone, so I can't really--"

"Little Johnny, never liked a party much, did choo?"

"Bertie, I'm a grown man, isn't that nickname growing a bit old?"

"Aww, don't be such a wanker, I meant it kindly. Never could take a joke, no you couldn't."

"Right, yes, I'm completely antisocial, thank you for making that so clear, now if you don't mind, I'm on the phone."

"Oo're you talkin to? 'Sit tha detective bloke you were all on about t'other day? You were talkin 'bout him a lot."

"Yes, it is him. You're clearly drunk, Bertie, you should go back inside."

Bertie instead comes closer and slings his arm around John's shoulders, attempting to look serious, despite his obvious inebriation.

"Johnny, Johnny, Johnny. This isn't healthy for you. I mean, you're getting on in years, it's time for you to stop this...playing detective, and get a real life. A man your age should be married and starting a family. You're still a bachelor, it's not natural. You're losing out on life. I mean, I understand that your time in the army took up a lot of your younger years, but now it's time to settle down again. You're lonely, I can tell. You have needs that aren't being fulfilled. This friend of yours...well I can tell you care for him, and having a mate like that is wonderful, but it seems like he's holding you back. You spend so much time with him, you can't have your own life. I think he's bad for you, Little Johnny. You might need to--"

"Stop it. Just, stop talking," John says harshly, pulling away from his cousin, "You have no idea what you're talking about. I am happy with the way my life is, this is the happiest I have ever been. I would not leave Baker Street, or change my relationship with Sherlock for the entire world. This 'unnatural' life style, as you call it, is what has made my life worth living since returning from Afghanistan. As for being lonely, you are right there, I have been feeling lonely because I miss Sherlock, and I've been counting down the hours until I can go home to him."

"'Go home to him'? What's that supposed to mean, you're talking about him like you're together, like your gay for him."

It's apparently time to come out to his family, because there's no way he's just going to let that comment go unanswered.

"That's because I am. We've been dating for about a month now, but we've been...together without realizing the depth of our feelings, for over a year. Like I said, I've never been happier."

Bertie looks at John with disgust and disbelief.

"You? You're a faggot? You can't be, you were always so...normal and good, you couldn't do something so...unnatural. It's sick, how could you live like that?! That's not how humans are supposed to be, it's just not right! What, did your head get messed up in the war? Is this from trauma? Did something happen so you couldn't give sex, so you couldn't keep a girl? I'm sure, whatever it is, we can get you help Johnny, we can fix you. Look, I know some really nice girls, they're all looking for a husband. You could live nearby so we could keep an eye on you, make sure you stay on the right path."

John actually starts laughing, bitterly, at what he's hearing.

"Do you even hear what you're saying? I mean, do you realize how ignorant you sound? This is...Not to mention that you have the gall to lecture me on a proper relationship, while you're actively cheating on your wife!"

"I am not! What are you saying?!"

"Yes, you are, it's so obvious, you're not even trying to hide it! You slept with whoever the woman is Saturday night, and then didn't even bother to change your shirt before coming to church on Sunday! There was a lipstick stain on the collar of your shirt, it was a plum color. Your wife has incredibly light skin and will only wear shades of pink. Not only that, but standing next to you, the scent of Chanel No. 5 perfume was all over your clothes, but your wife has only ever worn a light jasmine scented perfume, as she was wearing that day. Your trousers were wrinkled, and you did a shoddy job shaving- obviously, you had spent the night with your mistress."

"Freak! You're a freak, you have no right to know that! You and your freak boyfriend, no sense of decency, fucking each other like animals and then sticking your noses into decent people's private business!!!"

John punches his cousin in the face.

"Bastard. Sherlock, hold on for just one more minute."

John walks back into the reception hall, goes up to the stage, and grabs the microphone.

"Is this on, oh seems like it. Right, excuse me everyone, sorry about interrupting your evening. I just have one announcement to make. Umm, yeah, I am in a romantic relationship with another man, my dear friend, Sherlock Holmes, who I believe you all know about. I expect the relationship to be long-term, ideally for the rest of my life. So, that's all. Oh, actually, one last thing- Edith, where are you? Oh, um, your husband might have a broken nose. Also, he's a complete asshole and you should file for a divorce, you're far too good for him. Thank you for your time, and have a pleasant evening."

John walks down off the stage and leaves the hall. He decides to walk back to his hotel room. A block into the walk he suddenly stops.

"Shit. I actually just did all that- punching my cousin and making that bloody speech, didn't I? God, what was I thinking, talk about worst possible way to tell my family..." John starts laughing, a tad hysterically, "I guess I gave them some entertainment at least, and this does have the benefit of me only having to say it once."

John sighs, "You were right, I am an idiot."

((Ok, so that was it. I pretty much just wanted John to get pissed, punch one of his asshole relatives, and then make a huge announcement. Comic relief and all that. I will say my one problem is that I have no idea of when this should be taking place, how many days John's been here...maybe around day 6?))

((Ah...also, I apologize about the length...that kind of got out of hand...))

((O.O))
((looooooooooooooooong post))
((I'm going to sleep now, but just a quick question: Sherlock hears all the dialogue with Bertie, yeah?))

((Again, sorry about that...))
((Yes, that was the assumption. I did want Sherlock to hear John's reactions. In my mind, this is John dealing with the last of the "I'm not gay" feelings, it seems like something Sherlock should witness))
((Hmm, looking back on this, I should have split up the texts and the coming out talk into two separate posts. Oh well, can't change it now.))

((Oh, I honestly don't care about the length! It's just that I don't write that long stuff, y'know. And, well: it was a scene only you could write, so yeah. Suppose the length suited it.))

Whatever Sherlock was doing, whatever the circumstances were or whoever was in the room, Sherlock eagerly grabbed his phone when he heard his phone chime. He had personified his ringtone for John, so that what had happened on the first day, wouldn’t occur any more.

Text 1:
Did a second investigation at the crime scene. Five different ideas, one more likely than the other.

Text 2:
Maybe two ideas.

Text 3:
Cracked the nut. The boss ánd the boyfriend killed her. They appear to be gay. You would have loved this case.

Text 4:
I miss you.

Text 5:
Bored.

Text 6:
Bored. boredboredboredboredbored B.O.R.E.D.

Text 7:
Holding myself in to not shoot the wall.

Text 8:
It's smiling at me, I can’t resist.

Text 9:
Halfway through. 120 hours to go. Still no case. Bored as hell. I shoot the wall on a regular basis now. Don’t know how I am able to survive otherwise. I miss you.

Text 10:
Dreamed about you. Were in Mycroft’s office. He was away. We used his desk for an excellent blowjob. Woke up hard. Image attached

The thought that the image maybe gone too far didn’t pop up in Sherlock’s mind. With a few strokes, he got rid of it again, but felt no real pleasure in the release. He needed John for that feeling.

Text 11:
I’m on FIRE!

He actually got a new case. It was an 8, not that difficult, but interesting enough to entertain him. Sherlock counted the hours by now. He felt an emotional and of course physical desire for John. But the maddening thing was that he was not here. And wouldn’t be for 4 days. FOUR DAYS.

Text 12:
I'm sure banging one’s head does have a therapeutic effect.

Text 13:
I’m going mad. Come back now. Or I’ll get a plane.

That was when John phoned him. He was sitting in his armchair, picking at the strings of his violin. Sherlock eagerly accepted the call.

Sherlock laughed at John’s comment. They seemed to adapt qualities of each other.

Sherlock listened carefully at the dialogue that was happening and felt anger rising in his chest. He very rapidly developed a very thorough hate for this Bertie. But Sherlock was also flattered by John’s defence and the fact that he had talked about him a lot and also counted the hours, made him feel fuzzy and cuddly.

Sherlock’s anger transformed into fury when Bertie offered to ‘cure’ John.

“Punch him, John. Punch him in the face, he deserves it. PUNCH HIM! Punch that asshole!”

Sherlock got up in a rush of anger, grabbed the pistol and shot the wall with a loud BANG. Ha, that helped. That helped a lot.

Sherlock wished he had been there to stand beside John who had to go through this alone and to see John in his fury, which he imagined, would look really sexy. AND of course to watch him deduce. Sherlock didn’t doubt him being wrong. Of course he didn’t see the man, but all the things John said made sense.

And Damn, that sounded hot. Did John also feel like this every time Sherlock deduced? It must be unbearable.

Then the speech. Sherlock had to giggle because of its bluntness, though he felt bad for John that he had to go through this alone. Sherlock admired John’s bravery. For what he had heard from John, coming out for such a stupid family wasn’t an easy job.

“That... was amazing.” Sherlock commented, smiling.

Sherlock recalled their talk on their unofficial first date. Apparently John did so too.

“Do you think so?”

“Of course it was. It was extraordinary. Quite extraordinary.”

Sherlock smiled broadly, but heard a sombre laugh at the other side.

“Hey, are you alright? I desperately want to be there to kiss you senseless in order to explain how proud I am of you.” Sherlock admitted seriously and honestly.

((Ok, that moment when I realize I may think too much in character- had the instinct to yell at you for ruining the walls of the flat))

John was shaking, though he couldn't identify what the cause of his nerves were, he took a few deep breaths to calm down.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Glad I got that over with. Thank you for saying that, I can't wait for Friday to come around so I can get that kiss from you."

Just then someone came running over to John and grabbed him in a hug.

"Wha!! Oh, hi Lily, what was that for?" John asks, shocked.

"I just, wanted to let you know that I'm really happy for you, and that was an incredibly brave thing you did back there. I'm sure you'll probably get a lot of shit for this, but just know that I support you, and if you ever need to talk, well give me a call. I read a bit of your blog, and it's clear you adore Sherlock, and he sounds like a wonderful man. In fact, I'd love to meet him one day, if you ever felt like it. Also, thank you so much for punching Bertie. Honestly, in church the other day, I was praying for someone to do that."

"You were in church praying that someone would punch your cousin?"

"It's a fairly common prayer for me."

John laughs and gives Lily a hug, "You're fantastic. Thank you so much. We should meet for breakfast tomorrow, I don't think I've talked to you since we were both in uni."

"Sounds great, I'll meet you at 9:30."

John returns to his conversation with Sherlock in a much better mood.

"Ok, Sherlock we need to have a talk about our walls..."

As John talks with Sherlock, he feels that there is no way he'll last four more days here. He thinks over the business he has left to attend to- he could actually wrap it all up tomorrow. John uses the hotel computer and looks at flights. He finds one for Wednesday morning, he'd be home by lunchtime the day after tomorrow, Sherlock would be so happy- he could surprise him. John changes his flight tickets, a sudden joy sweeping through him. He goes back upstairs to his room, still grinning at the idea of coming home early. Sherlock is going on about his case- John interrupts him, his voice pitched low.

"So Sherlock, I was wanting to tell you about the dream I had the other night, the one where you initiated some very unprofessional behavior at a stake-out. Do you want to hear about it?"

((Yay for the anticipation of reunion fluff!!!))

((SUPER MUCH YAY!))
((I'm going to be very short in this post, as you are the one about to talk))

Sherlock was glad John got a decent person in his family who supported them. There was only so much that John could bear.

They had a pleasantly familiar argument about the wall, when John asked him about the case. He was rambling about, explaining the finest details while pacing to and fro the couch and deciding not to flop on it, but the bed instead. The bed was awfully empty, but at least he was on the phone with John.

John made some noises to let Sherlock know he was still listening while Sherlock talked and talked and talked. But then he was interrupted by John, whose voice was seductively dark. Sherlock felt the familiar chill of arousal overwhelming him. God, it had been too long since John spoke to him like that.

"Oh, yes please."

John drew in a breath when he heard how low Sherlock’s voice was in response to his. He lay down on the bed and took a moment to pull together the narrative he wanted.

“At first I didn’t know what was going on. It was dark, and I could feel that I was in a small space. The air was warm, and a tad stuffy. I made to move, but an arm wrapped around me from behind, another over my mouth. I panicked, but suddenly you whispered in my ear, telling me not to give away our position. That calmed me down enough to take in more of my surroundings- we were clearly in a closet, there was a slip of light in front of me from the door. The closet was so small that you were completely pressed up behind me. Despite the fact that I was no longer panicking, you kept your arm around me. You began to untuck my shirt from my trousers. You slipped your hand under my shirt and started stroking slowly up and down my chest.”

John’s breath was speeding up, making it slightly harder to for him to speak smoothly. He untucked his own shirt and started mimicking the actions he was narrating.

“I pulled your hand off my mouth, tilted my head back and tried to press kisses to your neck.”

John decided to change the game a bit, so Sherlock could be more involved, he dropped his voice down to a whisper.

“Oh, God, Sherlock—are you sure this is the best time? The suspect could be here any moment, this is dangerous.”

((Oh God. hottttt))

Sherlock listened with closed eyes to John's narrative. He could imagine the scene John was describing and found himself lost in the story. On the other hand, he felt rather ridiculous. He knew they were about to having phone sex, but he didn't care. In these circumstances, it was the best they had. Plus: it was a nice moment to experiment with.

That way that John said his name should be illegal. It was too damn stimulating.

Sherlock saw what John was trying to do and played along

"Shhhh, if you don't keep quiet, it will be dangerous." Sherlock whispered low. He quickly thought about how he would continue, as it seemed it was his turn now. This was all getting rather excited. Sherlock was already enjoying himself.

"I was well aware of the surroundings. I was the one that locked us there in the first place. It was a closet, one that was not built for standing in. I just fit in when I stand. It's no problem for you, though now we are pressed extremely close together. I let my hand wander first up your chest, then down, feeling your muscles and navel with my cold fingers. You succeed in turning so far that you can kiss along my neck. The only thing you can reach with your hands are my thighs, which you first stroke on the outside then slowly to the insides. Still well aware of the danger, I tease your waistband, like I always do. You know that way, the way that makes you go insane. The way I slowly push your pants and trousers down until I reach a certain patch of hair."

Sherlock was out of breath now and had to swallow hard. He had pronounced the last words very clearly and with pauses between every word. He himself was trembling now and suddenly was aware that he had been roaming his hands over his own body while he was speaking. He could only think of John and wondered what he was feeling and doing right now. He continued, speaking quicker than before.

"But then, footsteps and a shadow that breaks the strip of light that creeps under the door. I put my hand on your mouth again to prevent you of speaking, but unfortunately, you found my crotch with your hands right at that bloody moment. I have to bite in the cloth of your jacket to muffle my groan."

At this, Sherlock really needed to bury his head in the pillow and groan. He was also feeling himself through his pyjama pants, through which his member expressing interest in the proceedings. The phone sex so far was better than he had estimated.

John is panting hard, and lets out a soft groan of his own when he hears Sherlock.

"I open my mouth and lick at your fingers, sucking them into my mouth and swirling my tongue around them."

"Do you remember when I did that the other week? When I had you help me make a cake for Mrs. Hudson? You kept dipping your fingers into the batter, and were making a mess all over. Do you remember how I caught you sneaking a taste of that sweet batter, after I had told you no? Do you remember what it felt like, when I took your wrist and sucked the batter off myself, all the time walking you back until you were trapped against the table? Can you feel my tongue, wrapping around your fingers, working in between them, my lips sucking the whole time- then pulling off and just kissing the very tips."

"I'm doing that again now, and at the same time pressing back into you, making sure we aren't seen by the other person in the room. You apparently find the situation unfair, because you slide your hand down and firmly cup around my cock."

"Ah!!!" John gasps out, arching his hips up off the bed as his fingers make contact with his cock in his pants. He hisses in a breath before continuing to speak.

"Your hands are so bloody cold, and the temperature difference makes me shiver. The person out in the room, their phone rings, they leave. You somehow find a way to turn us and press me against the back of the closet, crowding into me until there isn't a centimeter of space between us. I start to open your belt."

"What was that about keeping quiet? Seems like you're going to have more trouble with that than me. Why did you even choose this place for us to hide? You don't seem to be paying any attention to what's going on outside."

John has kept his hand in his pants, and is slowly stroking his fingers up and down his shaft- he isn't pumping, not yet, Sherlock likes to tease. However, he knows that Sherlock would pay him back for the comment about making noise, and his hand tightens a bit and gives a fast stroke, like Sherlock when he's playing mean.

"Oh," John whimpers, "Not fair you bastard!"

"Yes, John... Hnnnngggggg- John, yes."

Sherlock couldn't hold himself back when John recalled the sexiness of licking one's fingers. He recalled the feeling of the strong sucking and the soft tongue swirling around his fingers. It felt like John was practically giving his fingers a blowjob. Unf.

Sherlock hisses because of John's moans and his very vivid description of their imaginative occupations.

"I tease you with feathery touching, focussing on your tip. I decide to punish you for your cheeky remark and silence you by kissing you roughly. A clash of lips, nips of teeth and a lot of sucking at tongues and lips. You know how that feels, don't you? When the adrenaline rushes through your veins and you feel danger near and you feel that there is no time to do things slow. You grind up in my hand. I teased you before, but I now firmly grip you and give a few firm strokes to emphasize your punishment. You open my belt with a clang and I soon feel your warm fingers against my chest, searching for my nipples."

Sherlock needed to gasp for breath then. He found one of his hands under his shirt and one on his pyjama pants, mimicking the described movements.

"I grip your base and balls while we share open mouthed kisses. My other hand is on the wall behind you to support myself. I'd love to kneel down and give you a blowjob, but there's just no space."

"Shhhhhh! They might come back...Ah!-"

"You grab my crotch as a reply to my comment. It's a case of the pot calling the kettle black. We both can't keep quiet."

Sherlock finally touched himself. He forgot that he at first thought that this was very silly. Of course he wanted John to be with him and make this fantasy come true. But then again: it was better than nothing.

John swears that he’s getting an adrenaline rush just from imagining this situation- he doesn’t need to try and pretend to feel the chemical’s effect on his body, it’s happening now.

“I come up to one of your nipples with my fingers and twist it harshly, harder than I normally do- it hurts at first, but the shock of pleasure that should follow after will amaze you. I pinch the other one, though what I really want is suck on it. Instead, I suck on your lips, pinching the nipple in the same pattern.”

“I know I should be worried about the possible threat of the people outside, but that only serves to add to the excitement. The wardrobe is so small that the scent of both of us is almost stifling, it makes the space seem almost smaller and it’s like you’re surrounding me from all sides. You’re all I can focus on, you take up my whole world.”

“We both start stroking faster, I’m adding in that little twist I know you love, right at the end of the stroke. We’re leaning together because of the small space. I can feel you panting down the back of my neck, it makes all the hairs on my neck stand up with sensitivity. I’m leaning right against your chest, right on level with where you start buttoning up your shirt. My nose rubs in on your bare skin. We’re so close together that our hands brush against each other as we pump.”

John stops talking for a few second and just focuses on pumping himself. He is gasping and groaning, and if he were not so close to orgasm, he would feel ridiculous doing this.

“I’m so close, I’m so close…this, oh, you’re so amazing, I- OH—mfff,” John shoves his fist in his mouth to muffle his screams, not wanting the whole hotel to hear him.

He lays on the bed, panting and feeling like limp spaghetti.

“Wow…I can’t believe we just did that…I’ve never…I always thought that seemed idiotic, that it would end up turning me off, but that…that was actually surprisingly sexy. Also has the benefit that we are now not faced with the problem of trying to chase down criminals. I think all my bones have liquefied, there’s no way I could stand, not to even think of running.”

“Oh, god I needed that. This is pathetic; I cannot believe I was so desperate after only six days away from you. Oh well, I’m really far too happy to care.”

All Sherlock could do was grunt and groan as he touched himself, guided by John's narrative. It had been a long time since John had talked like this to Sherlock. He imagined every word John said. He didn't need to imagine, he knew how everything felt and it was maddening that he had to miss it.

"Me toohooo-" His voice skipped an octave or two. "Uhnff... grroah John!"

He screamed John's name as he came. God damn, he wanted this to be happening in real life so bad. All the frustration of last week lay in the way he groaned his lover's name. He hoped John would pick up on that. It was one of the few ways Sherlock translated sentences such as 'I need you.'.

Sherlock rode out his orgasm, laying on the covers of his bed. He panted himself into relaxation and relaxed every muscle.

"Huh, yes, I shared that thought too. I expected myself to be turned off too and to feel a complete imbecile doing this, but this... this" Sherlock emphasized. "This was surprisingly stimulating. I'll have to make a note of it."

The sexual frustration of last week didn't fade. On the contrary: it only got bigger. He was happy that he and John shared some intimacy this way, but when the euphoric feeling of the orgasm had worn out, the loss seemed even bigger than before. He expected to feel better after this, but his desire had only increased, which is illogical and the main reason why he despised feelings. He moaned out of frustration.

"I wish you were here. The following four days will be torment."

((You can start at the reunion. It seemed illogical for me to write that first, because yeah... It's a surprise for dear Sherlock! I didn't feel like writing much sexy feelings for Sherly, I'm sorry for that :x))

((Don't worry about it, it actually makes sense that Sherlock would just feel more annoyed. I'm more than happy to start the reunion. I've been writing an essay all day, so happy writing sounds wonderful))

John couldn't help the small grin that took over his face when Sherlock complained about his absence. He knew how miserable Sherlock was, and he felt horrible for that, but he would be home early, and Sherlock would be so happy.

The next day he wrapped up the last of his business with his uncle's will, and said goodbye to the few relatives that would speak to him (the rest avoided John like they learned he was a carrier of the plague).

Wednesday morning comes, and John is grinning the second his alarm goes off. He actually hops out of bed and is humming cheerfully as he gets dressed. He grabs his suitcase- already packed- and goes out the door. He sends a text to Sherlock telling him that he won't be able to reply to texts for the next few hours. He feels a little bad, he's barely had any communication with Sherlock since the other night. Still though, it will be worth it once he gets home.

The flight feels like it takes forever he is so anxious to arrive in London. He has to hold himself back from telling the cabby to go above the speed limit on the drive to Baker Street. When they're about a block away, John texts Sherlock.

Text 1:

Thinking of you, what are up to right now?

Reply 1:

Bored. Nothing to do. The wall is taunting me.


[i]Good, he's at home[/i] John thinks to himself. He sends off one more quick text telling Sherlock to leave their poor wall alone- they really can't afford to have it repaired again.

The cab pulls up at Baker Street and John is rushing out, nearly forgetting his suitcase. He opens the door, but then tiptoes up the stairs, skipping the squeaky fifth step, so that Sherlock won't hear him. He sets his bag down out of the way in the hall, then tries the handle- unlocked, perfect.

((Tackle hug!!!! I just realized how pathetic I am- any time I have John leave on a trip in a story, I always end up feeling guilty and bringing him home (to Sherlock) early. ))

(( YAY for cute tackle hugs! But erhm... how am I going to say this nice... Eh, I actually had an other vision of the reunion in my mind. I will write it and if you don’t like it, then ignore it, but yeah, I really wanted it to be written.))

Sherlock threw his phone onto his armchair with a crooked smile. Of course John would say he should leave the wall alone. Just this time, Sherlock held himself back from picking up the gun and picked up his violin instead. He settled it under his chin and started playing.

Sherlock had been composing. John’s absence was the main inspiration for his newly composed tunes. He had made a few, yes. Every day he had made a new melody. It was his way of translating his feelings.

The first day’s theme was uncertainty and panic. Unsure what would happen, how he was going to survive this was translated into plucking irregularly at strings, careful strokes of his bow at the middle-tones. The panic was braided in the rest with strong, long notes.

The second day’s theme was unrest. Sherlock had not been able to sit still, he was always fidgeting about. That was the day he had gotten the case. The tune’s notes varied from high to low in an incredible high speed.

The third day’s theme was just thinking. He had to think, so it had been the usual plucking at strings.

The fourth day’s theme was mellow. His want for John had been clouded with the cases’ puzzles. He hadn't spent much time alone to put a lot of thought in composing.

The fifth day’s theme was anger and frustration. He still hadn’t solved the case because all he could think about was John. He thought he was going mad of (sexual) frustration. He was angry because he couldn’t do anything about it. Aggressive strokes at both low and high strings. He almost murdered the horse hairs of his bow. It was lucky to be still alive.

The sixth day’s theme was sadness. He had composed this after their little phonesexing session. He had missed John even more than before. It was drowned in despair and want. The tune was even sadder than Irene’s theme.

The seventh day’s theme was impatience. Sherlock was getting really tired of waiting. He had solved the case and had nothing to do, but nervously plucking at the strings and make mashups of the themes of stupid tv-shows to pass the time.

The eighth day, this very day, he was working on a mellow, jazzy, though longing theme. He had seen that he just had to wait two more days, which wasn’t that bad if you count that he had survived eight. The tune was drenched in loning and it was jazz-like, perfect for sexy-times.

In every tune, Sherlock had woven John’s theme. He had composed John’s theme in the first week they had moved in together, though he had changed it millions of times by now. But essentially, it was always the same.

He had completed the tune for this day and was playing it through. He closed his eyes while swaying alone through the living room. The music was all he heard, it surrounded everything around him, corrupted all his senses. He imagined what it would be like to sway with John on this tune, or to make slow, romantic love to him on the couch.

This train of thought was rudely interrupted when he felt was a hand on his shoulder. Sherlock cried out and immediately opened his eyes wide of shock. He almost gave the person a blow with his bow. When he turned around to face the intruder, who had shocked him almost to death. Was it an enemy of the Black Lotus, or could it be a sniper from an other enemy?

Instead, Sherlock saw John, smiling broadly, which confused Sherlock for a moment.

Shock, surprise, confusion, relief, but mostly bliss struck him in his tracks.

When the information hit his brain, Sherlock threw his violin on his armchair, next to his phone and tackled John in a hug. Sherlock pressed himself tightly against him. There was no mistake possible. He looked like John, he smelled like John, he felt like John... He really was here. He was back!

Sherlock felt relieved, so relieved. John’s happiness was written all over his face. Sherlock believed that he had never been so beautiful as now. Sherlock cupped his cheek when he felt John’s fingers softly stroking his cheekbones. Sherlock smiled like he had never smiled before and they simultaneously reached in for a kiss.

God, he had missed John so badly. He realised when their lips met after eight terribly long, long days without it. Butterflies were running through his guts. It was so good to feel like this again, Sherlock realised. No, not gopd. It felt Brilliant.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s waist and pressed him against his chest again. Without thinking about what the consequences might be for his back, Sherlock lifted John up and spun around his axis. He had to break the kiss because he started laughing of happiness. At last, he put John down and pulled back to face him.

“You have no idea of how much I’ve missed you.” Sherlock said, still smiling brightly. He felt like he was glowing and John was glowing too. Sherlock stroked the line of John’s hair, down to his ear and neck before cupping it and pulling him in for another, now hungry, kiss.

It really felt like they had to make up for the missed kisses over the past week. The light kisses in bypassing, the flavoured kisses at breakfast, the stolen kisses on the couch, the hungry kisses that came out of nowhere, but almost always ended in the bedroom, the chaste kisses at crime scenes, the tender kisses on the morning after... they all had to be made up for and they both had no objection against doing exactly that.

Somehow, they landed on the couch together. Of course Sherlock wanted to jump John into intimacy, but he first felt like just holding John, making sure this was not a dream. They settled in a comfortable position, sitting very close together. He clutched at him, almost afraid that John would leave again.

Then they just looked at each other for a while, bliss beaming of their faces. Sherlock couldn’t express his happiness, his love into words and instead kissed John very tenderly on his lips, hoping John would understand.

((Well, this was my vision on the reunion... Hope you like sweet, sensible Sherly))