Interruptions (John/Sherlock)

((Awww, that was sweet though, in a sad way. Glad you liked the crack))

John was stabbed with a sad feeling, hearing how Sherlock had ended up interpreting the action in the dream- possibly their last time, done in Afghanistan? That sounded more like something he would come up with in his mind, that hadn't been how he had wanted to make Sherlock feel. Like a movie, the idea quickly played out in John's mind- John met Sherlock, who knows why he was there, probably an intelligence officer, there are weeks of bumping into each other, long glances, accidental innuendos. Something sets them off, perhaps Sherlock is mildly injured and John does the treatment- a kiss in the medical tent, sneaking somewhere private to take things further, months of clandestine, stolen kisses and moments. Then, the scene from the dream, moving into more dangerous territory, knowledge of one of them possibly not surviving the next 24 hours, that terrified, desperate battlefield sex that John knew so well, fucking just to remind yourself that you're sill alive. Maybe it was sweet, maybe they carved away a little private world, just for the hour, a paradise with each other, but even that would be tainted with the knowledge of having to go back into the fight.

That wouldn't do.

"Yeah, you can, but I want to rewrite your dream. No last times allowed. We just got engaged, we're going to be married, this is our beginning."

John wraps himself around Sherlock, kissing along his jaw.

"It's early morning, I'm in my tent. The sun has just risen high enough to start beating down, and the desert heat is starting to creep back into the air."

"I'm pulling on a fresh pair of trousers, my shirt off, when I hear someone step into my tent. I turn, about to yell, when the sight before me makes me freeze. It's you.”

“You’re an intelligence officer, and you’ve fascinated me since the first day camp was set up. I had a tendency to stare at you, too intimidated to actually approach you and talk to you, but you always seemed to be around, and I watched. I watched and observed, and even though we had never spoken, I felt as if I knew you better than I knew anyone else in the troop. One evening I see you stumbling on the edge of the camp- something has seemed wrong with you all day. I approach you, and see that your skin is flushed and your eyes look feverish. I drag you to my tent and strip off your shirt. You’re hurt, the wound is actually a few days old, not bad, but you’ve let it get infected. The infection is spreading, and needs to be treated. I clean the wound, and give you antibiotics to counteract the infection. I then stay up the night, watching over you, wiping your face down with a wet cloth when you get too hot with the fever. By the morning, the fever has broken and you’re back to normal. You thank me, and I give you some medicine to take to make sure the infection doesn’t return.”

“After that day, I see you watching me. Suddenly, I find myself getting extra rations every now and again, and my name ends up higher on the list for nights off. I work up the courage to sit with you at a meal, and we start to talk. We hardly have anything in common, but speaking to you is the most natural-feeling thing in the world. Instead of playing poker at night with the other med guys, I sit with you on the edge of camp, just talking in the quiet desert. After a few months, we finally kiss. Things pick up on our front, and we don’t get peaceful nights together anymore, just stolen moments.”

“A new deploy comes in. You get your release, you’ll be going back to London.”

John stops for a moment, the next part of this is true, and it still hurts him to think of it. If it hadn’t happened, if he had left in that deployment, he would not have gone on the mission that resulted in him being shot.

“I was supposed to be leaving too, but instead I get the notice that my service is being extended another 4 months. We’re both heartbroken. We had planned to return to London together and buy a flat. It’s strange, we’re not properly boyfriends, but I can’t imagine staying in the war without you. Watching you leave on the plane is the hardest thing I have to do.”

“Now though, inexplicably, you’re back. You’re standing in my tent. Except you’re not in the doorway anymore, no, now you’re right in front of me, pressed against me, holding me in your arms. You’re whispering something in my ears, and I can’t catch it at first, but I realize you’re telling me that you talked to your brother and worked out my release. I’m coming home the next day, right before we go into the worst area of fighting. Every man in the camp was dreading it, wishing they could get out- estimated survival rates were low enough that some men had run away, snuck out in the night. You were pulling me out right before we went in, most likely saving my life.”

“You help me pack up my bags, and we get lunch. After that, you take me out in a jeep. We drive into secure territory, places not destroyed by fighting. I can hardly believe my eyes. We stop at an inn, the place you’re staying. It’s small, the room only has one bed. It’s hot, but a breeze is coming in through the window.”

Now that the scene is properly set, a good dream, John lays back on the bed and looks at Sherlock

John looks over at Sherlock.

“That is your new dream. You have managed to save me and get me out of hell. We’re going to go home and live together. You haven’t seen me in months, and we’re finally reunited. I just said thank you,” John gestures to Sherlock’s cock, “to you. Now, how about you show me how much you’ve missed me these past few months?”

((Hmmm, that did not at all take the direction I was expecting. Sort of just ran out of my control. I think I like it though.))

((It is brilliant, very graphic, I loved it!))

Sherlock absent-mindedly stroked John's hair while listening. Sherlock closed his eyes. John's story is very graphic and summons images in his imagination. He can very well imagine the scenarios. The fysical pain of the injury, the relief of John who had helped him, the curiosity and fascination for John, the long nights talking, not daring to steal a kiss, their first kiss, his grievance of their parting, the despair of the knowledge that John was in that wararea and the loning. The perpetual longing that would not be satisfied until he knew John was safe. His imagination was so vivid, that it almost actually hurt.

When John mentioned the deployshift, Sherlock opened his eyes again. John looked sad. Apparently this had really happened to him when he had been in Afghanistan. It was probably the deploy that would have prevented him from being shot. How much Sherlock felt ill for the fysical pain John had to undergo when he was shot, he was secretly happy that that had happened. If John had not been shot, they probably would have never met.

The scene was clear in Sherlock's mind. They'd probably have never felt the real liberty of making out, only the stolen quick moments. But now, in the fantasy, they'd have all the time of the world. The loning in Sherlock grew more fiercely. Finally, finally he could make love to John without interruptions, without the fear they both might die. After months of fear and uncertainty (which Sherlock could not imagine. The 8 days of John's absence had been torturous), he'd finally make love to John.

"Are you sure you want to keep this dream? Because, if so, if I had to miss you for months, not knowing you are in danger: I am totally going to devour you."

Sherlock could guess the answer to that.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's waist and flipped them around with a growl. He knelt over John with both shins next to John's thighs. He felt the languish wash over him as he kissed John passionately. Sherlock rolled his hips down on John and induced a moan. Sherlock let John's lips go and started to trail along his jawline and neck further down. He let his hands wonder over John's chest, stroking lightly over the clothed skin.

With one hand he lifted the small of John's back to push him closer to Sherlock. With the other, he entwined their fingers again. It was not only physical want Sherlock imagined. It was also the emotional missing of John, which he wanted to portray through that simple gesture.

((I don't like writing smut alone really, though the pace is quicker if one only one person writes it))

((No, it doesn't work as well alone since there are two people involved in it in real life))

John shivers at Sherlock's words.

"Oh God, yes, please," he whispers, as Sherlock is already flipping him over.

He had been entranced watching Sherlock's face while he told his story- the emotions that passed across it were all so raw, it seemed like Sherlock was feeling everything like it had actually happened. Now he could feel the emotions even more- the feeling of finally being able to do this, to be together this way. It was a bit odd, imagining having a different history with Sherlock, almost being a different person, but the strangeness felt like part of what made up the allurement of situation.

John allows the idea wash completely over him- Spending months with Sherlock, but never getting to really be with him, only getting stolen moments. The idea of the months alone, after finally finding someone he really connected with, losing that. The joy and excitement, and relief he would feel about Sherlock coming back. The thrill of finally being able to have real time alone with Sherlock. The bit of worry that things might not work out when they weren't on the battlefield.

John pulls his legs out from between Sherlock's and wraps them around Sherlock's thighs, pulling him closer.

"Finally," he breathes out.

"Do it. Devour me, make me yours all over again. Given the situation, I would want nothing more than to forget about the war and be able to think of nothing but you. It would have been months for me without any sort of affectionate human contact. I'm touch-starved, I'll be extra-sensitive...you can completely break me apart and put me back together again."

John remembers it, the months alone without any sort of release other than his own hand, eventually just giving up on even that because when he closed his eyes all he could think of was death. Wishing for any sort of comfort, any warm body up against his own. He remembered, and all the sensitivity he had from that time came back to him and he gasped as his nerve endings seemed to light up with fire and he pushed himself even more firmly into Sherlock.

"Oh God, please, please, move, do something" John begged breathlessly.

At first Sherlock thinks it's weird what John says. Were they doing a roleplay? This was kind of weird to grasp for Sherlock, but when he sees the emotion on John's face, he understands. He sees the memories ghost over John's features. The primal need for intimacy, being close to someone instead of fearing the future of your own life. It was quite beautiful.

"I will." Sherlock breathed raggedly. "I will be the first man to kiss you and to have you close. I will build your arousal up until you feel like bursting."

Sherlock swallowed and felt his own arousal building again when he heard John beg for him in such a sweet, whimpering voice. He had orgasmed just a few minutes ago, but hearing John talk like this had an amazing effect on his libido. He gasped and grinded down his hips with force. They both groaned.

But it was clearly not enough for John. Sherlock hurriedly untangles his fingers from John's and scoots them down between their legs. He cups John's hardening cock for a few moments. Then, as John is still signalling for more closeness, he grips the hem of John's shirt and pulls it over John's head. His own followed quickly to the floor. Then, they were reunited again, chest against chest, lips against lips. They shared a heated, needy, open-mouthed snog as John leaned up for Sherlock's grinding.

With one hand, Sherlock works on John's cock and with the other, he strokes over John's chest. He separates his lips from John's to give a lovebite on that sensitive spot in John's neck. He then worked down to give his nipples a good treatment. He sucked, licked and nipped carefully at both nipples. Apparently, he was doing a good job because John let out a series of delicious moans.

Sherlock thinks about what to do next. John wants intimacy and closeness. So it is not necessarily about getting off. Sherlock makes his decision and lowers his kisses to below John's navel. He kisses John's lips again while pulling his pyjama pants down. Then, he lowers his head again and takes John in in one go. He tries to give him the pleasure of going deep first before focussing on the more delicate swirls over the tip. He feels John's fingers entwining in with his hair and tugging it until it almost becomes painful. Almost.

((Didn't know how to end it u,u))

Finally they were laying bare against each other, and then Sherlock was moving down and taking him all they way into his mouth in one go, making John cry out and arch his back. Then he was licking and swirling his tongue, paying an amazing about of attention to every bit of John, making him feel treasured.

Words suddenly start pouring out of John without his control, and he's practically making his wedding vow to Sherlock right here in their bed. The things he is promising covers the feelings he would want to convey, and perhaps more truthfully since he is not in public. He feels like his heart is spilling out so rapidly that one word is coming right on top of the other and he can't even be sure Sherlock is following it.

"Oh God, Sherlock I love you. I love you, and I am going to marry you. I am going to wake up every morning either in bed with you, or listening to the sound of you working on an experiment in the kitchen. I am going to fall asleep every night with a kiss from you as the last thing to touch my lips. Every time you get a cut, or something changes about your body, I will use it as an excuse to completely re-memorize every centimeter of your skin, because I want to know your body better than I know my own. I am going to fight with you, because we will always end up infuriating each other, and then I will apologize and make up for every harsh word with thousands of kisses because I adore you and can never stay mad at you, nor would I ever want to. I am going to find more ways to make you laugh, because I love the sound of your laugh and the way your eyes light up. I am going to hold you close on cold nights, because the feeling of you in my arms is my new definition of bliss. I am going to unabashedly stare at you with total adoration, just because I can. I am going to find countless ways to show and tell you how much I love you every day, because I can't say or show it enough, and just the plain words don't cover the whole of my feelings properly. I am going keep you safe, and happy, and healthy because you are the center of my world."

Sherlock is suddenly on top of John and kissing him passionately. For the second time, John has full-out sex with Sherlock, and when he comes Sherlock holds him so close, making it clear without words how much he is loved and that Sherlock plans on never letting him go.

John lays with Sherlock, the last glow of his post-coital haze wearing off. He starts to giggle.

"This is great routine, but I'm not sure how beneficial it is to start the day productively. It's nearly 10 and we haven't even had breakfast!"

((Ok, sorry, I wasn't sure if you were ok with me having Sherlock take things one step further. I felt like it seemed natural with the flow of the scene, but if you disagree, I can change it. I don't want them to end up doing full sex every other time, but in this case with the intimacy of John's words, it made sense to me. I don't know...))

((Oh it only seemed natural. I had that in my mind too, but was too shy to just write it without your permission))

When John started to talk, he paid the highest attention to him. Sherlock's heart swell of the loveliest, most truthful declaration of love ever made to him and he just had to stop John telling him that or he might start to cry. So he kissed him passionately. Of course not only to shut him up, but moreover to convey his mutual feelings on the matter. He knew what to do.

Sherlock linked their hands together with the first thrust. With every thrust that followed, John moaned more and louder and Sherlock kissed John more and rougher.

John was everything. He took over all Sherlock's senses. His eyes were captivated by John's face that was so beautifully expressive; his ears were pleasured with the music of John's voice that moaned and said the most lovely things to him; his mouth was sometimes on John's, sometimes not but always close,; his fingers were entwined with John's and his nose only smelled the scent of John, sweat and sex.

Sherlock held John close while John orgasmed in between them. Sherlock cried out John´s name when he came again, followed with a whisper in John´s ear. "I love you"

They lay next to each other, Sherlock still captivated with watching John's face. It could wear so many expressions. His face was so readable, it should be painful. But Sherlock loved him for it and subconsciously had made a hobby of naming the expressions. Right now, he was wearing the 'blissful-post-sex' one. Sherlock shuffled closer to kiss it, it was so precious.

"I fear for our wedding night." Sherlock gave a kiss on John's nose to reassure him "I doubt if we can match this time. If we do, I think I will burst or pass out of hapiness."

He giggled with John. "I think this is the best way of starting the day. Possibly even better than-"

Sherlock snapped straight up.

"The case! The case of KR! Oh, I've totally forgotten about her! At what hour would she call upon us?"

((Won't be able to update again today :x))

"She's coming by at 5. I have work from noon to four, which means you do at some point soon need to let me out of bed."

Sherlock frowns at this, looks like he's about to complain, then switches to a sly expression instead. He leans down and slides so his body is covering John, trapping the shorter man in his limbs.

"Why? You could stay here, John. You get so bored at the clinic, wouldn't you rather take the day off?" He pitches his voice soft and low, trying to seduce John out of this ridiculous idea of going into work.

John attempts to glare at Sherlock, but it ends up more just being fondly exasperated.

"Sherlock, you know I need to go in. One of us needs to earn an honest living. If I play hooky today, I'll just have to make up the hours next week. Now quit trying to take advantage of my weakness for your charms and let me get up and shower."

"Hmmmm." Sherlock hummed in reluctance. "At least let me shower with you."

John gave him a look. Sherlock rolled with his eyes.

"Just showering John."

They both knew that was not quite true. Though they wouldn't have sex like just now, they always fondly washed each other, stole kisses and now and then snogged a little.

With a sigh, Sherlock rolled off John to free him from his weight so that he could get up. He felt John move, but not out of bed. John leaned over him and pressed a soft kiss on Sherlock's lips, which made Sherlock smile.

"Get out, you."

"Hey!" Sherlock shouted, still smiling, when John ruffled his hair.

They both got out of bed, showered and had breakfast. Sherlock took a good time kissing John goodbye, even if it was just for 4 hours, he'd miss him.

John spent the entire day at work thinking about Sherlock. It was a bit silly really- they had lived together for well over a year now, had been dating for months, but (most likely because this was his first time leaving the flat for so long since getting engaged) he missing Sherlock a lot more than usual today.

He got a fair amount of congratulations on his ring, lots of raised eyebrows, and quite a few 'Told you so, took you long enough' comments. Sara hugged him and told him how happy she was for him. He was very glad there didn't seem to be any lingering hard feelings with her.

He texted Sherlock periodically throughout the day, checking in on him letting Sherlock know that he was thinking about him.

When four o'clock finally came, John all but ran out the door.

"What's your hurry, John?" Sara called after him.

"Um, just eager to get home."

Sara smiled, "I'd be willing to bet money Sherlock's pacing in front of your door, timing how long the walk takes you. You two are sweet together. Go on and have nice evening."

John laughs and waves. He quickly walks the few blocks over to Baker Street, making it home in just over 20 minutes.

"Hey Sherlock, you in?" John calls as he walks up the stairs, "You want me to make up something to eat before the client comes over?"

((Just letting you know, tomorrow evening I'll be going out of town until Sunday to see some family, so probably won't be updating much if at all in those few days.))

Sherlock had continued his experiment when John was away. After one hour, he finished it and started at three hours of boredom. His spirits lit up when he received John's text message and replied that he did the same.

When Sherlock hears the rattling of keys at the front door, Sherlock jumps up. He had plenty of time to think about what he'd do when John came back. Now was the time for action.

Sherlock quickly got up from the couch and hid himself against the wall. John would not see him coming, he would only see the empty room.

"No, I'm fine for now."

Sherlock heard John coming closer to the doorway. He estimated when John would walk into the living room and just at the right moment, Sherlock surprised John in a kiss. John looked startled at first, but as Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's waist, John did get the hang of this.

"I missed you too."

((Oh ok that's good to know. I won't be able to post a long post with KR stuff. My mom and I have a new policy: after 10 o'clock: no computer allowed in my room. So that's why I can't update after that hour :s))

When John first walks in, the living room appeared empty. He figures Sherlock must be in the kitchen, since he had heard him call through the door. After he takes about four steps in past the door though, he suddenly finds himself wrapped up in a pair of familiar arms, kisses being pressed to his face.

John gives a little jump of shock at first- he hadn't seen or heard Sherlock come up, and his initial instinct is to throw off a potential attacker, but luckily before he does any of that, he realizes that the person wrapping around him is Sherlock. Any attacks from Sherlock are ones he's bound to enjoy- case in point, the kiss being pressed to his lips- so not a threat.

John wraps his arms around Sherlock to pull him closer.

"Where were you lurking? I didn't even hear you sneak up for that attack kiss. You must have planned it out carefully."

John tilts Sherlock's head down a bit so he can give Sherlock another kiss. He trails the kiss down to Sherlock's neck where he can easily reach, sort of cuddling in up against Sherlock as he kisses him, rubbing his nose against the sensitive skin.

"How was your day? Did you finish your experiment?"

((Ok, good to know, hope the plan works well))

"Yes, the results were very satisfying. The alibi of a man in a future case could be uncovere-"

Sherlock just stopped talking as if John had discovered his mute-button. John's breathing through his nose and his nose-rubbing tickled in his neck. A shiver rolled down his spine.

"J-John, that tickles."

"Oh, sorry-" John pulled away.

"No, it's fine, go on please."

John smiled and lay his head back. For a few moments, they were just standing there, holding each other. then, John broke the contact with the announcement that he, in contrary to Sherlock, was rather peckish and was going to make some food. Sherlock hummed a reply, gave him one last kiss on his lips and picked up his violin. He had nothing better to do anyway, so he might as well spend the time to entertain John until the client arrived.

At 5 o'clock sharp, the doorbell rang. Client.

Sherlock shared a moment of eye-contact with John before the client was guided to the living room by Mrs Hudson.

((planned on a long post, but ... no. I guess they just happen))

((Yeah, half the time I feel like my characters have a life of their own. I'll plan for them to do one thing, but it just doesn't seem to work and I'll realize I've written something completely different))

Mrs. Hudson lead the client up. The client was a woman, seemed to be in her early-to-mid thirties. She was wearing tall, thin heels, a green skirt-suit that somehow managed to both look professional and display her sexually. Her hair was worn in a very tight, fussy-looking perm, she was wearing way too much make-up in John's opinion and lots of flashy jewelry. The first impression John got of her was that she had a very sharp quality about her, something a bit vicious, like she was constantly looking for how to use others for her own purposes. He wasn't sure what it was that made him think it, but he couldn't shake it.

As she walks in, the woman's eyes start darting around the whole flat in a way that reminds John of Sherlock, taking in every detail she can of the place. The fingers of her right hand twitch a bit. She pulls a strip of gum out of her purse and pops it in her mouth, chewing for a bit and then cracking the gum.

He glances over at Sherlock to see what he thinks. He face would seem totally blank to most, but John can detect the subtle hints of complete revulsion around his eyes and mouth- he's clearly trying to wait and see if the case is worth it before dismissing the woman.

John gives a small cough to catch the woman's attention.

"Hello, I'm John Watson, this is Sherlock Holmes," John gestures to Sherlock, "thank you for coming in."

John holds out his hand to shake. The woman takes it lightly, barely touching him with the tips of her fingers. Her eyes widened a bit as she noticed the ring on John's hand. Her eyes darted over to Sherlock's hand, and some emotion flickered briefly in her eyes- it was gone before John could figure it out.

"Katheleen Richardson, pleasure to meet you," she says in a low, soft voice that, to John, didn't seem like her real voice, though he wasn't sure why. Somehow it just seemed like she was changing it.

"Same. Would you like to sit down and tell us why you're here? " John lists off the normal directions, "Please be as accurate as possible with the chronology of the events leading to you coming here. Give as many details as possible, even things you may think insignificant. Try to stick to solid facts, not personal impressions."

Katheleen nods and sits down.

((Ok, so I tried to make her into the stereotype of a gossip reporter. How do we want to do this? Should she just start asking questions about their relationship? Subtly start flirting with one of the boys to see how the other reacts? Make up a case that could lead into questioning the boys about their personal lives? Also, do you want to write her or should I? I really just made up her description to keep the plot moving, I'm don't really care who does her dialogue.))

((I like you doing the dialogue. It somehow doesn't feel right for me to write a character's dialogue when I didn't 'create' that character.. I suppose? Also: you write wittier than I do, which I like a lot))

KR came in. Sherlock stretched his fingers under his chin while watching her, inevitably deducing her.

Too high heels to be comfortable. Striking colour green, showy on the curves. Odd, because she must know she is visiting a gay couple. Long nails, hands well-cared for. Must do an office job. Far too much make-up. Looks around like a hawk. Curious little bugger.

Then John shakes her hand, she looks down and over to Sherlock's hand.

Oh shit.

Sherlock clenches his jaw and has to breath very deeply through his nose to control the flare of anger rising in his chest. They had not discussed how they wanted to make their engagement public, but this was certainly not one of their choices. Well, they were wearing the rings now so everyone could see, but John may prefer an official statement.

Kathleen sat down and parted her lipsticked lips. She first blew a sticky bubble of her chewing gum and then opened her mouth again to say something, but before she could talk, Sherlock got up from his chair to look down on her.

"No, stop."

John and Kathleen looked at him. John questioningly and Kathleen... a mix between fakely surprised, but most of all malicious curiosity. He could see the clogs ticking in her mind.

"Stop thinking, stop! Just stop, it's incredibly annoying." Sherlock heaved his voice and waved his hands in the air in annoyance.

"I don't have to tell you that this is just an act, I can see it in your every quirk. You didn't even try to hide it didn't you? Your shoes, your jewellery, the desk-lines on your underarms. Did you really think you could fool me like this?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He really had to control his anger. He felt quite insulted that this woman did not even do her best to make it interesting for him.

"And what is this case about then?" Sherlock asked cynical. "A lost ring? Or something more sensational? Let me guess. The niece of your grandfather's daughter was 'mysteriously' killed. Her body disappeared and reappeared in a boat, a shed, the forest and who oh who would have killed the poor girl? Everyone thinks of the boyfriend, but no one thinks of the uncle that sexually abused her. She may have opened up to the police because she struggled the last few times and so, he had to kill her."

As usual, this all came out very rapidly. Sherlock's normally cool composure was nowhere to be found. His breathing was heavy, his hands clenched in fists by his side. He was really, very angry at some cheap gossip journalist for abusing their fame for her own career without even trying to be interesting.

((ok... Sherlock whacha doin man!?))

((Haha!!!! Found a place with internet access to quickly do an update!!!))

Kathleen raises an eyebrow. Her hands drift to her purse and then back to her lap as she debates whether or not to admit to her cover. She (wisely) decides that lying to Sherlock would be pointless, and pulls out her pen and notebook.

"Well, I was actually going to go with my fiancee mysteriously disappearing and having you investigate as to whether I needed to break off the engagement because he was having an affair or help him because he was in danger."

"However, that appears to be unnecessary, so I'll just cut to the real questions that our avid readers want answered..."

"No."

John crosses his arms and glares at the woman with a look that could kill.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Watson, what was that?"

"I said 'no', we are absolutely not going to answer any questions you ask us. I cannot believe you thought you could come in here pretending to have case in order to try and snoop around for 'exclusive' information about our private lives. I made a very clear notice that information will only be released by me via my blog. There will be no interviews, and no juicy details collected through inappropriate means by unprofessional reporters. You are going to leave our home NOW, and if I find one word about any of this leaked to the news, I will take you to court for libel and invasion of privacy!"

John more or less marches Ms. Kathleen Richardson to the door, playing deaf to her complaints and inquiries about why, if he was happy about his relationship with Sherlock, he was so reluctant to talk about it?

John walks back into the livingroom, so furious his face had gone bright red. He is past the point of yelling or ranting, he is absolutely silent because he does not have the words to say how angry he is. He is angry for so many different reasons- for the disrespect to Sherlock and his work, for the disrespect to the privacy of their home, for the complete disregard to the request he put on the blog about interviews.

John stands, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking deep breaths, because he knows he needs to calm down so that he does not end up yelling at Sherlock for something like forgetting to put away a chemical. Sherlock is the last person in the world he is actually angry with, and should not be yelled at. However, if John cannot get his anger under control soon, something like that could happen.

((Ok, it's getting a bit late here, so I am going to stop. Not sure if I'll be able to update again tomorrow night or not, but definitely the day after tomorrow. Also, I find your writing witty as well.))
((So, no interview ended up happening because John got pissed. He will probably release something about the engagement, or go online only to find that the pic of them outside the jewelry store got out, leading to rumors. At the moment...be careful, he's sort of on a knife's edge with his temper. I am hoping he doesn't end up blowing up at Sherlock, but...))

((Ok I had to think this through a little bit, so that's why I didn't update yesterday. I really didn't know how to get on with this, so I just started writing :)))

"No."

Sherlock said simultaneously with John. Kathleen wears an amused look and addresses John. Sherlock could only stare very angrily at Kathleen, who was unimpressed by John's outburst.

Sherlock felt himself trembling when John was away, marching Kathleen out. He hated trembling, it showed that his body betrayed him, so he began to pace fervently through the living room. Sherlock felt his heart rate thrumming in his ears of anger. A lot thoughts recurred in his mind.

This bloody obscene Richardson woman dares to pretend to have a case for me, gets invited and spies on us just for the sake of a career break-through by insulting their privacy. That damn woman that upsets John, makes him angry and upset. I will cut her thr-
But. The work. If the next client is an other journalist that places us under a negative spotlight, more people would become homophobic. I will lose my work. Lestrade will contact me, but other clients? I haven't had any cases for two weeks because of that stupid injury. What if-
What does this mean for John and me? I am sure he won't leave me, though this was not the way John wanted to make our engagement public. Would that affect them?

Somewhere in his train of thought, John physically walked back into the living room. Sherlock didn't stop pacing. He didn't even notice John at first. He was so tangled up in his mind. But when the last question raised in his mind, he snapped his head sideways to look at John.

Balled fists. Clenched jaw. Flushed face. Deep, forced breaths. John looked miserable.

Fuck. Sherlock thought. He knew how to handle with a yelling, arguing, irritated John. But this, the cutting silence made him so uncomfortable, he was at a loss what to do. Should I say something? What should I say then? Or should I try to comfort him, kiss him, hold him? Wouldn't he just pat me away?

"Oh GOD!" He slammed his fists on the table in the living room. Sherlock yelled in frustration with himself. What should he do?


((He is Sherlock fucking Holmes, of course he would get loud and frustrated.))

((Yeah, I'm a little iffy on this one myself- I think I'm going to just write and see what happens. By the way, back at school, so normal updates again))

John goes tense at Sherlock's yelling and banging. Ok, they both REALLY need to relieve some tension. John stomps over to their room, opens the drawer of the bedside table, and pulls out his handgun. He walks into the livingroom, aims at the yellow smiley face, and fires off three shots, each hitting perfectly between the painted eyes. He hands the gun to Sherlock, who finishes off the round.

Still though, he needs more, something else, something to take care of the adrenaline rushing through him from his anger. He looks- both he and Sherlock are wearing shoes. He grabs Sherlock's hand, places the gun on the table, and drags Sherlock out of the flat. Without talking, he walks Sherlock over to the park where- as soon as they get on the exercise path- he drops Sherlock's hand and takes off running. Running feels good- running calms him down and helps him focus. Running clears his head and evens out his breathing.

John took Sherlock with him so that the other man knew they were still ok, he wasn't letting this ruin their relationship. Now though, he checks behind him to see if Sherlock is still with him.

((Ok, so I'm not sure if Sherlock would run too or not. If he is still with John, my thought was that- since John is now calmed down- he would go off the path and have Sherlock chase him. Just to lighten things up. If Sherlock is running with John, you can do that if you want. Maybe have John give some smile telling Sherlock he's going to start a game and then take off? I don't know, what do you think?))

Sherlock waited a little bit scared when John disappeared in their room. He jumped when he heard the three bullets being shot into the wall. John’s aim was perfect, which Sherlock, despite the situation, admired. Then he is handed the gun himself and relieves some anger into shooting the eyes of the smiley face.

It helped, though not enough. They were both still jittery and jumpy. Before Sherlock could think of something to do next, he was dragged along by John’s hand. They marched to Regent’s Park; their silence only broken by pants of adrenaline. John drops his hand and runs away the moment they got on the exercise path. Sherlock is left behind and for a short moment: startled. He hated emotions like this because they clouded his reflexes and his mind too much. He then understands what John is up to and why he had taken with him. John could have just run for himself like he used to do when they were not dating. He was glad John did take him, because he reasoned running may help. Sherlock braced himself with a fling of a smile on his face.

John looks back to check on him, if he was ok. John smiled a little, signing Sherlock he was alright. John also raised his eyebrows in a question. Sherlock smirked, like he was up to something, and set off a sprint.

John begun to run faster too, but he did something unexpected: he diverted from the path, into the bushes onto the grass. He looked back with a grin. Sherlock grinned too and ran even faster to catch up with him. John zigzagged and turned playful turns.

Eventually, Sherlock caught him, grabbing his arms around John’s waist.

“Gotcha!”

((I wanted to write more, but I am at school and my class is almost over :\))

((Ah, that is the worst part about writing in school))

John smiles, and leans up to place a gentle kiss to Sherlock's lips. He wraps his own arms around Sherlock's waist, and lays his head against Sherlock's chest. He enjoys the quiet moment, just standing there with Sherlock. He does notice though, that it's getting dark, and without his jacket on, he's a bit cold. Sherlock's only wearing a suit jacket, and must be even more chilly. John takes a step back.

"Thanks, I needed that. Let's go home, before we get too cold."

John starts to walk away, then turns back with a grin at Sherlock.

"Want to chase me again? I bet I can make it to our bed without you catching me."

((Ok, I have to run to my class now!))

"I'll give you five seconds lead." Sherlock patted him on John's ass and winked. John smirked back and set off in a run.

After 4 seconds, Sherlock ran after him. He was an impatient man. Especially when it came to sex. So he sprinted home. He got closer and closer with every corner he turned, but didn't catch up with him till the hall of their flat. And even then, when Sherlock tried to grab John, John ducked away from him and ran up the stairs. Sherlock caught up with him again with this long legs and just when John got into their bedroom, Sherlock tackled him on the bed.

"Now I got you." Sherlock panted, smiling. Sherlock always was the chaser. He loved it. He was very possessive of John, so to get to chase him was a thrill. The excitement of the chase made the satisfaction of the capture even greater.

Sherlock leaned his head down and instead of kissing John, he nuzzled his cold nose in John's warm neck, just below his ear. John's scent was delicious.

"You can't go anywhere anymore." Sherlock murmured, grabbing his wrists and pushing them down into the matress.

"You're mine." he whispered, his lips almost touching John's ear.

Oh how he loved this game.

John laughed happily when Sherlock tackled him onto the bed, and gasped in shock at the feeling of Sherlock's cold nose on his neck. He loved the sparkle that came into Sherlock's eyes when they played like this. He loved the feeling a chase like this gave him, the high of pretending to run away, when being caught was really what he wanted. Games like this were the best because both he and Sherlock won the same way.

He shivers at the feeling of Sherlock's lips ghosting over his ear.

"You talk as though I want to get away," John says, shifting his hands so that Sherlock was holding them down instead of his wrists. He wound their fingers together, "trapped in your arms is my favorite place to be."

"Hmm, so you've caught me fair and square. Now, do you want me to give you a reward, or are you going to take what you want? Are you going to be a kind captor, or..." John grins wickedly, "are you going to make me beg for release?"

((Yes, I am extremely pleased with my horrible pun))

((Oh it is brilliant. It made me snicker in a very ugly way, so there you go.))

Sherlock looked sideways to John's wicked smirk. Oh it should be sinful to grin like that and spark these feelings in Sherlock.

"Oh I am definitely going for the last one." Sherlock purred. He moved his head up. His lips brushed across John's face, but deliberately ignoring those oh so kissable lips. He stopped at the other ear and whispered:

"I will take what I want, slowly." He untangled one hand from John's and stroked with his fingertips down the skin of John's neck.

"You know I'm like that. I like to tease until you can't bear it anymore." He started unbuttoning John's shirt.

"I want to hear you scream." Sherlock said in his sultriest voice. He removed his lips from John's ear and caught John's in a searing kiss.

Sherlock kisses John until the point where he can't breathe, and when they pull apart John is gasping and already getting hard. When he has finally caught his breath, John registers that he is gripping tightly at Sherlock's upper arms, and he releases them. He trails his fingers down Sherlock's sides, and lets his hands rest on Sherlock's thighs- deciding to let Sherlock take complete control this time, at least for a while. He had a feeling that the slow teasing Sherlock had promised, as usual, would both be amazing and utter torture- amazing because Sherlock was damn good at it, but torture because he seemed in the mood to actually drag it out as long as possible.

"Teasing me until I scream? I'm taking that, Mr. Holmes, as a challenge. I'm not giving you anything, I'm going to see how long I can last, make you work for that scream. We might be in here for a long time. Hope you didn't have any other plans for the evening."

((So, maybe get through this, then just some normal day-to-day stuff, then move on to the new case? Was thinking it could be funny if the case comes from Mycroft because it gives him an opening to be a total cockblock- either come to the flat or call Sherlock at some highly inconvenient time))

((MYCROFT!))
((Sounds lovely! Oh my mind is already racing with ideas))

“No other plans at all.”

Sherlock chuckled. He couldn’t deny he was more than a little aroused of John’s post challenge.

In Sherlock’s opinion, there were multiple types of slow sex. The first one was the slow, lazy loving sex that was a dedication to love itself. Sherlock very much liked that. It was special every time it happened. John was so soft with him and emotional, sentimental. Not at all what Sherlock thought he would like, but loved anyway.

Then, there was the torturously slow variant. The one that started with them both horny already. Sherlock was in charge most of the time and loved torturing John in this way. He was able to catalogue John over and over again, caress the skin, use gentleness to drive John insane. Oh he loved to tease John in this way.

John’s warm hands lay on his thighs, a sign of total surrender. At least for now. They both knew they preferred mutual interaction in sex. So it wouldn’t last long until John would do something back. But for now, John was submissive.

Sherlock slid his hand down John’s neck over his chest. He slipped his hand under John’s unbuttoned shirt. His mouth followed swiftly, but lingered on John’s neck. He trailed the line of John’s neckmuscle with the tip of his tongue. Then he pressed kisses back up, finishing off with a decent lovebite. When he was satisfied with it, he followed his hands again, down John’s chest.

His hands had been busy with stroking ever so lightly over John’s skin. The tickling feeling of almost touching or actual touching. Later, he kissed down John’s chest, pressing a soft kiss on John’s scar before moving over to his nipples. He caressed them with great attention, he knew John’s nipples were sensitive. He sucked, licked, kissed and nipped at both of them, an equal share.

((Running to class again!))

As Sherlock started licking at his jugular, John's thumbs began making light circles on his thighs. When Sherlock bit into his pulse point, John gripped down tightly, shifting his hands to Sherlock's hips.

Then Sherlock started on his chest, and John's hands moved up to his shoulders and head. The attack on his nipples had John arching up into Sherlock, and lightly pressing him down in a silent statement of more.

Still, John kept himself quiet- he limited himself to pants and soft groans, holding in the louder noises he wanted to make. Keeping his volume down made the tension he felt show in other ways, John felt himself trembling and shivering under Sherlock much more than usual. He seemed to be making up for the lack of verbal encouragement with his body language- arching up into Sherlock even more than he normally would, grasping at Sherlock's shirt without trying to remove it.

Jon finally untucked Sherlock's shirt, undid the buttons, and slipped his hands up under it. He dragged his short nails slowly down Sherlock's back- scraping at the skin, but not enough to leave a mark. He didn't feel like removing Sherlock's shirt yet, the restriction of it and how that changed the way he could touch Sherlock was interesting. He moved his hands around, feeling what parts of Sherlock's back and sides he could reach under the tight shirt, noticing the soft caress on the fabric on the back of his hand compared to the even softer caress of Sherlock's skin.

Then, John felt Sherlock's tongue dip into his belly button, and he dug his nails sharply into Sherlock's shoulders as his neck arched back, his eyes squeezed shut, and a sharp hiss escaped between clenched teeth. Sherlock's tongue dipped into his bellybutton again and again, flicking and stroking and twisting. A soft whimper escaped John, and he started to rut against Sherlock, but Sherlock quickly moved his hands to hold down John's hips.