Sherlock & Sebastian (violent)

The echo of Sherlock's words resonated in his ears, in his heart, in his soul, they hurt more than he had ever thought words could do.
He lifted his hands, slowly because he was weak, he ran them both through Sherlock's hair and kept them there at the side of his head, holding it close.
"I don't want to leave you, not now, not ever, I can't even imagine-" he trailed off, his throat was closing up, he felt his eyelids flutter, trying to contain his feelings.

"You have no idea how much I wished for /this/ to happen, how much I pined for you, how much I want to hold you close and never let go..." he whispered, his thumb caressing along Sherlock's jaw, his movements delicate and adoring, his words and action speaking the truth in unison.

"I love you, Sherlock, and maybe it's the severity of the moment that makes everything feel so much more, but I wish I could be with you, I wish we could do all those things couples do," he had to take in a quick breath, a lone warm tear running down his cheek. "I don't want to die, you're the best thing that ever happened to me and I don't want to let you go, I do not want to leave you!"

Sherlock gulped, feeling like there was something stuck in his throat and as he did so a tear escaped his bleary eyes and quickly ran down his face, stinging as it passed over the cut on his cheekbone.

John had used the word 'couple'. Was that what they were now? Because they'd kissed did that make them a couple? The thought was quite a scary one and Sherlock knew it involved commitment, sharing, openness, honesty, all concepts Sherlock had avoided in the past and he wondered whether he wanted to be a couple, whether he'd even be any good at it.

But this was John. Everything was different with John. He felt strong by his side. He felt like he could take on anything, try anything and maybe yes, maybe they could be a 'couple' after all. He wanted to ask so many questions and get excited about the future but he knew now wasn't the time. Right now John might not even have a future.

"I won't let you die," Sherlock mumbled, taking John's hand that was in his hair and bringing it down to his lips, kissing his palm. "I promise."

What John had said about wanting him for a long time was quite surprising though and he couldn't help but ask, "you've...wanted this for a while then? How long? And why didn't you say something?"

I won't let you die...

He wanted to believe those words, he wanted to believe that he could be healthy again, but everything felt so different now, he didn't even remember what it felt like to be able to move freely and he hated it.
Sherlock was making an absurd promise, but he wasn't going to complain, he needed this now, he needed the soft spoken words and he needed to have his friend close.
He just closed his eyes, savouring the soft feeling of Sherlock's lips on his hand.

The questions made his cheeks burn red, all those issues coming back all together, he knew he had to explain.
"I have... tried not to think about it... I didn't want to admit it," he muttered, sliding back on the bed, feeling exhausted again. "I cherish our friendship more than anything in this world, I do not want to ruin it... I didn't want to scare you away... and most... well most relationships end in break ups, I do not want us to... well, you know," he trailed off, shaking his head a bit.

"I've never been so weak though, I... do not know how to face this, and I ended up needing you so much, asking you to stay with me, having you sleep in my bed, kissing you, all those things I was not allowed to do, I stopped myself from doing, I need them now, I need you, Sherlock," he admitted, closing his eyes for a moment.

"I am selfish, I know... I am sorry for that..." he whispered then.

"It's....OK John," Sherlock whispered, reaching up his hand and allowing his fingers to trace a line down John's cheek, wondering if he should kiss him again. He wanted to. He really wanted to, and in theory it should be easy, now they'd already kissed a few times. But Sherlock obviously still needed to work on his confidence in that area.

"If it's um...any consolation I've...I've thought about you for a while too," he admitted with a slight blush, quickly leaning forward to give John a small kiss on the lips.

Just then, the friendly nurse burst in, stopping in the doorway suddenly looking quite embarrassed at having caught Sherlock in John's bed instead of the rickety old camp bed. "Oh um...John I was...just coming to check whether you wanted any breakfast?" he asked, not quite knowing where to look and trying to retain a level of professional dignity.

John leaned into Sherlock's touch, blue eyes were intent on his face, and his stomach clenched in his chest as he felt maybe another kiss could be in order. He had to admit that he wanted that, it was the only thing that could keep his mind off his condition really.

"Have you?" he asked, a very soft smile curling John's lips after the quick kiss, it warmed his heart, and he really wanted to know more about what his friend had just implied, but the door opening made him start slightly and his whole face burned red when he realized the compromising position they were here.

"Oh, hi, mm, yes, breakfast would be nice," he muttered, hiding his gaze rather quickly, now he surely couldn't deny he and Sherlock had something, he probably looked like a jerk since he had personally told her they were just friends, but at the moment he really couldn't care less. He wanted Sherlock near and he really hoped the detective wouldn't be scared off by this.

Sherlock tensed slightly as the nurse came into the room, worried what his friend's reaction would be. One look at John's blushing cheeks though, coupled with the awkward embarrassed stare the Nurse gave them, and Sherlock was really struggling to contain laughter, finding the whole situation hilarious.

"Right...I'll have some brought in," the Nurse muttered, quickly checking John's charts before heading out of the room.

Finally Sherlock could contain himself no longer and he burst into a fit of giggles. "Your face John...bloody hell! And her face...oh my God...I thought for a minute you were going to say something ridiculously stupid like 'it's not what it looks like'."

John groaned when Sherlock mocked him, it didn't really help his embarrassment to fade.
"I couldn't say that now, could I," he commented, shaking his head, but his lips were softly curled in a smile as well. "I am not usually a jerk who lies to girls, you know," he pointed out, a bit annoyed at the opinion that the nurse might have of him now.

"Now, you surely blew all my chances with her, Sherlock, I hope you are happy," he teased him, sitting back on the bed, his muscles were all sore. He wasn't really hungry, but he reckoned it'd do him good to eat something.

"What kind of thoughts have you had about me?" he asked then, remembering their conversation from before.

Sherlock grinned, enjoying their gentle teasing and banter. He just wished it was under better circumstances.

He blushed though when John brought up the embarrassing topic again. He'd kind of hoped he'd forgotten all about it.

"Um..." He took a deep breath. He was the one who'd mentioned it in the first place, and Sherlock knew he shouldn't have mentioned it if he wasn't prepared to talk about it.

"Well, whilst I was away," he mumbled, looking down at his hands and picking dirt from under his nails. "I thought about you a lot. I mean just...y'know..because you were my friend. But then, one night I had this dream, and when I woke up I...I was...I had..."

He stumbled on his words, then glanced over his shoulder almost checking that no one had walked in on them again, before leaning in and whispering near to his friend's ear, "I had an erection, John."

John listened carefully to Sherlock's words, not wanting to miss what he was going to say, his eyes moving on his face and noticing his hesitation and then his embarrassment, it was kind of cute, and the need to kiss him again was getting stronger.

He couldn't help but grin when finally his friend came out with it.
"You had wet dreams about me," he finally stated, blushing a bit, but incredibly satisfied by it.

"What happened in those dreams, Sherlock? I want to know," he asked instinctively, curious, feeling a thrill of excitement running up his spine.

"John!" Sherlock whined, as if he'd just asked the worst thing in the world. He sat up slightly and checked the door, suddenly completely self conscious. He pulled the sheet up to his ear and shuffled down further in the bed to hide himself.

"It was...there was..." Sherlock squirmed slightly then closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths. He could easily replay those dreams in his mind as clear as if they'd actually happened and he was worried he might work his body into a state just by talking about it.

"It kind of started off a bit...weird," he began quietly, starting to explain all about his dream. "I'd just come back from St Barts and I had a bag full of body parts for experiments. And when I got to the flat Moriarty was there. And he had all his face blown off like...like how he looked on the roof. And then...for some reason I hadn't noticed when I came in but...you were there too, and you were lying on the sofa John and you were um...completely naked. And Moriarty was holding a gun to your head and he said that...well..."

Sherlock hesitated, knowing he was getting to the sexy part. He bit his lip and took another deep breath before carrying on. "He said that if I didn't..." he leaned in close and whispered the next part into John's ear, "He said that if I didn't give you a blowjob he'd blow your head off. So um...I...I did."

He blushed and hid his face in John's shoulder.

John couldn't help watching amused as Sherlock moved on the bed and worked himself into an embarrassed frenzy, he was appreciating the fact the detective was willing to talk though with some difficulties. It was kind of adorable and he couldn't help reaching out his hand, running it through his hair in what he hoped was a comforting manner, or maybe it was just an excuse to touch him again.

As he started narrating the dream, John's eyebrows shot up and he couldn't help but wonder how could this be considered a wet dream, but then Sherlock leaned closer and described exactly what would happen after the gruesome beginning and he couldn't help but swallow hard.
"Did I like it?" he asked, not even sure why he was asking such a question, he was hungry for more details though. "And did you like it?"

He licked his lips slowly, still unable to stop himself from asking another question. "Was it always the same dream? Or did you have others?" he continued, his eyes moving on Sherlock's face impatiently.

Sherlock squirmed some more at the new questions, his legs wriggling underneath the sheet, knocking up against John's. But he'd started this so he knew he had to explain. He wanted to tell him anyway, he wanted John to know what had been going through his head, how his thoughts and opinions had changed slightly whilst he was away, how he'd developed these feelings he constantly battled to control.

"I didn't want to do it John," he continued, although realised immediately that might not sound so good. "I mean...Moriarty forced me and I had to. I had no choice but...when it happened I..well..." Sherlock lowered his voice again. "You ejaculated into my mouth and I ate it. And it tasted of rhubarb crumble and I really liked it."

He blushed again and rubbed the back of his neck. "I had different ones too. They weren't all the same. There was um...um..." He frowned. "Did I ever tell you about that time I watched you in the graveyard?"

John's hand moved down the other's shoulder and towards his hand, squeezing it softly, "Rhubarb crumble?" he commented, and he couldn't help but laugh a bit, definitely not a realistic dream. He really wasn't sure what to think, how did Sherlock feel about those dreams? Were they scary for him? Were they actual wet dreams?

"You watched me in the graveyard?" he repeated, grimacing at the memories of that time, the pain of thinking he had lost him was still vivid, especially now that he was about to lose him again, for a completely different reason though.

Sherlock blushed and cleared his throat. "I know...I know it probably doesn't actually taste like that," he mumbled. "I'm not an idiot John." And he rolled his eyes in an appropriate fashion.

"But anyway," he continued, finding John's hands under the cover and taking them in his own, his thumb idly rubbing on the back of his friend's knuckle. "Yes, I stood and watched you at the graveyard. The first time you ever went there. I was...I was there for quite some time actually. But...well the point is. One of my other dreams kind of involved the graveyard and um some...some things kind of...happened there....dirty things..."

"I haven't said you were," he protested with a chuckle, realizing Sherlock was a bit touchy about the matter. He decided not to ask further, not to wind him up, too tired maybe to fight over something so silly. And now Sherlock was telling him about another dream, and his breathing caught in his throat at the revelation.

He wanted to ask why Sherlock had watched him, why he hadn't left right away if he knew he couldn't stay, but the detective went on and it was impossible to focus on anything that wasn't Sherlock.
"What dirty things?" he asked, swallowing hard again.

Sherlock's tongue darted out across his lips, preparing to tell John about his dream.

"It started off the same as in real life," he explained, lowering his voice a little.

"I was watching you from the distance and you were...you were there talking to my...um...gravestone. But before you could walk away I ran over and grabbed you from behind. You were obviously surprised to see me but before you could say anything we were both on the floor and...and I was ripping off your clothes with this big meat cleaver I'd been hiding in my coat pocket. And then I...I bent you over the gravestone and...and we um...did it."

Sherlock studied John's face, hoping he wasn't too disturbed by his weird dreams.

John couldn't help but look at Sherlock surprised, the main reason was that he couldn't believe the man had been able to hide this from him for this long. "So basically... you..." he frowned, realizing he was quite embarrassed by what he was saying. "You fucked me?" he finally blurted, squeezing his hand instinctively.

His heart was beating faster, and the mere idea of Sherlock dreaming such things about him was making chills run down his spine, he knew he would have been slightly aroused if he had been healthy.
"Why have you never tried anything? Or said anything?" he protested then, with a sigh.

"Hm, basically yes," Sherlock admitted with a small blush, hiding his head into John's shoulder. Then he felt the need to justify the dreams by adding, "It only happened about five or six times."

"But it was annoying really," he continued, remembering back to the last time it happened, "because I'd wake up with this...um...erection...and it was...very distracting...and I had to..." Sherlock coughed and cleared his throat, deciding not to finish the sentence.

He frowned at John's question. He thought the reason why he didn't try anything would have been obvious. "I didn't think you'd be interested John," Sherlock mumbled. "You were always so...I don't know...heterosexual..."

John blushed furiously, looking away: "Yes, I get the picture," he muttered, and indeed it was almost all he could think about. The elicited images were haunting, but in a good way, making him want to pull Sherlock closer and show him what reality would feel like. If only he had the energy for it.

"It's normal, I mean, sometimes dreams don't mean anything, just because you had a couple of wet dreams about me doesn't mean you are attracted to me in real life, sometimes dreams are only messed up memories, a mix of what you've been exposed to during the day," he muttered, not even sure why he was telling Sherlock that, he surely didn't want to push him away.

"Hm yes. Yes I suppose you're right," Sherlock mumbled, although now he was rather confused. It felt like John was pushing him away, like he didn't really want Sherlock to have any feelings for him.

He frowned and toyed around with his lip. Perhaps he'd misread the signs. But John had told him that he'd enjoyed the kiss, that he'd wanted it for a while. If that were the case then this latest display must be through some kind of fear, Sherlock reasoned.

He lifted up his hand and stroked John's cheek with his thumb. "But I thought about you when I was awake too," he explained gently. "I tried not to. I told myself it was just a dream, that it didn't mean anything but...I..I thought you were going to die John and I had to tell you how I really felt."

There was something else, and Sherlock wondered if he could actually bring himself to say it, it was so squirmingly embarrassing. "Um...this is...kind of awkward John erm...but when I woke up and I had these err...erection," he stammered, blushing and hiding his head in the sheets, mumbling the rest of the sentence into the pillow. "The only way I could uhh...relieve myself...was if I thought about you."

John leaned almost desperately towards Sherlock's hand, it was warm and the comfort it provided was everything the doctor needed at the moment. "I am glad I know, Sherlock... thank you for telling me..." he whispered, even though now he was even more scared of dying. He didn't want to lose this, he didn't want to lose the possibilities, the life they could share together.

To know now that Sherlock had touched himself thinking of him, it was torture, he wished he could do something, anything, he wished he could lay Sherlock down on this bed and show him just how much he had wanted him, but his body was in no condition for that, and it depressed him considerably.
"That's nothing to be ashamed of..." he muttered, kissing the top of the other's head. "Did you... did you do it in Baker Street as well? When we were living together recently?" he wondered, remembering times he had seen Sherlock's bedroom door uncharacteristically closed.

Sherlock smiled warmly, suddenly feeling relieved that John wasn't angry or upset or unhappy. He was glad he'd told him. And Sherlock was glad too. God it felt like such a big weight off his mind.

John's kiss on his forehead tingled all down his face and warmed his soul. He wondered for a brief moment what it would be like to have sex with John. He remembered what it had looked like in the dreams. A couple of times he'd looked at videos online, although he told himself it was strictly for research purposes.

Sherlock blushed at the question and buried his head into John's chest. "Yes," he mumbled. "A few times, since I came back. And some of the times when...when I've been in a bad mood or not wanted to speak to you...well...sometimes that's because I'm...too embarrassed..."

John wrapped his arm loosely around Sherlock's shoulders, keeping him close to his chest, hoping time would stop and they could stay there, without the danger of his going into shock any moment now.
"I know maybe it's weird to say that, but I think it's quite flattering..." he muttered with a soft blush on his cheeks. "I thought you weren't interested in anyone... and well, I... I like the fact you are interested in me that way..."

He looked down at Sherlock, he could see their possibilities, what their life could be, and what he could lose. "I wish I could give everything to you, Sherlock... I want it so much... I want you so much..." he admitted, caressing his hair, his fingers threading the black locks softly. "My body now doesn't feel like my own though... it's... it's dying..."

"You're the only person, John," Sherlock insisted eagerly. "The only person I've ever thought of in...that way."

It was a big moment for Sherlock, the day he'd realised he thought of John as more than just a friend, when he realised he'd been having sexual thoughts and fantasies about his flatmate, and he felt he wanted to put that across to John as much as he was able to. He wanted John to know that this was important to him.

Sherlock visibly winced at the mention of death. Of course, now he knew it was a distinct possibility, but he still didn't want to accept it, or think about it.

"I need to ask about the results of my blood tests," he suddenly remembered, sitting up slightly and glancing at his watch. "They should be through by now. Then they'll be able to tell me if I can donate." He paused and bit his bottom lip slightly. "I want to help you, John. Anyway I can."

John's smile was genuine, but he couldn't help the sadness that seeped thought it. "I must be very special... or very lucky," he whispered, and he really believed that, he knew Sherlock hardly had interest in anyone, but at the same time, he still felt like this couldn't belong to him, because his life was in danger, more than it had ever been before. It was irony that seemed to fill his plate with the possibility of happiness, when he knew he could lose it any moment. It hurt.

He nodded, taking a moment to caress Sherlock's cheek just slightly, feeling his skin under his fingers. "Okay, yes, you should ask..." he muttered, but he had a feeling there was a reason why they didn't come to tell them anything yet.