Denial (John/Sherlock)

Indeed when the aftermath of pleasure faded, John's mind filled with unpleasant thoughts. He became painfully aware he had done something very wrong.
He was engaged for God's sake.
He had cheated.
Something he had never thought he would do.
Something that was unfair towards Mary and towards Sherlock as well.

His whole body was sore as he was helped to stand up, instinctively he leaned against Sherlock, taking a bit of comfort in his body heat.

The question confused him, he wasn't sure what the detective meant, so he decided to interpret it the way it was easier to answer to.
"It was brilliant, Sherlock..." he whispered with a soft smile, he still felt dizzy, "I had no idea it could be this way... so... passionate..."

Sherlock was pleased with John's answer but could easily read the small signs on his face that told him something wasn't quite right. Of course, he thought, their passionate intercourse in theory changed nothing. John was still engaged to this...Mary, was still going to get married and possibly still thinking about leaving Baker Street. With a sudden sick feeling the thought crossed his mind that what they had just done might even give John and even greater reason to leave Baker Street.

With a flash of guilt he realised he should have kept his mouth shut, not got carried away, not allowed it to get that far, but it seems they'd both just got...carried away in the moment. John was right. It /was/ brilliant, and passionate, but that didn't help Sherlock feel any less ashamed. He broke away from their embrace and quickly pulled up his pants, suddenly quite embarrassed about his nakedness.

"Forgive me," he murmured quietly. "I...I should never have pushed you into it. It was...wrong of me." He looked at the wall, unable to look John in the eye, then moved to stand in the doorway with his back turned away.

John realized he had said something wrong, or maybe it was his body, he didn't know, Sherlock was always able to read him too well. And now the detective was pulling away again, turning away again, and John had no idea what to do.

It made sense though, John had cheated on his girlfriend, he had been unable to do things properly, Sherlock had every right to be offended. Or worse, hurt.

The apology didn't make sense though. He frowned at Sherlock's back, feeling way too naked in their kitchen.

"I... you..." he took in a deep breath. "Sherlock, don't blame yourself for something I participated willingly in... damn, I don't think I have ever wanted anything so much... I... I let you fuck me... it must mean something!" he protested, and rubbed his frown frustrated.

"I don't want things to get awkward between us, and I am sorry I didn't do things in the right order... but..." he didn't know what to say, could he tell Sherlock he wanted them to be together? Could he have a real relationship with him? Not to mention he was still running too fast, first he had to break up with Mary.
"I... I need to know what you want..." he confessed, his eyes searching the other's body for some sort of reaction, but it wasn't very helpful since the other man was looking the opposite way.

Sherlock closed his eyes, trying to make sense of the jumbled up emotions and feelings running through his head. He wasn't used to dealing with this kind of thing. At one point having John was just a fantasy, a dream...something he unobtainable. Now it had actually happened, he didn't know how to handle it.

He was so certain that John wasn't...well...gay. But then, he had seemed rather keen, and the words he heard him speaking now sent his mind in an even bigger spin. John had wanted it. Did he still want it? What about Mary?

"I don't either," he mumbled. The last thing he wanted was for things to get awkward. He and John had the most...perfect friendship and if that was ever to be spoiled then Sherlock would rather it stayed as just a friendship, however heartbreaking and frustrating that might be.

Sherlock turned his head and looked back at John over his shoulder.
"You really want to know what I want?" he asked, before turning back again, "I'm not sure you'd like what I told you."

John was scared Sherlock would just walk away, he was scared things would become awkward and he would be asked to leave Baker Street anyway. He didn't want that, and now it would just be that much harder, now that he knew what it felt like to be with the person that had been made just for you.
That was how he felt, he felt Sherlock was his soul mate, his everything, but he couldn't force Sherlock to feel things nor he could force him to be with him.

"I need to know," he muttered, his expression hardening, determined, he knew it was unavoidable, and even if Sherlock said he wanted them to be just friends, he would take it like a man and accept it. Even though now he knew that he could not marry Mary, he couldn't be away from Sherlock.

Sherlock sighed. He knew exactly what he wanted to say, what he needed to say, he just had to find the confidence to say it no matter what the consequences were.

It had to be said. Otherwise things would just become even more awkward because of everything left unsaid. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to put aside nerves and just speak. He spun round to face John, the words flowing quickly as if he was explaining a deduction.

"I want you to promise you won't leave Baker Street. I want you to break it off with Mary. I want you to promise you won't go on any more stupid dates or try to get a girlfriend because I want you to be with me. I want you to tell me you love me and I want you to mean it and I want you to be mine, forever."

After speaking, Sherlock was blushing furiously and slighty out of breath. He looked at the floor, not wanting to see John's reaction, but prepared himself for the obvious heartbreak that was to follow. At least he'd told the truth.

John knew there had to be something terribly wrong with him, because when Sherlock turned around, he knew that he was going to do whatever the other would ask for, regardless of what it was, the extent of his affection for this man was something he still couldn't understand.

When the words reflected his own thoughts, his own still unexplained and unexpected desires, he couldn't help the smile that broke on his lips, his heart was beating fast in his chest.

"I promise," he said simply, the words carved in his mind. That was his first reply.

"I always mean what I say. And I do, even though it's a bit too early to say it properly," his voice was shaking a bit, he was scared of saying the wrong thing, but he couldn't hold his tongue.

"I promise," he repeated, his body nervously swinging on the balls of his feet, he reached out for Sherlock's hand. "But you have to promise not to turn away or attempt to run away any more... it aggravates me in many ways..."

Sherlock was lost in his own traumatic thoughts. He'd clearly been too forceful. He'd revealed his true feelings to John and then pushed him into having sex with him. John hadn't really /wanted/ to have sex, he'd just got caught up in the moment and because Sherlock had been pressuring him. He was only saying he wanted it now because he didn't want Sherlock to feel bad about it. He was still going to marry Mary. They were after all, engaged, and it didn't make sense to suddenly drop all of that just because he'd had a silly fling with his flatmate, something that was obviously -

Sherlock suddenly stopped thinking as John's words finally processed in his brain. His heart fluttered. He saw John's hand reach out for his and he took it, pulled him close and stared right down into his eyes. Sherlock could spot easily if someone was lying and it was possible John was saying this just so Sherlock didn't feel bad but wait...no...he wasn't lying. This was...this was real....

"I...I only turn away or run off when I don't...when I don't know what to think...or...say..." he stammered, before adding with a small grin. "Sort of like now. I...John I.....you really mean this?"

He cupped the other's face, his fingers were trembling, mirror of the emotional turmoil Sherlock had caused him to experience, but his eyes were intense, confident. "I mean it," he whispered, pressing his forehead against the other man's.

"I am sorry it happened like this, I am sorry because this is not proper, I am engaged and I should have never had sex like this, you don't deserve this," he whispered, his heart beating in his. "I should have broken up with Mary first..."

He took in another shaky breath. "I had no idea this could happen though, I had no idea it was an option, I had no idea I was allowed to /want/ you... and when we kissed, I couldn't stop, I was too scared it was the only time I would be granted to have you," he confessed, closing his eyes for a moment.

Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed softly, a slow sigh of happiness. Could this really be happening? He felt John's hands round his face and a tingle passed through them, shooting down his neck like electric. He opened his eyes and smiled, leaning forward to give John a small kiss on the lips.

"It's OK..." he replied. "I've been dreaming about you. So really, I suppose you could call this a dream come true." Sherlock smirked, then more seriously added. "I...I know we weren't exactly...proper. You're supposed to be getting married for God's sake...I'm the one who should apologise. I shouldn't have told you about....about those dreams."

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and held him tightly against him. It felt so good just being close to him and Sherlock wished he could express himself a bit better. "I...I feel...I like this..." was all he could manage.

John's hands slowly moved down Sherlock's neck and shoulders, and finally he wrapped his arms around him, leaning close. "Mary has been nagging me about marriage for a while, but I never felt right about it," he admitted, smiling a bit guiltily, "Now I know why."

His fingers were playing slowly with the back of Sherlock's hair. "Because only you feel right," he confessed, overwhelmed by his own feelings, it was like he was finally on top of the game, he knew why all those girls were wrong for him.

"So don't apologize... I will make it up to you and make things official as soon as it's not too early to visit Mary," he muttered, determination clear in his voice. "Just bear with me for a few hours, will you?"

A few hours? So John really was serious. He was going to break it off with Mary. And soon. As soon as it got light, by the sounds of things. Sherlock kissed the top of John's head lightly, breathing in the sweet scent of his hair.

"Of course," he whispered. "Take as much time as you like. Seriously. I've waited for you this long...I can wait longer."

Sherlock leant with his head resting on John's shoulder, his fingers slowly tracing lines and shapes along his back. He caught sight of his watch and sighed a little.

"It's 5:30 John...I suppose you want to get some sleep?"

John felt himself melt against Sherlock's fingers, it felt just so good, he knew that if they kept being this close he would start wanting again. Regardless of Sherlock's words, he was the one who needed to take things slowly.

"I didn't think you were a patient person, Sherlock," he teased him, pulling away a bit. "Especially considered you just took me on our kitchen table," he pointed out, only now realizing the mess they made.

"Yes, I... I think I will have a shower and have a few hours of sleep... Mary is not going to be awake for a while, she has the day off today..." he muttered, frowning at himself for feeling sad at the idea of completely pulling away from Sherlock and losing the warmth of his body.

Sherlock smirked as his eyes fell upon the table. "Don't remind me," he murmured, "I could easily take you all over again...but I musn't." Instead he bent down to pick up one of the broken plates and put the pieces into the bin. "What will Mrs Hudson think?" he joked.

As he watched John head off towards the shower he had a sudden feeling of loneliness and emptiness. He wanted to be near John again, to feel him pressed up against him, to hold him close, to imagine them staying that way forever, to believe it was possible. He quickly ran after John and grabbed him by the hand.

"John...erm..." Sherlock hesitated, suddenly thinking what he was about to ask sounded rather pathetic. "Um...it's fine to say no but...I was wondering if...if I could maybe...um...stay in your bed tonight?"

John felt himself swallow hard when Sherlock mentioned he could do it all over again, his knees were suddenly shaking and he had to breathe deeply before he could say anything that wasn't a plead. "We... we will do it again soon," he muttered, nodding, he wanted things to be right first though.
God, he wanted Sherlock though, it was even worse than before, now that he knew exactly what it could be.

"I suspect Mrs Hudson will see right through us..." he commented, a soft blush on his cheeks.

"You should try to get some sleep, Sherlock, I will keep you up as much as possible once I am free..." he said with a mischievous grin before he started moving towards the bathroom.

His thoughts were quick to envelop him as he walked away, cold wrapping around his heart, and he was surprised to feel Sherlock close again, grabbing his hand and exposing himself to be so... sweet.

"I would like that," he said simply, deciding not to joke, he leaned up, placing a kiss on his lips. "I will be there in ten minutes."

Sherlock's eyes glinted at the thought of being kept awake through various bedroom activities with John. There was nothing he'd truly like more and it was oh so tempting to leap on top of him, knock him onto the sofa and have him but....

Sherlock smiled. "Thanks," he mumbled, pleased and relieved that John had agreed to let him sleep in his bed. He ran to John's room and got in between the cool sheets. It felt wonderful being in John's bed and even more wonderful when ten minutes later he felt his flatmate's fresh, clean body creep into the bed beside him and snuggle up to his back, wearing nothing but his boxers.

Sherlock felt himself go hard and he screwed up his eyes and concentrated, trying to make it go away. John smelt so good after his shower he was suddenly aware of his own dirtiness.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "I probably stink of...sex....I...I should shower." But he really didn't feel like going anywhere right now.

John still couldn't wrap his head around what had happened, he was starting to think that it wasn't going to be easy to talk to Mary, he already felt guilty for leading a life he didn't want to live. He had played with
Now he had a chance to be with the right person though, and nothing should stop him, especially not his insecurities.

When he slid into the bed, it was surprisingly easy to move towards Sherlock's warmth, encasing him in his arms, taking in his scent that still had something of him in it.
"I like it," he said, kissing the back of his neck, he felt something stir in his groin, and he knew that he had to stop if he didn't want to drown in lust again.


((If you think about it, Sherlock had sex already two times that day))

(( Oh yeah, he must have a high sex drive, lol ))


Feeling John's arms around him was all Sherlock needed. He forgot all about his concerns and worries, about the complexities of the situation they had found themselves in. He lost himself in John's warmth and fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

John was quick to follow, the warmth of Sherlock's body enough to make him fall into a dreamless sleep. He didn't think he had ever slept so well, even though when he woke up later that day, his backside was sore and his head was hurting.
He guessed the main problem was the doorbell ringing though.
Mrs Hudson was away for the weekend and the person ringing the door seemed to be rather persistent.

He groaned, arms squeezing the body he felt in between them. Sherlock.
Oh God. It had happened for real!

He opened his eyes.
And smiled.

"Bloody hell... is it maybe a case?" he wondered, whoever it was, they weren't leaving.

It took a long time for Sherlock to wake up, the persistent ringing of the bell interupting his sleep in the most annoying way possible.

"Ohhh shut up shut up..." he muttered to himself.

He became aware of sensation next...John's warm arms wrapped around his body, their legs pressed up against each other. He moaned softly, wishing we could stay like that forever. But the person at the door just wasn't going away. Sherlock sighed angrily and dislodged himself from John's grasp. He got up out of bed and remembered he was in John's room.

"Must be a client," he said, "We don't exactly get visitors...." He quickly ran back to his own room to grab his dressing gown, then jogged downstairs to answer the door.

"All right all right, I'm coming!" he shouted angrily as he opened it. A woman. Sherlock recognised her slightly, although it wasn't until she pushed her way in and started talking that he began to put the pieces together.

"So I was just tidying up this morning when I found something under the bed and I thought, that's not mine - " she was babbling, almost to herself. It was the woman Sherlock had slept with the night before.

"What are you doing?" he demanded. "Don't go up there!" By this time she was already starting to head upstairs to the flat.

John took his time to roll off the bed and gather his trousers and tank top, he didn't feel like moving from the bed just yet, but he wanted to help Sherlock with whoever was at the door.
It was his job after all.

He moved to the living room, putting the kettle on and lightly slapping his cheeks, trying not to make it look like he had been fucked thoroughly by his flatmate the night before.
The limp didn't help really.

He was surprised to see a woman appear in the door, he blinked at her, she was beautiful, but definitely not worried.
Not case material then.

"And who are you?" he asked, frowning.
He was dreading the answer now.

Sherlock raced up the stairs after the girl, hoping to stop her before she got into the flat and John saw her. He didn't want to have to explain that this was the girl he'd been sleeping with the night before, that would just be...awkward.

But it was too late. John had already got up and before he could stop her she said, "You must be John then? Sherlock told me all about you. Wouldn't stop talking about you in fact."

She produced something from her pocket and held it out. Sherlock saw it was his magnifier. "You left this in my flat..." He grabbed it out of her hand quickly.

"It must have fell out of my pocket. Thank you. You may go now." He indicated with his arm back down the stairs. His face was flushed, he could feel John's eyes on him and didn't want to look.

John wanted to feel happy about the fact Sherlock had talked about him, but as realization hit him about who this girl actually was, he started feeling sick instead.
The girl Sherlock slept with.
She even knew where Sherlock lived!

"Yes, I am John," he muttered darkly, crossing his arms over his chest, how dare she come here? He couldn't believe it. Had Sherlock done it on purpose? Was he actually seeing her?
His thoughts didn't make any sense, he was jealous, seething with a jealousy he had never felt before.
How could he have even fooled himself he could be with Mary?
He had never felt anything of the sort for her!

He moved instinctively towards Sherlock, keeping closer than he should, marking his territory.
"It's a bit early for a social visit," he commented cold. And he usually was the nice one!

John was behaving quite strangely. Sherlock had never seen him act that way before, although currently he was more concerned with getting the girl to leave. For some reason she seemed quite interested to nose around their flat. She ignored his outstretched finger pointing her back down the stairs and instead wandered over to the mantelpiece and picked up the skull.

"Ewww...is this thing real?"
Sherlock ran over and grabbed it off her. "Put that back." he snapped and placed it carefully back on the mantelpiece.

The girl turned to him and placed her hand round the back of his head.
"I put my number in your phone...can we see each other again," she said flirtatiously, flicking back a piece of her hair with the other hand.
"Um...I'm not sure that'd be a good idea," replied Sherlock, glancing up at John.

John was seething, he was glaring at the girl so hard he thought he could burn holes into her.
He had never touched a girl in his life, but at the moment he really wanted to grab her head and slam it on the mantelpiece.
He was sure the skull would appreciate having company.

When Sherlock looked at him in doubt, he crossed his arms over his chest, his whole body tensing.
"Get your hands off my boyfriend, you bitch," he hissed before he could think, and Sherlock was going to hear him for this. How dare she touch him? And why wasn't he pushing her away?
"No, you can't see him again. Ever again."