Fic: Turnabout
Title: Turnabout
Pairing(s): Sherlock/John
Warnings: sort of strange role-play
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Sherlock and John's tempers get the best of them, and they get the best (or possibly worst) of each other.
And Sherlock had gone too far. Far beyond the actual argument, and down to the base of his anger.
Sherlock was first into the flat as always, the long-legged bastard. John was close behind, stomping over the threshold to hang up his coat and positively reeking of fury. Sherlock was tense, but was doing a good job of ignoring his flatmate. That is, until John shouted at him from across the room. Sherlock was already assuming his post-case relaxation pose, which involved draping himself across the sofa and doing his best to impersonate a very flexible blanket.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” John yelled. Sherlock grunted. All right, maybe he could still ignore him.
“I'm talking to you, you wanker.” Or not.
“A list of what's not wrong with me would be shorter.” John made a strangled sound. He must have been exceptionally angry; he hadn't even bothered to start tea.
“Sherlock, you cannot do things like this!”
“Actually, I think I can. I just did, in fact.”
“Oh, for...you know what I meant.”
“I do not see the problem.”
“The problem, Sherlock, is that you have no regard for anyone and you don't even think before putting yourself, or me or...or anyone in danger.”
“You're being redundant, and I do think. I always think, unlike some idiots I could mention.”
“Oh, do mention them, I'm dying to hear.” Something coiled in Sherlock's stomach. John hadn't been this angry since...fuck, had he ever? Oh yes. That time with the ants. And the lye. There were reasons Sherlock kept those memories at the back of his brain.
Despite his worry at John's anger, he also felt his own swell of rage. He hated to be beaten. He would not let it happen at this little man's hand. He sat up and opened his mouth.
“Oh, I'm the great Sherlock Holmes and I'm so far above everyone else!” John spat before he could speak. “So bloody brilliant, I don't need to think about anybody else. No-one matters but me, and I can get away with that because I'm such a fucking genius.”
Sherlock's eyes narrowed. He felt as if he'd been slapped.
“Because Saint John Watson is one to talk.” he said, measuring his words on his tongue. He adopted a derisive impression of John's voice, deliberately bad. “I can judge everyone, because I'm good, so fucking good.”
John's eyes widened; he'd never heard Sherlock swear so vehemently before.
“I know right from wrong because I'm a doctor and a soldier and I've got a fucking blog.”
“Stop it.”
“Everyone wants to hear my opinion. My puny opinion from my puny brain. I'm a perfect fucking specimen of humanity.”
“Right, because the Great Sherlock Holmes knows anything about humanity.” John lowered his voice in a poor imitation of Sherlock's and waved his arms angrily. “I'm a bloody deduction robot. I don't need the stupid humans, I just need the work. Always the precious fucking work. Dead bodies, that's what I live for. That's all you idiot mortals are competent at; dying.”
“Oh, but I'm Saint John. Doctor John. I can put up with it. I'm a bloody fucking martyr and a saviour. I'll “fix” Sherlock and make him good and boring like me. I'll find his shrivelled heart and make it too fucking big and swollen for him to handle!” Sherlock hadn't meant to say that. John seemed to be too enraged to pick up on his words, though.
“Sherlock fucking Holmes doesn't have a heart, didn't you hear? I don't have to sleep, don't have to eat, don't have to feel. I can just keep going with the force of my will and my intellect and my god damned designer shirts.”
“John Watson, the doctor-saint doesn't need designer shirts, no. Got my reputation over three continents in wooly jumpers and worn jeans that shouldn't make my arse look great but oh, they do. And I know it. I know I look like a sodding midget wet dream.” And Sherlock had gone too far. Far beyond the actual argument, and down to the base of his anger. Down to his own damn frustration. There was no way John would miss it this time.
“What does it matter what my flatmate wears, though?” John's tone was slower, more even now. “It's all just transport, right? I notice everything, but I can just ignore what's convenient. What do I care if my poor, stupid flatmate wears those jeans just to draw my eye. I don't have to look.”
Sherlock was on his feet without any recollection of having done so. His breath was coming fast and his heart was pounding. He wasn't sure why any more.
“I'm so normal, so mundane.” he said. “But I'm so special. I don't even know how much I can surprise my flatmate. How I can leave him speechless. Breathless. So blind. Or maybe I can see it, and I have a good laugh because he's so spectacularly ignorant about some things.”
Somehow they had crossed the room and stood feet from each other. Almost within touching distance.
“I just enjoy this, teasing John.” John's voice had gone softer. “Wearing tight trousers and shirts that I never button all the way so John can almost get a look at my chest. The poor fool, he must be so smitten.”
“Look at me, sex god in a cardigan.” Sherlock's voice had lost most of its mocking tone and lowered to a rumble. He took a step closer, bringing them almost chest-to-chest. He started to lean down, but his movement was finished by John's strong hand curling around the back of his head. His grip was firm and possessive, almost enough to hurt.
When their mouths clashed together, a small part of Sherlock's brain wondered if his lip had started bleeding. The rest of him did not give a flying fuck, and was only concerned with bringing their bodies as close as possible and sucking John's tongue into his mouth.
John moaned into the kiss that was too violent to really be a kiss. Sherlock could feel him growing hard against his thigh. He rolled his own hips forwards so that John could feel his mutual erection press into his belly.
“John...” He felt John grin.
“I thought you were Saint John Watson.” he said. Oh. Weirdness be damned, this was going to be interesting.
“Sherlock...” he whispered on John's lips.
“John John John.” John said, bucking his crotch rhythmically onto Sherlock's thigh.
“Sherlock, I need to get out of this bloody awful jumper.” He plucked at the knitted thing John was wearing. He helped pull it over his head.
“John, let me take care of these buttons.” They both went for each other's shirts, tearing desperately at the buttons. Sherlock's breath caught in his throat at the sight of John shirtless.
“Sherlock...” He caught his eye. Time for an experiment. “Sherlock, touch my scar. I want you to.” He didn't move, waiting for a response. Your move, John. The answer came with a shaky sigh.
“Yes. God yes, I want to feel it. Feel it in my mouth.”
Sherlock obliged, running the tips of his fingers along the raised whitish skin before bending his head down and pressing his tongue to it. He bit down gently. He didn't care to think about how long he'd wanted to do that. John groaned and arched into him.
“Sh-John. We should take this...to a bedroom.”
“Mine. Yours is too messy, and Mrs. Hudson will be able to hear.”
“Don't you have some supplies in your room?”
“Hm? Oh. Let's find out, shall we?” John took him by the hand and dragged him from the sitting room and to the stairs. They all but sprinted up to John's room, bodies humming with anticipation. John closed the door behind them and pushed Sherlock to the bed.
“Trousers.” he said. Sherlock nodded and they both were rid of them in seconds. John crawled over Sherlock, kissing a line from his belly up to his mouth. Sherlock arched up into him.
“I wonder what it is I like about you, Sherlock.” Sherlock murmured. John huffed out a chuckle.
“Probably my infuriating quirks and sexy voice and god, amazing arse.” He reached down to squeeze Sherlock's backside to prove the point.
“And you, Doctor.” he said. “What could I possibly see in you?”
“I put up with you.” Sherlock pecked kisses across John's face and neck. “I'm a fighter and a gorgeous man, and I've got quite a lovely cock.” John giggled.
“When have I seen your cock?”
“You've sneaked peeks while I've showered.”
“Oh, of course.” Sherlock brought his fingers to the waistband of John's pants. He toyed with it for a moment, but then tugged down. John sat up and twisted off of him to help pull them off. He knelt next to Sherlock, hard and yes, quite impressive.
“And you.” he said with a raise of his eyebrows. Sherlock grinned and wriggled out of his own underwear. He took John's sudden intake of breath as a very good thing indeed.
“Gorgeous.” he whispered, leaning back over the consulting detective.
“Sherlock.” Sherlock said. “I want to be inside you.” Confusion crossed John's face for a moment as he weighed the extent of the roleplay in his mind.
“Yes. Yes, I want you to fill me. Top drawer, isn't it?” Sherlock reached from under him to pull lube and a condom from the drawer.
“Right at the front. I'm quite hopeful, aren't I?” John rolled his eyes.
“Don't flatter yourself. Or myself. Whatever. Let's say it was for an experiment?”
“Naturally.”
John took the bottle from him and squeezed a healthy amount onto his fingers. He rubbed it between them to warm it while leaning forward to lick a wide streak across Sherlock's right nipple. The man gasped and twitched.
“No wonder y-I said to be careful when you got my phone out of my jacket pocket. Bit sensitive, am I?”
“Fuck you.” Sherlock said, but without any venom.
“Isn't that what you were intending to do?” John said, and pressed a finger to Sherlock's anus.
“I think I ought to hurry up.” Sherlock said.
“As you wish.” John said, and plunged the finger in. Sherlock bucked his hips back to meet it, taking it in as far as it would go. John slowly started to work another finger in.
“Nnngggg, Sherlock...” Sherlock said. He reddened, mortified by the sound. He raised his hand to bite. John's hand covered his and gently drew it away.
“I won't hold back.” he said firmly. “I'll let you hear everything.”
“That...that'll be hard for you.” Sherock squirmed.
“I'll manage if you will, John.” John twisted his fingers inside Sherlock, who let himself cry out.
“That's it, John.” John said and added another finger. “I'm almost ready, don't you think?”
“Yes.” Sherlock rasped in a broken voice. “Oh god, Sherlock, I can't wait to fill you.” John grinned evilly and withdrew his fingers. He picked up the lube and condom.
“I'll do the honours, if you like.” he said, holding them out to Sherlock. The other man took them and sat up to roll the condom over John's prick and slick it up. His touch was a little tentative and feather-light. John decided that it was time to break character, if only for a moment. He grabbed one of Sherlock's hands and caught his eye.
“Hey.” he said in his deliberate doctor's voice. “You all right? If you're uncomf-”
“I don't want to stop! Don't you dare stop.” Sherlock exclaimed. “It's just...been a while. Carry on.” He gifted John with a smile and lay back down, spreading his legs even wider. John couldn't help but grin hungrily at him. Back to it, then.
“I'm putting it in, Sherlock.” Sherlock said, staring intently at John. So the role-play was still on. John leant forwards and lined himself up.
Sherlock gasped as the head of John's cock pushed through the ring of muscle. John continued steadily until he was almost all the way inside.
“Fff...you're...I'm inside you.” breathed Sherlock while shifting his hips to increase their friction. John smirked.
“Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you'd go deeper.”
“Then go deeper I shall.” Sherlock flexed his abdomen and pushed back against John, who drove forwards again. Deeper he went, until he bottomed out.
“Christ, Sher-John, you feel amazing. Inside me.”
“T-tight.” Sherlock clamped his eyes shut. After a deep breath he said, “Sherlock, I had better get moving.”
John moved. Oh did he move. Slow, rocking thrusts at first, building in intensity.
“John.” he rasped. “Go harder?”
“Yes. Yes, fuck yesss.” Sherlock hissed. “Like this, yes. Harder...and rougher.”
John pounded into him. A fine sheen of sweat started to build on their skin. Sherlock's damp hair clung to his forehead and pillow.
“Sherlock, I'm getting close.” he said, unsure if he was speaking as himself or his role-play John.
“Fuck yes me too.” John's words were a staccato in time with his sloppier and sloppier thrusts as he lost control.
“I. Want. You. To. Watch. Me. Come.” he ground out.
“You're close, so close. I'll watch, just let go.”
“Yes.”
“Jjjjohn...” Sherlock was barely aware of the name passing between his teeth as he came, spilling across his belly. John deepened his thrusts through the aftershocks. Sherlock clenched around him.
“Oh, f-Sherlock!” His whole body went rigid with the force of the orgasm. He collapsed on top of Sherlock.
“Sorry.” he panted, and tried to roll to the side. His lover caught him in a surprisingly strong grip and held him there.
“John.” he said.
“Mm?” Sherlock was silent for a moment, and the kissed him chastely.
“I'm sorry.”
“Yeah. Yeah me too.”
John carefully disengaged and slid next to Sherlock, who kept him in a tight embrace. They curled around each other, John's face nestled in his lover's shoulder. They waited until their breathing had calmed before speaking.
“Sherlock?”
“I can't promise that I won't do it again, John.” John huffed, equal parts amused and annoyed.
“I wasn't going to ask that.”
“Oh?”
“No. We'll talk about it later, and I know better than that anyway. What I was going to say was that you're welcome to stay in here. Not just tonight, but any...every night.” Sherlock smiled into his hair.
“I'd like that.”
“And Sherlock?”
“Still here. And you still have my full attention, John.”
“Oh, shut up, you wanker. I love you.” Sherlock stopped breathing for a moment and John stiffened with worry. He relaxed when Sherlock chuckled gently, a deep rumble in his chest.
“Yes. Sorry. I didn't think you saying it would have such and effect...of course. Of course I love you too.” He felt John's lips curl into what was most probably a very sappy grin.
“We should get cleaned up.” he mumbled. Sherlock made a show of yawning.
“Can't we do that in the morning?” John sat up and kissed him.
“Sleep.” he said. He got up and returned moments later with a damp flannel and without the used condom. Sherlock let himself drift into semi-consciousness as John gently wiped him down. He crawled back onto the bed beside Sherlock and pulled the sheets up over them. They fell asleep wrapped tightly around each other.
Pairing(s): Sherlock/John
Warnings: sort of strange role-play
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Sherlock and John's tempers get the best of them, and they get the best (or possibly worst) of each other.
And Sherlock had gone too far. Far beyond the actual argument, and down to the base of his anger.
Sherlock was first into the flat as always, the long-legged bastard. John was close behind, stomping over the threshold to hang up his coat and positively reeking of fury. Sherlock was tense, but was doing a good job of ignoring his flatmate. That is, until John shouted at him from across the room. Sherlock was already assuming his post-case relaxation pose, which involved draping himself across the sofa and doing his best to impersonate a very flexible blanket.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” John yelled. Sherlock grunted. All right, maybe he could still ignore him.
“I'm talking to you, you wanker.” Or not.
“A list of what's not wrong with me would be shorter.” John made a strangled sound. He must have been exceptionally angry; he hadn't even bothered to start tea.
“Sherlock, you cannot do things like this!”
“Actually, I think I can. I just did, in fact.”
“Oh, for...you know what I meant.”
“I do not see the problem.”
“The problem, Sherlock, is that you have no regard for anyone and you don't even think before putting yourself, or me or...or anyone in danger.”
“You're being redundant, and I do think. I always think, unlike some idiots I could mention.”
“Oh, do mention them, I'm dying to hear.” Something coiled in Sherlock's stomach. John hadn't been this angry since...fuck, had he ever? Oh yes. That time with the ants. And the lye. There were reasons Sherlock kept those memories at the back of his brain.
Despite his worry at John's anger, he also felt his own swell of rage. He hated to be beaten. He would not let it happen at this little man's hand. He sat up and opened his mouth.
“Oh, I'm the great Sherlock Holmes and I'm so far above everyone else!” John spat before he could speak. “So bloody brilliant, I don't need to think about anybody else. No-one matters but me, and I can get away with that because I'm such a fucking genius.”
Sherlock's eyes narrowed. He felt as if he'd been slapped.
“Because Saint John Watson is one to talk.” he said, measuring his words on his tongue. He adopted a derisive impression of John's voice, deliberately bad. “I can judge everyone, because I'm good, so fucking good.”
John's eyes widened; he'd never heard Sherlock swear so vehemently before.
“I know right from wrong because I'm a doctor and a soldier and I've got a fucking blog.”
“Stop it.”
“Everyone wants to hear my opinion. My puny opinion from my puny brain. I'm a perfect fucking specimen of humanity.”
“Right, because the Great Sherlock Holmes knows anything about humanity.” John lowered his voice in a poor imitation of Sherlock's and waved his arms angrily. “I'm a bloody deduction robot. I don't need the stupid humans, I just need the work. Always the precious fucking work. Dead bodies, that's what I live for. That's all you idiot mortals are competent at; dying.”
“Oh, but I'm Saint John. Doctor John. I can put up with it. I'm a bloody fucking martyr and a saviour. I'll “fix” Sherlock and make him good and boring like me. I'll find his shrivelled heart and make it too fucking big and swollen for him to handle!” Sherlock hadn't meant to say that. John seemed to be too enraged to pick up on his words, though.
“Sherlock fucking Holmes doesn't have a heart, didn't you hear? I don't have to sleep, don't have to eat, don't have to feel. I can just keep going with the force of my will and my intellect and my god damned designer shirts.”
“John Watson, the doctor-saint doesn't need designer shirts, no. Got my reputation over three continents in wooly jumpers and worn jeans that shouldn't make my arse look great but oh, they do. And I know it. I know I look like a sodding midget wet dream.” And Sherlock had gone too far. Far beyond the actual argument, and down to the base of his anger. Down to his own damn frustration. There was no way John would miss it this time.
“What does it matter what my flatmate wears, though?” John's tone was slower, more even now. “It's all just transport, right? I notice everything, but I can just ignore what's convenient. What do I care if my poor, stupid flatmate wears those jeans just to draw my eye. I don't have to look.”
Sherlock was on his feet without any recollection of having done so. His breath was coming fast and his heart was pounding. He wasn't sure why any more.
“I'm so normal, so mundane.” he said. “But I'm so special. I don't even know how much I can surprise my flatmate. How I can leave him speechless. Breathless. So blind. Or maybe I can see it, and I have a good laugh because he's so spectacularly ignorant about some things.”
Somehow they had crossed the room and stood feet from each other. Almost within touching distance.
“I just enjoy this, teasing John.” John's voice had gone softer. “Wearing tight trousers and shirts that I never button all the way so John can almost get a look at my chest. The poor fool, he must be so smitten.”
“Look at me, sex god in a cardigan.” Sherlock's voice had lost most of its mocking tone and lowered to a rumble. He took a step closer, bringing them almost chest-to-chest. He started to lean down, but his movement was finished by John's strong hand curling around the back of his head. His grip was firm and possessive, almost enough to hurt.
When their mouths clashed together, a small part of Sherlock's brain wondered if his lip had started bleeding. The rest of him did not give a flying fuck, and was only concerned with bringing their bodies as close as possible and sucking John's tongue into his mouth.
John moaned into the kiss that was too violent to really be a kiss. Sherlock could feel him growing hard against his thigh. He rolled his own hips forwards so that John could feel his mutual erection press into his belly.
“John...” He felt John grin.
“I thought you were Saint John Watson.” he said. Oh. Weirdness be damned, this was going to be interesting.
“Sherlock...” he whispered on John's lips.
“John John John.” John said, bucking his crotch rhythmically onto Sherlock's thigh.
“Sherlock, I need to get out of this bloody awful jumper.” He plucked at the knitted thing John was wearing. He helped pull it over his head.
“John, let me take care of these buttons.” They both went for each other's shirts, tearing desperately at the buttons. Sherlock's breath caught in his throat at the sight of John shirtless.
“Sherlock...” He caught his eye. Time for an experiment. “Sherlock, touch my scar. I want you to.” He didn't move, waiting for a response. Your move, John. The answer came with a shaky sigh.
“Yes. God yes, I want to feel it. Feel it in my mouth.”
Sherlock obliged, running the tips of his fingers along the raised whitish skin before bending his head down and pressing his tongue to it. He bit down gently. He didn't care to think about how long he'd wanted to do that. John groaned and arched into him.
“Sh-John. We should take this...to a bedroom.”
“Mine. Yours is too messy, and Mrs. Hudson will be able to hear.”
“Don't you have some supplies in your room?”
“Hm? Oh. Let's find out, shall we?” John took him by the hand and dragged him from the sitting room and to the stairs. They all but sprinted up to John's room, bodies humming with anticipation. John closed the door behind them and pushed Sherlock to the bed.
“Trousers.” he said. Sherlock nodded and they both were rid of them in seconds. John crawled over Sherlock, kissing a line from his belly up to his mouth. Sherlock arched up into him.
“I wonder what it is I like about you, Sherlock.” Sherlock murmured. John huffed out a chuckle.
“Probably my infuriating quirks and sexy voice and god, amazing arse.” He reached down to squeeze Sherlock's backside to prove the point.
“And you, Doctor.” he said. “What could I possibly see in you?”
“I put up with you.” Sherlock pecked kisses across John's face and neck. “I'm a fighter and a gorgeous man, and I've got quite a lovely cock.” John giggled.
“When have I seen your cock?”
“You've sneaked peeks while I've showered.”
“Oh, of course.” Sherlock brought his fingers to the waistband of John's pants. He toyed with it for a moment, but then tugged down. John sat up and twisted off of him to help pull them off. He knelt next to Sherlock, hard and yes, quite impressive.
“And you.” he said with a raise of his eyebrows. Sherlock grinned and wriggled out of his own underwear. He took John's sudden intake of breath as a very good thing indeed.
“Gorgeous.” he whispered, leaning back over the consulting detective.
“Sherlock.” Sherlock said. “I want to be inside you.” Confusion crossed John's face for a moment as he weighed the extent of the roleplay in his mind.
“Yes. Yes, I want you to fill me. Top drawer, isn't it?” Sherlock reached from under him to pull lube and a condom from the drawer.
“Right at the front. I'm quite hopeful, aren't I?” John rolled his eyes.
“Don't flatter yourself. Or myself. Whatever. Let's say it was for an experiment?”
“Naturally.”
John took the bottle from him and squeezed a healthy amount onto his fingers. He rubbed it between them to warm it while leaning forward to lick a wide streak across Sherlock's right nipple. The man gasped and twitched.
“No wonder y-I said to be careful when you got my phone out of my jacket pocket. Bit sensitive, am I?”
“Fuck you.” Sherlock said, but without any venom.
“Isn't that what you were intending to do?” John said, and pressed a finger to Sherlock's anus.
“I think I ought to hurry up.” Sherlock said.
“As you wish.” John said, and plunged the finger in. Sherlock bucked his hips back to meet it, taking it in as far as it would go. John slowly started to work another finger in.
“Nnngggg, Sherlock...” Sherlock said. He reddened, mortified by the sound. He raised his hand to bite. John's hand covered his and gently drew it away.
“I won't hold back.” he said firmly. “I'll let you hear everything.”
“That...that'll be hard for you.” Sherock squirmed.
“I'll manage if you will, John.” John twisted his fingers inside Sherlock, who let himself cry out.
“That's it, John.” John said and added another finger. “I'm almost ready, don't you think?”
“Yes.” Sherlock rasped in a broken voice. “Oh god, Sherlock, I can't wait to fill you.” John grinned evilly and withdrew his fingers. He picked up the lube and condom.
“I'll do the honours, if you like.” he said, holding them out to Sherlock. The other man took them and sat up to roll the condom over John's prick and slick it up. His touch was a little tentative and feather-light. John decided that it was time to break character, if only for a moment. He grabbed one of Sherlock's hands and caught his eye.
“Hey.” he said in his deliberate doctor's voice. “You all right? If you're uncomf-”
“I don't want to stop! Don't you dare stop.” Sherlock exclaimed. “It's just...been a while. Carry on.” He gifted John with a smile and lay back down, spreading his legs even wider. John couldn't help but grin hungrily at him. Back to it, then.
“I'm putting it in, Sherlock.” Sherlock said, staring intently at John. So the role-play was still on. John leant forwards and lined himself up.
Sherlock gasped as the head of John's cock pushed through the ring of muscle. John continued steadily until he was almost all the way inside.
“Fff...you're...I'm inside you.” breathed Sherlock while shifting his hips to increase their friction. John smirked.
“Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you'd go deeper.”
“Then go deeper I shall.” Sherlock flexed his abdomen and pushed back against John, who drove forwards again. Deeper he went, until he bottomed out.
“Christ, Sher-John, you feel amazing. Inside me.”
“T-tight.” Sherlock clamped his eyes shut. After a deep breath he said, “Sherlock, I had better get moving.”
John moved. Oh did he move. Slow, rocking thrusts at first, building in intensity.
“John.” he rasped. “Go harder?”
“Yes. Yes, fuck yesss.” Sherlock hissed. “Like this, yes. Harder...and rougher.”
John pounded into him. A fine sheen of sweat started to build on their skin. Sherlock's damp hair clung to his forehead and pillow.
“Sherlock, I'm getting close.” he said, unsure if he was speaking as himself or his role-play John.
“Fuck yes me too.” John's words were a staccato in time with his sloppier and sloppier thrusts as he lost control.
“I. Want. You. To. Watch. Me. Come.” he ground out.
“You're close, so close. I'll watch, just let go.”
“Yes.”
“Jjjjohn...” Sherlock was barely aware of the name passing between his teeth as he came, spilling across his belly. John deepened his thrusts through the aftershocks. Sherlock clenched around him.
“Oh, f-Sherlock!” His whole body went rigid with the force of the orgasm. He collapsed on top of Sherlock.
“Sorry.” he panted, and tried to roll to the side. His lover caught him in a surprisingly strong grip and held him there.
“John.” he said.
“Mm?” Sherlock was silent for a moment, and the kissed him chastely.
“I'm sorry.”
“Yeah. Yeah me too.”
John carefully disengaged and slid next to Sherlock, who kept him in a tight embrace. They curled around each other, John's face nestled in his lover's shoulder. They waited until their breathing had calmed before speaking.
“Sherlock?”
“I can't promise that I won't do it again, John.” John huffed, equal parts amused and annoyed.
“I wasn't going to ask that.”
“Oh?”
“No. We'll talk about it later, and I know better than that anyway. What I was going to say was that you're welcome to stay in here. Not just tonight, but any...every night.” Sherlock smiled into his hair.
“I'd like that.”
“And Sherlock?”
“Still here. And you still have my full attention, John.”
“Oh, shut up, you wanker. I love you.” Sherlock stopped breathing for a moment and John stiffened with worry. He relaxed when Sherlock chuckled gently, a deep rumble in his chest.
“Yes. Sorry. I didn't think you saying it would have such and effect...of course. Of course I love you too.” He felt John's lips curl into what was most probably a very sappy grin.
“We should get cleaned up.” he mumbled. Sherlock made a show of yawning.
“Can't we do that in the morning?” John sat up and kissed him.
“Sleep.” he said. He got up and returned moments later with a damp flannel and without the used condom. Sherlock let himself drift into semi-consciousness as John gently wiped him down. He crawled back onto the bed beside Sherlock and pulled the sheets up over them. They fell asleep wrapped tightly around each other.