Sherlock enjoyed the companionable silence that stretched between them, still appreciating the warm presence of John and unwilling to let him go just yet. He frowned when John's stomach growled, knowing it was a precursor to his suggesting he get up. He squeezed him tighter and shook his head, not letting him up when he tried to move
( ... )
"I really don't mind," John reassured him, removing his hand from Sherlock's forehead, only to place it on top of Sherlock's hand, so it was safely nestled between both of John's. "Though I will have to get up and get dressed at some point," he added, smiling wryly. It had been some time since his shower, and the warmth was starting to fade away, leaving his body open to the chill of the flat. Clothing would be good right about now... but John felt reluctant to get up. Sherlock seemed almost quietly distressed, and if he needed John to stay near for a little while longer, he could do that.
"Try and explain to me why it feels so unsettling," he encouraged softly. "Maybe I can help."
Sherlock smiled to himself at John's reply, the gesture of John placing his other hand on top of their joined ones making him ache with how tender it was. For someone who hardly felt anything (or at least never admitted to it), he was almost overwhelmed with how much he was feeling in this moment. He nodded to John's words, knowing he'd have to let him go sooner or later but really not wanting to, least of all right now. He was grateful John seemed to want to assist him in this, as uncomfortable as he was discussing his own feelings.
"It's unsettling because it's new. I've never felt that urge to be close with people like everyone else does, not until I got to experience it myself. I don't feel like I would want this with anyone else, though. Only you." He sighed heavily, frustrated with himself for not understanding this better. "I don't know what you could do." he murmured despairingly, still completely clueless as to why he was having these urges now, and why only with John.
"Alright, you lanky git," John murmured, trying to make light of the situation. "You're distressing yourself far too much. Come on..." Shifting on the sofa, John maneuvered Sherlock around so that the other man was sitting with his back towards John. Reaching out with both hands, the doctor began to work at the muscles of Sherlock's shoulders and neck, massaging him with skilled hands.
"Your problem," he continued, in a softer voice, "is that you're thinking too much, instead of allowing yourself to feel these things. There's no logic to them, which makes you panic, and in the end, you're over-thinking and working yourself into a state. Now, relax. And stop thinking."
Sherlock huffed indignantly at John's jibe, grumbling irritably when he's shifted about.
"What are you-..oh. Oh. Mmn." he managed, his sizable vocabulary reduced to nothing but soft sounds of pleasure when John's hands eased away the tension just like that. He went boneless against him as he let all the feelings of distress and uncertainty just melt away with every motion of John's hands. His eyes fell shut automatically, focusing instead on the physical sensations rather than allowing his mind to run away with a million different thoughts at once.
He was sure he had more to say, but in this moment, he didn't much want to. This was better than nicotine patches or cigarettes or even the more adventurous chemical help he'd resorted too in the past. The only real thought he had in his head right now was why hadn't he asked John for a massage a long time ago?
John smiled knowingly as he continued to knead the rigid muscles beneath his strong, skilled hands. Heaven's sake, but the man was tense. It was no wonder, really. John had observed it time and time again, the way Sherlock's body drew up as he got lost in thought and deduction. Never before had he met a man who lived so fully inside his mind, and so far from his body. The sleeping patterns, the eating habits, all indicated an almost reluctant relationship with the body, fueling it only so far as was absolutely necessary, never staying in it, never being grounded and sensing out what it might need. John shifted and started massaging a little deeper. He knew it would hurt now, neglected muscles resisting and trying to escape John's smart fingers, but he would keep at it until they were all warmed up and loose.
"Relax," he murmured again. "I've got you." I will always have you. And he would. He would have Sherlock's back, always, and he would follow him to the end of this world, and the next.
This type of attention was never something Sherlock thought he needed, but he was certain now it was only because he had never experienced it before. He wanted John touching him constantly, especially when he was touching him like this, melting away the tension he hadn't even realized was there with hardly any effort. It brought forth a strange feeling he couldn't quite place, though he gave in trying to decipher it when John's fingers worked through his tension like they'd been made specifically for this. He hissed a bit when John worked at a particularly stubborn knot of tension, sighing contentedly when it was worked out, causing him to melt even further against him, his head falling to his shoulder as he sprawled further over the sofa. John's words exacerbated that warm feeling radiating from his core, still unsure as to what any of those feelings meant but not really caring right this second
( ... )
John kept at it for some time, a lot longer than was truly necessary, in fact. But his hands did not grow tired easily, and it was somehow deeply satisfying to see the effect it was having on Sherlock. The man seemed completely boneless, sprawled out on the couch and leaning back against John so completely. He turned his head a little to whisper to Sherlock ('Don't fall asleep'), a shade of fond amusement in his voice. His hands began to drift after a while, kneading the muscles of the other man's upper arms, back to his shoulders, dipping down to rub circles around his collarbones with nimble fingers.
"Good?" he asked in a murmur, and if his voice had gotten a touch breathy, well, there was a very tall man sagging back against him with all his utterly relaxed weight.
Sherlock could hardly believe that simple contact like this could keep his mind quiet and tranquil, but it most definitely was. It was so very addicting to finally feel relaxed, only ever feeling it before when he indulged in chemical help on occasion. This was much better, though, the way John so effortlessly eased away tension that had been building inside him for years without him even realizing it. His eyes were closed, but he smiled a warm and unguarded smile when John whispered in his ear.
"And miss this? Certainly not." It was no secret that he thrived on attention, and especially John's who was the only one to give him positive attention of any sort. He drew a deep breath, exhaling it in a murmur of "Obviously." in answer to John's question. He sagged blissfully against him, his arms curled loosely around John's legs as a precautionary measure so he could grab him quickly if he tried to move. He nudged his head under John's chin, the lingering scent of that cologne only adding to his state of utter beatific
At length, John shifted again, wrapping a strong arm around Sherlock's waist to keep him close, keep him upright, while his other hand disappeared into the other's dark curls. For a little while, he simply ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair, but soon enough his fingers began to massage his scalp, working from the back of his neck to the top of his head and from temple to temple, in one continuous, languid exploration. It wasn't lost on John, how intimate this was, but in the context of that morning, it seemed strangely alright to be doing this, holding Sherlock this close, massaging his head, wearing nothing but a dressing gown and some briefs himself. It certainly didn't feel uncomfortable, or strange. It felt... good. Peaceful. Tranquil. Sherlock certainly didn't seem to be in any hurry of getting up, or even allowing John to get up. The audio file had stopped playing Schubert a while ago, and so it was just them, their breathing, and nothing else
( ... )
John's arm around him was certainly welcome, Sherlock shifting against him as though to get even closer even though it didn't seem physically possible. There's an audible inhale when John's fingers find his hair, that simple gesture making him shiver slightly at the way John so gently stroked through his mess of curls. He groaned indulgently, hardly even realized he'd vocalized his approval, certain that he wouldn't care even if he was aware in thanks to how far gone he was from this. His eyelids flickered, but didn't open at the soft mutter of his name, humming and flexing his fingers to grip at John's pantlegs to indicate he'd heard him
( ... )
"Says the man who is an annoying dick more often than not," John replied with quiet fondness. He had settled for simply caressing Sherlock's hair now, the massage done (and, by the sight of Sherlock, John had done a very good job indeed). John felt just as relaxed, simply holding Sherlock close against him, his own body at ease and simply enjoying the moment.
... That was, until those long, nimble fingers began to stroke over his thighs, and a certain part of his body was most decidedly not relaxing anymore, instead taking a definite interest in those idle, slow caresses. Just as suddenly, John became aware of their situation in an entirely different light, and he tensed up slightly, though he very much tried not to. Even in this state, Sherlock could be quick to sense and deduce, and the last thing John wanted was another awkward morning. He inhaled, and willed himself to relax again. It was nothing. Just a reaction to an intimate touch. His hand had stilled in Sherlock's hair, and he quickly picked up the movements again, trying to
( ... )
Sherlock smirked at John's reply, his body shaking a bit in barely audible laughter. This relaxed feeling was something he could certainly get used to, having searched his entire life for something that could get him this feeling that wouldn't destroy his body in the process. John had been the solution all along, and it was so obvious he never even considered it, until John took it upon himself to show him
( ... )
John shuckled softly, at the same time feeling a wave of relief and gratitude (and slight embarrasment) coming over him when Sherlock stopped the movement of his fingers. It would have become very awkward, very fast, and John was enjoying this just as much as Sherlock. Possibly more; yes, Sherlock had been searching for this peace and quiet inside his mind for a long time, but John had been craving forms of physical affection from his best friend without quite realizing it.
He knew Sherlock appreciated him, knew what signs to look for, knew he was treated differently than anyone else in Sherlock's life... but John was only human, at the end of the day. He could know all these things, and a part of him would still wish for something he would do and give to someone he loved. The smallest touch would do. And John did love Sherlock, there was no questioning that. The lengths he would go to for this man frightened him, sometimes. Very loyal, very quickly. He had denied it back then, not feeling that was the case. Now, looking back, it
( ... )
Sherlock sighed contentedly at the relaxing atmosphere, the fact that John was happy and amused right along with him oddly adding to his own complacency. He had never had someone else's mood affect him in such a way, but he found he certainly didn't mind when it felt this good
( ... )
John made a soft sound of pleasure when those clever fingers found the back of his head and began to stroke, and he lowered his head, hiding it in the shadows of Sherlock's neck. This close, he could smell the heady mixture of Sherlock's own cologone together with something that was so undeniably him... And alright, it was definitely time to get up and do something, before he bloody well nuzzled into his flatmate's neck to try and catch more of that intoxicating smell.
They had gotten tangled up pretty effectively, John found when he tried to move out of their embrace. John's arm around Sherlock's waist, his hand in Sherlock's hair, Sherlock's arm around his neck, their legs tangled together, Sherlock's hand on his leg... "Sherlock," he murmured again, though this time it was more a warning before the inevitable. "I'm gonna go get dressed," he continued, still only dressed in his dressing gown and briefs. Gods, his hair was nearly dry, too. How long had they been sitting like this?
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"Try and explain to me why it feels so unsettling," he encouraged softly. "Maybe I can help."
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"It's unsettling because it's new. I've never felt that urge to be close with people like everyone else does, not until I got to experience it myself. I don't feel like I would want this with anyone else, though. Only you." He sighed heavily, frustrated with himself for not understanding this better. "I don't know what you could do." he murmured despairingly, still completely clueless as to why he was having these urges now, and why only with John.
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"Your problem," he continued, in a softer voice, "is that you're thinking too much, instead of allowing yourself to feel these things. There's no logic to them, which makes you panic, and in the end, you're over-thinking and working yourself into a state. Now, relax. And stop thinking."
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"What are you-..oh. Oh. Mmn." he managed, his sizable vocabulary reduced to nothing but soft sounds of pleasure when John's hands eased away the tension just like that. He went boneless against him as he let all the feelings of distress and uncertainty just melt away with every motion of John's hands. His eyes fell shut automatically, focusing instead on the physical sensations rather than allowing his mind to run away with a million different thoughts at once.
He was sure he had more to say, but in this moment, he didn't much want to. This was better than nicotine patches or cigarettes or even the more adventurous chemical help he'd resorted too in the past. The only real thought he had in his head right now was why hadn't he asked John for a massage a long time ago?
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"Relax," he murmured again. "I've got you." I will always have you. And he would. He would have Sherlock's back, always, and he would follow him to the end of this world, and the next.
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"Good?" he asked in a murmur, and if his voice had gotten a touch breathy, well, there was a very tall man sagging back against him with all his utterly relaxed weight.
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"And miss this? Certainly not." It was no secret that he thrived on attention, and especially John's who was the only one to give him positive attention of any sort. He drew a deep breath, exhaling it in a murmur of "Obviously." in answer to John's question. He sagged blissfully against him, his arms curled loosely around John's legs as a precautionary measure so he could grab him quickly if he tried to move. He nudged his head under John's chin, the lingering scent of that cologne only adding to his state of utter beatific
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... That was, until those long, nimble fingers began to stroke over his thighs, and a certain part of his body was most decidedly not relaxing anymore, instead taking a definite interest in those idle, slow caresses. Just as suddenly, John became aware of their situation in an entirely different light, and he tensed up slightly, though he very much tried not to. Even in this state, Sherlock could be quick to sense and deduce, and the last thing John wanted was another awkward morning. He inhaled, and willed himself to relax again. It was nothing. Just a reaction to an intimate touch. His hand had stilled in Sherlock's hair, and he quickly picked up the movements again, trying to ( ... )
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He knew Sherlock appreciated him, knew what signs to look for, knew he was treated differently than anyone else in Sherlock's life... but John was only human, at the end of the day. He could know all these things, and a part of him would still wish for something he would do and give to someone he loved. The smallest touch would do. And John did love Sherlock, there was no questioning that. The lengths he would go to for this man frightened him, sometimes. Very loyal, very quickly. He had denied it back then, not feeling that was the case. Now, looking back, it ( ... )
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They had gotten tangled up pretty effectively, John found when he tried to move out of their embrace. John's arm around Sherlock's waist, his hand in Sherlock's hair, Sherlock's arm around his neck, their legs tangled together, Sherlock's hand on his leg... "Sherlock," he murmured again, though this time it was more a warning before the inevitable. "I'm gonna go get dressed," he continued, still only dressed in his dressing gown and briefs. Gods, his hair was nearly dry, too. How long had they been sitting like this?
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