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John looked up from his book as the rain lashed against the windows, the wind slamming into the glass simultaneously. Across the room Sherlock snarled in response.

“Are you going to sulk all day?” Sherlock grunted an answer and John tutted. “Don’t be a brat, just because of some bad weather.”

“It’s not just bad weather, is it? Three days! Three days of this blasted storm.”

John tried to hide his smirk as Sherlock shook his fist at the window.

“I’m bored,” he whinged. There it was, John had been waiting for the familiar line, usually a prelude to a monumental tantrum if he wasn’t quick to nip it in the bud.

“It’ll clear up in a couple of days. Why don’t you watch some tv?”

Sherlock scowled as he swept across the room, his open dressing gown lending him flair of drama as he moved. He sunk into his chair noisily and flipped on the tv.

Another gust of wind battered against the side of 221b Baker Street, making a horrible moaning sound and the lights flickered above them.

“I’ll make some tea,” John murmured.

The kettle had almost finished boiling and John looked up as the lights blinked again. And then-

“No, no no no no!” Sherlock slammed his fits against the arms of his chair as the flat plunged into darkness.

“Oh, fucking hell,” John groaned. “Hang on…” He fumbled in the nearest drawer and found an old wind up torch. Pulling the handle several times he was quick to turn
it on and shed a little light in the kitchen. “I’ll be in in a minute Sherlock, let me grab some candles.” Sherlock said nothing, which worried John slightly and he hurried to find some candles that were shoved at the far end of the drawer. He found some matches and carried them all into the living room.

Once they were positioned and lit, John turned to Sherlock and was surprised to see a glimmer of discomfort on the younger man’s face. He knew that Sherlock wasn’t afraid of the dark, was it the storm perhaps that had unsettled him? The younger man seemed to watch the new shadows caused by the candlelight, as if he saw something in them that John didn't.

“There, that’s better. You alright?”

Sherlock snorted derisively; all trace of anguish, quickly replaced with arrogance.

“Great. I’ll go check the fuse box.” He stood up, placing a hand on Sherlock’s knee and using it to push himself off the floor.

“Don’t be dense," Sherlock snapped, "the lights are off on the entire street John."

“Okay, well, they’ll come back on soon.” He walked into the kitchen and mourned that the power had cut before the kettle boiled. Well, might as well make the best of the situation. He grabbed two wine glasses and the bottle of red and carried them, along with some cheese and crackers in to Sherlock again.

“We might as well eat this, rather than let it go to waste in the fridge.”

“And the wine?”

“Well,” John shrugged. “Why not?”

Sherlock hesitated, then realised he had no witty response so poured the wine for them both. Another bout of heavy rain hit the windows and John was sure he saw Sherlock flinch.

“It’s not so bad, some places up north have been hit really bad. It just sounds bad.”

“I know, I’m not a child,” Sherlock admonished.

“I’m well aware of that Sherlock.” He pulled out his phone and set up some downloaded music to play and turned to get a fire started in the fireplace. He looked at the table and huffed a small laugh.

“What?”

“No nothing. Just reminded me of something.”

“What?”

“When I was younger, I had this girl over, Becki Anders.”

Becki Anders?

John chose to ignore Sherlock's tone. “I thought she was the best thing since sliced bread. I’d been dying to invite her over; weeks of planning went into the evening. I had to wait for a night my mam was out, and Harry was with some mates. I wanted it to be romantic, yeah? So, I got one of my mam’s old blankets and laid it on the floor of the lounge and I stole all these bits from the fridge, cheese, bread, olives. And some of Harry’s beer that she thought I didn’t know about.” He grinned. “Becki came over, and it was going to be the night of my life. I was so ready. We sat on the floor, and I knew that it was the moment, I was going to kiss her. I leant over and… bam. Power cut.”

Sherlock asked despite himself. “What happened?”

“She screamed." He chuckled. "She properly panicked.”

“What did you do?”

John grinned. “Calmed her down. Reminded her that she was perfectly safe with me.” He sighed. “God I was a cocky little shit.”

“Mmm, not much has changed.”

“Oi!”

“So, you got your kiss I presume.”

“Oh yeah. And then some.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened.

“We messed around,” John clarified. He popped a piece of cheese into his mouth, still grinning at the memory. “What about you? Didn’t you ever do anything like that as a kid?”

Sherlock blinked, watching the way the doctor chewed the food. “No. Not at that age. I never felt the need to be romantic.” In truth, he had always hoped that someone would suggest it, that someone would feel that Sherlock was worth making an effort for, not the other way around. “And then I spent most of my teenage years up to my eyeballs in drugs. The only interactions that I had with people then may have been similar to what you describe; but were certainly not my idea of romance.”

John’s heart tugged in his chest. For a moment the only sound was the crackle of the fire and the wind outside. He tried to imagine just how lonely that must have felt, and the thought of people taking advantage of a young, drug addled man made his blood run cold. “I’m sorry Sherlock.”

The younger man had drawn his knees up into his chest and was staring at the fireplace. “Why?”

“Because I wish you had a different story about your childhood. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got more bad memories than good, but what you went through wasn’t fair. You deserve better.”

Sherlock licked his lips. “It doesn’t matter. I was never one for romance.”
John said nothing. In a sudden urge of spontaneity, John wanted to make Sherlock smile. No, he wanted to distract Sherlock from the storm, and the dark thoughts clouding over their evening. John decided that he was going to show Sherlock just how important romance was. He didn’t even look at Sherlock as he grabbed the torch and disappeared up the stairs.

“John?”

The doctor didn’t answer but came back quickly, holding an old faded blanket in his arms. He pushed back the coffee table and unfolded it on the floor in front of the fire.

“What are you doing?”

John still didn’t answer as he transferred the food and wine onto the blanket.

“John?” Sherlock’s voice was full of apprehension and John looked up at him.

“Come sit with me.”

“Why?”

John shrugged. “Why not?”

Sherlock seemed to deliberate a moment and John could see the moment he thought; fuck it, and was pleased that he chose to sit opposite John on the blanket.

John picked up his wine glass and clinked it against Sherlock’s. He kept eye contact with Sherlock as he murmured a ‘cheers’ and sipped his wine. Sherlock took a deep swig of his own drink and watched as John took his time buttering a cracker and layered a variety of cheese onto it. He failed to hide his surprise when John held the cracker close to Sherlock’s mouth.

“What are you doing,” he repeated.

John licked his lips, trying not to doubt himself. “I can’t change your past. But… maybe I can give you some good memories now?”

“But why? Are you just trying to be funny?” He scowled. “I don’t want your pity.”

John’s face fell. “No Sherlock. Isn’t it obvious?” When Sherlock didn’t reply, John held out his arm, offering his wrist to Sherlock. He knew there was only one way to prove his feelings to Sherlock.

The detective glanced at him and then took a hold of his wrist, monitoring his pulse. Elevated, and when he looked at John’s pupils… oh… He licked his own lips, hold tightening around John’s wrist.

“You find me… attractive.”

“Yes.”

“How long?”

John pretended to consider it. “Since I saw you in a shock blanket for the first time,” he teased gently.

“All this time?” Was all Sherlock could ask.

“Yeah. Sorry it took so long.” Their voices were barely a whisper and John tried not to look disappointed when Sherlock let go of his wrist. But then, instead of walking away, as John had expected, Sherlock bent forwards and took a bite of the cracker still held in John’s other hand. John couldn’t breathe as he watched Sherlock crunch into the biscuit, visibly contemplating the flavours.

“Good?”

“Mmm.”

“Can I feed you more?”

Sherlock nodded and John quickly made up some more crackers. He edged a little closer to Sherlock and took another swig of wine to bolster his confidence. Sherlock’s chest fluttered as John curved a hand around the nape of Sherlock’s neck, his fingers tucking beneath the curl of Sherlock’s hair as he fed the detective with his other hand. It was a heady thing, feeding Sherlock. Not so much the act of feeding, but the proximity, feeling the detective’s breath against his face and he felt a jolt run through his body when Sherlock’s lips brushed his fingers.

“I want to kiss you.”

“Is that what you said to Becki Andrews?

“Fuck Becki Anders.”

“I’d really rather you didn’t.”

“Fine by me,” John tugged Sherlock close with the hand still curved around his neck and pressed his lips against Sherlock’s in a seemingly chaste kiss. He could feel and hear the sharp intake of breath and the shudder that ran through Sherlock’s body. It made John flush with pride. Kissing Sherlock made John feel young again, as if he was fourteen and the night was full of possibilities. The excitement felt exactly the same, except, knowing that he was holding Sherlock, at long last heightened the moment.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispered and nipped Sherlock’s lip.

“What do you have in mind?” Sherlock gasped as John trailed kisses down the man’s neck to his collar.

“I want to cherish you Sherlock. Will you let me?” He pulled back to look Sherlock in the face as he answered.

“Yeah,” he croaked in response. “Yes please.”

John chuckled and pulled Sherlock in for another kiss. This one John deepened quickly, still cradling Sherlock’s head and he brought his free hand to cup Sherlock’s cheek delicately. He was surprised when Sherlock’s mouth opened against his, and he felt the detective’s tongue lick into his mouth. He moaned and tangled his fingers in Sherlock’s hair, tugging. It was so easy to get carried away, but he stopped the second Sherlock gasped.

“Fuck, I’m sorry Sherlock!”

“No,” Sherlock cleared his throat. “It was good.” He looked at John firmly. “Again.”

John wasted no time, dragging Sherlock close and as he kissed him again, wound his fingers around the short hair and tugged. Sherlock moaned deliciously in response and scrambled into John’s lap.

“Steady,” he murmured against the younger man’s lips and he took a hold of his arse, squeezing. “You want to keep it like this Sherlock? Or you want more?”

“Stop talking for god’s sake John. You have consent.”

John grinned despite himself. “You really are a brat sometimes.”

“You love it.”

“Yeah, God help me I do,” John laughed.

They kissed for a while, John was content to simply cradle Sherlock in his arms, letting the man take control as he seemed to be carrying out an experiment and John was more than happy to be the victim for once. After a while his groin became uncomfortable and he slipped a hand between them to adjust himself and wondered if Sherlock was having the same problem. There was only one way to find out, he decided, and ran his hand over Sherlock’s trousers, feeling the hard shape of his cock through them. Oh… If John died now, he would be happy. The noises Sherlock made, encouraging John as the doctor rubbed against his crotch, teasing him through the layers of fabric. But John realised that he couldn’t die, not yet. He had to taste him first.

“Lie back,” John encouraged.

“Why?”

“I want to suck you off.”

Sherlock’s expression clouded over. “You can’t want that.”

“Why not love?”

Sherlock felt a glimmer of pride at the endearment and it bolstered his resolve to explain. “It’s not… Well, it’s not romantic,” he blushed.

“It can be.” John reached up and brushed a curl of hair off Sherlock’s face.

“It never was for me.”

John kissed Sherlock’s cheeks, his brow and then the tip of his nose. “I promise you; you won’t be degrading me in any way if you let me do this for you. I promise that I have been reliably informed that I am quite good at this. And I think that I can make you feel pretty fantastic, if you’ll let me.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened. “You’ve shagged men?”

John huffed a laugh. “Yeah.”

“You never told me.”

“You never asked. Focus Sherlock. Do you want me to suck you off?”

“I think…” Sherlock’s temperature spiked at the thought. “Yes.”

“Lie back love.” He dragged some cushions off the sofa for Sherlock to rest his head on and went back to kissing along Sherlock’s neck as he made short work of unbuttoning the man’s shirt and trousers. He wished he could taste Sherlock’s moans. They sounded delectable over the noise of the storm outside. He palmed the man, quick to take him in hand and gave broad strokes, watching Sherlock’s expression. “Oh, you’re going to make beautiful noise, aren’t you?”

Sherlock bit his lip but John was confident in his skill. He was about to scoot down the blanket, but Sherlock stopped him and tugged at John’s shirt.

“Off?” Sherlock nodded. John yanked his shirt overhead and threw it in the direction of the sofa. It missed.

Sherlock grinned and ran his hands over John’s torso, feeling the ghost of a six pack from his army days. He leant forwards and licked at the freckles on his shoulders, and bit hard.

“You little shit!” John pushed Sherlock down into the cushions and smiled, his eyes glinting in the firelight. He took Sherlock’s hand and pushed it into his own hair, encouraging Sherlock to grasp at the short hairs as he ducked his head closer to Sherlock’s crotch. He decided to ease Sherlock into it by giving a chaste kiss to the tip of his cock. That alone sent a ripple of a shiver through Sherlock who tightened his hold and moaned deeply. John couldn’t help himself. He’d been dying to do this for months. Years. He grasped Sherlock’s cock and wrapped his lips around the head. The noises Sherlock made as John skillfully sucked him off were better than he could have ever imagined. It took all of Sherlock’s resolve not to thrash at the onslaught as John cupped his balls, squeezing them in a way that felt amazing when timed with the brush of his lips against the root of Sherlock’s cock. It seemed to go on for an eternity and Sherlock felt like he could stay like this all night when John pulled off.

“Wha-”

“I want to rim you,” John said, breathless. His eyes were glowing. “Jesus, Sherlock I want everything.”

Sherlock hated that his mind palace offered no explanation. What the hell was a rim? Rather than embarrass himself, Sherlock nodded, his curiosity peaked. It was John, he already trusted him and if it was half as good as the blow job, then he would be happy. He was confused as John rolled the detective gently onto his front, but he let him tug his trousers off, helping to kick his feet free. John positioned Sherlock with care, but the sense of authority was undeniable as John moved him into the exact position he wanted him.

Sherlock wondered what was going to happen. It seemed like an odd angle, but he bit back a moan as John grasped the globes of his arse, squeezing them as he massaged the cheeks.

“Oh…”

He flushed with embarrassment as John pulled them apart. What on earth… He yelped, a startled, high pitched noise as he felt John’s hot breath against his skin. No one had ever… Suddenly he was desperate for John to do something, anything.

John leant forwards, deliberately panting against the skin and grinning to himself as Sherlock started to shake. Fuck, if he found this good, John couldn't wait to see his reaction when…

“JOHN!” Sherlock’s entire body arched as he felt John’s tongue lave over his hole. The motion was so quick he barely had time to process it. “More,” he demanded, over and over, encouraging John who circled the area with the tip of his tongue, occasionally brushing over his mark. Sherlock was trying hard not to yelp as he fisted the blanket, his knuckles turning a shade of white. How could it possibly feel so good?

And then John started to fuck him with his tongue and Sherlock felt tears as he shuddered through each jolt of pleasure. He realised distantly that he was about to come and he tried to warn John but only strangled sounds came out.

“Hey…” John pulled back and rubbed Sherlock’s spine through his shirt soothingly. “Hey, are you alright love?”
Sherlock nodded desperately, basking in the endearment.

“Is it too much?”

Sherlock licked his lips, “No. Yes… No.”

John kissed the nape of Sherlock’s neck, understanding. “You want to finish like this?”

“I want you to…” Sherlock smacked his palm against the floor in frustration as he struggled with the word. “I want you to fuck me.”

John grinned. “Yeah. Alright then.” Sherlock found he was smiling too.

Preparing Sherlock felt almost ritualistic. John was dead set on making it as relaxing as possible. He started by laying Sherlock out on the sofa and they kissed, listening distantly to the storm outside. John left Sherlock, only for a few seconds as he ran to his room and grabbed some lube that was older than he cared to admit, and a condom, mercifully still in date. He raced back downstairs and cut Sherlock’s laughter off with more kisses.

“Gorgeous,” he murmured against Sherlock’s neck and it was all the detective could do to hole on as John started to finger him.

Pushing inside Sherlock, after years of longing, felt monumental. Every laugh shared in an alley, every look across the room, every ‘brilliant Sherlock’ had led to this very moment and as John started to pump his hips, all he could think to describe what was happening was a ‘union’. Holding eye contact with Sherlock as he started to fuck him was indescribable, the sense that this was so much more than casual was undeniable. John didn’t take his eyes off of Sherlock as he held the younger man in place by intertwining their fingers and placing Sherlock’s hands high above his head on the arm rest.

The fire crackled, the sound mixing with the rain pattering against the window creating a cosy ambiance that made the whole affair feel so much more intimate. John kissed Sherlock’s brow, his nose and his neck as he thrust deeper. It took him a moment to work out the logistics and he finally grabbed Sherlock’s hips, angling the taller man just so as he hit his prostate.

“Oh god, John!”

The doctor sent up a silent prayer of thanks for his skills in anatomy as he turned Sherlock into a moaning, quivering wreck. He felt powerful watching as Sherlock threw back his head, eyes closed tight against the onslaught of sensation and John was captivated. He looked utterly beautiful. John gave in to his own pleasure, pumping his hips harder and Sherlock wrapped his long legs around John, pulling him in close.

“Yeah-”

“Get yourself off,” John commanded. Sherlock scrambled to comply and John watched in fascination as a tiny crease appeared in Sherlock’s brow, as if the man was concentrating as he jacked himself. Sherlock’s brow furrowed even further as his hand sped up and then he opened his eyes, looking up at John.

“Perfect,” John encouraged and increased his own motion, fucking into Sherlock so hard that it almost took his breath away.

“Juh-John,” John had never heard his name moaned in such a way it felt sinful and reverential at the same time. John was obsessed and in a last ditch attempt to get Sherlock off, he sat back, pulling Sherlock with him so they were sat, John kneeling on the sofa as he supported Sherlock.

“Come. Now.”

Sherlock started to writhe against John, one hand holding himself steady against John, the other working his cock and he threw his head back just in time for John to sink his teeth sharp into Sherlock’s neck. The detective gave an answering wail and John was amazed that he could feel Sherlock come, his inner walls contracting around his cock felt bloody amazing and John was soon to follow, just a couple more pumps of his hips and he buried as deep as he could, still sucking Sherlock’s skin as dark spores invaded his vision and blinding pleasure overwhelmed him.

“Fuck me…” John panted against Sherlock’s neck as they lay together, basking in the warmth of the fire and the afterglow.

“Not right now. Give me an hour.”

The pair giggled like school children and John hid his face in Sherlock’s neck and huffed against his wet skin. “Bloody love you Sherlock.” John heard Sherlock lick his lips as he considered the words. For a sinking moment, John thought he had ruined everything. “Sherlock?”

He nodded, the movement dislodging John. “Yes. Well… I love you too. Obviously.”