Regretfully, John had to go to work. He was more reluctant than usual, not just because he had to see his ex. But because he had to give up his time with Sherlock. Sighing, he grabbed his coat and left, glancing once more at Sherlock who was so deep in thought if John had said anything, he wouldn't have noticed.
Sherlock's strange drink had helped his headache, but he had thrown up a couple of times before all the alcohol was out of his system. Glancing at his watch, he noticed that if he took a cab, he would be early and have to sit in an awkward silence with Sarah while they waited for customers. Shrugging, he started walking, enjoying the crisp morning air.
It was around seven o'clock at night when John finally got off work. It had been a hectic day with lots of customers, and John was exhausted. He was starving, tired, and his leg and injured arm was aching.
He knew Sherlock wouldn't have made dinner, so he grabbed some Chinese for both of them and continued walking stiffly home.
By the time he got to 221b Baker St, he was limping and he desperately wanted a cup of tea and a nice sit down. As he climbed the stairs, he wondered what Sherlock had been doing all day without him. Maybe solving that case, or experimenting.
Opening the door, John called out, "Sherlock? I brought back some Chinese for dinner!" There was a crash from upstairs as beakers were dropped and an ominous sizzling.
He shut the door, and was suddenly slammed against it, Sherlock frantically kissing him and running his hands over John's face. John winced as Sherlock brushed his hands down his injured arm. Sherlock pulled back, eyes roaming over John's face. "Good to know I was missed," John chuckled, shifting his weight to relieve his leg.
Sherlock immediately noticed, and pulled John over to the couch and forced him to sit. "I'm fine, Sherlock, really." John protested, but Sherlock cut him off with a look.
"You didn't say bye this morning," Sherlock said quietly as he unpacked the food.
John looked at him in surprise. "You were thinking; I didn't want to disturb you. By the way, what were you doing just now? I hope you didn't ruin the carpets when you dropped those beakers," John asked, watching Sherlock carefully and changing the topic.
Sherlock stiffened, and then bolted up the stairs with a cry. John chuckled, it must have been acid. He rummaged through the plastic bags until he found a pair of chopsticks. He grabbed a box of noodles and started eating, his eyes drooping occasionally. His blinks became longer, and he eventually fell asleep, still holding his box of noodles.
John half-stirred when the box was taken out of his hands. "Sher?" John murmured sleepily.
"I'm here John, let's get you to bed," Sherlock said soothingly, lifting John up by his arms.
He wrapped an arm around Sherlock's neck and stumbled to his bed room with Sherlock. Sherlock helped John under his covers and John pulled Sherlock down with him, cuddling him like a teddy. "Sher? Don't leave me," John mumbled, arms tightening around Sherlock, who wrapped his arms around John's waist.
"I won't, John, now go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up," Sherlock soothed, making John smile and finally let sleep take him.
Sherlock was still there when John woke, just like he promised. John looked over at the clock and groaned to see it was 4am. Looking down, he realised he was still in his clothes from yesterday and hadn't showered. He leant forward and pressed a gentle kiss against Sherlock's lips. Sherlock mumbled something, burying his head into John's pillow.
John chuckled, and slipped out of bed and into the shower.
He relished the warm water washing over his skin. He reached for his shampoo but paused when he saw Sherlock's. He picked it up, glancing at the door as if Sherlock was about to burst him and accuse him of sniffing his shampoo.
When that didn't happen, John opened the lid and inhaled. God, he loved Sherlock's shampoo. It smelt so delicious. Shaking away the thoughts, he closed the lid and washed his hair using his own shampoo.
When he stepped out of the shower, he realised he hadn't brought any clothes with him. Shrugging, he brushed his teeth and wrapped his towel around his waist, shaking his head to get rid of the water in his hair.
He walked over to his dresser and started rummaging around for something clean to wear. The bed creaked and John looked back to see Sherlock stirring. "John?" He groaned, his eyes fluttering open.
"Morning Sherlock," John called cheerfully, putting on a dark brown, long sleeved shirt.
He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it and drying it at the same time. He heard Sherlock get off the bed, and looked back to see Sherlock slowly walking up to him. Something in Sherlock's expressing made John freeze.
His eyes were dark, his sleep ruffled curls making him look sexy. He placed his hands on John's hip and started nibbling on his neck. John's eyes closed and he tilted his head to the side, to give Sherlock better access. Sherlock pressed himself flush against John's back, and John could feel that he wasn't the only one getting aroused.
As Sherlock's hands started creeping round to his front, John knew he had to stop before he couldn't. "Sherlock," John warned, reaching down and grabbing Sherlock's wrists.
"What?" Sherlock mumbled, sucking on John's neck.
"Stop," John demanded, tightening his grip on Sherlock's wrists as a shudder rolled through him.
"Why?" Sherlock groaned, biting gently on John's neck.
John's control snapped. He spun them around and pressed Sherlock against the dresser, keeping him there with his military strength. Even with his injured arm, John was still stronger than his taller flatmate. "Because," said John in a low voice, "if you don't, I swear to God I will have you right here on this dresser. I don't really want to, but if you push me much further, I swear to God I will."
Sherlock shuddered and looked away sulkily. John gentled his grip on Sherlock and leaned up, pressing a kiss on Sherlock's lips. He pulled away before they got carried away and Sherlock sulked out of the room while John finished getting dressed.
He glanced at the time and saw he had time for a cup of tea if he took a cab to work. He walked down to the kitchen. "Want a cup of tea, Sherlock?" John called to Sherlock who was lying down on the couch.
"Yes please, John," he grumbled.
John rolled his eyes and set about making the tea, normal for him and Sherlock's favourite for Sherlock.
He handed Sherlock the steaming tea and sat next to Sherlock when Sherlock sat up to drink his tea. His eyes brightened as he took a sip, abandoning his bad mood. John started reading the morning's paper.
"John?" Sherlock asked after a while.
"Mmm?" John responded, setting down his paper and looking at Sherlock.
"When you were drunk, and yesterday when you were half asleep, you called me Sher. Why is that?" Sherlock asked curiously, staring into John's eyes with those piercing blue/silver eyes of his.
John felt his face flush. "Y-you don't like the nickname?" he stammered, not really knowing exactly why he called Sherlock Sher.
"No, I like it, I just want to know why," Sherlock responded.
"I dunno really, it just suits you, and it can be my name for you that no one else uses," John explained, giving Sherlock a half-smile.
Sherlock nodded, grinning, and took another sip of his tea. John set his empty cup down and stood. "Well, I'm off for work. Bye, Sher," John said, standing and giving Sherlock a kiss on the cheek, winking at him as he said 'Sher' and walked out the door.
Hailing, a taxi, John set off for work in bright spirits. Which would disappear as soon as he stepped through the doors.
John was distracted all day. He kept thinking of Sherlock, what he was doing, how he looked, etc. John was impatient to get home; he really badly wanted to see Sherlock again.
He ran up the stairs and burst through the door and caught sight of Sherlock lying on the couch. His eyes snapped open as soon as the door opened, brightening when he saw John. Before Sherlock could do anything, John jumped on him and pinned him to the couch, the sight of Sherlock under him and at his mercy arousing. He pressed a hard kiss against Sherlock's lips, not bothering with asking, he just thrust his tongue into Sherlock's mouth. Moaning, he felt Sherlock's arms twitch, wanting to do more than just lie there passively. John released Sherlock's arms and they immediately snaked around his neck and pressed John closer to him. One of John's arms framed Sherlock's face, while the other tangled in Sherlock's hair. John broke the kiss and nibbled down Sherlock's jaw and down to his neck. He gently scraped his teeth down Sherlock's long neck, and he moaned. John could feel Sherlock's erection pressing through his pants, but John was past caring.
He started sucking roughly on Sherlock's neck and felt Sherlock start unbuttoning John's shirt. John moaned and started grinding against Sherlock's hips. They both moaned, their breaths becoming heavier.
John started nibbling on Sherlock's ear. "J-John," Sherlock moaned, one hand coming up and fisting John's hair.
"Mm?" John murmured huskily, dipping his tongue into Sherlock's ear.
"We, ah! We, sh-should stop," he whimpered as John ground harder against Sherlock.
John froze abruptly. He realised he had nearly lost control; his hand had crept down and had wrapped around Sherlock's erection. He slowly withdrew his hand, and framed Sherlock's face and gave him one last kiss, slowly gentling them and bringing them down from their rash excitement.
"Oh, God, Sherlock, I'm so sorry," John whispered roughly, his voice still deep from excitement.
Sherlock just closed his eyes and took deep breaths. John braced his weight on his arms next to Sherlock's head and pressed their foreheads together. "I love you, Sher," John whispered, kissing Sherlock's nose.
Sherlock slowly opened his eyes. "I love you, too, John."
John grinned. Someone knocking on the door ruined their moment and Sherlock scowled. John sighed, and sat up, pulling Sherlock up with him. John got off the couch and opened the door. He made a noise of shock as he saw Greg standing there, tears dripping down his face. "Greg! What happened?" John asked worriedly, grabbing his shoulder and bringing him over to the couch.
Sherlock got up and sat on the armchair to give him more room, and John flashed him a grateful glance. "It- it's Mycroft," he started," he- he!"
Tears dripped down his face and John felt a surge of anger. That bastard! Mycroft had obviously done something to upset Greg, most likely emotionally. John put an arm around Greg, murmuring comfortingly.
When he had calmed down a bit, he tried again to explain. "We- we had sex, and when he woke, he- he said it was all a big mistake! And that we shouldn't see each other again!" He wailed, breaking into fresh tears.
Sherlock was watching silently, his expression closed. John leaned forward to whisper in Greg's ear to try and cheer him up. "Well, we can always make him jealous, can't we? Me and you can pretend we are going out. He will get so jealous he'll explode!" John whispered; a small smile on his face.
Greg let out a small laugh. "Y-you'd do that for me?" He whispered uncertainly.
"Well, it's either that or I go shoot him," John said louder, so Sherlock could hear.
Greg laughed, wiping away his tears. "Yeah, how bout we start tomorrow, after a few 'dates' he won't be able to resist you!" John exclaimed.
"Ok, I'll see you tomorrow, John. Bye Sherlock," he said, waving and giving a small smile as he left.
John leaned back against the couch and looked at Sherlock. His expression was guarded and closed, and John frowned slightly.
John came out after his shower, wearing only his boxers. "Night, Sher," he said, giving Sherlock a kiss on the forehead.
Sherlock just grunted, eyes closed and fingers steeped. John sighed, and went to bed, expecting Sherlock to come in when he was ready.
But when John woke, he was alone. He missed Sherlock sleeping in his bed, why didn't he come in last night?