As God Intended

Suggestions of The Most Unholy

Sherlock struggled to stand upright, nodding his head up and down and trying to make it over to the dance floor without an escort. From what he could see there were a lot of people, all mixed together in a mosh pit of limbs and bodies, blending and touching and grinding upon each other like a cesspool of sin. Sherlock stumbled forward, anxious to get under the same spotlight, to have those multicolored dots play upon his own face and to let his body do the talking, rather than his mouth. He hadn't learned much about modern dancing throughout his life, though by the way those people were moving it didn't seem too difficult to copy.
"Woah, come on Sherlock don't get too excited." John's voice insisted from behind, and suddenly Sherlock found himself trapped within two strong arms that snaked around his stomach and secured him in a standing position.
"You're dancing with me, John?" Sherlock presumed, leaning back heavily into the man and chuckling as his toes lifted off of the floor. He allowed his entire body weight to fall upon John Watson, and though the man had to stumble back to support it all he seemed perfectly willing to comply.
"Ya, alright." John agreed. "But you're going to have to drink some water first."
"Water? Oh dear you are so boring." Sherlock sighed. "Why not...why not tequila?"
"I'm sure it'll taste just the same for you." John assured, patting Sherlock's chest in reassurance before steadying the man upon his feet. Sherlock's shoulders sagged, for he really didn't like to be left alone in such a spot. John's arms were gone, and where they had once been pressed was now just fading warmth, gradually overtaken by the air conditioning which was circulating over his head. The priest frowned, turning in small circles until his head began to spin. He had forgotten if he was moving or not by the time John arrived, for that little man seemed to be teleporting from one place to the other, popping up not only in Sherlock's direct vision but also in both of his peripherals, all in varying time frames. Perhaps he was still spinning, or perhaps his eyesight was going to be the first thing to go.
"Water!" John called over the music.
"Thank you!" Sherlock chuckled, grabbing at the cup with anxious hands. "May the Blood of our Lord Jesus Christ preserve my soul to life everlasting."
"Drink the d*mn water, Sherlock." John groaned.
"Amen!" Sherlock called out in his loudest screech, pouring the water from some height into his mouth and dribbling a fair bit along the neck of his jacket and shirt. Thankfully he was able to swallow most of it, and though it tasted like nothing at all the water did help him regain at least some of his bodily functions. John wasn't moving anymore, which was probably a good sign. The music increased in intensity in his ears, and suddenly the lights were shining much brighter upon the smooth skin and blonde hair of his companion. Sherlock had never seen John Watson look so beautiful before, and the way he stood on the edge of the dance floor looking so stubborn was enough to make Sherlock's heart quiver in anxiety. This room was filled to bursting with sins of all kinds, with the very immorality of it all soaking in through the woodwork and suffocating the poor priest. He was breathing in all of the wrong doings, each touch, each curse, each defiance. Before long the words and actions of others were circulating through his lungs, to the point where if he allowed a voice within his throat it would emit the same things that his ears were beginning to hear. For a moment he stared at John blankly, trying to figure out just which of his borrowed sentences would be most appropriate for the occasion.
"Come here, you." Sherlock said at last, nodding his head as if that sounded quite suitable for his current intentions. From his hands he through the plastic cup in the direction of the bar, the soft sound of its impact drowned out by the music and the continual ringing in his ears, one which only intensified as he drew closer to John Watson. Sherlock's knees were still wobbling as he approached, and with every step he felt like an awkward baby bird who was just practicing its balance. Though with every step he came closer, regardless of how professional he looked, until at last he was able to reach out his arms and secure the shoulders of his host between his tight fingers. Sherlock eased his grip into the man's shoulder blades, trying to be sure that he couldn't wiggle away this time. John didn't seem to mind this newfound attention, and as Sherlock slowly pushed him within the crowd of people it was not so difficult to forget that he was also quite intoxicated. The same amount of alcohol that had knocked Sherlock right out of his common sense was also flowing through John Watson, and as his responsibilities as babysitter began to grow terribly blurred with his romantic passions it seemed as though he had forgotten all about social boundaries as well. Sherlock could see that same curiosity in John's eyes; he could see that flame of desire that was beginning to spark under the neon lights. It was just as Victor had promised; John Watson had always been walking a thin rope above all of his underlying romantic interests. It had been Sherlock's job to push him off, to let him fall into the vats of his heart's most forbidden passions. And here, while John stood very much upright, Sherlock could just tell that he was falling farther and farther down. Finally their feet found the dance floor, stepping over the clear plastic panels that displayed powerful white light. Sherlock could see their shoes shining, now scuffling closer and closer together until their legs were basically tangled together. Sherlock fell forward into John's chest once again, finding it rather awkward to have to stoop so low to get his chin to fall upon the man's shoulder. His hands wrapped around John's waist, hugging their bodies closer than ever before and easing a long sigh of satisfaction. His most comfortable spot was nestled within the limbs of John Watson, here when he could examine the patterns of his breathing just by feeling his chest move up and down, here when he could absorb all of the body heat that was escaping from his nervous pores. Slowly the pair moved through the crowd, wandering deeper and deeper through the masses without realizing that they were even moving at all. Sherlock was absorbed within John's neck, now having closed his eyes and nestled his lips into his hairline, adoring the smell of John's musky cologne and the rough scratch of his more sneaky bits of facial hair, hidden where the razor had not maneuvered. He hummed deeply into his safe haven, finally beginning to move his body back and forth across John's, trying to get the two to sway together in an intimate and rather pathetic dance routine.
"This is nice." Sherlock whispered at last. "No one has ever taken me dancing before."
"Well, it's not really dancing." John admitted with a chuckle, running his hands down the length of the priest's back as if trying to appreciate the curve of his spine and each of the protruding ribs.
"Not in the slightest. But I appreciate it anyway." Sherlock assured.
"You're good at swaying." John murmured.
"You're not." Sherlock added.
"I know, I know." John admitted with a chuckle, at last latching his hands together around the back of the taller man's neck so as to help ease Sherlock farther down into his short stature. Sherlock could feel fingers upon his exposed skin, the pressing of knuckles against his sensitive skin, the scratching of fingernails right underneath the loose collar of his shirt.
"I could stay like this forever." Sherlock breathed, brushing his lips against whatever bit of skin he could find with his eyes closed. He felt as though it was John's neck, judging by the strange angle he had to bend to avoid colliding his face with the narrow edge of John's chin. It was a pleasant feeling, not quite a kiss, but the closest thing the inexperienced man could manage at the moment. The other man hummed in agreement, exhaling a breath that was released as more of a sigh into Sherlock's arched chest. He enjoyed it, he must!
"I'd be okay with that." John assured. "I'd be...I'd be okay with anything."
"Define anything." Sherlock murmured, finally opening his eyes and staring down towards the neck of John's tee shirt, able to peer through the folds throughout the collar and stare into the shadows that covered his exposed chest.
"God, Sherlock..." John whispered breathlessly, his hands hooking around Sherlock's waist and pulling their hips together, kicking one of his legs around Sherlock's and making the priest stumble even farther into his embrace.
"What are you doing?" Sherlock wondered apprehensively, feeling that a change had suddenly taken hold of his companion, as if a sudden hunger had taken the place of his curious and almost timid passion. Suddenly the music was straining his ears, slamming against Sherlock's ear drums and nearly knocking his head side to side with the intensity of it. He was becoming irrationally afraid, suddenly realizing that he was trapped within a mob of people, those sweaty, sinful bodies brushing up against his own and falling into his personal space. They had found themselves in the middle of the dance floor, the only two fools who weren't even bothering to try to keep a rhythm, the oldest and the most out of place within the entire club. And though they were overtaken with each other, in such a way that Sherlock began to worry he had gotten himself into a situation which he was not prepared to avoid.
"I'll tell you...I'll tell you what I'm doing." John assured, finally gripping his hands across the sides of Sherlock's face and pulling the side of his head to meet his lips, pressing his words almost directly into the priest's ear. "Sex." The man hissed, his words colliding with the priest's brain in such a way as a mallet would.
"Sex?" Sherlock clarified apprehensively, his voice trembling as that word reappeared upon his tongue. How he hated to speak with such vulgarity, and so casually now, as if the idea had eased into his brain and the word was familiar within his mouth!
"Yes." John whispered, his fingers still gripping his head and looping within his unruly curls.
"This doesn't feel like sex." Sherlock pointed out nervously.
"Not yet." John assured.
"John..." Sherlock whispered, suddenly becoming very overwhelmed with a strange and unprecedented pressure upon his stomach, as if he was filled with a foul liquid, one which was now beginning to churn.
"I don't care where, back alley, bathroom stall...right here on this floor." John whispered with clenched teeth, his limbs shaking and his entire body trembling with the maddened anticipation of it all.
"John!" Sherlock protested, finally beginning to rip his arms away from the man's embrace and steady himself onto his feet without the aid of a flirtatious crutch. The temperature was rising rapidly within the room, and while Sherlock knew there were air vents just above he began to feel trapped and choked with the foul, warm breath that he was continually inhaling. His skin began to sweat, his eyes began to blur, and suddenly his stomach's contents began to creep up his throat.
"I'm drunk, Sherlock. I'm drunk and I don't care anymore, I don't care about anything anymore." John promised. Sherlock stumbled away from him, backing into another couple who began to whine and push him away anxiously. Though the priest suddenly felt he needed to distance himself, suddenly he felt that the space between him and John Watson could not be far enough, and before long he had fallen over onto his knees, his hands pressed onto the warm floor lights and his stomach rebelling once more.
"Stop, stop." Sherlock whispered, squeezing his eyes shut in protest and trying to hold his mouth shut. It was no use, suddenly the man's stomach loosed, and from his mouth came pouring all of the foul alcohol that he had taken down in the last hour or two. It was enough to stop the dancing, enough to stop the music. It was enough to call John Watson back into the present and knock Sherlock Holmes right out of his mind. For just as his stomach released so too did his consciousness, and just as the last droplet passed through his lips he felt his body hit the floor, even the illuminated panels beginning to grow dark.