The Only Thing Worth Fighting For

Chapter 13

Follows immediately after previous chapter,
-
Sherlock lay on his back beside John. One long arm was resting beneath his head as sweat poured from every pore in his body; neither he nor John complained of their funky smell or the smeared and combined seeds which painted their bellies. Sherlock sighed as he craved a cigarette; films and TV programmes always portrayed sexual climax resulting in cigarette smoking and cuddles, one of which John was happy to provide.

"Sherlock?" John whispered into the inky darkness which surrounded them. Sherlock turned his head to look at his lover and grunted an inelegant noise to prove he was awake. "When did you know you were in love with me?"

The younger man stilled and tensed; he hadn't expected sentiment on this level after such a filthily messy session. Sensing his reluctance, John began to explain his own feelings. "I think I knew from Angelo's that I was attracted to you. I attempted to convince myself it was just platonic interest but I think it was lust."

Sherlock remained quiet, one finger making its way to his mouth before he could remind himself of the lingering taste of baby oil and ejaculate.

"But I think I realised I was in love with you on my stag night," John whispered, his hand moving to grip Sherlock's free hand tightly. "I wanted you so much. I wanted to kiss and touch you until we were both sated and exhausted but I couldn't."

"The pool," Sherlock replied, his voice lower than John had ever heard it.

"The pool?" John asked with his mouth hanging open. "You knew that early?"

Sherlock turned onto his side and ran his spit slicked finger over John's cheekbone. "I didn't think I had any chance with you, and I couldn't understand my own feelings and... well... you weren't gay."

John hitched a breath and lowered his eyes despite Sherlock being unable to see him.

"I tried to explain my feelings in the wedding speech and the music. I wanted to prove that I could still be a decent human being and put you first," Sherlock sighed.

"Oh Sherlock," John sniffled, his nose nuzzling into the spot behind Sherlock's ear where he smelt so strongly.

"And then you went on your sex holid-your honeymoon," Sherlock felt his eyes filling with tears at revealing his most secret feelings, "and I hated Mary so much for taking you away. My insides burnt with a fury I'd never experienced as I imagined her hands on you, touching you i-." Sherlock stopped.

"I had no idea," John admitted in a whisper.

"Why would you? You were happily and newly married, you didn't need to be babysitting an overgrown toddler," Sherlock attempted to joke but it fell flat in the stillness of the room.

"The drugs?" John quizzed, they hadn't had a deep conversation like this since Sherlock spoke about his time away and John was desperate to learn everything he could.

"I tried fantasy at first. I retreated into my mind palace and found you; the imaginary you who got me through the torture and together we made love. Over and over, I - I touched myself thinking of you as I watched the imaginary version of you come over our bellies but afterwards I just felt numb. I was lonely and I missed you when I came back to reality to the empty flat which was devoid of your presence. I was alone, so alone and cold. I felt ridiculous lying on your bed with your jumper pressed to my face as I attempted to sniff the final lingering aroma from the fabric. That's when I realised I needed something stronger, 7% stronger." Sherlock shrugged. "I just wanted to feel something, I was certain that something had changed between us before the wedding and that you just needed time. I truly wanted to believe that you would come back to Baker Street and apologise, tell me that you had made a mistake in choosing her and wanted to come home but you didn't. You stopped calling or texting, you didn't come on cases anymore and I accepted it. Sadly, I realised that I was no longer needed now that you had your own family. I was a stopgap between recovering from your war wound and finding your wife."