Sherlock hated the first time his lips touched John's.
He had imagined, on the moments he allowed himself to imagine, something peaceful. They'd be at home, comfortable, perhaps they had something to drink. Inhibitions lowered, their hands would brush, their eyes locked and then...
Or perhaps after a case. Adrenaline rushing through their veins, still high from the thrill and it would be too much to hold back. They would meet halfway, pressed up against the walls and then....
But not this. Never this. Sherlock hated it, he hated it. They should be at home, not here in this stinking alley, cold and alone with the sound of guns firing still echoing in his ear as Sherlock tried to count- 28...29...30....come on John, please breathe for me.
~
Got this from tumblr, from johnnlocked. Credits go to her.
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Random Sherlock Oneshots
Fanfiction"I know this is a bit stupid. But..... Happy Birthday Sherlock........... I know this was a waste of time...... Why would I say happy birthday to a grave?" -John Hamish Watson
