{Blush - Sherlock Holmes X John Watson}
"JOOOOOOOHNNNN" He yelled, placing your hands together, resting the edge of his chin on them. He positioned his elbows on to his knee, not caring for the light pain of digging into the soft flesh of this thighs. His mind raced from topic to topic, never staying on one for too long. It was boring, there was nothing. ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. Where was John?
"JOHN!"Sherlock yells again. John was one of the only consistent subjects his mind could produce to keep his boredom from driving him into insanity. I mean, it was John. John. Those beautiful eyes, green as emeralds, that always seem to sparkle when he thought Sherlock wasn't noticing. All the things he did when Sherlock wasn't 'nothing'. The lips biting, the shirt tugging, the trying to desperately hide his blushing cheeks. But you see, Sherlock was always noticing. Every little thing. But where was John? He wanted to see him in person, not just the face in his memory that kept popping up.
"Coming, Im coming, Bloody hell Sher-"
"What?" Sherlock turned to see John staring at Sherlock with wide eyes, a face red with embarrassment and slight lust.
"You're- uh- uh- shirtless." John stutters nervously.
Sherlock looks down, and looks back up smirking. "Oh am I? I didn't really notice. Its just so" His smirk grew even wider as he slipped off his pants, leaving him in boxers, "comfortable." He loved the way John blushed. How it would start from the tip of his nose, to the middle of his cheeks, and end at the edge of his chin. His eyes would dart around nervously, trying to find something to distract him. But they would always land back on Sherlock.
At that moment, their eyes locked, their breaths staggered, and the pull of an infinite number of fangirls pulled them together. They melted together, Sherlock's hand roaming every inch of John's side, as he slipped his hand up his shirt, feeling his strong abs and smooth back. John's went instinctively to his waist, pulling them closer to each other. There was no wrong in this moment. They couldn't care less if the whole of bloody England was in war, or Ms. Hudson was watching with her mouth open, holding a bag of crips that Sherlock had requested nearly 3 hours ago. No, nothing mattered. They could only concentrate on the warmth of each other's lips, the feel of smooth skin on smooth skin, as Sherlock pulled off John's shirt when they gasped for air. And in the mere moments of the in-between of not kissing, they knew that this, what they were doing, was so goddamn right.
Yet John was still blushing.
