The Doctor And The Detective (Johnlock)

Twelve

Sherlock woke to someone moving beside him. He breathed out gently through parted lips, and turned his head, opening his eyes. John Watson lay stark naked beside him, his face peaceful with sleep and his hair tussled and messy. Sherlock's breath hitched in his throat. There was a certain beauty that the sleeping man was bathed in that no woman would ever be able to re-create for him. He reached out and brushed hair from John's face, marveling at how angelic his flatmate looked with his body carelessly sprawled on the bed, the sheets twisted around him like a toga and the light of the morning sun kissing his face softly.

Sherlock's mind flickered back to the night before. He moaned softly as he recalled John's wandering fingers and the pleasure the smaller man gave him. He wanted more. He wanted John so damn much, unlike anything he'd ever wanted before. He wanted to whisper John's name and watch the ripple of delight that went through the doctor. He felt heated blood eddy low in his body, and blushed as his body began to wake up with him. What was happening to him? The various women he'd had flings with while he was high or drunk (or both) had never made him feel like this, made him crave more.

John's head was lying on Sherlock's outstretched arm, giving it tingling pins and needles. Sherlock bit his lip and decided to bare with it. He didn't want to wake up John. Turning his head to look at the ceiling, Sherlock closed his eyes and tried to organize his thoughts. First and foremost - Sherlock realised his main thought was that John looked so young like this. He looked back to his flatmate The crinkles that had formed around his eyes and forehead were all smoothed out and his lips were parted, his breath gently pushing in and out. Sherlock's erection grew. He frowned and looked away, trying to calm himself.

John murmured slightly, and shifted. His breathing became faster, and Sherlock looked back once again to see his delicate lashes flick open to reveal his thoughtful green eyes. He made a small sound of wake, and closed his eyes again. Sherlock watched him silently. He bit his lip once more. "Good morning," he eventually whispered. John shot up, almost teleporting into a sitting position. His breathing became faster still. Sherlock watched him curiously.

"Sherlock?" John eventually asked, seemingly having trouble slowing his breathing. Now Sherlock sat up too, propping himself on one arm. John turned his head slowly, flicking his eyes quickly at Sherlock then snapping his head back away just as quickly. Sherlock cocked his head to the side. John raised his hands to his head, dropping his head into them. "Please tell me I did not just sleep with my flatmate," he groaned. 

Sherlock stayed silent. John's breath became irregular and messy. He gulped in air, seemingly not enough though. Sherlock wondered if he should comfort John. Although it looked as if he was the last person John wanted to be comforted by for a long time. Still, Sherlock cautiously extended a hand and placed it on John's shoulder. John shook him off, sliding off the bed. "I just- I just need a moment, okay?" He gathered his discarded clothes from the ground, hurrying out the door. Sherlock watched him go, jumping slightly at the slamming door.

Sherlock too slid off the bed and bundled his clothes in his arms. He shrugged on his top and trousers, pushing the door open gently and tiptoeing out. He could hear the shower on in the bathroom, and crept to his bedroom. He slumped onto his bed. In his mind's eye, Sherlock could still see John Watson lying angelic and naked beside him and he felt himself harden. This time it didn't feel good, though, it only felt dirty and wrong. He felt like crying. What was wrong with him?

Almost desperately, Sherlock reached for his violin and caressed the smooth wood, feeling only John's skin beneath his fingers. What had he done? He'd taken a risk and had a sweet addicting taste of John's drug, and now he was completely hooked. Sherlock plucked the strings, playing a minor scale up and down then up again. The problem was that John didn't seem to be hooked on Sherlock. Sherlock took up his bow as the tears first started to drip down and let the world melt away around him.