What You Took From Me

What Do We Do Now

Stumbling into the flat, Sherlock and John made their way up the stairs to the living area. Sherlock’s head swam, his insides felt like they were cocooned in a warm fuzzy blanket. When he plopped down in his chair, he nestled in deeper, laughing as John nearly tripped over his long legs.

“I’m so glad your back,” John laughed when he finally made it to his own chair. “Things have been so boring without you.”

Sherlock smiled, all big and cheesy. “Well, naturally,” he slurred. “I must say, while I was away, I wasn’t bored. There was always something to be doing, someone to be chasing.” He paused, eyes wandering up to John’s slowly. “Though… it wasn’t nearly as fun without your companionship. I dare say I missed my doctor.”

There was a question at the tip of Sherlock’s tongue, but he was hesitant to ask it. The answer wrapped his heart in the cold fingers of fear. He wasn’t sure how John would react and he didn’t have enough courage yet to find out. Wobbling, Sherlock stood, knowing there was an excessive amount of alcohol filling the lower cabinets of their kitchen now, and Sherlock intended to use it to find his strength.

It was weird, feeling this way. After so long of locking away his emotions, they all just felt like they were spilling over, refusing to be contained any longer. That time away from John, missing him, Sherlock couldn’t help but realize how lonely he had really been.

He pulled out a glass and found the strongest alcohol that John had stashed away. John appeared beside him, pulling out a second glass with a giddy laugh. He went to the freezer and pulled out some ice, dropping some into both their glasses. Sherlock smiled as he poured them both another drink. John sipped at his, fighting the bite of the warm liquid. Without hesitation, Sherlock simply downed his.

“Woah, slow down, Sherlock,” John laughed, holding onto the counter to keep himself steady.

“Did you kiss me?” Sherlock spit out before he could stop himself. “When I came back, we… I felt your lips on my neck.”

John’s face flushed, but he didn’t look away. He stood there, his eyes locked with Sherlock’s. His mind was reeling for an answer and Sherlock could see it.

“What?” John asked as if he wasn’t understanding the question, but he was. He was just stalling.

“John, I need to know,” Sherlock said, taking a deep breath. He poured himself another shot, managing to do it without looking away from John. “Please, John,” Sherlock couldn’t stop saying his name, “it’s been… affecting… me.”

He did not move, did not breathe. Not a pulse beat in his body. John just stood there, eyes still locked on Sherlock’s. He gulped, like swallowing courage. It was the first movement of many to follow, setting things into motion. His hand twitched before he quickly lifted his glass to his lips, downing the bitter golden alcohol inside. Glass empty, he set it aside and with both hands now free, John took in a breath and grabbed Sherlock’s coat collar, pulling him down for a kiss.

It all happened in the blink of an eye in the span of real time, but for both Sherlock and John everything seemed to move like it was swimming through deep waters. The glass in Sherlock’s hand slipped from his grip, clashing to the ground, shattering upon impact. Neither did anything to stop it, captivated.

Heat swirled in Sherlock’s chest as the shock wore off and he wrapped his arms around John, pulling his doctor closer. He felt his eyes close, felt swept up in the moment. The flat around him disappeared along with the ground beneath his feet. There was only John, his touch, his kiss. His lips weren’t fairytale soft, but slightly chapped. Probably from all the times he’s licked his lips in the past. They were experienced. He was experienced, his tongue asking for permission before entering.