Falling (JohnLock)

chpr. 8

The next few weeks at Baker straight were tense, neither one of them had acknowledged a relationship with each other. They stayed in the void between friends and lovers, each waiting for the other to make a move first. They scuffled around the flat, taking different routes to avoid each other. At crime scenes they acted normally, spoke to each other and pretended nothing was going on between them. Inside, they yearned for each other like magnets to metal. Slaves to their own desire. You could almost see their inner forces pull for each other, reaching out to touch as they stood side by side. Like an instinct. They felt so alone, even in each other’s company.

John was cold at night, chills running down his spine. His body craved the touch of Sherlock’s warm hands, making him desperate for any contact with him. They didn’t speak when they were alone, so John eagerly absorbed every syllable he spoke in public. Sometimes it was physically impossible to be around him knowing that he couldn’t touch him, and the struggle to restrain himself tired him out. He stood as close to him as he could, without people asking questions, and he knew that Sherlock noticed. The army-doctor would often find himself subconsciously leaning into his presence, trying to be closer.

Sherlock was miserable. He couldn’t speak to John. He was too worried that he would reject him, paranoid that it was all just a big joke. He couldn’t stand not being able to have him, so he would avoid him, so that he wouldn’t have to resist. He would lay awake in his lonely bed, itching to climb into John’s just so he could be warm and close to him. He experimented and deduced vigorously, trying to distract himself from his licentious thoughts. He would often dream of him. Dream of running his hands up and down his torso, of kissing his lips, of tasting his skin. Then he’d wake up in a hot mess and would take shower to distract himself of his problem. He really needed to talk to him again.

John sat at the kitchen table, his chin resting in his hand unhappily. “Morning, John” came Sherlock’s voice suddenly and the shorter man jumped.

“Good morning” he stuttered, confused but happy.

“How are you today?” he asked, tying his dressing gown up.

“I’m okay, Sherlock… how are you?”

“Amazing, John” he smiled and John smiled, giving him a confused look.

“Why are you so happy?” he asked and Sherlock laughed, dropping a kiss onto his forehead and sitting down opposite him.

“Why shouldn’t I be, love?” he asked and John blushed before narrowing his eyes.

“What so after three weeks you’ve finally decided to speak to me?”

“John I-”

“No, Sherlock. Let me speak for once. You avoid and ignore me for three weeks, not even giving me the time of day, and now all of a sudden I’m ‘love’? What’s changed?”

Sherlock was silent for a long time before he looked up at John. “I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t take the silence. Yeah I didn’t talk to you but don’t act like you’re innocent in all this! You could have easily started a conversation with me”

“Yeah but-”

“No John! I couldn’t take not talking to you anymore because I need you so much that it hurts! I couldn’t breathe anymore! I felt like I was suffocating with the urge to hold you. I thought I was going to die, John. I thought I was going to die because I couldn’t touch you. So yes. I started a conversation with you. Because I don’t want to die” he finished and John looked at him, shocked. He suddenly lunged forward, pressing his lips to the other man’s feverishly. His fisted his dressing gown in his hand and placed his hand at the back of his neck. He tasted sweet. Like cookies. Sherlock kissed back just as eagerly, wrapping his hands around his back, pulling him closer. John crawled onto the table in an attempt be get closer to Sherlock and he pulled the blond man to sit his lap. John straddled him and Sherlock pulled John’s body closer to him. “I missed you so much” John muttered in between kisses and Sherlock only groaned in reply, unable to speak. John bit down on Sherlock’s bottom lip and he moaned quietly.

“Oh fuck I want you, John” Sherlock moaned in his ear when his blogger kissed his neck, biting playfully. John rolled his hips against Sherlock’s crotch and the detective gripped his waist tightly, surely leaving bruises. John slipped his hands under Sherlock’s dressing gown; cold fingers meeting hot flesh. Sherlock was about to pull John’s shirt off when they heard the doorbell ring and they both groaned in unison, John leaning his head against Sherlock’s shoulder and cursing under his breath.