Secrets Aren't Made Slowly

Madness, The Drug Of Choice

John POV: John understood, of course, that it was now or never. The clock already read three after eight and yet he couldn't find it in himself to move, he didn't want to move towards the door and he knew that Sherlock felt the same. It had been the same tension he felt constantly, in class, in the hallways, whenever he had even let his mind linger off towards thoughts of Mr. Holmes. And yet now it was multiplied, it was so intense that it was almost restricting his legs from moving anywhere except forward, closer to him...closer. He wouldn't allow them to, he wouldn't let them. No this was wrong, wrong on so many levels; this wasn't what Mr. Holmes wanted. He couldn't put him in such a position so as to force him to say no, to refuse. And yet that gaze, the intensity...the very idea of a thought turning into an action. Surely Sherlock hadn't chosen those words at random? They meant something, they related...somehow?
"I'm sorry, sorry I really should go." John decided in a little mumble, and yet he still couldn't grab his backpack, he couldn't even clench his hand around it, for it just felt so wrong to leave, so impossible!
"You seem to be preoccupied with something." Sherlock decided somewhat comically, as if he thought that John's reservations were childish and almost pitiful. He was so confident, oh how could he wear that smile where it felt as though John was melting inside? This was his only opportunity, his last opportunity, to ever be alone with Mr. Holmes again! Oh what sort of horrible feeling would regret turn out to be? If he left this man now, if he walked out the door with nothing but a goodbye to hold onto, nothing but a farewell to last him until the next opportunity, the one that may never come! Well what sort of tragedy would that be?
"Maybe just a little bit...preoccupied really isn't all that good a word for it though." John admitted in a tough voice, feeling as though every syllable had to be coughed up in order to get his message clear.
"Distracted, maybe?" Sherlock offered, still standing so tall, still looking so beautiful. He had looked irresistible all night, John had been finding it harder and harder not to just march over to him, and yet now, when he was actually presented the opportunity to do it...well it was just so impossible, was it not? No matter how tempting Sherlock proved to be, the door would always be the safer and easier route. To just leave...well how could John resist?
"Distracted with what?" John breathed, his voice so small now that he could hardly talk. This was it, he knew it was. It was like feeling nauseous all day, and finally when you came down to your knees and finally began to gag, when you know you were about to be sick. It was about that same feeling, knowing that he was just words away from being undeniably Sherlock's, and Sherlock being undeniably his.
"Mr. Watson, you appear to be a man in love." Sherlock guessed finally, bringing only stammers to John's lips, color to his face, and movement to his limbs. Finally he could let his hands fall away from his backpack strap, oh who cared about the time; it presented no issue to him now! Not when Sherlock had mentioned the very word that was preying on John's mind the whole night. Love...
"In love?" John wondered, however he couldn't help but stumble a step forward, walking as though it was his first time ever trying to defy gravity.
"What else could stay a man so flawlessly?" Sherlock wondered in a breath.
"I'm not...I'm not sure." John admitted, not even sure he understood what that meant. Sherlock was talking in riddles all while finally solving the complex problems of his own heart, and John's as well. They were both finding out now that their hearts were...attached.
"It's quite alright, Mr. Watson. It's quite fine." Sherlock assured in an almost inviting sort of coo, to which John just nodded, feeling too stunned to clear his throat, feeling too motionless to even close his now gaping mouth. It wasn't his brain working now, it was just his heart, he was on autopilot as his heart tried to steer him in the right direction.
"It's alright?" John clarified in a breath, unable to believe that for now. Oh what did it matter the differences, what did it matter the similarities? They were in love now, right now, John could feel it, and finally he allowed his legs to stumble forward, he allowed his arms to finally touch upon Sherlock's chest, he allowed himself to be steadied by the arms that he had dreamt of being caressed by ever since he had seen them bare. Sherlock breathed softly, breathing in a way John had never heard before. He sounded satisfied, if not pleased. And John could feel it, he could feel Sherlock's lungs inflate and he could feel the soft breath of air that was exhaled from just inches above him, from Sherlock's face, lingering so close. John looked up at him, and Sherlock in all his loving beauty looked down, and finally they were moving, Sherlock took John in his arms, carefully so as not to scare him, and gently, so softly that John could almost melt into his grasp and fall asleep. And yet that was not why he was here, he was not going to have the pleasure of being embraced by Mr. Holmes and do nothing but sleep, there were more pressing ideas on his mind, thoughts that could not be swayed.
"What is it, Mr. Watson, that you want of me tonight?" Sherlock whispered in an obedient sort of way, as if he would grant John anything that came out of his mouth, anything that spawned in his head, any sort of desire in the world. There were a million things that had come to John's mind in the past week or two, and yet now, actually being touched with the electrical finger tips of the man he most adored, well John couldn't think of one single thing!
"Could I ask for everything?" John whispered, and to that Sherlock just smiled, holding John to him before leaning into the desk a little bit, sitting down on the edge and bringing John closer, bringing him so that he was on the verge of falling into his lap.
"Everything? That can be done, that can be done." Sherlock agreed quietly. John nodded in agreement, a stiff, nervous nod, he understood now that he was in over his head. And yet he liked it, oh he needed it at this point! If he turned and ran he would be a fool, he would be mad! Not when he was so close, not when he was allowed!
"I've never done anything before...Sherlock, much less everything." John whispered.
"Oh it's not too difficult Mr. Watson." Sherlock assured, pulling John now so close that he had no choice but to lean himself against Mr. Holmes's knees, stumbling for a moment before catching himself on the desk, now finding their faces so close that he was sure his own blush could melt Sherlock's skin.
"Not too difficult." John clarified in a whisper.
"Not at all." Sherlock promised, lifting up his hand to touch it against John's cheek, gently this time, gently so that John could feel little sparks shooting between their skin, his heart pounding so fast it almost provided background music for the silence that was beginning to overtake them both. John knew that he was in no position to make the first move, and so Sherlock took it upon himself to lean forward first, running his hand down John's neck and finally freeing enough space for his lips to meet John's. It was preliminary, of course, and very brief, and yet as soon as their lips touched John felt as though he had given way to much more powerful forces of the human mind. This was not just love anymore, this was something much more powerful, this was something so much more appropriate. This was not just hearts and love, not just thunder and lightning! This was the power of the earth to shake, and the oceans to brew, this was the power that gave the sun its light and the earth it's orbit, the feelings of Gods, the feelings of life itself! All condensed now, into two hearts, into two hearts that were just now touching each other for the first time. Sherlock let loose a breath and took his hands upon John's torso, easing himself back onto the desk and pulling John along with him, moving as if he had done this a million times before, and of course John didn't doubt that he had. And Sherlock kissed him again, this time it was very much a horizontal kiss, in which the only force that were pulling them together now was gravity. Oh John could see why Sherlock's love drove men to insanity, he could see now why Victor stumbled about town, drunk and high, longing to explain to anyone just why he needed Sherlock's love to survive. It was a drug in itself; it was...it was existence.
"Are you afraid?" Sherlock breathed against his skin, pulling at John's head so as to level it with his neck, so as to let his lips brush against his skin, so white and so vulnerable. This was so wrong; it was just...well it was right.
"No, no." John promised in the weakest voice he could produce, kissing Sherlock's skin because he knew that it was what he needed to do. He knew that it was time. This was what he had been waiting for; this was what he had been longing for, now that it was upon him it just felt so...oh he just couldn't explain it. Times like this made things like the big bang seem irrelevant, oh who cared about the very existence of the galaxy, there were forces so much less likely! And yet this was happening, right now, this was happening! It almost felt like the probability of him, ending up on this desk with Mr. Holmes, was just about as likely as some sort of star destroying or what not, millions upon millions of years ago. And yet here he was, here they were...together.
"You're shaking." Sherlock observed, sounding so calm.
"I'm not afraid." John assured, and yet his voice quivered even as he said that. Sherlock hummed as if he didn't believe it for one moment.
"I would be, if I were you. But I'm not, Mr. Watson I am not." Sherlock whispered. He kissed John again, this time more fiercely, as if he was tapping into the energy he had been saving up for this very moment in time and space. His hands were now drifting from John's cheeks, they were falling from his body and he was now very dimly aware of Sherlock's fingers lingering to the buttons on his shirt, he was only half aware of the white skin that was now being exposed, not he could almost feel Sherlock's heart beating, so close to his own chest.
"You wanted everything." Sherlock whispered, pulling himself up to latch his lips onto John's once more, pulling I'm down with strength John didn't know he had.
"I still do." John assured.
"Then have it, Mr. Watson, have everything." Sherlock insisted, and suddenly John found himself trapped in Sherlock's arms, in his legs, he found himself trapped in a whirlwind that he couldn't hardly claim to understand. He found himself pulling at Mr. Holmes's shirt, his jacket, he found himself pulling at his own clothes, letting Mr. Holmes's hands help guide him, he was disoriented, he was delirious, his very blood was pounding with the most intense feeling he had ever hoped to feel. Everything for this man, everything for him now, it was just as he had imagined it, it was just as he had hoped it would be. It was everything that he could have predicted and everything that he could have never seen coming. It was love, it was light, it was perfect, it was...oh it was Mr. Sherlock Holmes.