Chapter Text
John and Sherlock sighed together looking down at the cats between them. He’s so stubborn. Sherlock thought as his eyes drifted from the cats to the thighs of the man in front of him. A strange, desperate urge to bite John brought back the flushing urgency to be as close to this man as possible. It was a desire that had begun to settle under Sherlock’s skin back on the couch. His heart was racing, his skin burning, Sherlock pulled back from John and then gently gripped the student’s face pressing their lips together before he changed his mind.
John’s arms looped around Sherlock’s shoulders immediately as he shifted onto his knees, the cats scampering off with indignant meows. His mouth opened, tongue finding its way past Sherlock’s lips to tease and explore. Within seconds Sherlock’s shoulders were pressed into the wall behind him, John’s knees framing his hips, and those tantalizing thighs moving almost imperceptibly over his open lap. There were fingers in his hair, running over his shoulders, his abs, bringing his hands over John’s ass.
Sherlock wasn’t sure which of them let out the gasp of a moan when Sherlock’s fingers slipped from John’s guiding hands, finding their way past the band of John’s jeans and smoothing down the thin fabric of his briefs. Their lips parted as Sherlock’s grip tightened and John’s hips bucked against Sherlock’s lap. There was the hint of something dangerous in Sherlock’s eyes as they met John’s dilated pupils. The professor could feel John’s pulse racing as his lips met the skin of John’s neck, as his teeth sank into the skin just hard enough to bruise. His hands released the perky flesh of John’s arse to run down the outside of John’s thighs and then back up the front.
“Sherlock, Sherlock, please.” The whisper was enough to bring Sherlock’s attention from bruising the man’s shoulder with bites and kisses.
“Please, what?” Sherlock’s voice was nearly a growl, almost unrecognizable to himself. John moaned and within moments the pair were stumbling their way out of their clothing and into Sherlock’s bed. They filled the room with the whisper of skin against skin and fumbling hands, the gasping of breath and the whispered names of two men discovering one another and growing closer than either thought possible. They twisted together as the moon crossed the sky and slept in each other’s arms as the sun regained its territory. When they had both awoken John stood in the kitchen with his phone, watching the screen light up with several missed calls. Sherlock crossed the linoleum to wrap his arms around the blonde man’s waist.
The tension in John’s shoulders from the night before returned bit by bit and Sherlock’s arms tightened around him as if he could keep John from retreating further into himself. The medical student wouldn’t meet his eyes, his own unfocused as he retreated. Sherlock could almost see the walls being built behind his eyes and he scrambled for something, anything to say to bring him back.
“I went through something similar.” He said at last. John’s eyes cleared, looking up from his phone and focusing on Sherlock’s, his brow furrowing in confusion.
“What do you mean?”
Sherlock paused before continuing. “My father, he never physically hurt my mother or me, but he had his own way of making us feel like unwanted burdens. He will hold onto everything you’ve ever done wrong and use it against you whenever it benefits him. I remember there were days I wanted him to hit me just so I could have something to point to and say there, I have proof this is actually abuse.” Sherlock winced and looked away. “I realize that sounds a bit terrible saying something like that to you.”
John shrugged and glanced away, his eyes beginning to lose focus again. “Isn’t this just more proof though?” He asked, shoulders slumping as the tension left his body to settle in more hidden areas.
“Of what?”
“It’s not an uncommon thing. Fathers are assholes until you move out of their house. Maybe it’s just some sort of territorial thing. Maybe all fathers are made to hate their children in some primitive way they can’t ignore.” Sherlock shook his head and sighed.
“That isn’t right, there are plenty of decent fathers out there. We just ended up on the wrong side of the fence; our grass is a bit browner than the other patch.” A few more moments of silence passed between the pair, before it was broken by a soft laugh.
“I’m not taking your bed from you.” Sherlock’s head cocked to one side as he looked back at John. “There isn’t room for a second bed in your flat and I’m not going to make you sleep on the couch.” A faint blush had begun to spread across John’s cheeks.
Sherlock grinned slyly. “I guess I’ll just have to learn to share then.”