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"Again," he demanded.
"I love you," John angled his head so that his lips brushed Sherlock's throat. "I love you. And if you're the only person I'm going to kiss for the rest of my life, then I'd really like to get started on that as soon as possible." He drew back just far enough to be able to focus.
"Let me kiss you, Sherlock," he whispered. "I really need to kiss you now. Right now. Please."
Sherlock blinked a long, slow blink, as if mentally tucking the moment away, and then he smiled. "Let me," he said, bringing both hands up to cup John's face.
Their lips met so gently, so very, very softly, that John was disconcerted. Whenever he had allowed himself to imagine this moment, it had always been a desperate act, filled with the adrenaline which made Sherlock seem more approachable than he did at any other time. For Sherlock to kiss him with such sweetness and delicacy was completely unexpected and John pulled one hand free and thrust it into his hair, trying to tug him nearer.
Sherlock resisted, stiffening his spine and nipping gently at John's lower lip. "Let me," he requested again between kisses. "Let me take my time." One hand moved away from John's face and slid around his waist instead, the other tipping his head up, then there were kisses pressing along his jaw. "I don't believe it yet," Sherlock admitted.
He pulled his head back and they looked at each other. "I knew you cared, I could see that much," he managed, before his gaze fell and he leaned forward again, brushing their mouths together and finally John felt the tip of Sherlock's tongue tracing his bottom lip. "But I am so unused to seeing affection aimed towards myself; I couldn't be sure whether it was just friendship or something more." The hand on John's back slithered down and under his jumper, tugging clothes out of the way and smoothing up across bare skin.
John shuddered and let his own hand drift down Sherlock's spine, pausing just below his waistband, suddenly unsure.
"You can touch me," Sherlock murmured, pressing their lips together again, and again, their tongues teasing but still tentative. "Anything you can dream of, you can do... could have done for months now."
John's mind reeled slightly at the unqualified permission but he immediately dropped his hand lower, squeezing firmly. "Do you still not believe it?" he queried, hardly able to credit himself what he was doing... where his hand was. He traced a line along the very top of Sherlock's thigh with the tips of his fingers, from the outside to the inside, enjoying the reaction this produced. He did it again, tightening his other hand in Sherlock's curls and holding his head steady for a longer kiss - finally managing to run his tongue along that cupid's bow, forwards and back, learning the taste and texture of it, before abandoning all restraint and just sucking it into his mouth, nibbling and teasing until Sherlock pulled back and stared at him, wide eyed.
"You really want me," he blurted out, then flushed, looking embarrassed by his words.
John snorted, but didn't move his hand - he'd been fantasising about that arse for far too long to relinquish his hold so easily; Sherlock may as well get used to it. "I really, really do," he confirmed. "Is that OK? I mean, I thought you weren't interested in this side of things, but clearly you are." There was no mistaking the effect they were having on each other.
"I never used to be," Sherlock replied. "I mean, I have... I'm not that much of a freak." John's hand tightened reflexively at the word and Sherlock jumped. "Are all our future conversations going to take place with your hand on my backside?" he asked, with an air of interest rather than censure.
John shrugged. "Problem?" he asked, one eyebrow raised in what he felt was a passable imitation of the man he adored.
Sherlock grinned. "I'll try to cope." He adopted an expression of supreme self-sacrifice, which was quite possibly the oddest thing John had ever seen. He tugged Sherlock's head down again and this time there was no hesitation. Their mouths sealed together and opened and they got lost in each other, their lips moving, tongues exploring, while Sherlock's hand stroked up John's back until it was between his shoulder blades and John's hand... stayed exactly where it was.
Long minutes passed as they kissed, sucking in quick gasps of air when they needed to, but parting as little as possible, until at last Sherlock pulled back a tiny, a miniscule amount, just far enough to be able to squeeze out a few words. "I need to sit down," he said. "I can't..." He was shaking.
"Sit or lie?" John asked, between kisses, breathing in Sherlock's answering gasp.
"Ah, lie... most definitely lie," Sherlock told him. "Is that..." He drew in a breath, trying to pull himself together. "My God, what have you done to me?"
"Hmm... I would say, items one to five on my list," John replied, leaning back slightly.
Sherlock stared at him. "How many..." He swallowed. "How long is the list?"
John just grinned.
"Oh, God." Sherlock sounded dazed, but then he blinked a few times and forced himself to focus. "Before... before we..." He trailed off. "Could you move your hand?"
John did as he was asked.
"The other one."
John huffed, but rearranged himself until he had both arms wrapped around Sherlock's waist.
"There's something I have to tell you," Sherlock said. "I don't want to, but..." He shook his head. "Please remember I did it for the best."
John frowned.
"I mean, the idea seemed sound... and none of this would have happened..."
"You're making it worse."
"I know." Sherlock sighed. "There's no easy way..." He drew a deep breath. "I wasn't drunk," he said. "At least, not as drunk as I led you to believe."
"You weren't...?" John echoed blankly. "What do you mean you weren't drunk? Last night, you mean? But..."
His arms loosened their grip and Sherlock's tightened to compensate.
"You deliberately fooled me?" John was running through the events in his mind, remembering the way he had sat and stroked Sherlock's hair for ages. "Why... why would you do that?" He tried to pull away.
"John, just listen," Sherlock pleaded. "Will you listen?"
John looked at him. It was hard to trust his expression in the circumstances, but he seemed distressed and John could no more ignore that than he could suddenly make himself a foot taller. He nodded.
Sherlock sighed in relief and moved them over to his armchair, sitting and dragging John down sideways on top of him, despite his protestations. "Are you listening?"
John scowled at him, but it was difficult to doubt someone's genuine interest in you when their erection was poking you in the thigh... which was no doubt why Sherlock had pulled him down into this undignified position in the first place. He folded his arms, but stayed put.
With a pronounced clearing of throat, Sherlock started to explain. "At the bar last night..."
"Oh, so there was a bar?"
"... the suspect..."
"Don't you mean 'subjuspect'?"
Sherlock flushed, but carried on. "... was clearly ordering much stronger drinks than requested."
"Bastard," John growled. "Not you," he added, unfolding his arms and raising a hand to Sherlock's face, his protective instincts blasting through everything else. Sherlock leaned into the pressure and kissed the inside of his wrist.
"Go on," said John.
"Well, part of my brain was, as always, considering our situation," Sherlock continued, bringing up his own hand to hold John's in place. "As far as I could tell, we were at an impasse: I realised months ago that I was in love with you, and sometimes I thought you might feel the same, but I could never be sure... and I couldn't risk it, because your friendship was too important to me."
"But that's how I..." John broke off. "Except I never really thought that you - I mean, sometimes you would look at me so intently, but I didn't think..." He shrugged, inwardly thrilling at Sherlock's declaration.
"Exactly," said Sherlock. "Stalemate. Both of us possibly wanting more, but neither willing to risk what we already had. And then it occurred to me that if I came home 'drunk', I could let you know how I felt in such a way that you could choose to ignore it and thus avoid any awkwardness, because you wouldn't know that I knew you knew."
John blinked at him. "I'm not sure my brain is up to this."
Sherlock shrugged. "Well, as I said, once the concept presented itself... it appeared to have some merit."
"You mean it seemed like a good idea at the time?" John shook his head. "How many drinks did you have?"
