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John hated cigarettes. Everything about them. The smell. The yellowish fingers. It all bothered him regularly. John hadn’t smoked since he was in boot camp but occasionally Sherlock would.
Smoking was only for stressful moments that would be over soon. Usually Homes family gatherings.
Most of the time when Sherlock needed a fix, he used the patch.
Sherlock didn’t have nicotine cravings too terribly often and typically only wore a patch when he was stressed or his adrenaline was spiking.
Essentially, he only wore them during cases.
The boys got a new case two days ago but to Sherlock’s dismay it was only a six.
They solved it in under two hours, but just as they were leaving, Lestrade called with a new case. This one was a double homicide and a solid eight. They spent the rest of that day and the next solving it.
After the back to back cases John decided to set a date with his most recent girl, Johanna. He figured he could use a break.
Johanna was a teller at a bank. She was 32. She had two dogs and met John at a dog park despite John not actually owning a dog. He had been there to bird watch (a.k.a. take a moment away from Baker Street to clear his head).
They hadn't been going out very long. This would only be their fourth date. John got ready quick. He pulled on his typical date attire, a nice dark button up and some well fitting jeans.
He left his room after fixing his hair to get Sherlock’s opinion about his preening.
Sherlock was sitting in his chair holding up his violin. This happened to be one of the rare occasions he could be seen wearing a t-shirt and John briefly paused to raise an eyebrow at Sherlock’s toned arms.
His slightly muscular yet still lithe, creamy, delicate but sharp arms. His long, long, nimble fingers that absentmindedly plucked at the strings of the instrument. His- woah… John pushed those weird, questionable for a straight man thoughts away.
He knew he was being way too descriptive, looking way too hard.
John informed Sherlock of his date. Sherlock just replied with, “Hmm.”
John wasn’t surprised at his lack of interest. He was, however, slightly disappointed.
With that, John set off on his lunch date with Johanna. He hopped in a taxi and met her at a cute cafe a few minutes away.
Turns out Johanna was much chattier than John remembered her being on their previous dates.
Particularly about her best friend Riley’s boyfriend Mark. Mark had cheated on Riley and broke her heart and Johanna was firmly on Riley's side, obviously. But the more she talked about the situation it became obvious to John that Johanna really wanted to fuck Mark.
John didn’t talk much. He instead copied Sherlock and spent the time curled up in his own head, just thinking. Thinking about how he was going to ghost Johanna. Thinking about what case he and Sherlock would get next. Thinking about Sherlock in general.
Sherlock.
Sherlocks arms. Sherlocks hair. Sherlocks adrenaline. Sherlocks cunning. Sherlocks smile. Sherlocks everything.
But he wasn’t only thinking about Sherlock. No. That would be weird for a completely straight man to be doing. No, he was also thinking about himself.
Thinking about going to a bar, picking up a tall girl with short curly dark hair. “God, stop being weird about Sherlock.” John thought to himself.
Against his will, John's mind flashed back to when he was twenty-three. He had been in the service then. He was young and made some bad decisions. One of those bad decisions was named Percy.
Percy had been one of John's closest friends. They were attached at the hip, figuratively. Well, figuratively until a bottle of tequila and a game of truth or dare made it quite a bit more literal.
To this day, Percy was the only man John Watson, who if ever provoked would loudly claim that he’s “not gay”, had ever had sex with. The only man he’d ever wanted to have sex with, well that was until Sherlock.
No.
He had to stop thinking about his best friend like that. And he did because Johanna’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts.
“Oh crap.” She said, “I lost track of time. I have to get to work soon.”
“Oh. It was nice seeing you again, Johanna.” John answered, “Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.” Johanna said, blowing a kiss at John as she walked away. He had to keep from visibly wincing.
***
John needed to burn off energy. He really needed to clear his mind. He walked home; desperate for some sort of outlet.
As he walked, his mind instantly went to Sherlock, as it always seemed to do. In every situation there was Sherlock. At his actual job, he’s thinking of what Sherlock would say about each of his patients. On cases, Sherlock’s right there next to him. In bed, Sherlock is right down the stairs.
Until today, he had never minded the constant thoughts of Sherlock. Today, he felt like he had broken down a wall. A wall he’s put up a long time ago, maybe the day they met. Now those new thoughts he was having were bothering him.
The headache they were giving him bothered him. The pain in his leg was bothering him. The slight tightness in his jeans was bothering him.
Sherlock was married to his work, John knew this. And if he ever did date, it was bound to be girls, right? John sighed and finished his walk.
Once he got back to 221B, he found Sherlock curled up in his chair, though this time missing the violin he’d been inseparable from the last time John was home.
John frowned as his gaze slid over Sherlock and settled on the nicotine patch on his arm, clearly visible. Sherlock still had that same t-shirt on.
“Do we have a case?” John asked.
“No.” Sherlock replied. “I would have informed you.”
“Ok…” John trailed off before asking, “Was Mycroft here?”
“No.”
“Your parents?”
“No.”
“Ms. Hudson?”
“No.”
“So why are you stressed?” John finally asked, getting to the point.
“Why do you assume I’m stressed?” Sherlock asked back.
“You're wearing a patch.” John answered. “You only wear them when you're stressed.”
Sherlock just curled up farther in his chair, facing away from John. John frowned but went about his day. He sat down in his chair and began to type up a blog post.
Five minutes later, John had only written two sentences. He couldn’t stop worrying about Sherlock. What was making him stressed?
John thought back to the recent times he saw Sherlock with a patch.
The last three times he could remember were during cases. The only time John had seen Sherlock with a patch while not on a case was the same day as his second date with Johanna but Sherlock had seen Mycroft that day.
Someone must have stopped by…
That was the deduction John could rationally make.
John was a little weirded out that both days had occurred on days John saw Johanna. On a hunch John remembered the date of his third date.
Sherlock had been wearing a long sleeve shirt that day. John remembered because the color matched Sherlock’s eyes. Those pretty greenish-blue eyes. No, he shouldn’t call them pretty.
“Hey Sherlock, were you wearing a nic patch on 3/28?” John asked.
“How would I know? That was like three weeks ago.” Sherlock grumbled.
“You would know.” John replied.
Sherlock was silent for a moment before saying, “I think I was.”
“Do you remember why?” John questioned.
“No.” Sherlock said sternly.
“Have you ever met Johanna?” John asked.
“Whose that?” Sherlock replied.
“The girl I went on a date with today.” John answered.
“She’s also the girl I went on a date with everyday the last three times you wore a patch while not on a case.” John continued.
Sherlock sat up a bit and looked over at John wordlessly.
“Why?” John demanded. “You’ve never even met her? What stresses you out about her?”
“Nothing.” Sherlock replied.
“Just tell me!” John demanded. He was frustrated and pent up from the worry. Very frustrated.
“Nothings wrong with her. I do it with every woman you date!” Sherlock angrily responded. A slight expression crossed over his face, completely unreadable. John wondered if Sherlock hadn’t meant to actually say that.
“Why?” John asked again.
“Figure it out.” Sherlock grumbled.
“You forget we can’t all deduce things the way you can.” John bit back.
“This one's pretty simple. And we’ve been practicing your deduction skills.” Sherlock mumbled before stalking off to his room.
John flopped back into his chair and wondered what the hell just happened. He sat in that chair for an hour and a half just thinking. He’d never sat in that chair that long, not even to write.
He went through every reason his girlfriends would stress out Sherlock.
Jealous that he gets girls? No, he’s married to his work.
Annoyed that he brings them home sometimes? Maybe but he hasn’t brought Johanna home.
He couldn’t figure it out. His best guess was jealousy but it didn’t make sense. Why would he be jealous of John?
And that's when it hit him. It hit him like a freight car.
What if he wasn’t jealous of John? What if he was jealous of the girls?
Logically, it made sense. John hated it. John hoped it was true.
The idea stuck in his head. He sat, immobilized by it, until he heard a slight shuffle from Sherlock’s room. The subtle reminder that he was there, that Sherlock could be in arms reach in less than a minute, spurred him on.
He marched up to Sherlock's closed door. He knew it didn’t have a functioning lock; Sherlock had shot it off last week. He could just go in. He could knock.
Anger had settled in him now. He needed to know. He needed to know now.
John swung open the door.
His eyes slid over Sherlock, taking in his arm which still had the patch on, the test tubes in his hand that he had clearly just been moving around for some sort of experiment, and the tight jeans John didn’t notice earlier.
“Are you jealous?” John demanded.
“Jealous? Of you constantly being in a relationship? No.” Sherlock replied calmly.
“Not of me. Of the girls I’m in a relationship with.” John said breathlessly.
Sherlock faced away and walked to his desk where he set the test tubes down. “I don’t know what you're talking about. And you should probably call them women; ‘girls’ is slightly creepy.”
“It's the only explanation I can find that makes sense. If it’s not true, just tell me what is!” John replied, completely ignoring the second half of Sherlock’s statement.
“Fine I’m fucking jealous.” Sherlock said, still facing away.
John completely froze. He didn’t know how to react. He couldn’t react. Every part of that admission felt unreal.
Sherlock took John’s silence negatively.
“Look I know you're straight and I never want to make you uncomfortable-” Sherlock continued.
“Sherlock.” John said, cutting him off, “Turn around.”
Sherlock turned and looked him in the eye; the shame and fear was clearly written all over his face.
“I’m not straight.” John said. “I’m bisexual. Quietly of course. People have figured it out though. Surprised you didn't actually.”
“Percy…” Sherlock answered.
“How did you-” John started to ask before cutting himself off. It was Sherlock, of course he knew.
Sherlock replied anyway. “Body language the time you introduced us. Yours to some extent but mostly his. He still wants you.”
“Oh.” John said. “He’s the only experience I’ve ever had with men sexually. You're the only man I’ve cared about romantically.
The words were very uncomfortable in John’s mouth. He hated getting them out. He knew he had too. He knew he had to be direct. He didn’t want any misunderstanding.
“You… care about me?” Sherlock asked, daring to meet eye contact.
“Unfortunately, I do. Quite a lot.” John replied. He felt the words ‘I love you” on his tongue but he bit them back. It was too fast. It was too true.
With that, Sherlock instantly closed the space between them. The kiss only lasted about two seconds before Sherlock pulled back.
He had the look in his eyes asking if this was okay. John responded by kissing Sherlock back.
The second kiss was much better than the first. It was more teeth and tongue and passion. More heat.
John pushed Sherlock against the nearest wall. Sherlock twisted his arms around John’s neck, getting his body as close to John’s as physically possible. John lightly tugged on the curled ends of Sherlock’s messy hair.
John bit Sherlock’s lip. Sherlock’s moan was loud enough that John was sure Ms. Hudson heard it.
Without warning, John picked Sherlock up in one fluid motion and laid him on the bed next to them. When he looked down at Sherlock, the man's pupils were completely blown. John hadn’t seen that expression on Sherlock’s face since the last time he was high.
John moved his kisses down the side of Sherlock’s long neck, sucking a bruise right above his collarbone. With a skilled hand, John quickly removed Sherlock’s belt and started unbuttoning his shirt.
“Is this okay?” John whispered directly in Sherlock’s ear.
“Yes. John, yes.” Sherlock bit out.
“How far do you want to go?” John asked. He didn’t want to push any delicate boundaries.
“I want you to fuck me. Right now please.” Sherlock breathed out, surprising John completely. John’s dick hardened fully instantly.
Sherlock took in the look on John's face and added, “Contrary to popular belief, I’m not a virgin. Not by a longshot.”
“Noted. We’re talking about that later but right now, do you have lube?” John asked, fully now having removed the other man’s shirt.
Sherlock nodded. “Top drawer of the nightstand in the back.”
John shed his own shirt and belt as he grabbed the aforementioned lube. The apparently cherry flavored lube.
When he turned around, Sherlock had lost his slacks. John followed suit and his jeans were soon on the floor. They were just in their boxers now.
“How do you want this? Like this, missionary? On all fours?” John asked, still doing his best to hold back his severe lust.
“Like this. I want to see you. I’ve got plenty of ideas for things we’ll try though.” Sherlock replied evenly.
John blinked at the mention of the future. This really is real. This really is their life now. Their life together.
He pulled off Sherlock’s boxers and spread his legs. He positioned Sherlock to give himself access.
“Tell me if anything makes you uncomfortable.” John reminded one last time.
“John, get on with it.” Sherlock rolled his eyes slightly.
Now John would not take that attitude.
John slid his first two fingers in simultaneously. Sherlock arched as John immediately brushed over his prostate before immediately drawing away and focusing on stretching Sherlock out. He loosened Sherlock up a bit more than necessary before adding a third finger and giving Sherlock a tiny bit more stimulation.
He was purposely avoiding giving him too much. He was teasing him just a bit.
“John. Come on. Just please-” Sherlock couldn’t get his thoughts out fully. John’s motions kept interrupting him.
“One more finger. You can take it.” John encouraged.
Sherlock moaned as John added a fourth finger. Sherlock was more than ready but John didn’t want to risk hurting him any more than some slight soreness tomorrow.
After another minute of teasing, John decided to be merciful. He looked down at the other man and condescendingly asked, “Are you ready, Sherlock?”
“Yes John. Please. So ready. Fuck me. You don’t know how long I’ve been thinking about this.” Sherlock replied, half moaning the whole way through the sentence.
John pulled his fingers out and shucked off his own boxers. He rolled on a condom he’d grabbed from the nightstand and slicked up his length.
Slowly, he pushed in.
The feeling was like nothing else when John was fully seated. Tight, hot, completely Sherlock. John could barely breathe.
Sherlock was practically dying beneath him. John wondered when the last time he got fucked was. Clearly too long ago. He wondered when the last time Sherlock even wanked was. He knew it wasn’t a regular habit for him.
John fucked him slow at first; long, passionate drags almost completely in and out of Sherlock. It felt insanely good but Sherlock was impatient. John sped up steadily until the headboard was hitting the wall hard enough to leave marks.
They were both almost at the end of their ropes by the time they got well and truly started but they kept up as long as they could. John could tell Sherlock was about to cum and he figured he’d give him a helping hand literally.
He kept one hand on one of Sherlock’s hips, holding him down hard enough to bruise. He reached up with the other, still slick from fingering Sherlock open and gently applied a little pressure.
Sherlock’s groan was encouragement enough for John to start jacking him off.
Sherlock came with an explosion. He really was pent up and it showed. He managed to aim perfectly for John's chest. John dragged a finger through Sherlock’s mess and without thinking, stuck it in his. John came not ten seconds later with Sherlock’s taste in his mouth.
They were both panting hard a few moments later as John gingerly pulled out and they collapsed in bed next to each other. After a few more minutes of recovery John grabbed a towel Sherlock had randomly draped over one of his many chairs and cleaned them off.
The silence was starting to get to them. Sherlock decided to break it.
“You know what I could really go for right now, " he started, a devious expression playing over his feature, “A cigarette.”
“This is the one and only situation where I’d accept smoking in the flat.” John replied, an equally evil smirk on his face. “But only if you share.”
While the cigarette was supposed to be relaxing, the boys ended up sweaty and covered in more mess and sweat after discovering the joys of breathing smoke into each other’s mouths.
After that, they actually relaxed some. John fell asleep first. Sherlock followed him a moment later, thinking about the almost full carton of cigarettes tucked in one of his bookcases.
There were just so many things they could do now and Sherlock had a cigarette for them to share after each one.
He could feel a filthy habit forming, not that either of them had ever minded being a little dirty
They were going to be so much filthier now.