Remember Me (John/Anthea friendship)

Anthea looked to John, whom was looking a bit confused and overwhelmed by the whole situation the past day. She cocked her head and spoke in a soft, caring tone.

"I had my suspicions just after your accident, /we/ felt it was in your interests to with-hold the details. I am deeply sorry John."

She didn't want things to erupt so kept it to the point. She would let Sherlock tell his story first.

John frowned at that, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Anthea.
"Why did you even speak to me about it? Just to tell me a lie?" he replied, annoyance clear in his voice.

"We?" he asked, turning towards Sherlock. "Did you know about it?" he asked, he really didn't understand. "This is so bloody confusing," he mumbled sadly.

Sherlock raised his hand slightly in the air towards Anthea, to prevent her from saying anything further. He wanted to handle this. He felt he owed it to John to offer a slightly better explanation. It must, as he so rightly put it, be rather bloody confusing.

"John," he began, taking hold of his friend's arm. "Because of the nature of what I had to do - I had to make everyone believe I was dead - there were very few people I could take into my confidence. The fewer people who knew about it the better. There was a girl at the hospital who rigged the autopsy report for me, provided a body for my coffin etc. And then there was my brother, Mycroft."

And he made a small nod towards Anthea, as if to make it clear this was the same Mycroft they were talking about, before continuing.

"Mycroft helped me get out of the country. He set me up with a new identity, new place to live, a new life. Before you had your accident John you believed I was dead...after I heard what had happened I knew I had to come back, but I didn't want anyone to tell you. I wanted to tell you myself, about everything...the whole story...I needed to tell you myself. I hope you can understand..."

John instinctively slapped his arm away from Sherlock, stepping back, the happiness from before fading quickly. Mistrust showing on his face.
What the hell was wrong with this people?
"No, I don't understand," he hissed, and turned his back on them.

He had been lied to.
For all he knew this whole thing could be one big lie.
God, he hated not knowing what was real, what was true.
Who was he supposed to trust?

Anthea nodded to Sherlock; she was talking about /we/ as in Mycroft and herself. Anthea suddenly felt a pang of guilt and swallowed.

She stood opposite Sherlock waiting for an idea of where this was going, she always relied on being told what to do - even if it was by the younger Holmes.

"John, I am deeply sorry about all the confusion and the mistrust. Sherlock was and is trying to protect you - you two were inseparable. "

"Oh I am sure, so inseparable that he jumped off a building," he muttered sarcastic, and then wondered how he knew that Sherlock had jumped from a building.
He didn't have any memory of it, but he knew.
Had he been present?

He took in a deep breath. "I just... I trusted you, Anthea, you were the only one who was around to help... and you lied..."

Anthea needed to resolve the situation quickly before it erupted into a heated argument.

"John, Sherlock loved you, still loves you. He jumped off a building to save you, it was for your benefit."

She then lifted her hands in a pacifying way; "I was under orders by Mycroft, the consultant hoped that we would not need tell you until Sherlock had finished with Moriarty's web. I did not know that Sherlock would be back so soon. I am deeply sorry."

Sherlock felt awkward and embarrassed. There were so many things he wanted to say to John but couldn't. He was quite pleased Anthea had stepped in when she did.

"Thank you Anthea..." he muttered quietly, then turned to John. "She's right. And she...she can put things in a way that I can't. I'm not...I'm not very good with emotions," he admitted.

Sherlock approached John and placed a hand on his arm. "I never meant to hurt you," he said sincerely.

Sherlock loved you, still loves you. He jumped off a building to save you.

The words silenced John. He didn't know what to think, he didn't remember that, he couldn't remember anything about Sherlock and all he could rely on was the fact that he felt attracted to the other man, even now that he felt angry and alone.

He jumped a bit at the touch on his arm, and looked at Sherlock, realizing he was not denying Anthea's words.
"I don't like lies," he whispered, and swallowed hard. "I can't tell... whether something is true or not... it... hurts..." he confessed, eventually looking down at his feet.

Sherlock shuffled his feet and looked at the floor.

"I...I am...sorry," he gulped, then quickly repeated, "I'm sorry." Apologising was something he did rarely but in this case it felt acceptable, given the obvious look of pain and anguish on his friend's face.

Before John could say anything else, Sherlock wrapped his arms around him and hugged him quite hard, the physical contact and warmth from John's body making his heart beat a little faster.

"I missed you," he admitted, surprised that he was choking back tears. No. He would not cry. He refused to sentimentalise the situation. He bit his bottom lip and screwed his eyes closed.

John's heart skipped a beat when Sherlock pulled him closer for a hug, his body shaking for a moment and then filling completely with pure warmth.
John knew then that this was real, what he felt for Sherlock, their relationship, it was the only real thing in his life now. It felt that way.

"Okay," he said, moving even closer, burying his face in the other's neck, taking in his scent and placing a soft kiss on the skin there. "It's okay..." he whispered, and closed his eyes for a second, just enjoying the way it felt absolutely right.

He couldn't really say he had missed the other man as well, he couldn't remember, but he was sure he did. "It's good you are back," he whispered, trying to be reassuring even though he was the one with no memories. The emptiness of his mind still scared him at times.

Anthea saw Sherlock and John together, she smiled and nodded to Sherlock.

"I will be going now, you know where I am if you need me"

She walked out and contacted Mycroft to give him the update.

Sherlock nodded at Anthea, and pulled back from the hug. "Thank you," he said sincerely, and he didn't just mean thank you for offering her help, but thank you for everything. He was quite certain he wouldn't have been able to explain things to John on his own. It wasn't as easy as he'd initially thought it would be.

He looked into John's eyes and smiled. "I'm glad you can understand...even if you can't remember," he chuckled a little at the absurdity of it all, then turned away and noticed the items on the bed that Anthea had brought in earlier, including John's laptop. Sherlock picked it up and looked at it fondly. "Brings back some good memories," he muttered, "the nights I used to sit and watch you typing up your blog, make fun of you...we...we used to have a good time..."

He put the laptop back down on the bed and went to sit down on the edge of the mattress. "I don't know if you want to look at it now or in the morning," he said gently. "you look pretty tired."

John looked at Sherlock as he moved away, still wishing he could remember. How had it been to share his life with this handsome man? He was rather sure it had been fun, but things were never just as easy, were they?

"I think I've had enough for today," he exclaimed, and then felt guilty for his harsh words. "It's just that... For a few days there was nothing, no one would come to visit, nothing would happen, and now... So much information... I feel like my head is about to explode..."

He looked at the laptop. "I am curious... But I am also scared..." He muttered, because to be honest, he wasn't sure he liked who he used to be.

"Do you mind if we just rest? You need to recover as well..."

Sherlock nodded and lay back on the bed, peeling back the covers and getting inside.

"It's fine," he replied. "It's been something of a long confusing day for us both." He picked up the laptop and laid it to rest on the bed side table, then patted the bed next to him, motioning for John to join him. "That's...if you still want to..." he added, unsure.

Sherlock chuckled slightly at John's suggestion that he might need to rest too, and smiled at him fondly. That was the John he used to know, always so protective and concerned about his health.

John felt himself swallow hard when Sherlock patted the bed beside him, he knew that it was normal for couples to share the bed, but for him, it was all new, and even the idea of sharing a kiss felt like he would receive his first one.

He nodded after a while though, knowing that there was no point in procrastinating, and to be honest, he wanted it, he had been looking forward to it.
He undid his trousers them, and took off his jumper, making his way into the covers once he was in his boxers and tank top.

He felt a bit self-conscious as he slid beside Sherlock, their legs touching and making his heart skip a beat, but he tried really hard not to show it.

He turned to look at Sherlock then, a hand on the other's side, and he couldn't help but feel expectant of what was to come next.
Would Sherlock try something? Or was he too tired? Or was he scared John wouldn't be ready?

Sherlock couldn't understand why his heart was pounding so hard when John climbed into the bed beside him. Probably just adrenalin from the day's activities, he reasoned. That made sense.

He felt John's leg brush against his, and shivered slightly. The warmth radiating from his friend's body was quite inviting and the lost, confused expression on John's face made Sherlock want to give him another hug. He didn't though. For now he just stayed staring at John's face.

He was a little self conscious of their position, aware that this was the first time they had ever been so physically close to each other. But something inside him was aching to be closer. Perhaps it was the fact that Sherlock had been away so long, that he'd missed his friend. Perhaps it was the fact that John was unwell and needed looking after, protection. Whatever it was, the urges were strong and hard to resist. It was fine though, he insisted to himself. John would be fine with this. Surely they must have done things like this in the army, he reasoned. Shared bunks, cuddled together for warmth on cold nights. Possibly.

Sherlock shuffled himself a little closer so their legs were almost intertwined and he could feel the heat radiating from John's chest, then he slowly lifted up an arm and wrapped it around John, drawing his friend even closer until he was snuggled into his chest. He sighed softly. It felt good.

John's heart filled with warmth when Sherlock moved closer, but he let himself relax into the touch, needy of more. His legs moved slightly to accomodate Sherlock closer, and he sighed softly when he found himself against his chest. It was a wonderful feeling that was quickly making him happy.

He was immensely glad Sherlock had welcomed him and he couldn't help but feel he was entitled to do more.

"This is nice," he mumbled, moving his face up, nuzzling the other's neck under his jaw and placing a few soft kisses and nibbles there, he thought the other's skin was the most attractive thing he had ever seen, he wished he could touch all of it.

Sherlock held John happily in his arms, and had already closed his eyes, attempting to shut down his overactive mind ready for sleep.

"It is nice," he agreed, and was almost beginning to feel a little sleepy when suddenly John was moving even closer. Sherlock's heart flipped a beat. John was kissing him. His friend's lips were leaving warm sensations all over his neck and near his mouth. Bloody hell. He flipped open his eyes again, feeling himself tense up a little with the shock. Where on earth was this coming from? he wondered. And more to the point...why was he enjoying it?

Sherlock felt his neck rolling back, heard a small moan escape his lips, and he realised he was pushing himself into John's kisses, responding to them. He liked it. John was kissing him. And Sherlock liked it. He never thought it was possible. He always imagined he was above things like that. He turned his head slightly and ventured to place his own lips on John's neck, pursing them slowly in a kiss.

John felt the other man tense under his kisses, and for a moment he thought that maybe he was going too fast, assuming Sherlock wanted him back. He was about to move away when the detective finally leaned into his touch.
He liked it, John realized, and his heart leaped happily in his chest.

His body seemed to set on fire when Sherlock moved a bit, placing soft kisses on the sensitive skin of his neck. He moaned softly, helplessly, feeling himself move without thinking, the kisses becoming soft bites and flicks of his tongue, until he was sliding along his jaw and hungrily looking for Sherlock's lips. He needed them, now, right now.

Sherlock felt like he should say something to John. He wanted to know where all this was coming from. John couldn't even remember who Sherlock was now suddenly he wanted to kiss him, maybe even more. But the words wouldn't come. All he could do was mumble incoherently a sentence that didn't even make sense. John was being so...distracting.

Sherlock had already attempted one kiss, but as John's kisses seemed to increase in intensity, turning into small bites and licks, Sherlock lay perfectly still with his eyes clothes, amazed at the effect a few simples actions could have on his body and his mind.

He decided to repeat the kissing experiment and turned his head towards John. Just at that same moment it appeared John had decided to move his head a little too and somehow their lips ended up meeting in an awkward but wonderful...beautiful, first ever kiss. It only lasted a brief second before Sherlock quickly pulled away again. His mind raced to process the information and his eyes fluttered closed, feeling the warmth and taste of John still lingering on his lips long after they had parted contact. Trembling slightly he moved forward to try again.

It felt like time stopped the second their lips met. John's heart skipped a beat and then rushed even further, making him breathless.
Did it feel like this? Did it always feel like this to kiss the man you love?

His eyes moved restless on the other's face for a long moment, seeing the blissful expression there, and he grinned happily when Sherlock leaned in again.

Yes, this was pure perfection.

And John cupped the other's cheeks, keeping him close as his tongue slid inside him in an instinct he did not recognize. He wanted all this to become familiar, he wanted to know Sherlock like the palm of his hand.

Sherlock moaned quite loudly as John's tongue slipped past his lips and into his mouth, doing a little dance with his own. Bloody hell that felt good. More than he could ever have imagined. He pushed his body further onto John and deepend his own kiss, copying what his friend had just done with his tongue. It was fascinating to explore John's mouth in that way, an area he'd never gone before, but as he was quickly realising, somewhere he'd like to explore again and again.

The only question was, what to do next. Sherlock might be inexperienced but he was intelligent enough to know that some type of intercourse quite often followed passionate kissing of this kind, particularly when two people were lying in bed together. That was all rather obvious. He moved a hand down from John's shoulder, stroking down his chest towards his bellybutton, wondering whether he would be any good at this, trying to ignore his nerves.

Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder as he'd realised he'd moved it a little more than it wanted to be moved. "Damn it," he muttered, falling back onto the bed. He looked at John, quickly recalling what he knew about the world of sex. If this was going to work John would have to go on top. He blushed, realising what he was thinking. He was considering having sex for the first time with his flatmate. Well...former flatmate. But then, John made the first move. Things weren't exactly normal right now but it was rather exciting.

Sherlock's hand moving lower on his body was leaving a trail of fire on his skin, John couldn't help himself from getting aroused, and the need for something more became sharp in his chest.

His own hands were feverish on the other's body, trying to explore the bits and pieces that were left out of the massive bandage he had applied on the detective's body.

It was with a groan that he commented Sherlock pulling away, but a speck of rationality sparked in his brain and he was reminded that Sherlock was hurt.
"Oh, sorry, Sherlock," he whispered, running his fingers along his side, settling on his hip.

"Should we do this another day? When you are better?" he asked softly, concern clear in his tone, even though toned down by the lust in his eyes. He didn't want to stop, but he was willing to let Sherlock choose.

Sherlock moaned in frustration. His mind was still a little confused by everything but his body wanted this now. His trousers were tight and he could feel something throbbing and painful inside his boxers. He wished he could just take the bloody things off.

And John was asking if they should wait another day. No. Not going to happen. He'd waited long enough. His entire life, in fact. And now he'd decided he did want it, he wasn't going to let a stupid bullet wound stand in his way.

With his good arm he reached up and grabbed John's neck, hauling him down on top of him roughly, wincing just a little as John's body crashed into his, touching his bandaged injury. He leaned up and whispered urgently in his friend's ear. "No. We're doing this now. Right now John."